I left him home with a heavy heart when it came to coaching days, but he solved the problem of his name. Being the oldest in the family I was bestowed the honour. With great fanfare, and a new ball for the occasion, I solemnly named him Monsieur Bernard Koko, or Koko for short. Way easier than ‘Monsieur Bernard. I believed – I still do – that he was the reincarnation of an African Hound. Almost prophetically, he was named in memory of a young boy from either Ghana, Mali or Niger – who may have had the nickname ‘Koko’, who had dreams of playing football for his country, who knew he could play like he was born to it, who could run like our Koko with the ball stuck to his legs.