In a stagnant period for the club where mediocrity was the norm, David Ginola’s skill and presence provided much needed glamour when he turned up in 1997.
He was a phenomenon.
I was just starting to watch football when Gazza was dominating games, but too young to truly appreciate his class, though the older fans would eulogise him, as they did for Hoddle, Waddle, Ardiles, and double winners like White and Jones.
So it was about time my generation had someone to idolise and eventually grow nostalgic about.
Enter Ginola. Oh how we marvelled at this man's talent.
Prowling the touchline with his shirt out, he'd send defenders spinning with the drop of a shoulder and the ball would remain glued to his feet as he accelerated away.
And the majestic Frenchman also scored some truly spectacular goals - Barnsley away, Leeds at home and that’s without mentioning his astonishing strikes for Newcastle and PSG.
He occasionally even took in the acclaim of the jubilant White Hart Lane faithful when one of his crosses resulted in a goal, as if it was he who had just put the ball in the back of the net.
Then there was the Ginola away from the pitch, who was one of the few players to stop and talk to us young fans waiting for his autograph at the entrance to Spurs' training ground during the half-term holiday.
That meant the world (thanks to dad for actually driving us there) and I still have his squiggle stashed safely with all my other childhood memorablia.
Some of the French public may have fallen out of love with Ginola following the doomed 1994 World Cup qualifying campaign, but our Gallic friends’ loss was England’s gain.
As a fan how could you not love him? Just like Raymond, everybody loves David.
And I didn’t even have to mention his model looks and chiselled physique…