It was Alf Ramsey (“Sralf)” who described him as “My captain, my leader, my right-hand man. He was the spirit and the heartbeat of the team. A cool, calculating footballer I could trust with my life. He was the supreme professional, the best I ever worked with. Without him England would never have won the World Cup.”
It’s hard to imagine higher praise than that, or from a more impeccable source. So how did I manage to meet the great Bobby Moore? It happened through ball juggling — it happened like this:
Picture a dark January night at Wycombe Wanderers ground in High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire. It’s 1984, and the floodlights are on, illuminating the sloping pitch of the famous old club that had been founded away back in 1887 — a club that Martin O’Neill would cut his managerial teeth on.
I’d been engaged to perform an exhibition of ball juggling. It wasn’t going to be easy on that sloping surface. I took up my position about three-quarters of the way across the pitch, facing the main stand. I’d be facing uphill!
By that night I had already performed 200 public exhibitions of what came to be called “Keep Uppy” in venues across the world, and had never once dropped the ball. But there’s always a first time.
I was very glad I was unaware that among the crowd in the stand watching and applauding my half-time performance was none other than the great Bobby Moore.
I finished with a trick I called The Rainbow. Having caught the ball on the back of my neck, I let it roll down the centre of my back until I flicked my heel, sending the ball back up over my head, and then controlled it in front of me. On that sloping pitch in the floodlights, it was a hell of a challenge, but I succeeded.
A few days later my agent told me Bobby Moore would like to meet me. It was only then I learned that Bobby had been at Wycombe Wanderers ground that night.
We met in Southend. A friendly and relaxed man, he said he had been so impressed by my exhibition that he wanted me to appear at all of his soccer camps. What an honour!
After an exhibition at Wealdstone, when I’d finished, and all the kids and coaching staff were applauding, I noticed that Bobby was cheering and clapping as enthusiastically as everyone else.
When he and I walked across the pitch together a little later he said, “You should make a film or video, Adrian. It would help so many people to be able to see your skills on show.”
That was the last time I saw him. He died tragically young (51) in 1993. I love the words on his statue outside the new Wembley stadium:
“Immaculate footballer. Imperious defender. Immortal hero of 1966. First Englishman to raise the World Cup aloft. Favourite son of London’s East End. Finest legend of West Ham United. National Treasure. Master of Wembley. Lord of the game. Captain extraordinary. Gentleman of all time.”
That says it all.
