On a brisk spring evening the crowd roar into a crescendo of elation, as Manchester United's star David Beckham runs around Old Trafford's field after tying the score in the Champions league cup finals, I jump to my feet and shake the mans hand to the right of me, he has surprisingly familiar face but one that I could not quite put my finger on. I think nothing more of it until he hands me a silver flask of whisky with the initials B.C engraved onto it. Being in the VIP seating of the grounds, the ability to converse was certainly not a chore. Taking a pull from the Gentleman's flask I said, "I remember my father telling me of great footballer with these same initials" the man smiled as I handed him back his flask. I thought for a little while, and then it all came clear. The man rose to his feet, cheering and clapping he turned to me laughing and smiling with joy as Ole Gunner Solskjaer sealed the win for United and said "Sir to end your quizzical expressions and persistent eye glances, I am in fact the man who you presume I am, Bobby Charlton." My jaw dropped, as every thing I had heard about this man rushed through my mind "and you must be Simeon Jones, the "where are they now" columnist for the London Times" "that's correct sir, it is an absolute pleasure to meet you" what luck I had, but if I could only get an interview for my column. The stars must have been in alignment for the next thing he said was "You"re a young lad, why don't you stick around after the game, and I can introduce you to some of the boys, you might even be able to get an interview for you column if you lucky." After the ceremonial cup giving the crowds finally began to dissipate while Bobby and I sat sipping his flask and talking about some of the plays and mistakes that took place during the match. Bobby and I then walked onto the field and down the tunnel to the players lounge, it was then when I realized that football history abounds with heroes, but there has never been another like Bobby Charlton.
