It's sad that Kevin Keegan has left football.

Sad if you prefer passion, pride and openness in managers rather than dry, soulless technocrats who may well be weighed down by coaching qualifications, wax lyrical about what they learned at Lilleshall, but haven't a clue how to galvanise a club and its supporters.

Keegan was flawed as a manager. Not too clued up about modern coaching methods, sceptical about the art of defending and certainly in his last job at Manchester City, a failure in the transfer market.

Whatever made him think that Steve McManaman and Robbie Fowler could be satisfactory long-term captures? Players like those two get managers the sack but Keegan endearingly kept faith in them, because deep down he was a football fan.

That was the attraction of Kevin Keegan. He simply loved the game.

When Bill Shankly plucked him from the steelworks in Scunthorpe to transform him into an idol for Liverpool, Keegan's sheer joy in playing and his effervescence were contagious and warming.

The son of a Yorkshire miner, who respected the validity of hard work in any profession, Keegan made himself into a wonderful player. He was still running his socks off in his mid-30s.

That's what made Keegan's departure so sad. He'd simply fallen out of love with the game and that is a salutary warning to those complacent enough to feel that football still has a hold on the public's affections.

This season, Keegan has cut an increasingly tired and depressed figure, as he came to terms with his limitations as a manager, the financial realities of the game, and the reluctance of his players to give every last drop of effort to their profession. A charge that could never be laid at the door of Kevin Keegan.

His last interview was significant. Keegan said that the top three clubs were now so far ahead of the rest in the Premiership that the others could only battle to be the best in a second league within the division.

It wasn't like Keegan to stint on roaring defiance and the sort of unyielding optimism that made him such an attractive figure, but financial realities had at last brought him up short.

And the reality is, when there are no windmills left to tilt at, then it's time to fold up the tent and slope away. That's what Keegan did when he resigned as manager of England late in 2000 after a desperately disappointing, limp defeat by Germany at Wembley.

Keegan had the decency and honesty to admit that he was falling short of the tactical maturity and skills necessary to lead his country into the next phase of international football.

A lesser man would have carried on bluffing the media, blaming the press for negativity or shifting the blame onto the players. Keegan took the rap and walked away with honour.

Earlier that week his mother, who had been so proud of him, had died. Keegan asked for no favours in his personal grief and showed true character on his darkest day as a manager.

All of us of a certain age in our profession have specific memories of Keegan's personal warmth. If ever you wanted to choose a manager to make a fuss of a pensioner or a nervous child, he'd never let you down. Keegan had the natural, unforced ability to brighten a stranger's day.

I remember a testimonial match years ago for a Sutton United player whose name I can't recall.

Keegan came to the Gander Green Lane ground when he was still a Newcastle player and he captivated everyone. One of the last to leave, he had offered a cameo on the pitch, then ran the line, bantering with the crowd and ended up in the bar, posing for endless photographs and charming the old ladies.

To this day, they won't hear a word against Kevin Keegan in that part of Surrey.

That humanity was one one of the reasons why Keegan's Newcastle United was so popular in the mid-1990s. That freewheeling, attacking side was an extension of Keegan's character.

The 5-0 demolition of Manchester United in October 1996 was the highwater mark of an exhilarating five years at St James' Park and for many neutrals, it was a serious disappointment that Newcastle didn't win the championship under Keegan.

Yet that's another part of the land that still reveres his name.

He could be thin-skinned and tetchy at times, but that was part of his honest make-up. Most of the time he was excellent value and generous with his time.

He dropped his aitches without a second thought, made regular use of the 'y'know' phrase but could see the funny side of all that when he was bubbly and up for the craic.

Many of Keegan's malapropisms are priceless - 'the ref was vertically 15 yards away'; 'the tide is very much in our court now'; 'I've had an interest in racing all my life, or longer actually' - but he never purported to be a smarty pants, and didn't take himself seriously.

It's hard to see him getting back into football management now. He's 54, a bit of a backwoodsman in his approach to the game and he didn't handle his protracted farewell from Manchester City all that impressively.

Keegan was dead meat from the time he announced he'd be retiring at the end of next season.

So we'll probably only see him at a football ground in the future when perched on a TV commentary gantry. But he'll still be signing more autographs than anyone else in this industry that is too po-faced about dealing with the public.

Kevin Keegan usually showed grace and enormous generosity in that department. He deserved a more fitting departure.

Stamford Bridge thriller devalued by over-rated style of Collina

Pierluigi Collina and a collection of Barcelona players in animated debate at Stamford Bridge last week

Chelsea's pulsating victory over Barcelona was a stunning sporting occasion.

It also gave us further evidence that Pierluigi Collina is ridiculously over-rated as a referee.

You know how received wisdom gathers momentum in sport? The opinion that the US Masters in Augusta is the greatest golf tournament around, that Wimbledon represents the last word in tennis prestige, that Lord's is a dream for all cricket fans?

