There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends, I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life, I've loved them all
But of all these friends and lovers There is no one compares with you
In My Life - The Beatles
David Duckham was a hero of his rugby generation.
He was mercurial, able to leave defenders flatfooted with a mere flick of the hips, a swerve or a side-step and a burst of acceleration that few could live with.
And he was the catalyst for my real love of the game. I'd started going to Coundon Road in the very early 1960's but I was little more than a toddler back then and have very few memories of Cov until the late 60's. And that was the golden era for a Cov side that was packed with stars.
And the greatest of them all was David Duckham. The greatest English player of all time according to some.
And for me he was always a better centre than wing. Never really understand why England played him out wide. Always seemed such a waste to me.
Yes, Coventry was a team of internationals: Gittings, Fairbrother, Creed, Gray, Cotton, Cowman, Preece, Evans, Rossborough et al. All greats in their own right. Cards on the table, Cowman was always my favourite, but he didn't have the same charisma on the pitch as Duckham. None of them did. There was always an air of expectation when Cov were in possession and as the ball worked its way along the back line, so the buzz grew. What magic would Duckham summon up this time?
Often he didn't, of course, but it was the belief that he would that made him such a favourite with the crowds. Jason Robinson had something similar. Blanco too. When they got the ball you never quite knew what would happen next. It's a rare thing and when you see it, you treasure it, as all Cov supporters did when it came to David Duckham.
The late 60s to mid 70s were Cov's halcyon days. Yes, Cov have had seasons of success since, but they have been relatively few and far between and with plenty of troughs too to remind us of just how fickle rugby can be.
An in those intervening years no Cov player has come close to replicating the feelings of anticipation and excitement he was able to generate. Huw Davies was hugely talented as was Marcus Rose. Derek Eves was always a joy to watch because of his non-stop energy and his willingness to lead from the front. Even Mick Curtis, too - far less skilful but a barnstormer of a centre and in his own way a genuine crowd pleaser. As are Louis Brown and Pat Pelligrini in the current squad.
But none could match the sheer exhilaration of watching Duckham in full flow.
We all have our favourites but none were the equal of Duckham. Not even close.
And he produced it on the international stage too, for England, the British Lions and, of course, The Baa-baas, most noticeably in that 1973 classic v New Zealand. Duckham didn't score but he left his mark indelibly written on a game that is generally regarded as the most entertaining ever.
Duckham was a man out of time. His natural flair and ability meant he would have fitted perfectly into the modern game. And he would have been a world wide star, instantly recognisable and earning the sort of money he could never have dreamed off back in the day.
He's a player who transcends time, whose place in the pantheon of rugby greats is guaranteed .
And whilst the great and the good from the rugby world have come out in their scores to pay their respects to Duckham, his real legacy, and the one I hope he would be most proud of, is that the myriad of ordinary supporters who were touched by his presence all those years ago will mourn his passing just as much. If not more.
Nick Mullins, the journalist and sports' commentator summed up what so many of us have felt these last few days in a tweet earlier in the week.
I remember playing school rugby back in the early 70s and whilst some kids might want to be a Ripley or a Neary, an Utley or even a Webster...Duckham would always be the player most would look up.
A true rugby rockstar.
And it wasn't just kids.
My parents were both season ticket holders back in the 50s and 60s (or vice-presidents as they were called back then). Neither were sporty - my dad an academic medical professor and my mum a paediatrician.
Yet both were under the Duckham spell, so much so that in her latter years, a long time widow by then, into her late 70s and still an ardent Cov supporter, Mum commissioned a wooden sculpture of Duckham.
Such was his effect on ordinary folk. Ok, the sculpture's not the greatest of likenesses, but there is something raw about it that captures his movement. I was never going to get let it go and it has pride of place in the study amongst the photos of the children and grandchildren.
It's testament to the greatness of the man that decades after his playing days, even after his death, he's still an important family link, a reminder not just of the man himself but of the many happy Saturdays (and often Wednesday evenings back then too!) I spent as a youngster watching Cov with my parents and older brother.
Duckham had a rare gift and I was privileged to have seen him. He enriched my life both on and off the field and for that I am extremely grateful.
RIP David Duckham.
Comentários