You’d have to be mad to be a goalkeeper.

I was never a great footballer. I was one-footed, had no power in my leg, and possessed no tactical awareness. I didn’t have much going for me apart from a bit of pace and a bad attitude — like George Best if he had never played football, I used to tell myself. But I had good reflexes, I didn’t mind getting dirty, and I wasn’t scared of getting my face kicked in. That last one was the primary requisite for playing in goal at that age.

You’ll have heard this before, but things were different when I was a lad. Referees didn’t protect goalkeepers back then; you got kicked and shoulder-charged, and you had to give as good as you got. You never saw a goalie in tracksuit bottoms. A lot of them didn’t even wear gloves. And you didn’t have to be tall, just agile. Reading’s Steve Death was all of five foot seven.

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