Gone, but he’ll never be forgotten
IT WAS by eerie coincidence that the three of us were talking about Cyrille Regis at Anfield on Sunday, Peter Reid, Gianfranco Zola, and me. It grew from a familiar lament. Football was now a non-contact sport, said Reid. In his day . . . and so stories were swapped, of battles, and hard men, and brutal, physical encounters. Not so much by Gianfranco, you understand. But he laughed along. Phil McNulty from the BBC came over and mentioned a story from Graeme Souness’s autobiography, about Alan Ball. From there, the name of Cyrille Regis came up. Not because he was nasty or vicious. He was a clean jumper, say those who played against him, and fair. But he was tough. Reid said it was no good kicking him because it seemed to make him stronger. He made him sound like the Incredible Hulk. Don’t make him angry. You won’t like him if he’s angry. He said he was talking about Cyrille with Alan Hansen the other day, and Hansen said he was coming out in a sweat just saying his name. ‘But what a great player,’ he added. And he meant it, too. ‘Who is this, who is this man?’ asked Gianfranco. The Italian came to Chelsea from Parma in November 1996, one month after Regis announced his retirement, having failed to recover from an injury sustained the previous season, playing for Chester at Doncaster Rovers. ‘Cyrille Regis,’ we chorused. And we woke the next morning to hear he had gone. But that does not mean he will be quickly forgotten.