There are always moments in this job that you remember more than others. The trips abroad, the sweet-scented nights at all those fabulous old grounds where, even subconsciously, you find yourself quickening your step on the walk in. Or the occasions with the great football men from years gone by, when you know how lucky you are to be in their company, listening to their stories with the shackles off, and it feels like an education.
One of those times, in particular, will always stay with me. I remember how well turned out they all were, in their polished shoes and their smart blazers, and that first moment when Sir Bobby Charlton came up the stairs and brought the room to a respectful silence. He smiled politely but you could see, up-close, that it was going to be an ordeal.
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