Sir Bobby Robson was always there; a hero of mine, a source of inspiration, and a figure of aspiration. At about the time he was forging miracles at Ipswich Town, I followed him to Langley Park Infants School (his first job was in the murky gloom of the village colliery), and when he became England manager, we took the journey with him. That team he forged, full of North East talent, Gazza's barmy brilliance, that moment of exquisite torture in Turin which changed football forever in this country, felt like a form of affirmation after an era in which we had been left to rot.  

 

When he returned to the region, to Newcastle United, he was no longer the absent hero. He was real and he was here. He was a bear of a man up close, the type whose personality would fill the room. I'd joined The Times the year before and soon inherited a mighty privilege and responsibility; Bobby contributed a column for the paper and in act of incredible generosity, Oliver Holt, who worked for us then and is now at the Daily Mirror, passed the ghost-writing duties to me. The task of turning his thoughts into words was not too onerous because he was full of opinion and colour, but our relationship gradually shifted; I was desperate to be worthy of him, to do right by him. To make him proud. A hero and then a colleague and then a mentor.

 

When he left St James' Park - it is difficult to write that phrase without sighing - we kept in touch. He’d often call for a natter about the latest developments at Newcastle (rarely good), Sunderland, Middlesbrough or about football in general. He had a passion for his home and its football clubs and continued to watch matches. When he asked me to help him with a book about Newcastle, the club and its city, I wept; I wept with pride and joy and with that old fear about being involved in something which, even in a small way, would form part of his legacy. 

 

Working on ‘Newcastle, My Kind of Toon‘ (I never liked the title), was, without a shadow of a doubt, the best and most challenging few months of my career. His health was failing by that point and the last chapter of the book dealt with his illness and the formation of the Sir Bobby Robson Foundation. From the start of the project, I knew that I couldn’t take a penny for it, in spite of Bobby’s urgings, because more than anybody else, he made me operate purely from the heart. Part of that was our shared heritage and everything else I’ve talked about, but it was also the kind of person he was; when you spent time in his company, his stardust clung to you. My hero and mentor, was now my dear friend.

 

When Sir Bobby died, I was asked by Lady Elsie to become Patron of his Foundation; I wept again. The work of the charity is so important, focussing on the early detection and treatment of cancer and the clinical trials of new drugs, all of it within NHS, and working right here in the North East. As Sir Bobby wrote in his book “cancer takes no account of colour - black and white or red and white, orange or purple, young or old, male or female, weak or strong, we’re all the same.” So many people have done so much to raise funds, so many sacrifices have been made, and so much remains to be done. 

 

This is all a bit longwinded and I apologise for it. I just wanted to explain what Sir Bobby means to me and why I’m taking part in the Great North Run in his name. I truly appreciate your support and I know he would, too. 

 

I’ll end with another quote from ‘Newcastle, My Kind of Toon’, one I'm particularly fond of and proud of. 

 

“What is a club, in any case? Not the buildings or the directors or the people who are paid to represent it. It’s not the television contracts, get-out clauses, marketing departments or executive boxes. It’s the noise, the passion, the feeling of belonging, the pride in your city. It’s a small boy clambering up stadium steps for the very first time, gripping his father’s hand, gawping at that hallowed stretch of turf behind him and, without being able to do a thing about it, falling in love.”