Alex Miller: Shouldn't Sheffield Wednesday hero Chris Waddle revered in the same light as Paul Gascoigne?

Well, one was a football genius born in the suburbs of Newcastle before making his way as a youngster at St James Park, joining Spurs and playing for England and earning a high-profile move abroad to a major European club.

They came back to the UK, played in Scotland, won the adulation of major clubs and played for Burnley among a handful of other lower-league clubs. Not to mention the chart-topping,

fairly dodgy music, questionable hairstyles and a shimmy of the hips that just won't quit. The other is.. well it’s both of them, isn’t it?

Not a classic gag, I’ll accept.

But when you look at it, it’s remarkable just how closely their careers mirror one another.

Waddle is five-and-a-half years older than Gazza and in many ways was always three steps ahead of him at the height of their careers, making that move from Newcastle to Tottenham three years earlier, jumping across to Marseille three years before Gascoigne’s switch to Lazio, returning to Sheffield Wednesday three years before Gazza’s move to Rangers.

Geordie boys together, the pair are great pals and roomed together during a 1990 World Cup that catapulted Gascoigne into the realms of superstardom, offering two swords of creative genius in a side that rode to the semi-finals and changed football in this country forever.

And it was over those weeks that the legend of Gascoigne was born through sweat, tears and a cheeky wink to camera. He was pure, unadulterated joy in a football kit; untamed, unsanitised. He was the man in the pub, but with the feet of Maradona.

Was it that puerile vulnerability, those iconic moments that propelled Gazza beyond the likes of Waddle in the hearts of the nation? Football, surely, was only part of the potion?

Perhaps this isn’t the audience to test this notion on. Chris Waddle is a god among gods in Sheffield, but a little further North where this writer grew up, he was regarded merely another good, creative English player, placed alongside, say, Peter Beardsley. It’s only with a closer look that the genius of the man was realised.

The Gazza games are everywhere; the North London derby at Wembley, Italia 90, Scotland at Euro 96. Waddle’s iconic moments? Simply not as famous.

Is it because of Gazza’s celebrity? Is it because at the height of their powers Italian football was shown on UK telly while French football wasn’t? Or is it simply because Chris Waddle wasn’t quite as good as the man roundly regarded as the brightest talent England has ever produced?

Whatever the reason, outside of Sheffield and Marseille, Waddle comes a long way short of the legend of Gascoigne. His reputation, outside of those regions he called home, doesn’t quite proceed him as it should.

It’s a childish argument perhaps and this column does not necessarily seek to compare the two as footballers.

It's not to say that Gascoigne should be adored any less, it's that Waddle – Le Magicien – should be appreciated more.

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