Scotty Stevenson: Hard to get bite out of Makos boss
As his Tasman side have a chance to lead the provincial Premiership, something special is building
Kieran Keane says he's not here to make up the numbers. Photo / Getty Images
He says he hates interviews, but that can't possibly be because he doesn't like talking. Trust me, Kieran Keane, KK, head honcho of the Tasman Makos, former PE teacher, straight-faced veteran of the coach's box, loves a chat. Of course, in these parts, a chat is commonly referred to as a "bit of banter" and Kieran Keane definitely loves a bit of banter.
What he doesn't like, about interviews that is, is the fact that he's not in control of the questions. He loves asking questions - asks them of his players every day, tests them for weaknesses, interrogates them in search of holes in their understanding - but he's not a huge fan of having to answer them. Which is funny, because he gives a good answer. He's the interview equivalent of a Rubik's Cube; it takes a while to get him, but when you finally do it's very satisfying.
And Kieran Keane is quite satisfied too. His Tasman side have a chance to go top of the Premiership this weekend - a remarkable achievement considering they were only promoted to the top flight this year after a breakthrough Championship victory in 2013.
I say quite satisfied because it is doubtful he's ever completely satisfied. He would have quit by now if he was, but after 35 years of coaching he's still going. Maybe he's only warming up.
He's got a reputation as a grump. I wonder if he's cultivated that image intentionally. "Yes," he says, before breaking into a smile. He smiles like a wise tortoise. "But I love my players - dearly, actually." Well, if he's not a grump, he's certainly to the point. "Well, you have to be straight up. It's cheaper and it's easier and you don't need such a long memory if you tell the truth."
His players love him dearly too. But they know better than to poke the bear. Captain Joe Wheeler tells me Keane's "like a loyal old dog", which passes for utmost reverence in Marlborough, and as a compliment in the strange and wonderful mind of Wheeler.
Tim Perry calls him "Cuddles", in reference to that one time a few years ago Keane put his arm around the out-of-shape drifter's shoulders and suggested he start taking his rugby seriously. Perry, Liam Squire, Quentin Macdonald - they all have Keane to thank, at least in part, for putting them on the path to rugby righteousness.
"Oh, there're some beaut stories around here," laughs Keane. And there're some beaut stories about him too.
There was that one time at Marlborough Boys' College when he sent one seriously cerebrally challenged student out to the carpark to count the stones. Amazingly, the kid came back and gave him an answer. Unimpressed, Keane told him he was wrong and sent him back out for a recount.
Or how about the prop forward who so frustrated the coach during a training session that he was sent to the end of the field - to count the pine needles on a pine tree? Unlike the aforementioned student, the front-rower never returned a figure. For all we know he's still there. Staring into the canopy, wishing he had more fingers and toes.
He's got a big job at Tasman, KK, one he says he's quite comfortable with. But he's never comfortable with his achievements, even though he likes to celebrate them. He certainly celebrated Tasman's first title last season, when Trafalgar Park was fit to bust and the Makos watched Ihaia West's potential match-winning conversion sail past the posts. But he calls it a first stop.
"I'm not here to make up the numbers," he tells me. "I want to be a credible option for the country. That drives me, that drives the boys here."
His style is intensely analytical, he is deeply invested in the nuances of the game, and he empowers his players to have a go. "There's an old saying, Sumo, they do this, we do that. So, we do that." I have no idea what he is talking about. I think he knows that, and quite likes it that way.
What we do know is the Makos are building something special at the top of the South Island, in a union split by "the hill", on either side of which the grapes ripen on the sun-licked vines. And we know that Keane is enjoying every second of it.
"I've coached battlers most of my life," he says with pride. "And I get a lot of pleasure out of that."
If only he got more pleasure out of being interviewed.
