Ian St John, Liverpool's striking warrior and TV joker.

 Ian St John, Liverpool's striking warrior and TV joker. 

Ian St John, who died yesterday at the age of 82, was one of British TV's most unlikely and improbable of funny men. During the ground-breaking, eventful, revolutionary and eventful 1960s when the whole world spun on its axis a hundred times over, St John was one of the most effective, powerful and lethal strikers for one of the greatest football clubs of all time. The team was Liverpool and St John always carried himself with a modesty and humility that very few could match.

Ian St John scored one of the winning goals for Liverpool in the 1965 FA Cup Final with a trademark poacher's goal that was typical of the man. St John was always in the right spot at the right time and finished off those beautifully constructed Liverpool attacking movements with either a fierce header into the roof of the net or a thunderbolt of a shot that billowed the opposition net in no time. He was a fundamental part of two of Liverpool's old First Division championship teams who lifted the League trophy with a righteous pride and dedication to the cause at all times. 

But yesterday the effervescent lad from Motherwell passed away peacefully among his family and friends, a father, commendable fund raiser for local charities and, most certainly, one of the most cheerful men on London Weekend TV in a Britain who instantly fell in love with his engaging quips, infectious laughs and the unrivalled humour that came to define his outlook on life.  

For a number of years 'Saint and Greavesie' shot to prominence as one of the funniest, quirkiest and, above all, most entertaining of football's TV magazine shows. By the time St John had teamed up with that other legendary forward Jimmy Greaves, the whole of Britain could identify with two men who had established not only the warmest rapport on TV but cast an entirely new and radiant light on the game they'd always loved. 

For Ian St John it had all started way back in those swinging, rocking and rolling 1960s at a time when everything suddenly became possible, feasible, accessible, desirable and impressive looking. He'd grown up in Motherwell, a Scottish team who had muddled their way through the years and seasons without ever challenging the status quo and the established dominance of both Rangers and Celtic. 

So what did he do. Bill Shankly, Liverpool's hugely revered and idolised manager, was hunting around for strikers to complete Liverpool's all conquering, unbeatable aura. Before St John's arrival Liverpool had won the old First Division trophy on a number of occasions. But then Ian St John was plucked from relative obscurity and Liverpool were both reformed and transformed overnight. They went from being nobodies and easy pickings to the team nobody wanted to face on a Saturday afternoon. 

St John, as we all know, played alongside some of the most irrepressible talents ever to be seen in a red Liverpool shirt. There was the whippet quick, fast and furious, delicate and deceptive wing wizardry of Peter Thompson, all slippery, sinewy, snake hipped movement, petrifying pace and a goal scorer extraordinaire. There was Ian Callaghan, controlled, studious, a midfield engineer and architect with all the tricks of the trade. Callaghan had the softest touch on the ball, a steadying influence amid the muck and bullets, quietly going about his business and then seizing on the opposition's shortcomings with a slide rule pass or measured through ball. 

At the heart of that very distinguished Liverpool's defence was Ron Yeats, a Goliath at the back, ruthless, immovable, impregnable, a rock, a boulder blocking all paths to goal and totally unapologetic. Yeats must have taken a young St John under his wing and told him that if he didn't score a hat-trick on any match day for Liverpool his ear would be blasted by a verbal grenade. And yet, in all seriousness, St John was never one for hiding from the artillery, the critical comments that he must have bombarded with from the Kop when Liverpool were struggling for goals.

Yesterday though Ian St John joined the rest of his professional colleagues who have so recently departed the global footballing community. St John, though will be recalled with enduring affection because he was the forerunner for Liverpool's conveyor belt of successors to his throne. Maybe the likes of Kevin Keegan and John Toshack will raise a toast for Liverpool's 1970s attacking royalty. It will surely be the finest of red wines.

Or maybe St John will be slotted into the category of fabled strikers who lit up the 1980s. When the likes of Ian Rush and Kenny Dalglish offered their warm condolences to the St John family, friends and acquaintances, they knew that they too had been the authors of one of the great footballing stories of all time.

But for now Ian St John will be laid to rest and you can still hear that unmistakable cackle of laughter, the easy going sincerity in his voice when he referred to football and Liverpool. For St John scoring goals was not so much an art form more of a genuine pleasure. This morning the Kop will indeed bow its head once again because they will readily acknowledge that St John had, in a sense, become one of their adopted and favourite sons, a player who gave everything, blood, sweat and tears, goals galore. There will be fond reminiscences of the team in red. In a sense St John was one of Liverpool's own.