Dear Cyrille Regis, I’m writing to you now because your untimely death means that there are things I didn’t get the chance to say to you and because I want you to know the extent of how positive your influence has been on my life and that of my family.
Every Saturday was by the far the most exciting, memorable day I remember as a young boy growing up with my dad, Leroy, being a professional footballer. My happiest memories as a child were waking up in our flat in Streatham, south London, putting on my West Ham shirt with my brother Daron (more often than not before we brushed our teeth) and sitting in awe with Dad as he ate his pre-match fry-up in preparation for his big game at Upton Park in the late 80s.
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