Taxi for Best.

God called last orders on George Best this week. It was also the week that saw 24 hour boozing. Ironic huh?

I'm not old enough to remember George at his best but I am old enough to have seen him play.

And I once did see him play. I also got a Christmas card from him. Well, kinda...

I can't remember what year it was, when my dad took me to Easter Road stadium to see Hibernian FC play some other equally poor Scottish football club, but I do remember being amazed when the teams emerged from the tunnel and George Best ran onto the pitch... Women screamed, old men murmured about how they were watching a legend play at Easter road, and kids my age dreamed of playing alongside him in a Hibs jersey.

At the end of the game my dad and I walked around to the players entrance to await George coming out, so I could ask him for his autograph, but he never emerged. My dad asked one of the door stewards how long he reckoned George would be and the steward replied that Mr Best had left the club by a different exit. I was gutted...

Until a couple of weeks later... When my dad presented me with an envelope that had arrived in the post. I opened it and saw that it was a Christmas card and that George Best had signed it.

Dear John,

Happy Christmas.

From George Best.

It said.

At the time I was a bit upset that it didn't have my name on it. Now I don't give a shit 'cos it gives me a nice little anecdote to put up here.

Thanks George.