When all the dust settles from the UEFA nonsense, things are put into clear perspective with the news that really matters. One of our old players has had a heart attack and is ill. And not just any old ex-player but one synonomous with Liverpool, with a real understanding of the club and a bedrock in the days when being a rock meant being harder than most rocks.

I’m talking about Tommy Smith and being a writer more interested in emotion than in stats (I do support that most emotional of clubs, Liverpool after all), let me give a brief flavour of the man from my perspective.

As a young lad, watching still in black and white on my pal’s telly, one of the pivotal moments in my upbringing in the LFC dept was Smith’s header in the 3-1 European Cup victory over Borussia Muchengladbach The only team to have 2 lines on the panini stickers cos their name was that long…

I can clearly recall the commentary, there was a corner to us on the left hand side…”Heighway steps up, in it comes oooooooooooooooooohhhh my goodness Tommy Smith has scored….”

Smith’s header was remarkable because he should’ve hardly been playing in that game never mind been up in the other side’s penalty box. It was about his only goal ever frankly, certainly that I can remember and the only time his head had mentioned on the football field. Normally it was his legs of iron, his bone crunching tackles, his manner in which dribblers had to really know their skill, becuase it was like running into a wall made of steel with iron covering, cased in other metals.

Smith wouldn’t get 2 mins in the modern game as he’d be sent off before the kick off, probably for decking the linesman.

Not the assistant referee, not the game where fancy dan’s are allowed to dive and feint death. You know when you’ve been tango-ed… Well you knew when you’ve been Smith’d. Be it Chopper Harris of Chelsea when they were nearly tough, Norman bite-yer-legs Hunter of the original dirty Leeds, or Tommy Smith, these were men in a man’s game.

Hair gel ? they’d have killed for less.

Graeme Souness is known for being a hard man in a Liverpool side. But he was like Tinkerbell at a fairy’s party next to the real iron man of Liverpool, Tommy.

To hear of the mighty laid low, brings forth one’s own mortality. But I pray to the great Red God in the sky that Tommy’s time is a long way off. Get well soon Tommy mate, you, on the pitch, were a fucking star.

This entry was posted on Thursday, June 7th, 2007 at 9:15 pm and is filed under Players. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.