Once or twice in a lifetime, in any given field of popular endeavour, there arises an individual who becomes beloved, first in his own land and then far beyond; an idol without the proverbial feet of clay whose achievements are prodigious, yet whose stature is somehow more immense than the sum of them. Such a man was Bobby Charlton, who has died at the age of 86 after a long illness.
On a football pitch he was an inimitable combination of silk and dynamite, one moment beguiling the senses with a touch of exquisite artistry, the next conjuring raw exhilaration with a sudden, savage strike of power. He brought to his work a sense of wonder, an inescapable impression of grace, treating his audiences to extended sequences of unalloyed delight. By any standard, he was a great player.
