Sir Stirling Moss and Peter Bonetti die

Sir Stirling Moss and Peter Bonetti die.

Under ordinary circumstances this would have been like any other Easter Monday. But, sadly, unlike any other Easter Monday in our lifetimes, this is not going to be the same kind of bank holiday any of us are ever likely to witness. There is no one out there, the world is seemingly fast asleep and the kids will have to make do with their chocolate eggs without the rest of their families. Even Easter Parade isn't on the TV this year or at least so it would seem. Even the Easter bunny rabbits and bonnets are nowhere to be seen in any home around the globe.

Yesterday though even sport seemed to come out in sympathy with the current crisis. There is always an air of mourning and loss when sport loses its heroes or veteran pin up boys from another generation. But over the weekend Sir Sterling Moss from motor racing and Peter Bonetti from the world of football both died and some of us could barely take in the sadness of it all. We knew that both Moss and Bonetti had enjoyed richly garlanded careers with loads of praise, flattery and respect ringing in their ears but it still registers as the sharpest of shocks when you hear that the sportsmen you grew up with are no longer here anymore.

Personally the passing of Peter Bonetti, after a courageous battle against Alzheimer's disease, left you gasping for words and reactions since Bonetti represented football during the 1970s in a way that somehow will never be matched. Bonetti came from that outrageous era of flared trousers, platform shoes. silk scarves, The Osmonds, space hoppers, lengthy queues outside local lidos and the Chicken in a Basket feast in your local restaurant or trattoria.

Peter Bonetti was undoubtedly one of the finest Chelsea goalkeepers in the history of the club. Bonetti, nicknamed 'The Cat' owing to his uncanny resemblance to a feline's reflexes, will always be associated with Chelsea since here we had one man who was totally devoted to his club in a manner that would now seem unheard of.

Bonetti, as has always been the way for most players, experienced both the highs and lows, often uncomfortable fluctuations and dips in form that may have broken a lesser mortal. The contrasting moods of any footballer are almost inevitable but for Bonetti one moment was almost horrifically highlighted and years later it was lamented as if it were the one occasion during his career that he would never be forgiven for.

During the 1970 World Cup in Mexico, Gordon Banks, another much loved and now missed goalkeeper, went down with alleged food poisoning on the eve of England's crucial quarter final against West Germany. So Banks had to sit out, quite certainly, one of the most important matches of the tournament and Bonetti would be lumbered with the onerous responsibility of taking over from Banks between the sticks.

The fresh faced and angelic Bonetti, Chelsea through and through, took guard in goal in perfect innocence without knowing at all that disaster would befall him. Franz Beckenbauer, West Germany's magisterial centre half, drilled a powerful shot from just outside the England penalty area and the ball slipped under Bonetti with almost apologetic ease. England had lost their grip on the World Cup and were out of the competition. All hell broke loose at that point and suddenly Bonetti was public enemy one. Oh for a reliable, safe and dependable Gordon Banks.

But months earlier Bonetti had been on the winning side for Chelsea, a triumphant figure in the club's first piece of silverware for what must have seemed ages. On an allotment site that was the old Wembley Stadium, Bonetti played perhaps one of his greatest matches for the Blues. A week before the 1970 FA Cup Final at Wembley, the Horse of the Year Show had ensured that much of the green turf that had once been allowed to flourish was now no more than a thick, cloying mudbath with divots all over the pitch.

The first match between Chelsea and Leeds United was a stodgy and bad tempered game as might have been expected when the two main adversaries and hard men were Norman Hunter and Ron Harris. But Bonetti was magnificent in goal and showed all the commendable skills that perhaps Chelsea might have assumed he'd display.

In the replay at Old Trafford during the following week, Bonetti was even better and even more memorable. With an almost gymnastic agility and impeccable positioning, Bonetti was stupendously outstanding. He flung himself across goal to stop all kinds of shots from Peter Lorimer, Alan Clarke and Johnny Giles and took instant command of his penalty area with an almost charming air of self confidence.

Throughout his club and international career Bonetti would continue to act as an almost impassable barrier in goal, always fit, always athletic, always dedicated to his trade, never allowing for any imperfection to spoil his game and perhaps a perfectionist. He would roll the ball around his area, gloves in spotless condition, assessing the mood of a game and always searching to place the ball in the right spot for hungry forwards. His distribution of the ball had the accuracy of a laser beam and his defenders would never show any sign of anxiety when he had the ball. His catching of the ball from deep, probing crosses was faultless and there was a calming consistency about his performances.

The world of motor racing of course also had its heart broken with the death of Sir Stirling Moss. For those who have never really shown any real enthusiasm for this most hazardous of sports, Moss, though was the notable exception. Rather like the late James Hunt, Moss attracted a whole beauty pageant of female admirers and was never less than pleased to share their company whenever the opportunity arose.

But Moss belonged to an era when juke boxes in coffee bars in Soho were the fashion of the time, rock and roll had revolutionised the music of the 1950s and and cars reminded you of one of the many toy cars that your parents had once presented you with as a child. Moss was smooth, witty, charismatic, flirtatious, immensely popular with the ladies and a marketing dream. He didn't win a major World Championship but was fast on the track, supremely confident and would enjoy more than his fair share of successful victories.

So that was the Sunday that was. We are still fastened down into a state of lockdown, none of us are going anywhere and there is stagnation wherever you look. The coronavirus has left most of us trying to establish some kind of different routine to our days and Monday occasionally feels like Thursday. But how on earth are we going to cope without Judy Garland in Easter Parade? Keep well everybody, stay safe and keep drinking either tea or coffee which ever your preferred choice of drink is.