NB: for the purposes of this article we have used the strictest definition of "one-two": i.e. that the return pass must be played first time. This rules out such gems as Junior against Argentina in 1982, and Archie Gemmill against Arsenal in 1978

When someone is as charismatic and ostentatious as Johan Cruyff, it is easy to be seduced into giving credit where credit isn't due. That is certainly the case when it comes to Cruyff's famous tap penalty with Jesper Olsen in 1982. We are not saying that Cruyff is guilty of stealing the copyright, for Johan is an honourable man, but it is certainly the case that most perceive him – erroneously – as the inventor of this ingenious manipulation of the rules.

In fact the first known instance came from the Belgian pair of "Rik" Coppens and André Piters in a World Cup qualifier against Iceland in 1958. Belgium were leading 6-1 at the time, which cut him a certain slack if, say, he'd ballsed it up completely. Not that he did.

Coppens, Belgian football's greatest maverick (insert your own joke here) flagged the plan to Piters by saying simply "en deux temps" (literally "in two times"). The execution may look a little clumsy, but then Adam and Eve weren't exactly producing the Kama Sutra from the get-go. This was still groundbreaking, immensely imaginative stuff; all of which makes Coppens's low-key celebration, akin to a gruff post-coital rollover, even more endearing.

He deserves to have pride of place in the pantheon of footballing innovation, but that place has been taken by Cruyff. Now if someone could just uncover footage of some hairy-arsed joker doing a "Cruyff" turn for Grimsby in 1968...

It is entirely logical that high-class strike partnerships, particular those of a telepathic nature, should specialise in one-twos. Here we might cite Andy Cole and Dwight Yorke; in Manchester United's Treble season, they were the give-and-go that kept on giving. And going. The pick was that remarkable goal in Camp Nou, when they cut devastatingly through Barcelona's defence like a swish of Zorro's blade (admittedly the last defender was Samuel Okunowo, who would end up playing at Waltham Forest, but it's still a delicious goal).

However, the Joy of Six would be unutterably tedious if we just picked six obvious examples each week, so we've gone for a lesser-known pair who had an equally powerful sixth sense: Sunderland's G-Force of Marco Gabbiadini and Eric Gates. There were more than 12 years between them, but the chemistry was palpable – so much so that, when a Gabbiadini lookalike did that "We wanna be tugevva!" Prudential advert, it wasn't hard to envisage an equivalent with him and Gates.

Between them they scored 42 goals when Sunderland were promoted to the top flight in 1989-90. The most celebrated came in their epic play-off semi-final victory over Newcastle. Having drawn the first leg 0-0 at Roker Park – when, and you'll like this link, Paul Hardyman responded to missing a last-minute penalty by trying to boot John Burridge's head into Row Z – they deservedly won 2-0 in the return at St James' Park, a result every bit as celebrated as their 2-1 win in the rain in 1999.

The clincher came five minutes from time, with Gates's disguised return allowing Gabbiadini to ease the ball into the far corner. It was their penultimate game together, and the last goal for which they would combine. It was a pretty fitting legacy.

The one-two is such a precise operation, with so little margin for error, that to get two in quick succession is extremely rare. The flip-side of this is that, when the one-two-three-four comes off, the result is invariably glorious. Germany scored a wonderful opening goal in the Euro 2008 quarter-final against Portugal, while Diego Maradona's perfect finish and maniacal celebration against Greece in 1994 occasionally obscures the dizzying build-up, tiki-taka on steroids.

Then there is Tomas Brolin's sumptuous winner against England at Euro 92, a meandering Etch A Sketch through Graham Taylor's side, culminating in a glorious, improvised finish. The great Barry Davies captured the hypnotic nature of the move perfectly with his commentary: "Brolin, Dahlin, Brolin... brilliant!" It's common practice in England to laugh at Brolin, even though he achieved more at international tournaments than any Englishman of the last 20 years, but nobody was laughing that night.

The tedious and dismally transparent revisionism surrounding Eric Cantona's role as the most influential player in English football history makes one fundamental mistake: to judge him by the standards of today, rather than the standards of his day. In the inaugural season of the Premier League, the product was pretty grey; the only fantasy football came from that new management game hosted by Dominik Diamond on Radio 5 Live.

Cantona changed all that. He catalysed not one but two generations of Manchester United players, making them realise what could be achieved through incessant practice and thinking so far outside the box that you didn't even know where the box was, and what the hell's a box anyway. He was the Michael Hutchence to their Kylie Minogue, opening their minds in ways they did not think possible. The most erotic lesson came in United's first league game of 1993, a 4-1 defenestration of a decent Tottenham side that set the agenda for a year of staggering achievement. In both 1992 and 1993, United played 43 league games. In 1992, largely without Cantona, United won 17 games and amassed 67 points; in 1993 they won 31 and amassed 102. You do the math.

United were 1-0 up thanks to a Cantona goal when he made the second with a return pass of barely fathomable imagination and technique. As Denis Irwin played the ball square, and the Spurs defence charged out like seagulls following the wrong trawler, Cantona instinctively realised that he could not go through or around the brick wall; instead he went over it with the most insouciant of stabbed chips that was collected by Irwin and rammed high into the net. The BBC commentator John Motson screamed: "This man is playing a game of his own." Motson got only one thing wrong. This was not a man, this was Cantona.

The moment was rich in symbolism. As well as liberating the current and future Manchester United XIs, the crowd now also realised the extent of what the team might achieve with Cantona. With this pass began a relationship between player and disciples of such an enduring and spiritual nature that only the ignorant or envious would seriously try to compare it with any other in the history of sport. Such a love-in is hard for outsiders to accept, which might explain the revisionism. Either that or they just haven't forgiven him for the perceived sin of kung-fu kicking a gobby Cockney. But, as Cantona showed with this pass, he had more than one way to skin a Cockney.

Modern footballers endeavour to play between the lines. Franz Beckenbauer played between the sides – and not once did he touch them, so smooth was his work. Has there ever, in either sense of the word, been a cooler footballer? If you dropped a marmot in the bath he wouldn't even twitch an eyebrow. As the greatest libero of all he picked pockets without anyone noticing; and as a young attacking midfielder of seriously high class – he scored seven goals in his first 13 appearances for West Germany – he penetrated opposing defences with the silkiest sojourns from midfield.

The best came against Switzerland in the 1966 World Cup. The goal is a perfect example of a one-two in which the return pass draws two defenders towards the attacker, allowing him to burst through and score (see also Ruud Gullit's emphatic masterpiece against Ireland in 1990 ). Beckenbauer finished with the soft skill of an expert surgeon. Switzerland didn't feel a thing.

Sometimes a great goal just happens to have a one-two in it. Roberto Baggio's languorous solo against Czechoslovakia at Italia 90 starts when he plays a neat wall pass with Giuseppe Giannini, but that is unsurprisingly lost in what follows. That might have been true of a 21-year-old Glenn Hoddle's masterpiece against Manchester United, so stunning is every aspect of the volley – from the contortion of his body to the technique of the strike to the way the ball bounces straight back out of the net off the back stanchion – but the one-two is also textbook stuff.

Hoddle's stab round the corner and spin completely befuddles the defender, while an off-balance Ardiles does extremely well to manufacture a return. Had Hoddle then taken a touch and scuffed the ball in it would still have been a fine goal; with a finish like that, it went straight into the top drawer.