Interview: Kenny Shiels, manager of Kilmarnock FC

All through my chat with Kenny Shiels, his phone goes. Sometimes he leaves it; other times he says: “Ah, unknown number, do you mind if I take this?” Then all though the car journey along the M8 he’s talking to agents, players, friends who know other players, anyone who might be able to help the Kilmarnock manager in his quest.

I’d been slightly nervous about accepting a lift back to Edinburgh with Shiels after he’d admitted he was an impatient driver. But then I thought, what the heck, he’s good company, it’ll be fine. He delivers me right to my front door and tells a hilarious story about growing up in Northern Ireland. (A tragic one, too, of which more later).

The reason for all the frantic phone activity, of course, is the transfer window. Shiels is looking for a striker, one who can supplement the clever work of Paul Heffernan and the manager’s son Dean – artful players both and scorers in the Scottish Cup replay win over Dundee – but who can also give Killie something different.

Compliment Shiels on his team’s passing game this season and he’ll thank you. But then he’ll say: “We have to be careful because passing can be boring... It’s a high-risk game that we play... The important thing for us now is not being predictable... If you play the same way every week there’s no surprise.”

Shiels would never admit this because he’s too modest, but what he needs is a player, or a plan B, that’s like him as a manager. For you could never call Shiels predictable; he’s full of surprises. When your correspondent gets lost in a hopeless ramble he describes my attempted question as “precipitous”. A first for the SPL, methinks, and maybe all fitba.

This is him on football clichés: “I try not to use them. Of course you can sometimes paint yourself into a corner and resorting to one is the only way out. And yes, I realise that ‘paint yourself into a corner’ is itself a cliché.”

This is him on his psychology degree: “I got that when I worked in England, Warwick University. It’s something I’ve always been interested in. But believe me, psychology comes from experience. Sir Alex Ferguson has a Masters in it. He maybe just doesn’t have the piece of paper.”

On Kilmarnock, the town: “Everywhere I’ve been I’ve tried to develop a good rapport with the place. We’ve lost Johnnie Walker which was a big blow and another 206 jobs went last week. So it’s becoming a commuter town with the danger it could lose its identity.

“What happens in Kilmarnock is important to me. Last week I needed a haircut. I live in Edinburgh in Dean’s old flat from his time at Hibs and most days my work is here in Glasgow [at the University’s Science Parks where Kilmarnock train] but I decided the ten quid should go at a hairdresser in Kilmarnock because the town needs an uplift. Hey, I’m not saying my haircut did that but I do feel so proud of the team doing well.” On the high cost of watching our football: “We have to be aware of the recession. I don’t think it’s fair to charge what we do. Clubs have to take a stand, maybe do a Bradford. They’re sixth from bottom in England’s League Two, not doing very well on the pitch, and yet by charging £150 for a season ticket they’re able to attract crowds of 11,000. That works out at about a tenner a match for the people. Yes, you could charge them double that but your numbers may only ever get to 6000. I know which I’d prefer.”

And this is him on Bob Dylan, spokesman of his generation: “He may be that, all right, but he’s not a lyricist compared to John Prine [veteran American country/folk troubadour and Shiels’ hero]. Dylan is single-identity, this guy goes into everything, every song’s a story – amazing. He used to be a postman. I first saw him on the Old Grey Whistle Test – he sang Sam Stone, about a Vietnam vet – and I thought: ‘I have to go and get something there.’ So now I have all his records. I was lucky enough to meet him once, in Donegal, though I was quite inebriated.” Give us a favourite lyric, I say. “Here you go: ‘My head shouted down to my heart, you’d better watch out below/Hey it ain’t such a long drop, don’t stammer, don’t stutter/From the diamonds in the sidewalk to the dirt in the gutter/You carry those bruises to remind you wherever you go.’”

Shiels, 55, has a big, shouty voice and when the first words he utters are “Don’t be taking any chocolate ones!” you decide he must mean it. He’s offered up a box of biscuits and gone to fetch the tea. A racy tabloid lies open on the table – “Not mine, it’s those players” – next to a laptop freeze-framing action from the previous night. The next opponents – Dunfermline today – are already up on the whiteboard. Assistant Jimmy Nicholl, whose own Northern Irish accent has been left undented by a near 20-year association with Scotland, pops his head round the door to say hello. The two men arrange a rendezvous for their Pars spying mission – “Frankie and Bennys, yeah?” – and then Shiels tells his family tale.

“We lived a mile outside the village of Maghera, Co Londonderry, and everyone from all around knew that my dad Roy, a total character, was football-mad. When his first son George was born he went into the village to wet the wean’s head – ‘Boys, I’ve got myself a goalkeeper, I’m building a team!’ Then along came William – ‘A defender – two down, nine to go!’. This started to get a little serious when Ian arrived, and by the time of No 4, yours truly, the parish was thinking: ‘It’s an act of God.’ Then there was Dave [Shiels pauses] and God bless him. Russell made six, Roy was seven and Sam eight. Eight boys – incredible! Then Amy appeared and Dad went into the pub and said: ‘That’s it. Me and the mother will do goals.’ Secretly, I think he’d always wanted a daughter.

