Mike Rowbottom: 'There is a second problem with Seaman. He is a very old man'

I was reminded of an old gag this week, the one where the club secretary has just one news item to announce before the guest speaker begins his talk, 'Travel and Strife' – very sadly, the chairman's wife has passed away. "But now, on a lighter note, may I introduce a man who I'm sure will amuse us all tonight..."

This recollection occurred in a large reception room at the Foreign Office, where the North Korean footballers from the 1966 World Cup, visiting this country to promote a documentary, had been invited for drinks and canapés.

The timing of their goodwill visit was unfortunate given the news that had just broken concerning their Government's secret activity on the nuclear weapons front. "Not a word will be mentioned tonight," one Foreign Office official confided in me before the main guests arrived. But he was wrong.

"I think," said our official host, "it would be strange not to mention something we have heard this week. The news that North Korea has developed a nuclear weapons programme is of serious concern to the people of this country. But having said that, I think it's absolutely right to stress that we are here for the purpose of this event, which is not a political one..."

It could have been worse, I suppose. The phrase "axis of evil", for example, didn't get a mention. But on the clanger-dropping scale I feel it was nudging up into the higher register. Almost enough to raise the eyebrow of Lt Gen Sir Eyrie Coote, KB, Commander in Chief in the East Indies, whose framed, red-coated presence loomed above the proceedings.

The impact of the introductory address was mercifully lost upon the players, who gazed blankly at our host as he held the floor, responding only at the point where he mentioned the words "1966 World Cup".

Thankfully there were interpreters on hand to enable those interested to converse with the men who had astounded the footballing world by reaching the quarter-finals, where they eventually succumbed to Portugal.

Lee Chan-Myong was the man who had the unenviable task of keeping Eusebio's efforts out of the Korean net on that day. History records that he failed, four times. And as he recalled the power of the Portuguese forward 36 years on, the man they called The Cat – not in tribute to Peter Bonetti, I fancy – seemed to crouch as if facing it all over again. "He was very strong, and very correct," Chan-Myong said. "I wasn't a good enough goalkeeper to save his shots."

His mood became markedly less intense when the subject of David Seaman was raised. The day before, Chan-Myong and his colleagues had been guests of honour at England's 2-2 draw with Macedonia in Southampton, and I couldn't resist asking him what he had made of the visitors' opening goal, direct from a corner.

He seemed momentarily puzzled, so I mimed a despairing wave towards an imaginary ball. Chan-Myong was now all teeth.

"The England goalkeeper was standing in the wrong position for the corner," he said, still grinning. "He made a big mistake. And there is a second problem. He is a very old man." North Korea and Britain may be far apart, particularly at this politically sensitive time, but at such moments one is aware of the unifying power of sport – the international language of ricket-dropping, if you will.

What must have been even more distressing for Seaman on the night, however, was the reaction of the St Mary's Stadium crowd.

If there was trouble at the game, I missed it. I walked to and from the ground amid well-behaved family groups for whom the big topic of conversation seemed to be how many England were going to win by. Five-nil? Maybe. Three-nil? A safer bet.

The Macedonian national anthem was listened to and applauded respectfully. The National Anthem was sung heartily without any additional verses involving the IRA.

In short, this was a good-natured gathering. So the way in which the pony-tailed one was mocked following his bad moment – when he contrived waving and drowning at the same time – resonated all the more deeply.

As the ball trundled straightforwardly along the ground towards him, there was a growing murmur of apprehension from the crowd behind his goal which culminated in loud, ironic cheering as he clutched the ball to his chest.

Shortly afterwards, as Seaman dealt with another long range effort, he betrayed his nerves by fumbling what would ordinarily have been a routine gathering exercise. It was as if all those saves of yesteryears, all those moments of reassuring calmness, had never happened...

There is no hiding place for those who stand between the posts. Ask David Seaman. Ask Lee Chan-Myong. It is the crossbar that all goalkeepers must bear.