Galactic Keegan. Scott Innes

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Galactic Keegan - Scott Innes

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       CONTENTS

       Dedication

       Prologue

       Palangonia FC

       Loggerheads

       Pizza and Ice Cream

       The Irresistible Force

       The Spy

       Locked Down

       General Leigh

       Locked Up

       The Light Bulb

       To the Library

       Clues

       Goodbye, England’s Rose

       None so Arrogant

       Some Kind of Bad Dream

       Death from Above

       Etchings

       Into the Wild

       Slasabo-tik

       The Prophecy

       The Marshes

       Great Strombago

       It Is Not Today

       Victorious Defeat

       Infinite Malaise

       A Way Out

       A Good Man

       Acbaelion Outpost XXI

       The Makazka

       An Enemy Unmasked

       The Weapon

       Rumours

       The Battle of Palangonia

       Smells Like Team Spirit

       The Last Stand

       And That Was That

       Laika’s Gift

       Epilogue

       Acknowledgements

       A note on the author

       Palangonia FC Hall of Fame

       Supporters

       Copyright

      For KB, who made it happen

      and

      for Laura, always.

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      PROLOGUE

      The more things change, the more they stay the same.

      I forget who said that – possibly Bryan Robson. I’d ask him, but last I heard he was rounded up and forced to perform hard labour in the phlebonium mines on Gralka IV. He’ll be disappointed with that.

      But either way, it’s true. You go through a great deal in your life and in my seven or so decades I’ve maybe seen more than most. Some things I’ll treasure: my Liverpool days, my time in Germany, taking over at Newcastle. But then there are the things I’d sooner forget: that header at the ’82 World Cup, falling off that bloody bike on Superstars, giving Paul Ince my phone number (seriously, there are only so many times you can tolerate receiving a breathy phone call at three in the morning as Incey says, ‘Gaffer – it’s happened again.’). And, of course, the lowest of the low: 1995–96.

      Everyone likes to harp on about how my Newcastle lads threw away the league title that season, chucked a twelve-point lead in the bin and allowed Man United to pip us on the final day. But the thing that I’ve always said – and I absolutely stand by this today – is that if the league season had finished in January rather than May, we’d have won the title.

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