David Leggat: Last hurrah for soccer's Irish wizard

Sir Matt Busby wrote, in an early book on his life, that the greatest compliment he ever heard of George Best was delivered by a New Zealand woman.

And, no, this isn't about to get risque, no need to avert the gaze.

The manager who had built three great Manchester United teams - 1948, 1958 and 1968 - brought his side to New Zealand for two matches in 1967.

They were then reigning English league champions and a few months later became the first English club to win the European Cup.

They played New Zealand at English Park on a rainy night in Christchurch and won 11-0, then walloped Auckland 8-1 at Carlaw Park.

At one point in the second half of the Christchurch game, the ball arrived at Best's feet.

Busby heard a woman in the row in front exclaim: "Oh no, he's got the ball again!"

Here's another way Best had an influence on New Zealanders.

In the mid-1970s, a long-haired first XI player, shirt flapping outside his shorts, was weaving his way past tacklers in an inter-schools match.

Watching from the sideline were two teenage girls. In the time- honoured way, the boy had noticed the girls and vice-versa.

As he slipped a string of tackles a few metres from the sideline he heard one girl utter the words: "He's George Best".

He felt pretty good about himself until his mate, who'd been standing nearby, told him what she'd actually said was: "Look at this bloke. He thinks he's George Best."

Now if this all sounds like the start of an obituary, it's not; at least not at the time these words are being written.

But it might well be by the time you're reading them.

Best is seriously ill - on life support - in a London hospital and has passed out messages to friends amounting to a final farewell.

If you haven't seen film of the Irish wizard, watch out in the coming days: there's bound to be a documentary on his life.

Don't miss it.

Best at his finest was a genius. He had magic in his feet, pace, courage - considering the amount of biff he took from the defensive hard men of his day - and overwhelming confidence in his ability.

But above all he always gave the appearance of having plenty of time to do his stuff, and that's the sign of supreme talent in any sport.

He made today's players look like battling journeymen, just as he did his peers in the 1960s and early 1970s.

His story is well known: the decline, the booze, the women, the shot liver, jail, assaults and so on. There's no need to recap.

No need, either, to condemn his outlook, even if he effectively walked away from the big time in his prime. The drink acted like a crutch when the pressures became too great.

The one serious blot was that, having been bumped up the list to receive a new liver in 2002 vowing that he'd honour the gift of a second chance, he drifted back to the bottle. That cost him a mountain of goodwill, of which there had been plenty.

Best made a decent living in the last 20 years on the speaking circuit in Britain.

But anyone who saw him knew that, essentially, he remained a nervous, shy Belfast boy, ill at ease with a microphone, happiest in a bar with his mates.

Down the years, there have been many players dubbed unfairly "the new Best", most often Manchester United players. Ryan Giggs was the most prominent in recent years. He's been outstanding, but he's no Best.

Now there's Wayne Rooney.

Rooney is a yob, but he can do brilliant things. However, there's at least one big difference between Rooney and Best.

Not to put too fine a point on it, Best had the look - ensuring that he drew the admiration of men for his talent and women for his other qualities.

As I say, the documentary will tell the story.