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First an apology. Sorry, mum. You're not going to like this. Don't read it. You'll only get upset. I don't want that.

It might hurt Robbie's feelings, you see.

That's Robbie Savage, by the way.

My mum loves Robbie Savage. She always has done. Right back to when he ran around a lot for Leicester City .

I don't know why. Maybe it was the long hair. She always thought he looked pretty, with those flowing blond locks.

Or maybe she was sucked in by his admittedly top-drawer headless rooster impression: eyes down, chasing the ball all over the pitch.

Not in the same way that N'Golo Kante runs around – with control and purpose – but like that annoying kid at school who would charge up to every other child in the playground, jump up and down in front of them, poke them in the chest, and say 'hey, hey, hey' until they got punched and moved on to the next unlucky recipient.

Whatever it was, she fell for it.

(Image: Ben Radford/ALLSPORT)

My mum took me to a game at Filbert Street for my 10th birthday. It was against Leeds. City won 2-1.

During the match, the whole stadium erupted into chants of 'Martin, Martin O'Neill' in honour of the club's esteemed manager.

Well, not quite the whole stadium. Not my mum. She misheard. Deafened by her own obsession, she sat there singing something else. Same tune, different words: "Robbie, Robbie Savage".

She didn't care.

She still loved him when he went to Derby. She still loves him now.

I drove her to the shops on Saturday night, after Leicester's victory at Man City . A celebratory trip to Morrisons. BBC 606 was on the radio.

"Is that Robbie?!" she asked with a slight, but audible, hint of schoolgirl adoration in her voice.

Robbie was discussing Leicester's impending march to the Premier League title. And how they were definitely going to win it.

This was the very same Robbie Savage who, on the very same show, a few months earlier, had insisted over and over again that Leicester definitely could not win the league.

"They can't win it! Of course they can't!" he scoffed as jubilant City fans phoned in after yet another victory, without giving much of a reason why they couldn't, other than shouting 'they just can't' over the top of anyone with half a reasoned argument.

Now, he appears to have changed his tune. It has taken 25 games, 15 wins, victory at Manchester City and a five-point lead at the top but, finally, Robbie is on the bus.

poll loading Is Robbie Savage really one of us? 0+ VOTES SO FAR Yes No

And that's the thing. This is what happens when a team starts to succeed.

After years of indifference, as the club struggles to emerge from the wilderness, an army of fans begin to ease themselves out of their comfy armchairs and dust the moth balls off their Fox Leisure tracksuits.

They return to the front-line, professing that they've supported them all along. Honest.

So, as Leicester dismantled Man City on their own turf, and became the new bookies' favourites (after starting the season as 5,000-1 outsiders), social media was awash with messages of praise for Claudio Ranieri's swashbuckling anarchists.

"I think I might cry," tweeted genuine Leicester legend Gary Lineker.

"Another cracking win", tweeted genuine Leicester legend Steve Walsh.

"Incredible events at the Etihad! Leicester out-thought, outfought and outmanoeuvred the Man City superstars," tweeted genuine Leicester legend Matt Elliott.

And then…

"Oh my oh my oh my Leicester City we are going to win the league," tweeted self-proclaimed Leicester 'legend' Robbie Savage.

Hang on a minute. Wait. What was that?

I read it again: "We are going to win the league."

We?

Since when did Leicester City and Robbie Savage become a we?

I don't remember there being much of a 'we' when you came back to the Walkers after your move to Birmingham and kissed the new badge after they scored.

Where was the 'we' when you bowed in front of the Derby fans when you came back here with the Rams in 2009?

And I certainly don't remember 'we' being very close to your heart when I interviewed you ahead of Leicester's game against Derby in the Capital One Cup a couple of years ago.

I asked you who you wanted to win. You said Derby.

We ran it on our back page. We didn't notice, until the next day, that instead of saying "he said", when you were quoted, it said she. Oops. Sorry about that. It was an accident.

My mum was happy that day, though.

I swallowed all my journalistic pride and asked you to sign a piece of paper, addressed to her, and then hold it up so I could take a picture.

You obliged.

"To Rosemary. Best wishes. Squiggle."

(Image: James Sharpe)

She loved it. It was her screensaver for a while.

Don't worry, I didn't mention the part when you spelt her name wrong the first time.

Thanks for that, though. And thanks, on behalf of Leicester fans, for your new-found support. It means a lot.

Just one thing. Don't say we. Keep that for your celebrations if Derby eventually get promoted.

Or the commiserations when they bottle it again.