Trevor Francis passes

 Trevor Francis passes

Football has often provided us with some of most powerful images that sport can offer. They can be touchingly sentimental, memorably evocative of the period and constant pictorial evidence of just how attractive the game can be at any level. In the old days when Press photographers would huddle around the perimeter of all the old First, Second, Third and Fourth Division grounds, that imagery would leave an indelible mark on the game, demonstrating both the vividness of its all action dynamism and its ability to communicate, with just a few pictures, the game in all its splendour and beauty.

During the 1970s and 1980s one player stood head and shoulders above the rest at both club and international level. He always looked fit, athletic, thin as a bamboo stick, clever in possession and a lethal striker up front. At the time we thought he'd become an overnight sensation, an old fashioned centre forward who was destined to win trophies galore, scoring thousands of goals into the bargain. He was never quite the goal scoring machine but he knew where the goal was and he did like to wheel away in celebration with an upraised arm.

Today Trevor Francis, the first million pound footballer in Britain, died at the shockingly young age of 69. It was announced that Francis had suffered a fatal heart attack and some of us were simply stunned at the suddenness and unexpected nature of Francis passing. For, truth be told, Trevor Francis was always one of football's  nice guys, not exactly a paragon of virtue but an exemplary gentleman of  the game, rarely violating football's enduring laws and keeping his nose clean. Francis was softly spoken, never outrageous in his behaviour, always polite and courteous to all outward appearances and never in trouble with referees.

In an age when footballers were party animals, sadly notorious alcoholics and serial nightclub patrons, Francis preferred the home comforts and the stability that family life had given him. He was a man of integrity and principle, impeccably well mannered at all times and never afraid to try the spectacular goal. He was a teenage prodigy with firstly Birmingham City and, under manager Freddie Goodwin, blossomed into one of the most consistently prolific goal scorers the game had ever seen. At 16 Francis was more than fully equipped for the big time, ready to strike like a panther from the undergrowth.

But one lingering image of Trevor Francis leaves a permanent impression on some of us. Francis had just joined Serie A club Sampdoria in Italy. The last time English footballers had ventured into the Italian game they ensured themselves legendary status. Both the late and much missed Jimmy Greaves, John Charles and Gerry Hitchens had left a wonderful legacy in the sultry heat of an Italian afternoon. But Francis admirably followed in the footsteps of these vastly talented forwards.

You can still see a prodigiously fit, slim and well toned Francis pounding the pavements and roads of Italy, running and sweating profusely towards full fitness. Bare chested and shorts dripping with effort, endeavour and exertion, Francis was determined to make his mark on Italian football. To some extent he succeeded but the lure of English football remained as strong as ever.

By the time Francis had got back to England he found a man who couldn't wait to snap up a player who had clearly signposted his lethal goal scoring tendencies. The late Brian Clough was everything football management had admired and perhaps, unforgivably, envied. Clough was outspoken, militant, adamant that he was always right, iconoclastic, according to some self righteous and arrogant but to others just the greatest manager who ever lived. His lifelong ambition was to be a strident trade unionist, expressing views that were never welcome to those who loathed him but always colourful.

However, when Clough presented Trevor Francis as Britain's first million pound footballer in the late 1970s, the world became both sceptical and never entirely sure of Francis worth. Francis had become a Nottingham Forest player and within the space of two seasons had accumulated two European Cup winners medals with Forest, swooping to head home the winner against Malmo of Sweden in 1979 and then making another appearance against Hamburg a year later who would feature Francis England team mate Kevin Keegan.

After an illustrious career at international level for England, Francis began to wind down his playing career. The unforgivably stressful world of football management beckoned for him. Admittedly he did have success at Sheffield Wednesday as a centre forward but when it came time to hang up his boots, football would become both problematic and challenging for the England man. Queens Park Rangers offered him a golden opportunity but one which he could never really grasp the nettle with. 

Then there was a fleeting spell with Glasgow Rangers before retirement from the game seemed his only option. There was  the after dinner speech circuit combined with a passionate interest in the game as an outside observer. But the transition from player to manager didn't really work which, in retrospect, seems a terrible shame. His death today from a heart attack still leaves some of us numb and speechless. But the name of Trevor Francis will always remembered by those who always believed in him. We mourn his passing deeply. Thanks for those memories. You'll never be forgotten.