Cyrille was genuinely the most lovely, mild-mannered and pleasant man I have ever known. At least until he got on the pitch. When you played against him, he was an absolute beast. Challenging him was like hitting a brick wall. He was so powerful: great in the air, very quick, with two good feet and an eye for goal. He had everything you could want in a centre-forward, he ticked all the boxes.
He played for West Brom while I was at Nottingham Forest. We were local rivals and both had good teams at the time, so we had a lot of games, real ding-dong battles. We came across each other all the time. The game I really remember, though, was one I didn’t play in: an FA Cup quarter-final in 1978. I was suspended that day so was watching from the stands, and he scored an absolute screamer as they beat us 2-0. I remember it like it was yesterday. What a player he was on his day.
When he got riled he just worked harder. As a defender, when you were up against Cyrille you’d know you were going to be in a battle, but what you wanted was a confrontation you had control over. If you upset him you’d have no control. Often a defender will use what’s called the “dark arts” to take control of those confrontations – an elbow here, a sly stamp there – but against Cyrille it was the exact opposite. We used to say: “Don’t upset Cyrille.” So we’d always be chatting to him: “All right Cyrille? How you doing? Family all right?” When the ball was out of play you’d talk to him about this and that – the key thing was not to upset him.
We lived quite a way from each other, so we might have the odd night out from time to time, but we didn’t see each other too often outside of the England get-togethers – we’d always spend a lot of time together on those. The one conversation that really stands out was when he got his first call-up and he got sent a bullet in the post, with a warning that if he pulled on an England shirt there’d be another one for his knee. He went into great detail, telling us how he received it and what his thoughts were. He was shaken by it, of course, and I think it stayed on his mind for quite a while, but he wouldn’t let that or the other abuse he received deter him from what he wanted to do.
He, Brendon Batson and Laurie Cunningham, the three black players who did so well together at West Brom, became more than footballers. They are legends of the English game, because of what they had to go through to get to that level and how brilliant they were when they got there. To experience that racism and then to dismiss it and play your way from nowhere to the level they reached, to excel, to win things and become respected by your teammates, by your opponents and by fans of clubs across the country, it’s just unbelievable. There would have been times in their lives when they felt that everything and everybody was against them, so to achieve what the three of them did is just incredible. They put West Brom on the map, really.
After Cyrille retired he became an agent. My son plays for Manchester City under-12s, and earlier this year I went to watch him in a game and Cyrille happened to be there to see someone. We bumped into each other and had a chat for about 10 minutes, catching up and talking about the old days. He was the kind of guy who’d always have time for anyone. He looked great, and it was wonderful to see him.
Three weeks later he was dead.
I’m 62 now, so I suppose I’m coming to the age where these things start to happen to your contemporaries, but Cyrille wasn’t even 60 yet. When I last saw him he was full of life, a real gentleman, like he always was. He was the most gentle giant you could ever meet.
