Gordon Banks tribute: A man whose golden legacy extended far beyond one of the best saves of all time

From the moment he emerged at Chesterfield and then Leicester City in the late 1950s, Banks subtly changed what we expect from goalkeepers

The most powerful tributes to Gordon Banks came not from the team-mates who played with him, or the strikers who were thwarted by him, or the journalists who chronicled his 20-year career for club and country. They came from the modern generation of goalkeepers: men who never shared a field with Banks, and very probably never saw him play in the flesh. Those who came afterwards knew the debt they owed to a man whose gift to the game endured long after he hung up his gloves for the last time.

From Gianluigi Buffon: “I am one of the many who built their dreams on your perfect save! Once more, with all my heart: thank you.” From Peter Schmeichel: “So sad to hear that Gordon Banks one of my heroes and a true legend in life and football, has passed away.” From Pepe Reina: “Triste por el adiós de Mr. Banks. Siempre te recordaremos por la parada del siglo. Quella parata!” And in the hours after the announcement of his passing, they kept coming, from Iker Casillas, from Kasper Schmeichel, from Jordan Pickford: goalkeepers of the modern school who nonetheless recognise that they are merely part of a single golden thread that Banks did more than most to define.

In many ways, this was his real legacy, far more than a single save in a World Cup group game, although we’ll come to that in a bit. Banks believed that goalkeeping above all was a fraternity: one often characterised as a pursuit of lonely oddballs but more properly understood as a guild of true obsessives, and possessing wisdom meant nothing unless you also passed it on to the next generation.

He was always exceptionally generous with his time when it came to young goalkeepers, whether as a coach, a mentor or simply an old friend. Jack Butland, a fellow wearer of Stoke’s No1 shirt, remembers a recent conversation with Banks in which he shared his tips on defending corners. The game may have changed, and goalkeeping has changed too, but the fundamentals - take up a good position, know your angles, learn to anticipate the flight of the ball - remain just as they were.

And yet from the moment he emerged at Chesterfield and then Leicester City in the late 1950s, Banks subtly changed the game, too. At the time, the goalkeeper - certainly in this country - was conceived as an imposing, dominant figure, someone who would cast a shadow over his goal and mix it in the rough and tumble of the penalty-box melee: think Gil Merrick, Frank Swift, Bert Trautmann. Banks, on the other hand, was no giant - a modest 6ft 1in - and built his strength by hauling the sacks of coal that he would deliver as a teenager.

But his real talent was in his understanding of angles and trajectories, his speed and agility, his raw athleticism, a willingness to venture out of his goal and snuff out danger at its source, a trait that ironically earned him a reputation for flamboyance early in his career. Banks was by no means the first goalkeeping athlete, but along with the likes of Lev Yashin and Sepp Maier he helped to cement the idea of the keeper not as a simple bulwark, but as a dynamic member of the playing XI in his own right: an idea that would later find its expression in the rise of physical freaks like Schmeichel and intrepid sweeper-keepers like Manuel Neuer.

It was his good fortune, of course, to come to prominence in the first age of colour television. Nothing illustrated better than his save from Pele at the 1970 World Cup. We can quibble aimlessly over whether it was the greatest save of all time, but what is beyond doubt is that it was the first truly iconic save: the first great viral goalkeeping moment, an image and a motif that would stand the test of time. Most players are lucky if they can change the game when they’re on the pitch. Banks carried on changing it even after he left. In a way, he’s still changing it now.