Special Guest Blogger: Denis Law

If you’re reading this, one of two things is true: either you’re still alive and scrolling aimlessly, or you’ve finally tracked down the ghost of a 70s footballer so let me cut to the chase, you’re here because you want to know about my life, my career, and how I tragically exited this earthly pitch. Spoiler: it involved pancreatic cancer, not a tackle.
But hey, let’s not dwell on the how, let’s celebrate the why. Buckle up and listen to how I went from kicking tins to kicking goals.
I was born in Scotland but even as a kid, I knew I was destined for greatness because while other boys were playing keepy-uppy with their socks, I was dribbling a tin can around.
My move to Manchester United in 1962? Well, that was the real 'I told you I was special' moment. So good was that team that even the other team supporters started tipping their hats.
In 1968, we won the European Cup. I scored 238 goals for United. I was the first British player to earn a FIFA World Player of the Year nomination but off the field I was a husband, a father, and the master of the 'I’ll do the dishes later' excuse. My wife, Evelyn, put up with me for 63 years.
They put up a statue of me at Old Trafford. It’s me in my prime mid-sprint, muscles flexed an plenty of hair gel and i always envisioned i would go by maybe a heart attack mid-fight with a linesman, or a sudden burst of glory in my 90s, sprinting through a shopping mall like it’s the Champions League.
Instead, I got pain, forgetfulness from the Alzheimer's disease and vascular dementia and the ref blew the final whistle.