WHEN MARCO RULED THE WORLD

Triumph sows the seeds of tragedy. The definition of a career high is that it can never be recaptured; what follows can move only downwards, either quickly or slowly, gradually or decisively. But, oh, what a high. To score the crucial goal in a major final for your country, to win their first trophy, and to do it with what a significant slice of the commentariat still regard as the greatest goal ever scored in a final. It may be all downhill from there, but what a view from the top.

Footballers these days look like sprinters: mesomorphic body type, upper-body weight work and a six-pack you could grate cheese with. In contrast, players in the pre-Premier League era were more six-packs of lager and grated-cheese sandwiches.

That isn’t to say there hadn’t been slender strikers. Denis Law was so wiry, his habitual long-sleeved shirt flapped in the breeze like laundry hung out to dry. Ian Rush resembled a bag of limbs tied up with his moustache. Gary Lineker’s hamstrings were polished and perma-tanned even before he went to Spain.

But there was something different about Marco van Basten. For a start, he was 6ft 2in – the same height as potential markers Alan Hansen and Paolo Maldini, and taller than Ronald Koeman and Mick McCarthy. The age of the giants had not yet dawned.

Unlike many a big lad, the Dutchman was graceful in his movement and calculating with his corporeality. “My dream as a young boy was to become a gymnast, but I found out that I could play football pretty well,”