Francis Lee dies

 Francis Lee dies.

We can all remember where we were on the day that incident took place, straight from the music hall joke factory, comedy gold and football at its funniest and most frivolous. It happened during the 1970s. It was an afternoon when all football kicked off simultaneously at 3pm in the afternoon, referees were strict but fair and linesmen were who they were supposed to be. There were no sponsors on players shirts and Littlewoods was a pools company or maybe we were thinking of the department store. The League Cup  was simply that and nothing else.

There weren't any assistant referees nor did they possess VAR spray, an aerosol can of any description and offside was emphatically indisputable rather than some delayed reaction to a goal that had clearly been chalked off because the rules stipulated as such. There were no pitchside monitors showing old BBC Test Cards, no toes, elbows or arms as the only measurement used for deciding offside and no presses apart from the printing types who would chronicle the feisty exploits of 1970s players.

Today though, one of the 1970s most colourful and charismatic figures Francis Lee died at the age of 79. Lee was one of those formidable footballing characters, an unapologetic, ruthless and uncompromising attacking midfield player who never stood on ceremony, crunching into tackles with all the ferocity of a pit bull terrier and simply unyielding. He would have been considered as a hatchet man during the 1970s and with the benefit of a hindsight, this would have been the most accurate of descriptions. 

But it was during one old First Division match on a misty November afternoon in 1975 that Lee came to prominence as one of the chief villains of the piece. In fact if this had been an early pantomime rehearsal it could hardly have gone any better. Lee, now settled at Derby County, faced a Leeds United featuring the tigerish Billy Bremner, the immensely cultured Johnny Giles, the deadly shooting power of Peter Lorimer, the trickery and deceptive subtlety of Mick Jones on the wing, the lighthouse tall Jack Charlton and a side containing constant movement off the ball, passing of the highest quality but one that was disturbingly sinister and underhand at times. There was a naughty but nice side to Leeds at times but Lee cared nothing for reputations. 

In a tight and fiercely competitive encounter at Derby's old Baseball Ground, both Lee and Norman Hunter, in an off the ball moment, suddenly came face to face with each other. Of course there had never been any love lost between these seasoned and wizened troopers and the breaking point came sooner rather than later. In a split second, Lee eyeballed Hunter and the two engaged in the kind of slanging match that would become the characteristic hallmark of many a First Division match involving frustrated heavyweight boxers.

Both Lee and Hunter lashed out at each other, fists flying, handbags at close quarters and seething fury in their eyes. Eventually the violent tussle almost turned into a school playground fight behind the bike sheds, as first Lee started flailing his arms and hands at Hunter, swinging away hilariously at his Leeds counterpart and then just exploding with anger. It all seemed to fizzle out in some unseemly and unnecessary skirmish. Punches failed to connect and both men just dissolved into some chaotic tangle of elbows, arms, hands and wrists. It was a boxing match but merely one on the supporting bill at a local town hall.

Then at roughly the same time Lee did what seemed to come naturally. He was a natural goal scorer and quite prolific throughout his career. On another winter's evening Lee faced his old muckers Manchester City in another old First Division encounter. Cutting in from the flank once again, Lee stormed towards the edge of the City penalty area and rifled a thunderous shot that flew past the excellent Joe Corrigan in goal for City that day. The goal was described rather modestly by BBC commentator Barry Davies as 'interesting, very interesting' and asked the viewers to look at Lee's face

First and foremost though Lee was one of football's warriors, a battling, bruising and belligerent midfield player, a model of masculinity, a stocky but clever player who always wore his heart on his sleeve. Starting his career as a teenager at Bolton Wanderers it soon became clear that his aggressive tendencies would have a logical outlet in seasons to come. Lee was a hard, bustling player, his volatility often causing endless arguments with referees determined to take the sting out of Lee's game.

In the late 1960s Lee joined Manchester City who were already looking as if they meant business under Joe Mercer and Malcolm Allison, the two men who were to provide an inspirational guiding hand to Lee who was in blistering and devastating form, hardly putting a foot wrong. Then in 1969 Lee became the centrifugal force in City's playmaking side, leading his City side to FA Cup Final victory over Leicester City with Neil Young scoring the winner for the Citizens.

A year later City were back on the glory trail. In the 1970 European Cup Winners Cup Final, City met Polish side Gornik Zabrze and won in Vienna. It was a victory that would become a false dawn for City since they'd have to wait another four years before completing a League Cup Final victory over Newcastle United with a remarkable overhead bicycle kick from Denis Tueart clinching the win for City at the old Wembley. 

Then there were the wilderness years when even their most faithful fans thought that their team had disappeared off the footballing map. And then Pep Guardiola arrived and the Maine Road sleeping giant turned into a fiery band of revolutionaries at the new Etihad Stadium. The rest as they say is well documented history. But Lee never stopped loving the game and the game felt much the same way about him. Of course there were the tears and tantrums, the ups and downs, the Cups and trophies but essentially Lee was indeed a player in every sense of the word. He worked tirelessly for lost causes and never gave up the fight.

After football, Lee pursued his long held interest in horses and became a successful horse racing trainer. On many an occasion Lee would bump into an old England team mate. Mick Channon and Lee had both played for England with varying degrees of success and both revelled in life at the stables and paddocks of celebrated horses with pedigree.

But for those with a nostalgic yearning for the game as it used to be played Francis Lee was very much a member of the old school tie brigade. He ran for miles whenever the occasion merited it and was doggedly persistent, robustness personified, willing to go that extra yard with a relentless will to win. In recent years Lee seemed to drop out of the public gaze but the memories were vivid and unforgettable. Football embraced Lee as one of their own, red blooded and indomitable. Franny Lee. Football will miss you immensely.