George Best RIP

[Sweder]

I think I know what you mean, Tim. But you have to separate the footballer from the drunkard. You could take a moral view of many great figures in history and very few would stand even a cursory glance into their private life.

George Best was a wizard on the football pitch.
You only have to listen to the accolades pouring into 5 Live on Friday from fellow professionals to know what a positive impact he had on people who knew him. They all speak of genuine human warmth. Pat Murphy, the acerbic journo who works for the beeb and does not suffer fools lightly, spoke in hushed, reverant tones about watching Best perform at Old Trafford, riding the scything assaults from Jack Charlton, Norman Hunter and Ron Harris. Best was kicked from pillar to post (when they could catch him), and yet he remained top scorer at United, alongside Law, Charlton, Kidd et al, for four seasons.

These days a defender only has to look at Thierry Henri or Ruud van Nistelroy and the ref blows up. To paraphrase, they are not fit to lace Bests drinks, never mind his boots.

For me, as a young lad going to Highbury, Stamford Bridge, Whitehart Lane and Upton Park with my Uncles, Best was sensational. Through the skills of this one man my passion for football, so often dissappointed by todays' prima donnas, was born.

One piece of international magic (rather like Ryan Giggs, a player damned by comparison with Best, George was destined to miss out on the major international tournaments) sticks in the memory. A fantastic raid on Gordon Banks in a home international match where, as Banks tossed the ball up to launch it down field, Best stole in, flicked the ball over the 'keepers head and into the net. The ref dissallowed it. When asked about the decision some weeks later, the ref explained that he had 'never seen anything like it. I just didn't know what else to do.'

Rest in peace, Georgie the Belfast Boy.