Welcome to the end, if you will, of a Linekera. As we head towards Sunday night and last things, last days, last matches, Last Matches of the Last Days, towards the inevitable husky, poignant, carefully scripted farewell, towards the sense, because this is the BBC sofa, of something that feels less like a broadcaster ending his term of employment, more like three men in shiny shirts burying their pet rabbit. As we head towards all of this, it is probably a good time to look back at Gary’s best bits.
This is easy enough. For the past 26 years, capped by this weekend’s accelerated farewell from the BBC , Gary Lineker has been an excellent sports broadcaster and an ideal avatar of the courtly, cosy, quietly A-list BBC identity. Not just very good saying things such as “And now to Goodison” in between some football highlights, but also perfect for the role of flagship anchor, a kind of televisual red pillar box, out there in iconic tight silky shirt, heartstrings-smile, the shared journey from lithe and boyish camera magnet through the extended silvery dad-fox years.
