Special Guest Blogger: Frank Worthington

The Seventies were football's Sixties and i was part of the generation of rock n roll footballers, a bunch of footballing gypsies, travelling from club to club, rarely winning trophies but having a hell of a time.
In my career i played for 24 clubs in England, the US, Sweden, South Africa, the Republic of Ireland and Wales and despite being described by the England Manager Joe Mercer as one of the best centre-forwards of all time, i only got 8 caps because Revie and Ramsey never fancied me, Ramsey never forgave me for turning up to an under-23 trip in high-heeled cowboy boots and Don Revie played me for 87 minutes across his first two matches before giving up on me because he didn't like my off pitch behaviour which he thought was unbecoming of an England player.
Then there was the hair, the clothes, the women, the fast cars which saw me make four court appearances for driving offences within a single year and i could be a bit stroppy, falling out with one club manager after refusing to go on an outing to a vineyard and with another when i was not allowed to play my favourite Elvis cassette on the team coach but my most enduring moment was my almost move to Liverpool.
Bill Shankly was desperate to sign me but i failed the medical for high blood pressure and Shanks sent me away for a week of relaxation in Majorca before retaking the medical.
Seven days of carousing, which involved two Swedish blondes, a night with Miss Great Britain, a casual encounter at the airport with a woman whose name i didn’t catch and a night with a young Belgian beauty, i came back and retook the medical and my blood pressure was even higher.
The Liverpool transfer therefore never happened so i moved to Leicester instead, and spent the following summer on holiday in Mallorca with George Best where i met the former Miss Sweden Birgitta Egermalm.
By the time we returned she was pregnant and we were engaged leading to an attempt at domestic life that was so unsuccessful Leicester eventually paid to move me out of the family home and into a hotel.
I did promise Leicester i would attempt to settle down a bit and i did, instead of going out seven times a week on the lash, i only went out six so it was a great time to be a footballer but over the years my fellow football wild-men, guys like George Best, Rodney Marsh, Peter Osgood, Stan Bowles, Charlie George, Tony Currie all died and i carried the coffins of many of them although to be honest, that wasn't easy to do one handed while keeping the other free for a fag/ champagne flute/ betting slip/ comb/ Miss World or keys to the Ferrari.
I went to the great changing room in the sky aged 72 after Alzheimer's did for me but there won't be many from today's footballers making it into football's rock'n'roll hall of fame, they all try too hard, aren't pretty enough and there isnt a decent pair of sideburns amongst the lot of them.