Another childhood hero has slipped from earthly legend to eternal status. The death of Kevin Keegan has ended yet another link with my 1970s childhood.

As a 10 year old, I was captivated by this charismatic, talented footballer. His spell-binding partnership with a Cardiff hero, John Toshack, helped. As Keegan’s fame grew, the Radio Times – the BBC’s listing magazine – ran a story about the Liverpool striker headlined ‘Will Kevin come out to play?’ It was significant for two reasons. Firstly, it recognised Keegan’s everyman appeal: this was a footballer who appealed to everyone, regardless of sporting knowledge or interest. But for me it struck a chord, as my best friend at the time was called Kevin.

Keegan’s goals helped Liverpool sweep aside his future club Newcastle United in the 1974 FA Cup final, a game I missed as I was on a Cubs trip to Southampton, another city that would later fall in love with Kevin. The win meant Liverpool played league champions Leeds United in the Charity Shield, the opening game of the English season. Keegan was brutally treated by the thugs who masqueraded as Leeds players, and the footballing world was shocked when Keegan and Leeds captain Billy Bremner were sent off for fighting. It was out of character.

I only saw Keegan in action once. My Welsh heart sank as he scored the England goal that proved enough to beat us in the old home international championship in 1976. I was happier when he helped Liverpool win their first European Cup a year later.

Why did fans love Keegan? That Radio Times headline from the early 1970s gave a clue. Kevin really did come out to play with fans. Hunter Davies recalled in 1999 witnessing children in 1970s Hamburg swarming around the diminutive English player. Keegan had just finished a training session with the city’s football club, who had shocked English football by signing him just after Liverpool’s European Cup triumph. The youngsters shouted Mächtig Maus! (Mighty Mouse) when they spotted their hero. He patiently signed every fan’s autograph book before leaving the training ground. This week’s obituaries carried similar stories of King Kevin’s devotion to the everyday people who helped elevate him to stardom.

Hamburg in many ways explains Keegan’s success. He had a tough debut year in Germany, hobbled by a row between the manager and club. The team’s homegrown players wouldn’t pass to him out of jealousy of Keegan’s superstar salary. But he won them – and the fans – over. Unlike many other British footballing exports he learned the native language, and earned affection and respect for giving media interviews in German. And yes – that famous perm ensured his hair was as famous as his footballing talents.

Kevin was the first to accept that he was not the most talented of superstar footballers. He joked in his 2018 autobiography My Life in Football that he was ‘the mongrel who made it to Crufts, and that was fine by me’. Punishing hard work made the most of his talents, setting him apart from more talented players who were led astray by temptation in an era when professional football still had a studded boot planted in the amateur era. His 52 year marriage to Jean also points to an age before celebrity WAGs (wives and girlfriends) of the 21st century. The couple met on a fairground ride in 1970 and married four years later. Jean’s A level German must have been an ace card when Keegan signed for Hamburg.

Superstars

1976 was the year I saw Kevin breaking Welsh hearts with that goal at Ninian Park. That same year the Liverpool star took part in the BBC’s Superstars show. Half a century later, it’s impossible to imagine international sporting stars risking career-ending injuries as Keegan did in Superstars. The show pitched athletes from different sports including Björn Borg and James Hunt. Keegan injured his shoulder and elbow when he fell off his bike, but insisted in getting back in the saddle. ‘These people here in the stands have come here to see me make a fool of myself and they’ve got a right to it!’ No wonder fans loved him.

Geordie glory

If Liverpool made Keegan a star, Newcastle made him an icon. In a sense, he was coming home. His miner father Joe was a passionate Newcastle fan who told young Kevin spellbinding stories of the goalscoring exploits of Newcastle’s 1920s Scottish star Hughie Gallacher. Gallacher went on to take his own life, overwhelmed by personal unhappiness. (By coincidence, I was myself spellbound by tales of the tragic Gallacher’s talents, recounted by a proud Scotsman during a civic lunch before Cardiff City’s FA Cup tie against Everton in 1977.) More happily, Keegan helped guided Newcastle back into the top flight as a player, Later, he came agonisingly close to securing a Premier league title for the club as a much loved manager.

Years later, I was thrilled to read that Newcastle had reappointed Keegan as manager. Sadly, that final 2008 fling with the Magpies underlined the old wisdom about never going back. Football had changed in the decade since Kevin last managed the club, and Newcastle’s ambition to float on the stock exchange proved fatal to the saviour’s second coming as manager. I remember my sadness hearing the news on the car radio that September, contrasting with my excitement reading about his return eight months earlier.

One final Kevin story. Reading his first (1997) autobiography, I was struck by his description of running for a train to the north east after overseeing another game as Fulham manager. Even in 1997 the idea of a superstar racing for a train seemed amazingly modest and grounded. Yet that was Kevin’s superpower. He was the everyman superstar. Kevin, we will miss you more than you will ever know.