I admit I’m not the most objective critic when it comes to Bobby Robson. As a lifelong Ipswich Town fan, some of my happiest childhood memories are linked to Robson’s dream team of the late Seventies and early Eighties: the whole of Suffolk bedecked in blue and white for the 1978 FA Cup Final; his joyful jig across the Town Hall balcony during the 1981 UEFA Cup victory parade; nervously asking for his autograph outside Portman Road one Saturday and getting an avuncular ruffle of the hair to put me at my ease.
Naturally, it wasn’t all silverware and tickertape. I cried when Town narrowly finished league runners-up in 1981 and 1982, then again that summer when Bobby left to take charge of the national team. He had outgrown us, of course - going onto manage clubs across Europe and steer England through two World Cups - but never lost his connection to Ipswich and is still revered there. He was granted the freedom of the town and made the club’s honorary president, with a stand named after him and a statue outside the ground.
There were three Robson-related occasions in adulthood when I wept like a schoolboy all over again: when Sir Bobby was given the Lifetime Achievement Award at BBC Sports Personality Of The Year in 2007; when he died two years later (I tied my old scarf to the railings around the statue, then bought a half-and-half Ipswich and Newcastle commemorative one instead); and when watching this fine film celebrating his refreshingly ordinary life and extraordinary career.