‘When this 1966 World Cup photo was taken, I still didn’t know I’d scored a hat-trick’

There have probably been days over the past 51 years when someone hasn’t spoken to me about the 1966 World Cup final. But not many. I don’t mind that; you don’t get bored talking about winning a World Cup for England. If anything, as I get older, I find myself growing more astonished to have been part of something that means so much to so many people. I don’t think that’s unusual: in any walk of life it’s only as the years pass that you start to appreciate the significance of what you achieved.
It was a good afternoon. I scored a hat-trick, but it’s not false modesty to say I was fortunate. That squad didn’t need me in it to be world class. You had [Gordon] Banks, [Bobby] Moore, [Bobby] Charlton, [Jimmy] Greaves. Every one of those was unbelievable. I hadn’t been the best player at my school, let alone in the country, but I worked hard and had a good attitude. That’s what [England manager] Sir Alf Ramsey wanted in his players.
The day itself is a series of moments to me now. The coach to the ground, quiet and contemplative; walking out at Wembley to a growing roar; the goals, obviously. My favourite was the first. It was a Moore free-kick dropped straight into where I was running. It was straight off the training ground.
I can remember this photograph being taken. If you ask me how I was feeling, I can tell you in one word: tired. We’d been playing for two hours. We were all exhausted. You can see it in Ray Wilson’s face, he’s struggling to lift Moore there. I don’t know how I’m looking so fresh.
What might also seem surprising is that when this was taken, I didn’t know what the score had been. I still didn’t know I’d scored a hat-trick.
It’s sometimes assumed we paraded Bobby around like that. We didn’t. He was on our shoulders for only a few seconds – no more. It was just a spontaneous thing. It wasn’t for the camera, but I like that the moment was caught: it encapsulates the team’s camaraderie somehow. It captures how close knit we were as a group.
The other thing I remember clearly feeling was relief. We wanted so badly to win and because West Germany had scored a last-minute goal to take the game to extra-time, there was a worry the momentum was theirs. So to get over the line, you can’t describe it… it’s more than you dare dream of as a footballer. There are only 22 of us in this country to have known that feeling – although I live in hope for the day there are more.
The last goal – England’s fourth, my third – had come with the last kick. The ref blew the whistle pretty much as the ball hit the net. It was only when I was back in the dressing room afterwards I realised I wasn’t sure if it had counted. I wasn’t bothered either way; winning was what mattered. But I was curious to know. I remember putting my suit on and walking back down the tunnel. Wembley was quiet by then… the fans had all left. I got on to the pitch and was pretty much alone. I looked up at the scoreboard and, sure enough, it said 4-2. I remember thinking it was a job well done.
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SOURCE : GUARDIAN SPORTS
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