https://www.football365.com/news/a-football365-love-letter-to-under-the-moon
Writer John Naughton described the show perfectly as an “anarchic, haphazard, accident-prone, profanity-strewn, nocturnal live television phone-in programme”.
It always was a niche programme; a special indulgence that
some people witnessed Wednesday midnight til 3am on Channel 4 in 1997-98. People would call in drunk. Guests would sometimes be drunk. There were terrible jokes, general farting around, the occasional serious discussion. In charge of it all was Danny Kelly who sat on a catcher’s mitt or a boxing glove beaming happily like some sort of sporting Buddha, the emperor penguin of the chaos that was all around, and you always had the feeling that was exactly how he liked it.
The man himself says: “Channel 4 asked me what I wanted to do. I said lots of guests, live for hours on end, plenty of hoopla, do some comedy things and talk to people just as they talk to each other in pubs. Not broadcasting punditry, which you don’t need.”
Current or ex-players would turn up with a nervous look of fear in their eyes, not quite sure what was expected of them, or what might happen to them.
It started with Tim Clark, a comedian, co-presenting. But there were problems. Rick Thomas, the show’s original producer says: “Danny and Tim were not gelling as well as we would have liked. Certainly, as the cliche goes, the chemistry wasn’t there. I think after two or three shows we were aware that this could be a problem.”
Clark was especially rotten at reading autocues, spoke awkwardly and would often get timings all wrong. So he was booted off and replaced by another comedian, Tom Binns, who says “the whole thing was managed chaos even when it was working”.
But Binns didn’t last long. First he called an 11-year-old boy a c**t after he kicked him up the ar*e, then he got a £20,000 legal fine over something he said about Robbie Fowler and was finally sacked after phoning in to say he’d “give Michael Owen one up the ar*e” after his goal against Argentina in the 1998 World Cup. Of course. We wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
Lisa Rogers, quite possibly the best broadcaster out of all of them, replaced him. Seemingly up for anything no matter how daft, or how much of a fool it made her look, she did all manner of silly features such as one called Flaps In Space (don’t ask). And this:
“She was a tremendous addition, not least because whenever we needed some relief from my big spacehopper of a head, we could cut to Lisa,” says Danny.
But when not being very silly, there were also interesting chats like this one with Duncan McKenzie, who looks remarkably like Sean Custis.
Others went less well. Sadly, I can find no film of the legendary interview between Danny and David Vine. Danny recounts it thus:
“I said to him, ‘the thing about snooker David, is that it’s no good now since they’ve all stopped taking mountains of cocaine.’ At this, The Vine said, ‘I don’t have to listen to this sh*t,’ ripped off his mic and stormed off the set, never to return.”
But of course, this was why we watched. This is what we loved, not least because it wasn’t Danny’s intent to provoke such reaction. It wasn’t contrived at all.
Some callers’ only aim was to get under the radar in order to shout abuse, often aimed at Danny for being a large husky man, or to propose marriage, or at least carnal pleasures, with Lisa.
Quite brilliantly, one time, utterly sick of being called fat, Dan stood up, went to the camera, said where the studio was and seriously offered the caller out for a fight once the show was over and he’d had a drink. No-one showed up.
This was the heavy metal thunder of Under The Moon.
Superhero skills
There are not many clips available but this one is a fairly typical example. A couple of semi-serious calls, some pish-taking and a geezer dressed as Elvis singing “Glory Glory Alan Shearer”.
Most shows had a current player as a guest who was paid about £1,000, which was still good money 20 years ago for a footballer, as much as anyone else. I mean, I’d do it now for a grand!
There was quite clearly a lot of drinking going on. If not by the host – Danny says he was always sober – then certainly by the guests. The big dartboard table in the centre of the studio apparently hid the booze which was necked during ad breaks and films. On one occasion, Phil Tufnell was on his hands and knees under the table drinking, even as the camera rolled.
Today this would be considered unprofessional, but we all know that if everyone on MOTD was drunk it would be tremendous, even if it was just once a year.
It was also a controversial show, albeit often unintentionally so. After the death of Princess Diana, when the next round of games was cancelled because…well…who the hell knows why, Danny got in hot water. “All I said was I do not understand why we’ve cancelled the football. As far as I’m aware she wasn’t even a member of the royal family any more and when Winston Churchill died – and he defeated fascism – we just had a minute’s silence. I thought it was a perfectly safe and sane thing to say. Wow, was I wrong.”
The hate mail poured in for a while, as it did after Jordan’s dog was painfully picked up by its flaps of skin. Only on Under The Moon.
The New Year show from Ibrox was a thing of legend. At the start, guest Paul Elliott was relatively coherent, but by the end was quite possibly the most drunk man ever to appear on live television, with eyelids drooping heavily, jaw slack, speech now beyond him.
The producers asked Danny to do another 18 months at the end of the second series, but he was busy setting up Football365 and replying to emails from people like me who wanted to somehow blend the music of Amon Duul with football writing – (“one day all football websites will feature Amon Duul, but not even Amon Duul II either. No sir, the hardcore original anarcho collective” was his brilliant response) – so they shut it down in 1998, less than two years into the adventure. It had burned brightly and in doing so had set fire to a lot of things.