It’s 1987, after yet another glorious victory the Wednesday stars are out celebrating. They toast their success with champagne, until at last the waiter tells them there are no more bottles left, only magnums. “Alright then” replies one “Gi us a pint of that”. Step forward David Eric Hirst, all purpose Wednesday hero.

Like most tales about Hirsty, I picked up this nugget third hand, and again like most tales about him it didn’t really matter whether it was true, rubbish or somewhere in between. David Hirst at Wednesday was the footballer I wanted to be.

Over the last few weeks people far better qualified than me have waxed lyrical about Hirsty’s golden touch on the field, so I’m not going to do it again here. I will just say that there were few sights that made you prouder to be a Wednesdayite than the Cudworth Cowboy hurtling through the middle with the ball at his feet and red mist in front of his eyes.

...and that for me his best goal was the late winner against Man U, to end their darling umpteen match start and send the media home grizzling. That’s not because it was necessarily one of his best, but like most things with Hirsty it was just right.

But it was off the field that the legend of David Hirst took on a life of its own. Fans on the Kop created a hero in their own image. We thought what it would be like to be a young Barnsley lad suddenly pocketing thousands every week, and instantly all the myths about Hirsty just fell into place:

• he liked a drink (possibly)
• he liked a bet (a few reported sightings)
• he clapped on weight when he was injured (in reality just a few pounds, but enough for us to get away with the front cover of issue 16)
• he moved out of his mums and lived on nothing but burgers (reported in the Star)
• so, he moved back to his mum’s (ditto)

and so on and so on. Fair play to the lad, he did what he could to stoke up the legend; witness the splendid sending off from the touchline while watching Cudworth Hornets, or when he appeared on a Sky TV advert and kicked a ball straight at an expensive camera and wrecked it.

In the flesh he seems like a nice bloke. One of our crowd remembers him standing next to him in the pouring rain on the terraces at Bristol Rovers. And then there was the day Andy and I were going to watch a pre-season friendly at Crewe. Not sure of the start time we were leaving Hillsborough just as the team coach was. Andy jumped on and asked the time of the game. Hirsty gave him the info and said “Are you coming to watch us then? Thanks very much”.

There were attempts to up-market our boy. Remember the time he was front cover on a new men’s magazine and a smoothy picture of him appeared on adverts for it all down Penistone Road?

And without being appointed club or team captain, Hirsty always seemed to be leader of the gang. Away at Derby last season we managed to get in the “Sportsman’s Lounge” post-match. Sue enough guess who led the boys in for their post match Budweiser. Somehow all activity seemed to revolve around him.

Then there was the time we nearly lost him to Man U. At the time rumours were everywhere that it had fallen through after a medical (although presumably Southampton must have run the same checks). I remember being dead chuffed that he was staying, but sorry for him personally that he had yet another setback.

In truth the injury thing was the main fly in Hirsty’s heroic ointment. We watched as players who began to rise at the same time as him (shearer, Merson etc) blossom into stars while our boy time and again reached out for glory only for another cartilage/foot/groin to just stop him getting there.

During his last year with the club it all began to slip seriously, leaving us as sad as he must have been. The injuries continued, and the successes of such as Carbone and Booth began to knock him back in the queue. (In many ways Boothy is Histy’s natural successor - local lad, not perfect but big on heart and commitment.

In issue 16 we found ourselves printing the unthinkable – maybe it was time for David Hirst to move on. Worse was to follow when his on-pitch spat with Beni led to some people booing him on the pitch the next time out.

And then he was gone. In our heads we all agred that £2m was good business. But in our hearts, the sight of David Hirst in a red and white striped shirt was almost too much to bear.

On my wall at home is a picture of the ’91 League Cup winning team. I’ve gradually watched my heroes from it (Roly, Madden, Sheza etc) disappear one by one. For a long time there’s been only one left, Hirsty, and now he’s gone and the world feels a bit sadder for it.

He’s started well at the Dell, and surely we are chuffed for him. He was due a testimonial and I’m sure no-one would mind if something was sorted out. We didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to him on the pitch (although if he plays home or away when we play the Saints, he’ll get a heroes welcome).

I said at the start that Hirsty was the footballer I wanted to be; some beer down, still out with his mates, still in touch with his roots. I don’t know how much of that’s true and how much is in my head. All I do know is that however much I admire the big money signings like Beni and Di Canio, I can never see myself identifying with them like I did with David Hirst. In lots of ways he was what Wednesday are or at least were about, and his going perhaps shows how much the world is changing.

Who knows, one day we might see him back at Hillsborough in some way, shape or form, but in the meantime Hirsty keep belting them in, thanks for everything, and where can you get a decent pint of magnum down south?