The 16th of January is known throughout history for, absolutely nothing. Nobody famous was born on this day. Nobody famous died on this day. Nobody crashed planes into a building on this day and nobody of note was born in a manger. It should be declared 'National Ennui Day'.  

Yet in Yorkshire on this day in 1954, as a bleak and wintry sky slowly revealed itself to an unsuspecting world, a plaintive cry disturbed the silence - A child is born!  

When my father stopped crying he looked down and saw what lay on the sheets before him. It was small red, blotchy and slimy. He loathed touching it. This is hardly surprising, as it was as the placenta.  

When he finally came to his senses his mind was filled with a multitude of thoughts and emotions. "How the bloody hell am I going to feed another mouth?" "Will he grow up to play for Hull Kingston Rovers?" "I wonder what we're having for dinner tonight?"  

It was me - John Busby - that sprung into life that day. Would the world be forever changed by this momentous event?  

Not bloody likely.

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