09/10/2014 12:42 BST | Updated 09/12/2014 05:59 GMT

A Bitter Man Who Used to Play Football

I'm a massive Manchester United fan, don't get me wrong, so when I embark on a mission such as this - to intellectually assassinate Roy Keane's post-retirement, whistle blowing, reveal-all, hate-all, sell your soul to the devil to make some easy money, attitude. I am tinged with melancholy.

Roy Keane was a great footballer. The absolute perfect blend of being fearless and feared.

This week, extracts of his latest autobiography, The Second Half, have been released through the Great British Press. My suspicions are all but confirmed: he is an appalling human being .

What better place to begin, than with his condemnations of Sir Alex Ferguson. Ironic how Mr. Keane now noshes away at the hand that used to feed him, safe in the knowledge his body could only dream about commanding the money it used to. All those years he must have been taking seditious notes he knew would provide his retirement fund. A sly harbouring hatred that festered for the man, who whether you liked him or not, made you into everything you are.

His diatribe continues, with sports broadcasters, former teammates and anyone who didn't quite see eye-to-eye with him, all targeted. In fact, the only praise he was willing to impart, was reserved for Cristiano Ronaldo, who's star he pompously declared foreseeing rise. Sure Roy, anything that makes you sound like you know what you're talking about.

In many ways, Roy reminds me of Katie Hopkins, the irritably contaminated fiend who appeared on The Apprentice many years ago, who now makes a living by being a contrarian wind-up merchant. Roy Keane, it appears, has decided to follow in her unenviable footsteps. Both will eventually fall out of the public spectrum, and both will do their utmost to stem that dispersion, through wielding offensive and deeply personal campaigns of personal hatred.

Who could ever, in good conscience, work with Roy Keane again, knowing that years down the line, in perhaps the fifth instalment of his pathetic excuse for an autobiography, you will be slandered for having long hair (a la Robbie Savage) or a minor disagreement you once had with our' precious Roy?

I haven't read his latest book, for I would not subject my Kindle to his puerile waffle, but extracts have provided me with ample opportunity to analyse his writing style. Unfortunately I couldn't come up with one. Though I could discern a predilection for swear words. Oh, you big strong man Roy! And let it be known, I don't write this article from a moral high ground afforded to me from a background of middle class education. Roy Keane is an intelligent man, and I believe his choice of words and volleys of criticism are an act of calculated precision. Roy Keane is a brand, and one which gets the public talking. Which, suddenly pondering over, fills me with regret that I wasted 500 precious words on him. I'll stop now.