Neil Lennon: Man and Bhoy. Neil Lennon

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       Foreword

      I first met Neil Lennon one lovely summer morning not far from his home town of Lurgan in County Armagh. I was on the first rungs of the management ladder, and he was playing for Crewe Alexandra, trying to rebuild a footballing career that had been threatened by a serious back injury sustained as a young kid at Manchester City. We exchanged pleasantries, I wished him good luck with his life, walked away, and thought little more of Neil Lennon and his problems.

      I had absolutely no idea that not many years later, when I was managing Leicester City, my assistant manager John Robertson and I would drive up to Stockport, encamp ourselves in some rundown hovel and try to persuade the occupant of the said hovel to come and help us get promotion at Leicester rather than play for Premiership club Coventry City, where he was bound the following day. I think I remember seeing a couple of mice in the corner of the sitting room, both probably deafened by some early Oasis music and wistfully eyeing the last remnants of a tuna sandwich lying on the sofa. John and I refused to leave until the ginger-haired, stockily built young Irishman gave us his word that he would join us. Whether or not the mice finished off that sandwich I just don’t know, but the lad decided to come to Leicester and save my bacon.

      For the next four years he bestrode Filbert Street like a colossus, winning tackles, playing the ball, bawling out instructions, cajoling and generally being brilliant. ‘Lenny’, as his team-mates named him, had an immediate and lasting impact, not only in the dressing room but also on the field of play where it really mattered. Every Leicester City fan will testify to his excellence. Certainly, the club itself would not have achieved the success that followed had Neil not been there.

      I left Leicester in June 2000, because the call of Celtic was too great to withstand. I immediately put in a big money offer to my former club in an attempt to persuade Neil to join me at Celtic. For various reasons, he didn’t arrive until December that year, playing his first game for the Hoops one bitterly cold evening at Dundee. We scrambled a late winner, but the following day, some unimpressed reporter wanted to know what was all the fuss about Neil Lennon? I think five-and-a-half years on, he’s got the picture. Whatever Neil achieved at Leicester City, he surpassed at his beloved Celtic.

      Controversy and Neil seem inextricably linked but I suppose given his background—similar to my own—potential bother in Glasgow is never a million miles away. Just occasionally Neil might not be the innocent party. Nights out with Paul Lambert, Chris Sutton, Alan Thompson, Johann Mjallby and Henrik Larsson did not always pass incident-free. The following day’s inquest would always start with, ‘Were you involved in any way, Lenny?’ ‘Absolutely not, gaffer!’ was usually followed by ‘Well, it wasn’t all my fault…’ It was very sad, however, that death threats prevented him playing more football for Northern Ireland, for whom he did so well.

      And now we have had another great season for Neil Lennon, as captain no less. I am genuinely delighted for him, as he is an amazing character and a great, great player—that is stated with almost a decade of knowledge of the man. I also have great regard for his parents, Gerry and Ursula, and I’m sure, like most parents, that they are proud of their boy—almost all of the time!

      He has been one of the best footballers I have known, let alone worked with. His ability is unquestioned, but he also possesses something quite rare in human beings—great courage. That is why I hold him in such high esteem.

      We have both been part of Celtic Football Club for a brief but memorable time in the club’s long history, and we have worked together for a decent period of our lives. Which is why I can say that Neil Lennon is a pretty special man and bhoy.

      I wish him all the best with this book and his life to come.

      Martin O’Neill