“We had a tin bath, an outside toilet and no hot water. I don’t know how my parents managed to bring all of us up but any good values I possess definitely came from them. When you woke in the morning there would be a pair of feet to your left and another to your right and those first to rise got the socks without holes. Dad called the team Roy’s Chicks because he was a chicken farmer and he’d pack us up in the trailer and the car boot and we’d play other little teams in the area, one based round six boys in the same family. All the Shiels boys loved football but I think I was obsessed. I’d be out with a ball dawn from till dusk and on Saturdays we’d even play after Match of the Day. Dad rigged up some basic floodlights at the bottom of the garden and we’d run down there, singing the theme tune.”

Dave, the brother prompting the halt in his voice, was killed during the Troubles, shot by the IRA in December 1990. “It was mistaken identity – the bullets were probably meant for Ian, who was in the police. Dave was a baker and a proud man who was building a house for his family, his wife having given birth to his first son exactly four weeks before. Four gunmen riddled their caravan. Dave was outside feeding the dog. Stephen, the baby, had a ricochet mark above an eye and amazingly his wife wasn’t hit.

“We were a cross-community family, meaning we had friends on both sides, but our area was known as Bandit Country. My wife’s cousin’s man was shot in a hospital car park – killed before he could even name his newborn son. Earlier that day me and this fella had been at a funeral of another friend who was shot lifting a bet at the bookie’s. Lots of folk have tragedy in their lives and I’m not saying what happened to us was any more tragic but it had a massive impact and we’ve never gotten over Dave.

“My father, who was bedridden at home nearby, heard the shots but couldn’t help. He never walked again and I think Dave’s death killed him, too. You can just imagine how Ian felt about it. My mother, Elizabeth, thought that if she went under we all would have done so she found this amazing inner strength. She’s a remarkable woman, 87 now, still baking every day. Last time I was home she was up a ladder getting down some blackberries. Have I drawn strength from what happened? I’m not sure. Football can be an emotional rollercoaster and maybe when things go wrong you do say ‘Well, this could be worse’ because once upon a time it was.” As the song says, you carry those bruises to remind you wherever you go. Now Shiels is laughing and apologising. Originally I’d asked a question about flair football and where for him this had come from. “From George Best a bit, as for any Northern Irish boy, but I go back to my father who really believed in the beautiful game.”

Now, just as his own dad was once also his manager, Shiels has son Dean in his team. How’s that working out? “Different from what I thought it would be. When he was at Doncaster we spoke on the phone every day. When he came to Kilmarnock I was like ‘He has to be a player, treated as such’ and something of the father-son relationship has been lost. I’m sure we’ll get it back, though.”

Just as Dean would overcome the loss of an eye, Shiels ignored advice to quit playing because of an ankle deformity and put together a long career with teams like Coleraine and Ballymena, both of whom he’d go on to manage. Scan press cuttings from his time as a boss in his homeland and you’ll find references to him being a “firebrand”. “I think that’s a bit unfair,” he says. “My biggest mistake in Northern Ireland was to treat it as a place in the world where people accept what you say when really it’s just a village. I find Scotland so much better in that respect. Here if you say something it doesn’t come across as controversial, it sounds like the truth.”

Whatever you call them, Shiels’ comments are rarely dull. Since stepping up from assistant under Mixu Paatelainen, he’s quickly established himself as one of the SPL’s most quotable. When Kilmarnock beat Rangers at Rugby Park for the first time in 17 years he had a dig at fans who leave town to follow the Old Firm (“People in Motherwell should support Motherwell ... people in Kilmarnock should support Kilmarnock”). When his team won at Tynecastle he labelled Hearts “the most aggressive team in the league”.

He explains: “Maybe in the old days I would have called them the dirtiest. My comments that day probably related to Ian Black [the midfielder was sent off for a tackle on Dean]. I’ve no problem with aggression and don’t want to see it removed from the game but perhaps Ian needs someone to manage him. If he was with me I think he could be one of the best players in the league. This is nothing against Paulo Sergio, who may be managing him very well and it’s just taking time, but if he keeps getting yellow and red cards there’s a problem.”

Shiels, who the day after our chat was due to tour schools to sell Killie to the fans of tomorrow, loves his job at Rugby Park, loves the SPL and thinks Scots are too critical of it – and is really looking forward to next Saturday’s Scottish Communities League Cup semi-final derby with Ayr United. “The business of who supports who in Ayrshire, with different villages going their own way, is a little like Northern Ireland and absolutely fascinating. That said, I’ve been told that if I lose the game I’ve to pack my suitcase!”

Kilmarnock, he’s keen to point out, haven’t had a flair monopoly this season. Motherwell and St Mirren have also earned style plaudits. He admires Peter Houston – “For the complete rebuilding job at Dundee United he’s my manager of the season – and is in awe of Aberdeen’s Craig Brown, still full of enthusiasm at 71. “That’s what I want to be like. That’s why I’m here every morning at 6.30 before they’ve opened the doors. I do my own training to clear my head for the day. I want to stay fit and stay in the game. Am I ambitious? Yes, because I’d like to make a bit of money. I haven’t earned much in my career so far but I’d like to put some away for my wife Gwen when I’m gone. By the way, we got together after I saw her play ladies’ football – what a left foot!”

Candid to the last, Shiels hopes success for Killie this season – “The League Cup final and top six would be unbelievable” – will earn him a new contract. Meanwhile the search continues for a new striker and a call has just come through in the car. This likely lad is a “big unit, a bit Crouchy, not interested in girls, hardly drinks”...