HUMBLE HUNT ALMOST THE FORGOTTEN MAN OF ENGLAND’S FINEST HOUR

IT IS too late to let Roger Hunt know the professional esteem, the human respect, the unqualified admiration and the warmth of affection in which he was held. We kept quiet about him. Just as he kept quiet about himself. Kept quiet far too long. It wasn’t deliberate but in almost all those misty-eyed retrospectives broadcast about England’s World Cup glory of 1966, Hunt was overshadowed by the majesty of Bobby Moore, the genius of Bobby Charlton, the miracles of Gordon Banks, the over-drive of Alan Ball, Geoff Hurst’s unique hat-trick, even the ghostliness of Martin Peters. There were no such problems of recognition at Liverpool, where Hunt is known as ‘Sir Roger’. He scored 244 goals in 404 league games, helping the club from the muddy trough of the old second division to champions of the top flight twice in the 1960s. Only occasionally was anything approaching justice done to the relentless foraging, striker’s intelligence, Lancastrian courage and industrial revolutionary power with which Hunt opened up so many of England’s avenues to success. Too often he was wrongly damned by faint praise as the work-horse. Somehow Roger Hunt became the almost forgotten man of English football’s finest hour. Not by Hurst, who never fails to credit his strike partner for his contribution to those three World Cup final goals. Not by Liverpool supporters, by whom he remains so beloved that the club website still insists on calling him Sir Roger at every opportunity. Although, like Moore, he was never knighted. No one at Anfield forgets that his 285 goals were integral to them winning two league titles and a first-ever FA Cup. But how many football fans beyond Merseyside can honestly say they remember how many Hunt scored in that halcyon World Cup tournament? As many, as it happens, as Hurst in the final itself. One in the 2-0 win against Mexico. Both in the victory over France. But the ultimate compliment, the one which really mattered, was paid by Alf Ramsey. The England manager simply made it clear that if Jimmy Greaves recovered from injury then the choice for second centre forward would be between him and Hurst. So yes, quietly, gentleman Roger went about his business. With so little commotion that he was disgracefully overlooked in the first raft of honours. If he felt slighted, it never showed. Hunt was dignified by his humility. There was no ego, precious little partying. He leaves just three of his World

Cup team-mates still standing — Hurst, Bobby Charlton and George Cohen. As he reaches football’s Elysian Fields he will no doubt be greeted by the rasping tones of the other great manager who held Hunt indispensable. When Bill Shankly took charge at Liverpool he cleared out almost an entire stock of players. But not, as he put it, ‘our Roger’. Now the time has come not only to say our goodbyes but to apologise. So sorry, Sir Roger, that we left it too late to put your greatness on record in time for you to read.