When Glenn Hoddle collapsed on his 61st birthday in a TV studio in London on Saturday and slipped “close to death”, football held its breath, just as thousands of Tottenham fans did in the 1970s and 80s, whenever he had the ball at feet that were as soft as pillows.

Late on Saturday evening, still conscious in hospital after a heart attack, the television pundit and former England midfielder could be grateful that a BT Sport colleague knew how to use a defibrillator and “kept him breathing until an ambulance arrived”, according to a former teammate in touch with the family, adding: “He was very close to death but, thanks to BT staff, he is still here.”

Golden goal: Glenn Hoddle for Tottenham v Watford (1983) | Simon Burnton Read more

On Sunday, a BT Sport spokesman said: “The condition is serious but Glenn is receiving specialist treatment and responding well.” The BT Sport presenter Jake Humphrey told his Twitter followers on Saturday that Hoddle had been “taken seriously ill at the … studio this morning. Every one of us is right with you, Glenn, sending love and strength.” The results programme was suspended after Hoddle was taken to hospital.

Memories mingled with anxiety. When Hoddle trapped, tapped or caressed a football, the clock always seemed to stop. Perhaps only Matt Le Tissier, in an often grinding, utilitarian era, shared his gift for bending time and space to his will.

It was why Tottenham fans smiled during hard times in hope and adulation on the Shelf, from the moment he arrived at White Hart Lane until he took his gifts elsewhere: Monaco, Swindon and Chelsea. He almost did not make it at all as a pro, having overcome a serious knee injury in his early teens. Standing 6ft yet seeming taller, he proved to be tougher and more determined than his light-footed, flowing-locks image suggested.

While his first game for Tottenham was curiously anonymous, as a substitute in a 2-2 draw against Norwich in August 1975, he drifted into the collective imagination in his first full appearance shortly afterwards, against Stoke City in the old First Division.

As Alan Hudson, who was in Stoke colours that day, recalled this month: “I took one look at this tall, lanky kid and you could tell immediately he was a class apart. His touch, even then, was superb – and then he scored a superb long-range goal against Peter Shilton. At the end of the game, which Spurs won 2-1, I said to him: ‘You keep up with that, lad, and you can achieve everything you want to.’ You could tell even then he was destined for great things, and he fulfilled his potential. More the point, too, he’s never let me forget what I told him.”

That performance sealed it. Hoddle’s ascent was inevitable. On the Shelf, we could neither imagine nor countenance a slip of any kind. If others did not appreciate him, we cared little, although, even in a sport as tribal as football, he had admirers beyond north London.

I took one look at this tall, lanky kid and you could tell he was a class apart. I said to him: you keep up with that, lad, and you can achieve everything you want to Alan Hudson

For all his talent, there wasn’t much Hoddle could do to stop Spurs dropping into the old Second Division that season, a disappointment the fans saw coming more clearly than did the management, but he did not flee, as is the modern habit. Perhaps that is why we were forever grateful to him for remaining as faithful to the club as we were – much as Harry Kane has done (so far).

There was a mutuality in the deal. Hoddle, born in Hayes, raised in Harlow, was Spurs to the core. He was the glue in the team and the club. We admired Steve Perryman and Graham Roberts. We were in awe of Paul Miller’s commitment. We delighted in the trickery of Alfie Conn. We cherished Pat Jennings. We embraced Ossie Ardíles and Ricky Villa. We respected Keith Burkinshaw. And we loved Glenn Hoddle.

Garth Crooks, in an early journalism stint for the Sunday Times, described the gulf between Hoddle and his contemporaries when he was player-manager at Swindon Town. Crooks watched his former teammate instruct a midfielder to lob a stationary ball over the heads of defenders 10 yards away and back‑spin it to a dead stop inside the box. After several unsuccessful attempts, the player gave up. Hoddle did it without comment or effort, turned his back and walked away.

As much as he has become widely appreciated for his sharp analysis as a pundit and his astuteness as a manager of club and country (although Paul Gascoigne and David Beckham might demur), those who had grown up in his glow have held on to the distant memories more strongly than later perceptions of him.

Play Video 1:24 Hughton and Hughes lead well-wishes for Glenn Hoddle – video

It was not so much the volume of his deeds for Spurs – FA and Uefa Cups, a relatively modest 88 goals in 371 league matches, 110 goals in 479 appearances in all – as the way he lit up any pitch in blue and white. Certainly, he was more comfortable playing for Tottenham than he was with England, where critics reckoned he lacked consistency and a work ethic.

Acclaim was widespread but flickering. The consensus (in our circle, at least) was that he was worth more than his 53 England caps on aesthetic grounds alone. Who looked better in shorts and boots on a cold winter’s day? Who turned more great defenders into so many lampposts? Michel Platini famously said of him: “If he had been French, he would have would have won well over 100 caps and the team would have been built around him.”

But England managers, especially Ron Greenwood and Bobby Robson, too often saw him as a luxury (as they did Le Tissier and others). His impact was subtle but lasting, for those who suffered for it on the pitch as well as those who gloried in it in pubs and bars and trains home afterwards.