Death of a hero

The death of a hero gives the blog life again.
Socrates would have liked that.
The 1982 World Cup, me aged 9, live games on Doordarshan like water in the desert… the concoction was right for a boy to choose his hero.
From my father I inherited Ali and Elvis. But this one was mine.
I’m not sure if it was his hair, his beard, his languid style, his one-step penalties, or no-look back-heels.
I am sure that it was his ability to smoke 40 cigarettes a day and still be one of the best footballers of all time.