RIP Sir Bobby

Thousands of words have already been written about the sad passing of Sir Bobby Robson on Friday, and it would be easy to think there is little more anyone else can say.

But for a man so universally loved, it would also seem something of an insult not to recognise his prodigious achievements and the affection with which he is held in this country.

For me, Sir Bobby Robson represents an age of innocence. I was just eight years old when Italia 90 took place but had already been bitten by the football bug. Whether it was through childish naivety or times really were different, it seemed that the country was willing England to give it their all and go as far as they can, rather than today’s expectation to win every competition they enter.

I remember wearing my England shirt whilst sitting on the arm of my parents’ sofa, nervously willing England to somehow find a goal against Belgium. When David Platt hooked in Paul Gascoigne’s late free kick, Bobby danced and so did we.

I remember watching Robson furiously pace up and down as the tournament’s surprise package Cameroon very nearly added England to their list of high profile scalps.

And I remember Robson consoling my hero, Paul Gascoigne, as England’s last great talent was booked and subsequently suspended from a potential world cup final. Shortly after, England lost to West Germany on penalties and Robson was there again to be the shoulder for countless grown men to cry on. But he was also there to congratulate Franz Beckenbaur. As ever, a gentleman in defeat as well as victory.

Italia 90 was my nadir as a football fan and still brings back vivid memories for me. I still feel the pain of that penalty shoot-out defeat, and still get misty eyed at the thought of Gazza’s outrageously talented performances and desire to entertain – on and off the pitch.

But after watching a documentary on Sir Bobby Robson that was made whilst he was still Newcastle manager, it was clear that he shares the same passion for the game as us fans. 15 years on, he was still agonising over how close England came to reaching their first world cup final since 1966. 15 years and five clubs later, he was still thinking what might have been – telling the show’s presenter Gary Lineker that he believed England would have won the final against Maradona’s Argentina. He believed, because when you are a football fan belief is often all you have. Sir Bobby remained a football fan right up until his dying day.

During the same documentary he enthused about the facilities Newcastle’s St James’ Park offered its visitors. He stroked oak doors and marvelled at the grandeur of the place. It was as if a fifteen year-old schoolboy had been given the run of his hometown club for the day. Robson was not a fifteen year old schoolboy, but he was still as passionate a fan of the club as anyone else filing through the stadium’s turnstiles.

And whilst Jose Mourinho, Sir Alex Ferguson and Arsene Wenger will all go down as greats of the English game, they will never be as universally adored as Sir Bobby Robson. Not because they have any less talent than Sir Bobby, nor because they don’t share his passion. It’s because no-one managed to be a player, manager and fan all at the same time, and still be the happiest man in the ground. No-one except Sir Bobby.