It was Ian Wright.
December 15, 1990 Crystal Palacevs Luton Town in the old First Division, and I am one of a handful of kids assembled in one of the dingier corners of Selhurst Park’s Main Stand to celebrate Jack Goulding’s ninth birthday party.
Except this isn’t any old birthday party: as a Junior Eagle, Jack is entitled to that rarest of privileges — a Crystal Palace footballer cutting the cake. And according to Jack’s dad (who knows people), it’s going to be Wright, the player who made me fall in love with football in the first place.
It’s half an hour before kick-off and we are seated at the Formica Table, with red and white cakes on top. Then, someone appears from the darkened dressing room. It’s hard to get a good view, such is the scrum of bodies, but there’s a glimpse of a Palace tracksuit, a trademark gold chain and a smell of… well, whatever it is footballers smell of.
He’s taller than I expect. He is much taller than I expected. He seems almost too tall. And then he turns to face us, and I don’t need to see the curly hair and moustache to realise that this is definitely not Ian Wright.
It’s hard to overstate the crushing sense of disappointment that engulfed me in that split second.
Every nascent football fan needs a hero to frame their early experiences and — growing up in a house whose kitchen window offered a glimpse of the Holmesdale Road End floodlights — Wright was mine.
Don’t forget the second half his career. Arsenal (wasted years, frankly), if you want to see Wright at his raw, rugged peak, dig out YouTube videos of Palace’s 1990-91 season, when he was operating at truly preternatural levels and scoring almost every conceivable kind of goal: a wriggling run and dainty 20-yard chip over Chelsea’s Dave Beasant; a surging run and skidding low shot to seal victory at Manchester City; and, most breath-taking of all, an instinctive turn and half-volley from 35 yards en route to a hat-trick in Wimbledon’s farewell to Plough Lane.
Wright scores his second goal following his substitution in the FA Cup Final (Photo: PA Images via Getty Images).
Watching Wright lay waste to the best defences in the land was a crash course in understanding football’s visceral energy, just as seeing him depart for Highbury a year later — and relegate Palace on the final day of the season a couple of years after that — provided a lesson in its ability to spin storylines worthy of the giddiest soap opera. It was addictive in any case.
32 years later and what began as a passion for football has evolved into a full-time job. It was an absolute joy to write about football. The Telegraph’s football coverage was shaping for over a decade. I was fortunate to work alongside some amazing reporters and editors.
You have the chance to do it too The AthleticThis is truly a great privilege. Nobody offers more original, forensic and thought-provoking coverage of the game and as football’s finances grow more excessive, and its morals more opaque, that scrutiny has never felt more necessary.
I want to help deliver that, while not losing sight of the sport’s emotional thrill — those Ian Wright moments that ultimately keep us all coming back.
Oh, and that guy with the moustache! Stanley Collymore was his squad player. It is not clear what happened to him.
(Top photo: Mark Leech/Getty Images)
