Why Jamaica role for ex-Newcastle United manager Steve Bruce makes perfect sense

The man is motionless, but for the gentle rise and fall of his burnt belly, exposed to the blistering sun from beneath the unbuttoned folds of a George at Asda linen shirt. An empty packet of Frazzles lies spent on the lounger beside him, and a copy of a long-forgotten book entitled ‘Striker!’ rests open - bent and well-worn at the spine - pointing skywards, like the roof of a tiny paper barn, on his chest. It is an unusually pleasant day on Tyneside, and this figure, cooking like a joint of glazed ham in a broiler, is snoozing contentedly.

Abruptly, his peace is shattered. First the shrill ringing of the landline bleeds into the fuzzy edges of his dream (he is dreaming of a land in which the streets are paved with Vienetta ice cream), then he becomes aware of somebody calling his name, rather urgently. It is the voice of his wife. ‘Steve!’, she bellows, ‘Telephone!’. Shaking off the last crumbs of sleep (and Frazzle dust), he groggily shouts back, ‘It’ll be those bloody double glazing scammers again, tell them to sod off! We’re not interested!’. He cricks his neck to see Mrs Bruce now standing on the threshold of the patio doors, receiver in hand. ‘No, love’, she replies, ‘They say they’re from the Jamaican FA’.

It might just be the transfer story of the summer. Steve Bruce, children’s author turned football manager, is reportedly, genuinely, actually in talks to fill Jamaica’s head coach vacancy. That sound you can hear is the entirety of Football Twitter^TM scrambling to tweet ‘How’s the beer can, did you say?’ in perfect, ruddy-cheeked unison.

Bruce, of course, has been out of work since leaving West Bromwich Albion in October 2022; not that he has minded his enforced sabbatical too much, you suspect. The grandfatherly pinata of so many ill-tempered discourse bashings collects compensation packets like decorative Toby jugs, and between those and the occasional punditry panel appearance on under-staffed Super Sundays, he appears to be having a rather nice time away from the dugout.

Which is why, if he is to make his grand return, international management - and more specifically, a role with Jamaica - may prove to be the perfect project. Compared to relegation battles with Newcastle United, say, it would be like getting the sack from a janitorial role at the Overlook Hotel and landing a gig as a nightwatchman at a Sandals Resort.

Because while the comedic potential of a real life Cool Runnings remake with Bruce in the John Candy role is almost endless - (Steve solemnly uttering, ‘There’s no need for language like that, pet’ after having the concept of jerk chicken explained to him; Steve making that tired, ‘No, she wanted to’ dad joke 37 times a day in his soft Geordie lilt as an unconscious reaction to whenever somebody says the word ‘Jamaica’ in his general vicinity; Steve watching Marley and Me in an effort to acclimatise with the culture and wondering when the dog is going to start singing Buffalo Soldier) - the fact is that this feels weirdly... sensible.

Aside from the obvious merits of a lighter schedule, away from the limelight of the English footballing pyramid - and the cruel, mocking scrutiny it so often spews forth - maybe Bruce can finally find some love and appreciation. The Reggae Boyz, after all, had such a shockingly poor Copa America campaign - finishing bottom of their group without a single point - that the bar of expectation is encouragingly low. Sprinkle in a smattering of genuinely decent talent - a Leon Bailey here, a Michail Antonio there - and there are reasons to believe that Steve could turn an uphill battle into an upwards trajectory.

And hell, worst case scenario, Bruce gets another hefty pay-off and a few months bronzing himself in the Caribbean for his troubles. When you put it like that, he’d have to have cabbage for brains to turn it down. If nothing else, surely it has to beat sunbathing in a back garden in the North East.