Cod Almighty | Diary

Sentimental journey

5 February 2019

Middle-Aged Diary once argued, bitterly, in a pub on London's Wandsworth Road with a Blackburn fan who had heretical views about that Rolls Royce of defenders, Gary Croft. After we had traded rebuttals, the conversation turned to a player who had made the reverse journey, from Ewood to Blundell Park, in this case via Chelsea.

"No, I admire Steve Livingstone..." he began, and the pause hooked me in. He'd said nothing until then to suggest esteem, and while Livvo was not my favourite player, I was still prepared to defend him against others, and gratified if anyone should think well of anyone associated with Town.

But he went on: "He's managed to make a career as a professional footballer despite having no footballing ability."

Harsh, but if we are going to dredge up ten-year-old newspaper cuttings, let it be recorded that Livvo's own appraisal of his strengths was not so different to the Blackburn supporter's.

His signing, in October 1993, was proof that Alan Buckley did have a plan B. Clive Mendonca, Tony Rees and Neil Woods had football ability, and to spare. They purred. Livvo thundered. The Lancashire Telegraph has done younger readers a huge service by inserting a hyphen into his name to epitomise his playing style. He used his head and he kicked, and he was hard: he was a living stone.

And he would do whatever the club asked of him.

"You want me to create a bit of havoc in the Leicester defence, and if I can score a goal with my arse, all the better? No problem Mr Buckley."

"We're a goal down in a relegation six-pointer, so it might be as well if I clattered into the Tranmere keeper? Consider it done, Lennie."

"You know I'll never be a central defender, and I know I'll never be a central defender, but just now the Mariners need someone to lay into the opposition strikers? I'm willing to give it a go, Grovesie."

So it went on, for nine and a half years. Livvo slowly changed from an ugly duckling into something that was almost the opposite of a beautiful swan but was certainly a cult hero, in the true, deprecating, sense of the term.

Nine and a half years. A few months short of a testimonial, but by all proper considerations, a man who had been knocked unconscious and spilt blood for the cause certainly deserved one. Maybe it is too late now? Maybe Livingstone's property business is flying and his next visit to Blundell Park will be to buy the club. Maybe it would not mean much to fans too young to have seen him play. But it would be an education for them to see Croft, Woods, Rees, Mendonca and Groves back on the Blundell Park pitch one last time, Livvo strutting his stuff among them. Whatever that stuff might have been.