John Motson, another broadcasting legend passes.

 John Motson, another broadcasting legend passes.

Now that's a shock to the solar plexus, a deeply upsetting piece of news, secretly dreaded. It may feel like the end of a generation since none of us could see it coming and we're shocked beyond belief. Within the space of a couple of days, two of Britain's most lovable and hugely revered TV sports broadcasters have passed away and their legendary presence with it. Firstly it was the inimitable Dickie Davies who graced our Saturday lunchtimes and afternoons and now John Motson who filled the late night slot on our Saturday nights so gracefully and uncomplainingly.

This morning we discovered that the gloriously accurate, immensely well informed and hugely knowledgeable John Motson had passed and the world of football bowed a mournful head, lamenting the passage of an unforgettable period of time that spanned almost the entirety of the 1970s, all of the 1980s before winding down into splendid retirement towards the end of the 20th century. How time flies when you're having fun.

John Motson was our tour guide through childhood and adolescence. He took us on a joyous roller coaster of footballing drama, melodrama, bathos, pathos and an endless sequence of statistics and more statistics. But did that bother us? Not in the least. Motson, or 'Motty' as he was affectionately known, was a football encyclopedia, fully equipped with the simple facts, the important commentaries, the telling observations, dates, birthdays and anniversaries without which we wouldn't have known where players came from or how old they were.

To the uninitiated, Motson may have come across as the proverbial anorak but this was far from the case. John Motson was a conscientious compiler of the obscure and the arcane but then the topical and wonderfully significant. He once claimed that modern technology was probably not for him and that the yellow post it notes on his clipboard were far more legible than Google could ever provide him with. Motson was a good, old fashioned traditionalist, far more comfortable with old school practicalities than those new-fangled website complexities.

And yet it almost didn't happen for Motson. After serving his commendable apprenticeship on the local newspaper circuit and then, most satisfyingly, the radio, Motson joined Match of the Day at exactly the right time and almost as if fate had ordained it to be. It was the match of the weekend, the competition of that weekend, the stars were aligned, the moon in the correct position and everything was ready and prepared for the Salford born sports journalist.

On the Saturday of the third round of the FA Cup in February 1972, John Motson was assigned the match between Hereford United and Newcastle United. At a heaving, seething, throbbing Edgar Street, pulses were racing, blood pressures soaring and Motson was the calming, emollient influence. Dressed in what would become his trademark sheepskin coat and jaunty cap, the nation held its breath. It was almost as if the history books were ready and waiting, the intervention of the incredible about to happen.

The Edgar Street pitch, now more appropriately suited to growing cabbages and beetroots rather than football, came wondrously to life. Newcastle, high flying in the old First Division and Malcolm Macdonald full of stocky, red blooded aggression up front for the Toon, were level pegging with non League outfit Hereford and who could have possibly believed what would happen next? Hereford United, all plucky spirit and determined defiance of the odds, stopped the world on its axis and a nation leapt for joy with delighted impartiality.

Hereford had two icons and ready made newspaper back page heroes, Roy of the Rovers giant killers. The FA Cup had never seen anything like it for years and decades. The last time the non League had captured our imaginations was when Yeovil, under the shrewd guidance of Alec Stock, beat top flight Sunderland in 1948. Surely we were imagining this but we weren't. Non league Hereford had beaten top flight Newcastle. But the man responsible for breaking this sensational news upon a flabbergasted Britain was John Motson.

Two men Ronnie Radford, who also died recently, accompanied by Ricky George in the Hereford white shirts masterminded the finest Cup upset at the beginning of the 1970s. Up in the commentary box a new, fledgling BBC football commentator was oiling his vocal chords. The story, as Motson told us, afterwards, was that had it not been for that Cup tie then maybe we would never have been privileged to  recognise this very distinctive sporting voice. 'Motty' insisted that Hereford against Newcastle was the pivotal turning point in his blossoming career. 

With minutes to go, Radford, an opportunist striker and sensing his opportunity, picked up a beautifully executed pass to him that must have bobbled about for ever on the muddiest pitch. Radford, taking aim precisely, fired an unstoppable shot past the Newcastle keeper and mayhem ensued. Hundreds and thousands of passionate Hereford fans flooded onto the Edgar Street pitch and you've probably seen the same archive footage a million times on FA Cup Final days that followed.

A star was born and John Motson would continue to exercise a most profound influence on the Beautiful Game with a whole host of Match of the Day commentaries every Saturday night, numerous League and FA Cup Finals, UEFA Cup Finals, European Cup matches and a whole host of Charity Shields and League Cup Finals. Motson was a mine of verbal superlatives and fascinating facts once referring to Wimbledon football club as the Crazy Gang and Liverpool as the Culture Club shortly after the 1988 FA Cup Final between Liverpool and Wimbledon had finished. Wimbledon had beaten Liverpool, the most stunningly improbable of all FA Cup Final results. 

At the 1984 European Championships, Motson was the one who screamed elatedly when Michel Platini had scored the winning goal in the Final itself. There was also the amusing moment when Motson would state that, for the benefit of those who still had black and white TVs, Spurs were in the yellow shirts. The statements of the obvious became Motson's signature themes.

By the mid 1990s, a new crop of football commentators were emerging. Sky had the reliable Martin Tyler and ITV had the combined forces of Clive Tyldesley and latterly Sam Matterface while Guy Mowbary, Jonathan Pearce, and Steve Wilson are now football's main reference points. Motson had now taken a back seat on Talk Sport, and then there was a return to his roots but in slightly more controversial territory for a man who might have preferred the more tried and tested formula of BBC's Match of the Day.

But John Motson had several strings to his bow. During the summer the mellifluous Salford tones of Motty would warm the radio airwaves at the tennis pageant that is Wimbledon. From time to time there were occasional forays into boxing, frequent contributions to football magazines and then unannounced pilgrimages to Barnet football club. Nothing could diminish the Motson appetite for the carefully crafted phrase, the magical bon mots and the comment we knew he'd make.

Motson's loyal colleague and good friend Barry Davies, now another classic set of footballing tonsils, you suspect, is probably weeping copiously into his morning cup of espresso or cafe au lait. Both shared commentary duties for what seemed like an age and Davies will be echoing the sentiments of many of us. John Motson has died. It hardly seems possible but it's true. We'll miss you deeply John.