Even after all these years, the Malmo right back might still be puzzled by what transpired that day in 1979. The man on the left flank for Brian Clough’s Nottingham Forest wasn’t the fastest or most flashy player. Yet, John Robertson, with his unassuming build, could signal his intentions clearly and still manage to execute them with finesse.

During that iconic match at the Munich Olympiastadion, Robertson faced Roland Andersson, who attempted to guide him towards the line. But Robertson, Clough’s unexpected hero, deftly maneuvered his shoulder to create just enough space. From that position, he delivered a perfectly curved cross that met Trevor Francis’s head at the far post.

This moment secured a historic triumph for Forest—a victory that remains one of the most celebrated in English football history. Although Francis had only recently joined the team, he was well aware of Robertson’s prowess and knew where to position himself for the decisive goal.

“People often talk about my famous goal,” Francis once reflected. “But truly, it was all about Robertson. I had the easy part. He might not have realized it, but he was a genius.”

Francis passed away two and a half years ago, and now Robertson has joined him in memory. The Scottish footballer died on Christmas Day at the age of 72. For Forest fans, his passing on such a day carries a sense of poetic timing, as if he always held a star-like quality in their eyes.

John Robertson (left) was rather slow, smoked, and Brian Clough described him as an ‘uninterested waste of time’ – then he became a Nottingham Forest hero 

He won two European Cups with Forest and his ability was compared to that of George Best

Robertson didn’t just assist in legendary moments. He was also the scorer of a European Cup-winning goal a year after that unforgettable night in Munich. With his contribution, Clough’s team retained their title by defeating Kevin Keegan’s Hamburg in Madrid, further cementing his legacy in the annals of football history.

But it was that moment twelve months before in Germany that will always stand out. Forest’s journey from the old Second Division to the pinnacle of the European game was complete and it had been carved out of nowhere by a player who represented so much of what was so beautifully unlikely about all of it.

Robertson was actually on the transfer list at the City Ground when Clough swept through the door in 1975. The Scot didn’t look like an athlete, nor did he live like one. He smoked, for a start. He was scruffy and looked overweight.

Clough’s first impressions were not remotely portentous. There was no early identification of immense and extraordinary talent. No lightning strike moment.

‘He was a scruffy, unfit, uninterested waste of time,’ was one of Clough’s more earthy reflections and he meant it.

But Robertson could play off both feet, could deliver crosses and passes from a standing start and read the needs and wants of a game instinctively and intuitively. He became a playmaker from a wide position and as such was a trailblazer.

Forest and all that they did under Clough were driven by a strong sense of underdog purpose and a sense of togetherness that could not be bought. But within that structure and under the noses of such solid citizens as John McGovern, Frank Clarke and Garry Birtles, real genius was allowed to thrive.

A recent poll of Forest supporters voted Robertson as the club’s best player of all time and none of the members of the Thursday Club who still gather in Nottingham to look back at the wondrous things they did would ever disagree.

Without him, Nottingham Forest would not have been remotely the same and vice-versa 

‘He may not have looked like George Best but he was as good as him in every way,’ said McGovern.

‘We would not have won those European Cup finals without him.

‘It was quite easy to see that if you wanted to create something, just get the ball out to Roberston as quickly as possible. He was our go-to man.’

Robertson, born in Lanarkshire, played 28 times for Scotland and played in the 1982 World Cup finals in Spain. He scored a winning goal against England in 1981, something he was not shy of mentioning as the years drifted on through a stellar coaching career and then, reluctantly, retirement.

In Scotland, they knew exactly what they had. The great Graeme Souness once described Robertson in these pages as ‘the most underrated footballer of any generation’ but throughout it all it was hard to escape the feeling the ordinary man vibe was all just part of the act.

‘He looked like he had a little paunch, he’d wear these battered old desert boots and you would barely see him without a fag in his hand,’ added Souness.

Upon the end of a playing career that eventually concluded with a second spell at Forest after 72 league appearances down the road at Derby, Robertson found a home as Martin O’Neill’s right hand man at Wycombe, Norwich, Leicester, Celtic and Aston Villa.

As a coach, his schtick was pretty much the same. He continued to look almost deliberately out of place, to wear an expression of a man who had just been – or was about to be – caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Forest fans voted him their club’s greatest-ever player and it is hard to disagree

But as a foil to O’Neill’s urbane and eccentric intelligence and ultra-analysis, Robertson’s brand of straight forward football and man management instinct was priceless. Players loved him and listened to him. O’Neill did too.

As players under Clough, O’Neill would simmer as he saw Robertson get away with murder while the great man turned a blind eye. O’Neill felt as though he couldn’t move without the scrutiny of his manager’s arched eyebrow. Robertson? Different rules applied.

In management O’Neill and Robertson were not quite Clough and Taylor and never purported to be. There was, however, a familiar ying and yang that can never be forced, built or bought.

O’Neill will mourn the loss of his dear friend. Forest and their following will feel the heavy melancholy of the severing of another thread to their storied past.

Clough – gone now for 21 years – described Robertson as the greatest he ever knew. Souness said he ‘could have played for any club in the world and I mean Real Madrid, Barcelona or Bayern Munich’.

Only the brave would disagree though whether anyone else other than Clough could have fully uncovered the magic buried beneath the feigned indifference would be a debate worth having.

Robertson and Forest are woven together in history like Nottingham and lace. One without the other would never have been remotely the same.