Graeme Bandeira: Magic moments as we wait for new heroes to emerge

Euro 84, for instance, held in France and won by the French, was dominated by midfield maestro and inspirational leader Michel Platini – the nine-goal captain who became one of my heroes of world football.

I turned 10 during that tournament and distinctly remember, despite parental angst, sitting as close as I possibly could to the television, intercepting every pass and lashing out at every loose ball.

Platini was the absolute orchestrator and looked like he could score every time he attacked.

I recall hiding my birthday disappointment with a fake smile when I did not receive a French No 10 shirt, and, instead, had to settle for my existing England 1982 shirt.

At that World Cup, Bryan Robson emerged as my hero – he remains so to this day.

I ran home from school in sheer excitement at the prospect of watching him put the French to the sword.

My parents were both at work and I watched the game at a friend’s house. My time that day was spent gazing out onto a sun-drenched playing field, wondering if I would see the game. Nothing was absorbed. All I could hear was the sound of the lawnmower across the field and the drone of the teacher.

Captain Marvel scored two goals that day, including the fastest in World Cup history – 27 seconds. It is a good job I recorded my fastest ever time out of the school gates.

After that game, I went straight out to play, resplendent in full England kit, even conducting my own national anthem before kick-off.

Leaping forward to Euro 88, sitting down for England v Holland at my grandad’s.

“Listen bairn,” said grandad, “just watch how they play”.

He was, of course, referring to the team in orange. I didn’t dare take my eyes of them.

Another new hero emerged – Marco van Basten. He scored three goals, his touch sublime, his finishing effortless.

On to 1996 when football finally came home – and I witnessed Gazza’s finest moment in an England shirt.

The sun was beating down in my mum’s back garden, bees were humming, bottled beer was chilled, the portable television had been rigged up with triple extension cables and the TV was shielded from the sun’s glare by a cardboard box.

Game on. Paul Gascoigne loops the ball over Colin Hendry and smashes it into the Scotland net. Pandemonium in the garden.

A spark of genius at last... I resisted the temptation to dye my hair peroxide blond, though.

Let us just hope another hero emerges this time around.