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Happy birthday Kenny, those of us who saw you play still feel lucky

Liverpool forward Kenny Dalglish (Hulton Archive)
Liverpool forward Kenny Dalglish (Hulton Archive)

Some people weep for their lost youth. They never saw Kenny Dalglish play. Memories of watching ‘The King’ make being old bearable.

The greatest player in Liverpool’s history is 70 today. Legends do not age. They grow in stature every day.

The first time I saw Dalglish in a red shirt was in August 1977, at Ayresome Park. Middlesbrough was a rough place. Away fans definitely needed the police escort from the station to the ground. The atmosphere was hostile.

Among travelling fans, the mood was nervous but not because of the threat of trouble. Liverpool had just won the European Cup but Kevin Keegan, the club’s talisman, had departed for Hamburg. Dalglish was his replacement in the No 7 shirt after being signed from Celtic. Could he fill the gap left by Keegan?

Within the first seven minutes we knew. Dalglish curled a magnificent shot from near the byline into the far corner of the net. It was an act of sublime skill that set the tone for a wonderful career. Even the 16-year-old me could see he was an upgrade on Keegan.

Some people have an aura. They are special. Dalglish is one of those rare individuals. He never needed to be a braggart; he never swaggered. Whatever it was, he had ‘it.’ And still has. His charisma is undeniable.

The early 1980s was a time when Anfield was ruled by a Scottish triumvirate: Dalglish, Graeme Souness and Alan Hansen. The club was populated by strong characters. They all deferred to the King and still do.

He was promoted to manager in the wake of Heysel. His first duty as Liverpool boss was to lay a wreath for the dead of Brussels. It was a horrible start to a new phase in his life. Worse was to follow.

In his first year in the dugout he won the Double, a rare achievement at the time, and helped lift the mood of the domestic game after it had hit a nadir. Some forget how good he was as a manager. He has won more titles than Arsene Wenger - with two different clubs.

Hillsborough almost broke him. In the weeks after the disaster that killed 96 Liverpool fans at the 1989 FA Cup semi-final, he attended every funeral possible and where there were conflicts visited the other families. The full extent of what he endured supporting the grief-stricken relatives is only appreciated by those who were there. They understand the personal toll it took on him.

The myth still persists that he folded under the pressure of managing Liverpool in 1991 and resigned. As if results and defeats could disturb a man like Dalglish.

Winning the title with Blackburn Rovers was one of the great feats in Premier League history. More than a quarter of a century on, it is clear that Blackburn’s financial advantage was marginal compared to what was to follow. He took the club from the second tier of English football to its summit. It does not bear comparison with what happened at Chelsea or Manchester City.

There were other jobs but, in truth, he only really cared about Anfield. The continued involvement in the battle for justice over Hillsborough went under the majority of the public’s radar. For the best part of two decades few outside Merseyside cared. Dalglish did.

He is an awkward customer at times. His sense of humour is very dry and can be mistaken for surliness. Only a rare circle are trusted by the King.

Upset him and you are in trouble. Some of us have had the hairdryer treatment from him. Once, in a surreal situation in a Mayfair wine bar, he signed autographs while berating me. If you disagree with him, you better be right – and never rub it in afterwards.

Fenway Sports Group took a while to understand what he meant to the club. When it was explained to John W Henry – after Dalglish’s second spell in charge had ended – the American owner went to great lengths to achieve a reconciliation. During the period Dalglish was estranged and absent from Anfield there was a huge hole at the centre of the club.

Dalglish is the greatest living figure in the club’s history. Only Bill Shankly ranks above him in the pantheon of greats. Even that is open to dispute. Shankly resurrected a dormant Anfield and is the grandfather of the modern team. He turned Liverpool from a provincial backwater into European giants.

The burdens on Dalglish were greater. He played for, and managed, the best club in Europe but he had to endure two of the ugliest tragedies in English football’s history – this after being a witness to the Ibrox disaster in 1971.

It takes a giant of a man to emerge unbowed. In addition to his football genius, he is an indomitable leader with the strength and charisma needed in crises that stretch well beyond football.

And he could play. He is the greatest footballer in British history. Others – George Best, is the obvious example – had more ability but no one else had the combination of skill, intelligence, fortitude and robustness. His vision and generosity on the pitch made every one of his team-mates better.

Happy birthday Kenny. Those of us who saw you feel lucky to this day.

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