This may not sound like the usual cheery Monday morning post, but bear with me.
Friday was a day for celebrity deaths the likes we’ve not seen since 2016.
Not in the order that they were announced, we lost the Wales and British and Irish Lions winger J.J. Williams. As many of you will know, I lived in Wales from the end of the 1980s, and though this was long after JJ’s time had gone, he was still spoken about with a dewy-eyed reverence, and justifiably so.
Then there was Nobby Stiles; you might not be aware of this, because it rarely gets mentioned, but in 1966 England won the footiekickball World Cup, and Nobby was one of the players what won it. Nobby was most famous for a) having no teeth, and b) dancing around holding the Jules Rimet (still gleaming) trophy aloft. Thankfully, the latter was immortalised in The Greatest Football Song Ever (Yes, the NewOrderEngland song was cooler, but does it get sung on the terraces like this does? No.):
It’s just a shame that Nobby dancing was recreated by…*checks notes*…Nottingham Forest legend Steve Stone.
But saddened as I was by the passing of both these sporting legends, it was the death of a comedy great that saddened me most.
I – and everybody I knew – loved Bobby Ball in the late 70s/early 80s – we all wanted to have braces, we all would say “Rock on Tommy!” in the school playground come Monday morning – so to hear that he was the latest high profile victim of Covid was truly unwelcome news.
Monday mornings, though, are supposed to be a time of positivity around these parts, and we can still do that, by posting Cannon and Ball’s frankly bloody great signature tune:
It’s what he would have wanted, I’m sure.
RIP you fecking legends.