Steve Bull: The man who became a Molineux icon & hero

It was the start of an astonishing adventure, 30 years ago, when this truly remarkable manifestation of a man who became a Wolves' legend began to outrageously unfold.

Out of darkness cometh light barely scratches the surface of this transformation.

The unpretentious embodiment of a true local hero who forged himself as a Molineux icon; a player who became the inspirational focal point of a club miraculously reborn.

This impossible dream was surely a figment of fantasy because 21-year-old Steve Bull unquestionably could not have chosen a more inauspicious time to join the dysfunctional shambles criminally masquerading as the legendary Wolverhampton Wanderers.

Still reeling from the smothering chaos inflicted by the hapless Bhatti regime and having plummeted in abject humiliation to the lowest tier of English football, Molineux circa 1986 was, for anyone of a Wolves' persuasion, utterly heartbreaking.

The empty rusting remains of the wonderfully tingling atmospheric old North Bank stood pitifully isolated like a discarded doll's house dwarfed by the cavernous John Ireland Stand hideously erected seemingly miles from the pitch in less than splendid isolation; a monument to the club's horrendous and near terminal self-destruction.

Hardly the context for an unknown, novice striker to conjure up miracles but Bully wasted little time in performing the impossible and plenty more besides. Had any person sane or otherwise suggested to the naive new arrival that by the time he had finished sweeping through Molineux like a tidal wave, that same stand would be renamed in his honour he would have laughed as loud as the rest of us.

But it happened and The Steve Bull Stand will endure as a permanent reminder of just about the most splendidly unlikely turn of events in the history of this superlative football club.

From Tipton Town in the Bank's Brewery West Midlands League to the full England side at Hampden Park within four years, is by any standards, a fanciful hike but Bully magnificently disregarded any conventions of normality. He chose a different course; a rampage of inexorable goalscoring from any angle, any position, falling over, sliding backwards, tap-ins or screaming volley.

Bully's obsessive hunger for goals saw him gloriously gorge himself in a gold shirt to the tune of a phenomenal record of 306 goals including 18 devastating hat-tricks accrued in truly astonishing fashion.

And in so doing Bully became the catalyst for Wolves to regain their very identity, to sift through the ugly debris and re-engage with the simple tenets of basic self-respect and a sense of purpose.

From the depths of despondency and almost irreversible decline when such was the precarious financial nature of the club, the Express & Star suggested that a temporary switch with non-League Enfield was under serious consideration, Wolves belatedly showed some vision and took a chance.

Recruited by the shrewd Wolves' manager Graham Turner, Bully departed West Bromwich Albion with a less than ringing endorsement from the Baggies' boss Ron Saunders suggesting that his finesse on the ball was about as subtle as a garden shovel.

His debut against Wrexham at Molineux resulted in abject defeat and then a cup-tied Bully witnessed from the stands at Bolton the utter humiliation by Multipart League Chorley dismantling Wolves 3-0 in the replayed first-round FA Cup tie.

Bully himself conceded that he wondered just what he had let himself in for! But gradually the motley troupe of Wolves' players rekindled the season.

Bully went into overdrive, going on the rampage, seemingly addicted, indulging himself in an orgy of metronomic goalscoring racking up 50 goals in each of the next two seasons to clinch two successive promotions and a memorable Sherpa Van Trophy Wembley victory.

This raw, thrilling aggression brimming with confrontational malice culminated in that glorious moment when this unpretentious guy from the backstreets marked the most unlikely of England debuts with a goal to defeat Scotland in front of a hostile Glasgow audience.

Realism, it seemed, was in danger of falling on its sword; every single Wolves fan shared the sheer ecstatic magic of that special defining moment. It cemented the remarkable bond that existed then which has endured untainted for 30 years and thrives to this day.

Better players than Steve Bull have graced the gold shirt of Wolverhampton Wanderers; by any standards it is an impressive roll call, but not a single individual ever resonated with such impassioned pride and empathy in the hearts of the fans of this club.

His loyalty and desire to stay at Molineux when he could have furthered both personal wealth and career endeared him still more; he raised our spirits, deepened our attachment to the club when its very lifeblood appeared to be draining away.

With football today disfigured by avarice and distorted values, the Bully years provided a context for something definably better.

He was awesome; a Wolves' giant, totally unique and it was an immense pleasure to have witnessed it all unfold.