Back in November 2001, Hereford United played Wrexham in the FA Cup. And just as in 1972 John Motson was at Edgar Street for BBC TV.
This article which originally appeared in the Guardian was written by Jim White.
Not a lot of note has happened for Hereford since, and even less for Ronnie Radford. But for the cub reporter doing his first FA Cup commentary on BBC's Match of the Day at that tie, things have gone rather well.
John Motson was 26, on a placement from radio commentary, when he first turned up at Edgar Street. Nearly 30 years on, and recently reckoned to be the man in possession of the perfect broadcasting voice, he is back to cover Hereford's first-round tie against Wrexham, the BBC's first live engagement with the Cup since the rights were prised off ITV. And judging by the reaction of the crowd as he makes his way to his commentary position in the main stand, the return of the Mott was as exciting an event as Edgar Street has witnessed since that mud-soaked day in '72. Not that everyone realised the significance of the visitation.
"Look, son, it's John Motson," says an excited father, pointing to the round-shouldered figure in the headphones.
"Oh, right," replies the boy. "Is he a footballer?"
"No. He's Motty."
As is his wont, Motty arrived at the ground 2 hours before kick-off. He likes to be punctual, and he likes to make sure everything is as it should be. I find him sitting under the picture of Radford, at the boardroom table, dabbing at his notes with some Tippex he has borrowed from the Hereford club secretary. The notes are copious and many, and colour-coded in several different inks. As well as the trademark sheepskin coat, Motson displays a couple of unexpected sartorial touches. There are the pair of large blue-framed glasses which give him the air of a 1980s advertising executive. Then there is a hint of gel in his hair. Motty wears hair gel? Very much so.
"Probably not emotional . . . no, no, emotional's not the right word," Motson says of his return to the west country. "Nostalgic: that would be the more accurate description. I'm very much looking forward to seeing Ronnie Radford again. I've a lot to be grateful to Ronnie for. When Malcolm Macdonald scored early on for Newcastle, I was destined for six minutes at the end of the show. But when Ronnie scored that goal and Hereford went on to win, I got the main game. It was my first FA Cup tie. It was very different then. I never dreamt I'd be back here 30 years later, surrounded by a team like this."
He nods in the direction of Gary Lineker, Mark Lawrenson and the perma-relaxed Alan Hansen, who prefer to prepare for the game by swapping BBC gossip and glad-handing the local directors.
"Bloody hell, Motty," says Lineker, leaning over the hunched figure making his last-minute adjustments. "You have got the neatest handwriting I've ever seen."
In many ways, Hereford against Wrexham is the perfect Motty match. Not just for the nostalgia, not just for the romance, not just because it makes a change from the soap opera of the Premiership, but for the opportunity to wallow in research. Most of us could, if handed a microphone, manage a couple of words about David Beckham or Michael Owen, could tell the difference at a glance between Roy Keane and Steven Gerrard. But faced with Hereford's Robert Elmes and required to tell the watching public that his full-time job is teaching German, or that his team-mate Phil Robinson studied psychology at Salford University and sticks motivational slogans round the dressing room, well, we leave that sort of detail to Motty. That, after all, is what he is there for.
"Funnily enough, it fell brilliantly," he says of the tie. "I was able to get to see Hereford at Woking on the Saturday and Wrexham were providentially at Reading on the Tuesday. So I've seen them both and got some good facial identification. Mind you - ho ho - you can't win. Wrexham have made four changes since that game."
Not that something like that would put off Motty. He has just returned from the Wrexham dressing room, where he had collared one of the coaches to point out the incomers.
"Couldn't do that at Manchester United," he says. "Not that you'd need to, of course. It's got harder, you know, to have the contact. In the 70s they'd come up and chat. Now - and I'm not saying it's their fault - it's much more structural. Security whisk them away. Nowadays I have to stand in the tunnel as they go out to warm up to see what they look like. Now, if you'll excuse me I'm just off to see the referee. I want to get the names of his assistants. If you don't you can guarantee today will be the day when one of them is involved in a controversial incident."
