It’s nineteen years since the legendary Bobby Moore left us.  He was my first football hero and is missed by us all.   You can support the work of the Bobby Moore Fund by sponsoring my little friend Jonjo Heuerman who’s walking from Wembley to West Ham and I’ll be talking to him pitch side on the big screens before tomorrow’s game between West Ham and Crystal Palace. We will also be playing Viva Bobby Moore in memory of Bobby.

Here’s an extract from my book Mr Moon Has Left The Stadium, where I talk about the great man

From the chapter Three Bobbys

When I was a kid, the biggest name in football was Bobby Moore. He was the England captain when we won the World Cup in 1966. I don’t remember much about it as I was three. My middle sister Melanie was only a few days old, so Dad watched the game with the baby on his lap. I’m not sure where I was, but Mel says it was a good game and we won it four-two. Either she has a great memory, or she’s watched it back on DVD, she does work for a video firm.

No trip to the Boleyn Ground is complete without a visit to the World Cup Heroes statue on the corner of Green Street and Barking Road, with Bobby held aloft holding the trophy. The best thing about Bobby Moore was that he was also the captain of West Ham. By the time the 1970 World Cup came round, I was fully up to speed about football. I had wall charts, the lot. Mel says the pictures from Mexico were a bit fuzzy, but it gave it a certain quality. She was only four, but already had a keen eye.

I had a six inch statue of Bobby on my bookshelf. He was taller in real life. I still have that statue to this day. I took it to my first day at the BBC, my first day at Channel 5 and it even went on holiday with me to Morocco for the 1984 Olympics. The games weren’t held in Morocco, but it’s where I went on holiday. Bobby stood on top of the hotel TV for good luck as Daley Thompson won the decathlon in Los Angeles. He tilted slightly to one side because I left him on a radiator and his base melted. That’s Bobby not Daley.

I only met Bobby Moore twice in real life, apart from cheering him on from the crowd at West Ham. The first time was in 1975. We were moving house and Nanna took me and my big sister Kathryn to the movies, to keep us out of the way of the removal men. We saw Towering Inferno with Steve McQueen and Paul Newman. They didn’t have to pay to get in, as they were in the film.

The rest of us did have to pay. Nanna probably paid for us, she was good like that. In those days, you had to queue outside a cinema for a popular film. We queued along the side of the Gants Hill Odeon. I had a bit of restless leg syndrome and danced about with excitement at the thought of seeing a skyscraper go up in flames. My forefathers are from the low lying fens of Cambridgeshire, so any tall building is exciting. I still have cousins who point when they see an aeroplane in the sky.

So I was dancing around like Nijinsky, the racehorse not the ballet dancer, and accidentally trod on the toes of the man behind us. He was tall and I looked up to say sorry. It was Bobby Moore. I mumbled an apology and went bright red. After that I don’t remember anything, the film is a blur.

Kathryn apparently did strike up a conversation with him. She went to Miss Brill’s dance classes with Bobby’s daughter Roberta who was the same age. The way Kathryn tells it, she was on first name terms with Bobby, but I don’t believe a word of it, I think the story has been embellished over the years, I mean whoever heard of the surname Brill? I remember being told the following weekend Bobby Moore missed a penalty and it was all because I trod on his toe. Well I know that’s rubbish, because Bobby didn’t take penalties. So you can forget that one Kathryn!

The other time I met Bobby was at Villa Park the day West Ham lost the FA Cup semi-final, four nil to Nottingham Forest. The other semi-final between Spurs and Arsenal, the first at Wembley, was live on TV in the press room beforehand. There were plenty of places to sit, but I deliberately sat right next to Bob and we chatted all through the game. I can’t remember what we said, it was all about the match, but I was talking to Bobby Moore. Spurs won, setting up the mouth watering prospect of a West Ham/Spurs final.

As the press room emptied, I went to the loo. Bobby Moore was emerging from a cubicle. As he washed his hands I wished him good luck with his radio commentary and then I went into the cubicle he’d just left. Now I’m a bit of a stickler when it comes to hygiene, a bit like Miles from ‘Frasier’, but for the first time ever, I didn’t wipe the toilet seat down before taking my seat. Bobby Moore was the greatest ever captain of West Ham and England, his germs could not be harmful. On reflection it’s odd behaviour and I’m not sure I should be mentioning it in a book. But, better out than in.

I took my seat in the stand, still grinning, and ready to watch West Ham fight for a place in an all London cup final. The West Ham fans were magnificent that day, the best I’ve ever known, even better in my view than the legendary play-off semi final against Ipswich in the Pardew era. We didn’t stop singing ‘Billy Bonds Claret and Blue Army’ all day.

We lost four nil.

When Bobby died in 1993 I was working at BBC Greater London Radio. It came up as just a few words on the wires – England’s World Cup winning captain Bobby Moore has died of bowel cancer. Working in broadcasting you develop immunity to bad news stories, otherwise you’d never be able to cope with live situations. However when it’s one of your heroes from childhood it’s tough. My little statue of Bobby that sat on my bedside locker as a kid, had come with me to my interview at GLR and he’d been there for my first show. Now I had to read the newsflash.

With tears streaming down my face, I ripped off the script from the printer and walked into the studio. The news editor intercepted me and asked if I wanted somebody else to read it, but I said I would be all right. I put my head down and read it, just exactly what it said on the script and then walked out again without talking to the presenter.

Bobby Moore played 108 times for England, a record at the time. Peter Shilton and David Beckham have since overtaken that total. Shilts played on longer because he was a keeper and Becks made a lot of his appearances as a sub, but Bobby played every single minute of every one of his 108 appearances.

The Bobby Moore Fund does brilliant work in his memory, raising awareness of bowel cancer. I’ve been inspired every time I’ve met Stephanie at events where I’ve supported them as a speaker or auctioneer. If you are ever looking for a charity to support they are lovely people to work with. Each year I stand out at the London Marathon cheering on every Bobby Moore Fund runner wearing the red shirts with a number six on the back. I’d love to run it one year for the BMF, but my osteopath won’t let me.

The first game after Bobby’s death was against Wolves. A giant number six shirt made out of claret and blue flowers was carried into the centre circle by Geoff Hurst and Martin Peters. Like many around me I was struggling to hold back the tears. Then two Wolves fans ran onto the pitch with a tribute of their own. They obviously hadn’t cleared it with anyone, but the stewards were brilliant and didn’t overreact, allowing them to place their tribute, I think it was a cross in Wolves colours, alongside the official tributes in the centre circle. They were warmly applauded all the way back to their seats. We won the game three one, which was fitting. At the end my heart was in my mouth as a West Ham skinhead ran onto the pitch. He ran to the Wolves end, applauded them, they clapped him back and he ran off. I’m with Brian Clough when it comes to pitch invasions, nobody should ever enter the field of play. But those two mini-invasions were special moments and were a fitting tribute to England’s greatest ever captain.

Jeremy Nicholas – posted 24th February 2012, the 19th anniversary of Bobby’s death. Taken from Mr Moon Has Left The Stadium published by Biteback – August 2011.