Personal opinion hardens into fact, embellished and handed down through newspaper articles and commentaries. Well, I feel like the small boy who sees the emperor wearing no clothes when I analyse Collina.

In this column last July, I drew attention to Collina's lax dealings with players during Euro 2004.

His disinclination to administer yellow cards, despite justification, marks him out as a referee who courts popularity with the players, despite an apparently fearsome disposition. Bald head, bulging eyes, imposing, straight-backed stature: don't mess with this bloke, he seems to suggest.

Yet in the Euro 2004 semi-final he was astonishingly lenient with Greece as they niggled their way towards victory, despite violating many laws known only too well to Collina. And he got most of the key decisions wrong at Stamford Bridge last week.

The penalty award to Barcelona was ridiculous. Chelsea's Ferreira wasn't even looking at the ball as it struck him on the arm, so there was clearly no intent. And then he cautioned the Chelsea defender!

Collina's weakness, despite his image, was apparent when Barcelona's Xavi went to ground too easily under a tackle.

Collina motioned to him to get up, but produced only a yellow card when a Chelsea player got in his ear about the obvious play-acting.

If he was going to caution Xavi off his own bat, he would have done so right away, rather than allow a player to influence his judgment.

And John Terry's goal that settled the tie should never have been allowed. Collina was in an ideal position to see that the Barcelona keeper was blatantly obstructed by Carvalho as Terry shaped up for the killer header.

Barcelona's players were perfectly entitled to protest but Collina wouldn't budge.

And yet everybody in the football media keeps trotting out the opinion that Collina is the best in the world. Within a few minutes of the start, the commentator will tick off that cliche on his sheet and we'll be told that he's not a referee to be trifled with, that the players rate him highly. Well, he's due to retire soon because he's reached the age of 45, and that's the limit in Italy for a referee.

There's speculation that Uefa might make an exception for Collina, allowing him to carry on, running the big games.

That idea should be resisted. Like Steve Bucknor in cricket umpiring, his time is up. No amount of knee-jerk lionising from lazy commentators can obscure that essential truth.

Knight's shining example in face of adversity

Henrietta Knight passed test of temperament and standards

Classy behaviour isn't so common in sport that we should fail to highlight it when necessary. The withdrawal of Best Mate from this Friday's Cheltenham Gold Cup is a case in point.

By common consent, the trainer of Best Mate, Henrietta Knight, is a very nice person. As is the jockey, Jim Culloty, and the horse's owner, Birmingham businessman Jim Lewis.

But nice people can easily remain so when things are going their way, as they have done with Best Mate winning the Gold Cup three times in a row.

It's when adversity knocks on the door that temperament and standards are tested. Judging by the way that this trio conducted themselves when Best Mate broke a blood vessel, they are people of substance.

In other sports, something as important would have seen the principal characters head for the hills, with the mobile phones switched off and the media left in the dark.

Fortunately, Henrietta Knight has always believed that her beloved horse belongs to the public. That's why she answers every item of fan mail.

That's why she found herself on the phone just before ten o'clock on Thursday morning, working out her priority of calls with the dreaded news. The first was to Best Mate's owner, Lewis. Then she rang the officials at Cheltenham to tell them that the horse would not be there this week, aiming for a fourth successive Gold Cup.

Her third call was to BBC Radio's racing correspondent, Cornelius Lysaght. Henrietta felt that the public needed to know the dreaded news as soon as possible.

So she came on the 10.30 Five Live sports news and gave an object lesson in how to deal with a grievous setback with great dignity.

As befits a former debutante and biology teacher, she didn't lack poise and verbal clarity in explaining the medical complications and then, when asked about her personal feelings, she was admirably candid and open.

Henrietta was thoughtful and kind enough to mention her staff at the yard who had been left shattered at Best Mate's injury and she paid graceful tribute to their devoted attention to the great horse. All this, live on the radio, less than two hours after Best Mate broke a blood vessel before Henrietta's very eyes.

For the rest of that day, she obliged all the media requests. Every photographer who turned up unannounced at her training yard was obliged, as she posed alongside Best Mate, keeping a stiff upper lip even when she must have felt like having a hearty blub. Lewis and Culloty also obliged with enough quotes to keep everyone happy.

Even the following morning, Henrietta Knight was still doing live interviews for local radio stations when she must have wanted to lock the door on the world and put the kettle on.

It was a textbook lesson in sophisticated, good-humoured management of the media. Underpinning it was respect from Best Mate's team for those toilers of our trade who are only trying to do their job to the best of their abilities.

Henrietta Knight sees no harm in sharing her marvellous horse with the rest of the world, even in times of heartache. That's when you can appreciate the qualities of a human being, when they are up against it.

Can you imagine a football manager being so open about his star player being ruled out just before the FA Cup Final?