From poor man to king, from brawls in the streets of Aberdeen to frenetic confrontations at the top of world football, two episodes far from the glory of the playing field give an idea of Denis Law and his time.
First, that lanky body was never fed abundantly during its childhood. He was the son of a fisherman. At an event at the Scottish Football Museum Hall of Fame, seven decades after his birth, he spoke quietly but movingly of the deprivations of such a life.
Secondly, I was a footballer when players could be extraordinary stars but had to be connected to the ordinary world.
“I had to make a living,” he explained in his autobiography when recounting his decision to become a carpet salesman immediately after retiring from football. So Law, Scotland's only Ballon d'Or winner, gracefully bowed to the realities of his life. And he kept going.
It is difficult to explain to younger generations exactly what entitlement meant for those now of retirement age. We saw it briefly. He would feature in the Match of the Day highlights, the annual match against England was televised live and that game at Hampden was enthusiastically attended.
But Law represented much more than just sporting prowess. It was the pinnacle of the young Scot who left home early to seek his fortune in another country. It was the main example of that eternal story of the boy who becomes king by facing and overcoming a series of challenges. His included eye surgery at a young age and withstanding the violence of the 1960s game despite his obvious relative frailty.
Law (right) is the only Scot to win the Ballon d'Or, back in 1964.
The Lawman represented his country at the 1974 World Cup, taking part in the 2-0 victory over Zaire.
He overcame all of this, of course, with talent and sheer force of will. Law was generous, self-deprecating and courteous off the field. He was a force of nature at that. Center halves so large that they came with their own weather systems would be battered and rejected by the vibrant Scotsman. He was persistently brave in the face of violence and was able to respond in kind. There was and is no need to apologize for this latest trend. It was a matter of survival.
His career, of course, was sustained by the validity of the goals. A telling example of this talent came when Scotland beat England, then world champions, at Wembley in 1967. Gordon Banks spilled a ball and the King pounced on him and scored decisively. This was his modus operandi. The stiletto shot instead of a blunderbuss from outside the area or the artificial mechanics of dribbling and finishing. He could score any type of goal, but taking advantage of opportunities inside the area was in his DNA.
But Denis was more than a scorer. In fact, he would later politely protest that he was more of a number 10 than a number 9, not only in shirt number but also in role. However, its importance transcends any debate about precise teamwork. His aura also elevates him above his considerable achievements at Manchester United and elsewhere.
In an era when footballers sported conservative hairstyles and square jaws (Bobby Charlton, Law's incomparable teammate, seemed to leave school and immediately land on the brink of middle age), Denis was incredibly glamorous.
It was exciting. His hair stood up on top of his head as if he had just survived an explosion. He wore his shirt outside his shorts, clutched his fists, and his thinness was complemented by a meanness, at least in the face of opposing defenses.
He was a predator. He pounced to score. He slid around the box. Then he pounced. It was incredibly exciting for the fan. The suddenness of his entry into the game regularly elicited a gasp.
There was a geographical distance between Law and his country. He left young and never returned. His exploits in England were only accessible through the limited television coverage of the day. But this, at least for me, only increased its appeal.
There was genuine excitement as a boy traveling to Hampden in the expectation of seeing the King in all his pomp.
Law was part of Manchester United's Holy Trinity, alongside Sir Bobby Charlton and George Best.
He could be unlucky as a player. He missed Manchester United's 1968 European Cup victory due to injury and his only appearance at a World Cup finals came when he was declining physically.
But even then he represented much more than his diminished body. It was Scotland's first World Cup finals in a generation and it was fitting that it was there that he took his final bow. He soon became a carpet salesman and the Ballon d'Or was presumably collecting dust in a cupboard in his Manchester home.
He was never really interested in experts. He never seriously considered coaching. His gifts as a player seemed purely natural, almost instinctive. This is not to underestimate his considerable will and inner strength, but it does emphasize that Law operated on a plane that does not easily translate onto a tactical board.
This wonderful fluidity was difficult to explain but lovely to observe. Standing high above Hampden Field, on those magnificently chaotic terraces, one could spot Law as easily as an experienced ornithologist would. There was that distinctive feather. There was that unmistakable movement. There was that lunge towards his prey, the loose ball in front of the goal.
The legendary striker was awarded a CBE for his services to football and charity in 2016.
When he was a kid, he was the hero. “I'm Denis” was the cry at schoolchildren's games. As a teenager in 1973, I watched once again from the Hampden terrace as we beat Czechoslovakia to reach the World Cup in West Germany. As we bounced on the ground, Denis Law frolicked on the field below.
As an adult I met him, interviewed him and was inspired by his humility. I knew he had been a great player. They told him this every day. He had statues in Manchester and Aberdeen. But I also knew that there are other things in life. These included humor, natural gentleness, and respect for others.
The sadness that many feel today, particularly those my age, is not just that Denis Law has passed away. But a representative of everything we love in the game is gone.
The law was King when as a sporting nation we believed we were kings, if only for a day.
It brought excitement and joy. It is an epitaph reserved for special people. Thanks Denis.