[Royter-Larafood needs to fall off the front page and this/you can help…]

When I was a kid playing football in Essex, every so often this old Scottish dude would wander up to the side of the pitch and start shouting at us. He was as petrifying (absolutely huge, thick Glaswegian accent and completely fearless) as he was incongruous. We had no idea who he was, but somehow his presence was less strange than impressive.

Anyway, out of nowhere one day my Dad recognised him as a retired pro: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Dick_(footballer,_born_1930)
(Check out that goalscoring record playing effectively as a midfielder – and yet only one cap for Scotland!)

He didn’t seem to be someone who suffered fools gladly. Immediately before or after a game he’d walk up to my team and ask [add in the accent yourself]: “If you were playing a game and the ball landed on top of the crossbar, what would it be?” We’d guess that it might be a goal kick or a drop ball or an abandoned match or whatever and then he’d wander off again unimpressed...

He asked us this week in, week out, refusing to tell us the answer. Until one day he’d clearly had enough and announced “If the ball landed on the crossbar and stayed there, it would be a fucking miracle, that’s what it would be!!” and walked off laughing. Brilliant man.