7 and 7 Is

With the start of the football season now here, giving me at least something to get through long weeks at work, I thought back to the reasons I got myself far too deeply involved in this stupid game in the first place.

The main one would be Bryan Robson. I can't remember the first time I would have seen him on TV, but he obviously captured my imagination as I quickly decided his team was the one for me. My bedroom wall was covered in posters of the Manchester United and England #7, the shirt number I always wanted to wear and wore New Balance football boots because he did. Somewhat conveniently, their factory shop was a few miles from where I was brought up.

Being a United fan in the late 80s, you pinned a lot of your hopes on the man. Listening to the radio on a Saturday afternoon, awaiting the line-ups, you wished more than anything that the guy would say his name instead of Colin Gibson, Mike Duxbury or Clayton Blackmore because if he didn't, you knew it was going to be a tough ask for a win.

On the rare occasions we got to see a match on TV, England or United, he always seemed so 'huge'. Like a giant over the other players - running the game, sorting out their tricky forward with a crunching tackle and popping up to score a vital goal. It was something of a surprise years later when I realised he was the same height as my mother.

By the time my teenage years arrived, a new hero was needed and I, and every other United fan, got one in the next guy to own the red number seven shirt. Eric Cantona was tall, good looking and intelligent. I'd go as far to say he was my first crush, of sorts.

When he signed for United, at the end of 1992, I was just beginning the wretched years of secondary education. At the same time, my team were beginning to assert themselves as the best in the land after decades in the shadows. This was a very good thing, as it gave me something to get me through the shite days at school, knowing there was the match at the weekend and more specifically, to see if Eric would come up with something magical.

On that night when he launched himself Bruce Lee-style into the crowd to kick the guy who had crossed the line of 'friendly banter', I felt like he was striking a blow for all of us who had been bullied or picked on. Fanciful thinking, perhaps, but it meant a lot at the time. Then he returned, and led the young Beckham, Giggs, Scholes and Nevilles to further glory.

In the summer of 1997, I completed my GCSEs and was free of compulsory education. I was going to go back to do my A Levels, of course, but I felt free of a lot of shit when that last exam was finished. At the same time, Eric quit United and football and it almost felt as if there was some kind of hand of fate at work. In my more fanciful moments, I liked to think he signed for United because there was some skinny, lost 11-year-old who needed a little support and when he was a little more certain and assured, then he knew his work was done.

All of which is why Eric Cantona is possibly the only person in the world who I would go weak at the knees when in their presence. I can even forgive him for those wretched adverts he does.