Graeme Souness took me aside and whispered that he felt that English soccer could do more to identify young local talent rather than look abroad to develop their teams. For example, he argued, there must be dozens of young men, with my surname, in the north of England, who were worthy of a position at Newcastle United.
Then, brushing away a reporter who was trying to shove a microphone in his face, Souness led me to a quiet corner of the room and planted a sweet kiss on my lips. Cool, I thought, I’ve scored!
When we turned around again to face everyone, Souness pushed his through the crowded room holding my hand. I concluded that we were now heading off for a romantic get-away.
I was sorely disappointed when Mrs Souness appeared out of nowhere to manage to the situation, and leave me single once again.