Another 1966 World Cup winner passes. Jack Charlton dies.

Another 1966 World Cup winner passes. Jack Charlton dies.

Another giant oak tree has fallen. Jack Charlton, who today died at the age of 85, was a towering colossus of a footballing centre half, a man never to be messed with by any opponent in his playing days and woe betide the player who fell out with him as the highly regarded manager of the Republic of Ireland.

Charlton, the most loyal, one-club men of them all, performed with an almost royal distinction at Leeds United for his entire playing career and would never look back regretfully at any totally unwarranted criticism of his playing style. Charlton was as hard as they come, powerful in the air, ruthless, uncompromising and, by his own admission, he simply stopped onrushing attackers, reserving most of the bouquets of praise for his kid brother Bobby who for many years would never talk to him and then patched up his differences with him because life was too short for unnecessary arguments.

But Jack Charlton belonged quite unequivocally to the old school of footballing hard men, one of football's so called cloggers who, once he'd committed himself to a tackle, would never hold back. Many a seasoned old First Division player would admit on more than one occasion to a sense of fear and trepidation as big Jack would rumble forward for a corner or free- kick.

Tall as a beanpole and leggy as the giraffe as he would affectionately become nicknamed as, Charlton was a domineering, statesmanlike and unyielding figure at the back for Leeds. Charlton was never renowned for his skill on the ball or some creative bohemian who would bring nothing but flair to that much talked about Leeds side under Don Revie. However, he was fair but firm, strong and fiercely dedicated to the cause, unflinching in those collisions with big, bustling forwards such as Peter Osgood at Chelsea or Jimmy Greaves at Spurs.

After deciding not to enter the mining collieries of his native North East on a full time basis, Charlton  was recruited by deeply focused and shamelessly aspirational Don Revie, the manager who brought the very best out of Charlton. Rather than joining his native Newcastle or Sunderland, his inspirational mother Cissie would join in with her sons garden kickabouts with an almost whimsical air about her. Charlton though turned his back on both Newcastle and Sunderland and Leeds came a calling.

For Charlton though international recognition would come inexplicably late on in his career. This is not to suggest that he was a late developer but at the age of 30 Sir Alf Ramsey, the England manager, would call him up to his eventually triumphant World Cup- winning team. Against a very tough and stubborn West German side, Charlton was imperious, immaculate and totally in control of everything at the heart of England's immovable defence. He was a studious reader of the game, a player of footballing erudition, vocal, blunt and absolutely no- nonsense into the bargain.

The story went that when Bobby Moore was in possession of the ball with only seconds of extra time left and the World Cup in their hands, Charlton would plead vociferously with Moore to get rid of the ball with a couple of Anglo Saxon expletives. So Moore promptly obliged, Geoff Hurst raced away and thrashed the ball into the back of the net for England's cherry on the cake fourth and decisive goal.

Then Charlton, in one of the many iconic moments during the 1966 World Cup Final, slumped to his knees at the old Wembley, gazed at the heavens and wished the day would never end for him. He held his hands up in a brief display of celestial gratitude. Charlton knew what had just happened but couldn't quite take in the magnitude of this remarkable achievement. It was a day when time, quite literally seemed to stop still and then become frozen since the England national football team would never experience such a day again. Maybe one day, maybe some day.

Charlton was innumerably capped for England and then emerge as a successful winner of major trophies. He won the old First Division championship with Leeds in 1969, the FA Cup with Leeds in 1972, a League Cup in 1968 and the UEFA Cup twice. Charlton always loved the cut and thrust of the big occasion, never happier than when his brother Bobby sent over a corner for our |Jack to head in at the near post for England. A perfect sibling footballing partnership.

It may have one of the many urban myths and one of those apochryphal stories that may have lost something in the translation but you'd be inclined to believe that it did happen. Worse for drink after the greatest football day of his life, Jack Charlton boarded a Central Line tube train heading for any Essex suburb that took his eye. We are now led to believe that Charlton got off the train at Leytonstone, knocked on the door of the first house he could find and, allegedly, sat in the garden of the resident's home, no doubt telling that same World Cup winning story over and over again.

Above all Charlton loved winning, loved to hog the limelight. He was booked and sent off on countless occasions, injured frequently and, notoriously hung on goal lines like a lighthouse winking its light. In 1973 Middlesborough came calling with his first managerial job. Middlesborough were promoted from the old Second Division to the First under Charlton and a messiah was born. He'd caught the managerial bug and became addicted to the taste of victory.

In the swansong of his career, Charlton was bestowed with the ultimate accolade. When the Republic of Ireland summoned him Charlton had no hesitation. In 1990 Charlton took Eire to their very first World Cup in Italy and then four years later in the USA. In the roasting heat of an American summer's day, Charlton, in a hissy fit of pique and red mist anger, lost his temper understandably with a poor, unsuspecting linesman and official and in a flurry of animated fingers, told the FIFA judiciary exactly what he thought of them.

Retirement beckoned for Charlton after that now celebrated World Cup venture and his lifelong passion for fishing by the most tranquil of river banks took him completely away from the hot furnaces of club and international football. In recent years Jack Charlton took a back seat from the game because he'd adorned football with his humorous and authoritative presence. Our Jack was a legend and our Bobby will weep a river of tears for his kid brother. Football will, quite naturally, miss him. Thanks for the memories Jack.