Half an hour before kick-off, after returning from the referee's room, Motty makes his way to his commentary position, hastily constructed out of a couple of rows in the directors' box. He sits next to Trevor Brooking in front of three monitors and - useful skill this - continues fact-checking while signing autographs. His signature, I can't help noticing, is very neat.
"Could you put the captions up, please?" he says into his microphone, presumably to the programme director, before turning to me. "I like to check the captions are accurate and properly spelt. Ah, here they come. Yes, yes, yes. That's very good. One hundred per cent accurate. Yes, Martin, I can confirm that's correct for Hereford. Though we need a captain for Wrexham. It's [Darren] Ferguson, I presume. Thought so."
There was no such technology available for him when he first came to Hereford. In those days there were no action replays, no super slo mo, nothing at all.
"I was on my own, of course, no co-commentator then," he says. "I sat on the other side of the ground as I remember, because they hadn't built that stand then."
Motson is renowned for his phenomenal memory. He remembered something I'd written in an interview with him 10 years ago, remembered Tom the photographer had taken his picture before a match once ("it was Arsenal-Sheffield Wednesday as I recall, Tom, wasn't it?"), remembered a previous encounter with a woman who comes up and introduces herself ("course I remember you"). So I thought I'd give him a tester: which was the team Hereford beat in the round before their great Newcastle victory?
"Northampton, as I recall," he says. Naturally, it was. Was his memory, though, restricted to footballing issues? Did he, for instance, ever forget his wife's birthday?
"Forget the wife's birthday?" he says. "Don't think so. No. No. Categorically, I can say I've never forgotten the wife's birthday. Have been known to get the anniversary wrong. But only by a day."
It is not for his memory, however, that we love Motty. Not for the facts he drags out of his mental bottom draw, either. The reason we love him becomes evident two minutes into the game, when Hereford's Scott Voice misses a chance so easy the only surprise is it doesn't come gift-wrapped with a tag bearing his name. Motty is on his feet immediately, forced upright by the adrenalin rush of the genuine lover of the game.
"Ho, ho, ho, would you believe it? My word. Well, I don't think he'll get an easier chance than that."
He may not have Alan Green's tell-it-like-it-is forthrightness, he may not have Andy Gray's reading of the game, he may not have Big Ron's magnificently idiosyncratic thesaurus to hand. But what Motty has is enthusiasm. He's such an enthusiast, you get the impression in the midst of the bleakest 0-0 boreathon, he'd find a little something to chortle over. Since 1964 he has been reporting on football and the enthusiasm has never wavered, never has the reservoir of excitement been in danger of running dry. Link him up to the national grid and he could keep the country supplied in bonhomie for weeks on end. Tony Blair could do worse than bottle him as a permanent antidote to sneerers and naysayers. This is a man engaged in a passionate, 37-year-long affair. With his job.
And on his return to Edgar Street, he has had a great time. Not least because of the reception he has received.
"To be honest with you, it's been so convivial, so relaxed, you have to tell yourself occasionally you're about to go on live television for two hours."
The match, too, was right up his street. True, this time round there was no Ronnie Radford moment. No piledriver blammed from 30 yards. No shirt riding up to reveal yards of torso as the goal scorer wheeled away. No invasion of the parkas. But there was much to enjoy, particularly in the performance of Hereford's young keeper, Matt Baker, who looked a model of calm and self-assurance. Which wasn't easy in the gnawing tension, as the home team held on to their ninth-minute lead courtesy of Ian Wright (no, not that one).
"Good cup tie," Motty says afterwards, his face glowing. "And a great story. BBC gets the tie right again. Have you seen the draw for the next round, by the way? Canvey have got Northampton and Brighton against Rushden and Diamonds. Couple of corkers there."
There is possibly only one person in the country who could describe Canvey against Northampton and Brighton versus Rushden as a couple of corkers. Thank you, John Motson.