As the media spotlight falls on England’s brightest star, the ever-improving, consistently impressive Stuart Broad, memories of my favourite cricketer are rekindled. 

Why? Well, when I was growing up and searching for my cricketing hero, one man, literally, stood head and shoulders above them all, Stuart’s dad, Brian Christopher Broad.

I grew up in suburban Hertfordshire and, fortunately for a young sporting nut, I did not have to rely on a minor county or non-descript football club to follow. My parents were born in Nottingham and bestowed upon me the support of Nottinghamshire County Cricket Club and Nottingham Forest. Little did I know that both teams were about to embark on the most successful periods of their history. I thought this was the norm. Unfortunately it was as good as it got, but that’s another story. 

The Notts side of the 1980s was full of big names. I vividly remember the team that challenged the mighty Middlesex and Essex for supremacy. What a team, and while most fans' favourites were the big-name stars,  Richard Hadlee, Derek Randall and Clive Rice, I kept my eye on the performances of a lanky opener brought in from Gloucestershire - Chris Broad.

Left-handed batsmen are automatically blessed with looking graceful at the crease and Broad was no different. Standing 6ft 4in tall and upright, curly hair sticking out of a blue helmet, eyes fixed down the wicket (remember the days when players wore helmets without a visor so you could see their steely gaze?), he was ready to biff the ball to all parts of the ground.  

When in form there was no man, aside from Graham Gooch, you would have wanted to open the innings and dominate the bowlers, and I’d have taken Chris any day of the week. His single-mindedness and determination were traits necessary to succeed in an England team lacking spirit and direction.

It was the Ashes series of 1986/87 that firmly entrenched his position as my No.1 cricketer.  I was pleased as punch that a Notts man was leading the fight to retain the Ashes in Australia (admittedly he had taken the place of his opening colleague, Tim Robinson). I was already excited as this was my first opportunity to listen to the live commentary on my radio/cassette alarm clock. 

In these days of modern communications and shrinking world it seems naïve to think of my amazement at tuning in in my bedroom to the live commentary from people with strange accents on the other side of the world.

England started well, winning the first Test -  but it was the second Test in which my man Chris came to the fore. Hitting a majestic 162 in a draw made me feel proud as punch. But things could only get better - not only were England outplaying the Aussies in a series they were expected to lose, a Notts player was helping to set up victory with yet another ton in the fourth and deciding Test, helping England to claim the Ashes.  

Three hundreds in a row for England against the old enemy, a feat matched only before and since by cricket legends Wally Hammond, Herbert Sutcliffe and Jack Hobbs. Like England’s performance, Chris could not repeat his deeds in the final Test - but his work was done.

However, both Broad and the side roused themselves for the one-day series that followed. Chris again scored a mountain of runs and England left Down Under with all three trophies they had come for - and my hero was crowned International Cricketer of the Year, winning an Alfa Romeo in the process!

Reputations are hard to maintain and Chris never reached the same dizzy heights for England again. His standing fell as a result of his wicket-bashing antics in the Bicentennial Test, despite hitting a ton, and refusing to walk when given out during a fractious tour of Pakistan. But for Notts he kept on churning out the runs, providing a solid base at the top of the order, and contributing to another Championship title and three one-day trophies. 

As a new decade dawned, times were-a-changin’. England had lost their grip on the Ashes (miserably), my two Nottingham teams were coming to the end of a truly golden period, and Broad had signed up to a rebel tour of South Africa and not long after was to leave Notts behind to return to Gloucestershire.

A short-lived foray into TV (boy, did he jump on the BBC commentating gravy train at the wrong time!)  was to follow. Then, out of nowhere, he emerged and has become one of the most high-profile, no-nonsense match referees - poacher turned gamekeeper indeed.

I recently picked up off the bookshelf one of my best Christmas presents from the 1980s, Chris Broad’s autobiography, Home Truths from Abroad (Broad - what a pun-tastic surname for a cricketer to have, the possibilities are endless!), released to cash in on his status as Ashes hero. 

Flicking through the photos I see a family snap showing a babe in arms, the boy who is destined to become a cricket star - Stuart Broad. Already a great player and, like his Pa, now a Notts man too. However, he will always be my second favourite member of the Broad cricketing dynasty.