‘MARK Forster is rapid, he’d take Carl Lewis and Linford Christie, no problems’.

An overly-optimistic schoolyard argument, I’ll confess, but Forster was most definitely one of our own.

He was related, if memory serves, to the Garritys, whose lad Colin was a few years above me, and a fairly handy footballer, if the 20-a-side games on St Elphin’s Park were anything to go by.

But the Wire winger was one of our first identifiable idols, made all the more real because he had family who worked in the canteen at Fairfield School.

So I read with great delight that the ex-Richard Fairclough High pupil was profiled in the Guardian’s Hall of Heroes feature.

An intriguing series, for which I tip my hat to our long-time sports editor Mike Parsons, in which it was invigorating to recount Forster’s storied career, and rejoice in the fact that he’s still turning out for Woolston Rovers aged 50.

I’ve often maintained the complete fallacy, in my own mind anyway, that I might have turned out to be quite useful on an RL wing, if I hadn’t occupied a similar position in the round-ball game.

In those heady times, before the discovery of beer and battered old Fiestas, I could shift a bit too.

But at Boteler we had a fair few mainstays of the town team, which kind of decided my fate.

If the towering hulks of Andy Wood and Chris Cannon weren’t enough to keep your correspondent firmly ensconced in the 11-a-side game, the wily likes of Barry Ward and (the other) Gary Barlow possessed pace and technique to scythe down any would-be pretenders.

Back to the plot though, and I’d like to make an appeal to the powers that be at The Academy to extend The Hall, to add a wing for non-sporting prowess.

Of course there are prime candidates for investiture immediately, Pete Postlethwaite, Pete McCarthy, the Parrys, Dave Thompson, Chris Evans.

Umpteen years of traipsing the streets of Warrington suggest several other more modest icons for inclusion.

Bill Medland, a name well-known to drinkers of a certain vintage, brought some of the top names of the 60s and 70s to the former Carlton Club and later the Lion Hotel. Occasionally I’ll still see his son Simon at work, sitting as a crown court recorder.

Canon Colling, ‘Jock’, was the epitome of an old-fashioned churchman and guided the town spiritually through some dark times as Rector of Warrington. And I always, as an ex-Fairfielder, bucked my ideas up if he said ‘hello’ in town.

Bessie Arden could have pride of place – for keeping the famished workers of Warrington in meat ‘n’ potato sloggers and steak pies for generations.

And there should be a place for champion disabled swimmer Aden Walker, who has raised thousands for charity poolside and has possibly the largest collection of medals in the sport.

Another extension could also take in the exploits of Joseph Crosfield, the Rylands, Monks, Greenalls and Walkers who made the town an industrial powerhouse.

I’m sure Mike is not likely to run out of candidates for his sporting pantheon any time soon but there’s always one scrapper whose name flashes across my mind.

Bantamweight contender Jimmy Green bounced back from a serious car crash to come within a whisker of the upper echelons of the British fight game.

His brothers George, Mickey and Dave all turned professional but Jimmy was said to be the first Warringtonian to make it to the ABA finals at Wembley.

In summary, there’s no shortage of nominees to make this venture a full-blown institution across all fields.

Perhaps when Walton Hall has finished making appearances on the small-screen, it could be put to another purpose....