as this season march towards the end; it marks the end of two probably 'most' love Premiership player in this new era.. one player who is as English as any player could be, another player who trace his heritage in Dutch football back to Johan Cryuff; a one-off, a classic number 10 but demonstrably unique..

this is my tribute to the most complete-centre-forward-striker in the Premiership for years .. [edited from couple of articles since, my english is not that good!]

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PART I

At the age of thirteen, i watched my second football tournament on television [euro 96] that i can remember as far. I remember watching Gareth Southgate's penalty kick saved by the German goalkeeper who later become the eventual champion.. and i remember watching this guy who scores the most goal in the tournament.. he later become my favourite English player.

This week, with the heaviest of hearts, I bade a sad farewell to the goal scoring genius that is Alan Shearer.. Though slightly premature, Alan Shearer's departure - the wounded warrior limping off after gunning down his major rivals - provided still more reasons for his folk hero status on Tyneside




To me Shearer will always be more than a man who found 409 different ways to hit the back of the net, even if he could only come up with one way to celebrate. He was the foundation on which my love of all things football was built.

for me, football genius has always been about Alan Shearer.. he is more of a master craftsman; it is testament to his perfectionism that, whatever the angle or distance, he hits the target with a higher percentage of efforts than most of his rivals. The ability to take even the most horribly awkward passes the likes of Titus Bramble can produce and make it stick like glue to chest, head or feet. The strength he showed on the pitch that made you believe he could easily shield the ball with his back to goal from a gang of angry polar bears. The snap of a steely neck muscle, the thud of an ever expanding forehead against leather and the whistle of a ball as it flies past yet another pair of outstretched goalkeepers gloves.

He was the man for whom the phrase ‘classic English centre forward’ was made.

There is a certain poignancy to the fact that Shearer should finish his career in the way he has. As I watched him drill the last in a long line of penalties past another helpless goalkeeper I couldn’t imagine that the next
spot kick Newcastle are awarded will be taken by someone else.



Shearer, pragmatic in so much else, allowed his heart to follow his head in his choice of his hometown club Newcastle. It has enabled him to build a power base unrivalled by another player in English football; captain, penalty taker and focal point of the team.

That he finished his career with neither the club or international success he deserves is a sad footnote in a story of incredible personal achievement. A single Premiership winner’s medal is his only real honour, a statistic that would read very much differently if he had elected to join Manchester United on both occasions they came calling.

In opting to join his hometown club of Newcastle he made the most romantic gesture the cynical, corporate world of Premiership-era football has witnessed. His reward has been the love, gratitude and hero worship of the entire city of Newcastle, and the knowledge that while the trophy cabinet remains as sparse as when he arrived, the memory scrap books of the Toon army will be overflowing for generations to come.