THE pair stood in Liverpool’s foyer, one immaculate in a classy hand-man grey suit, the other with a leather jacket.

Steven Gerrard wanted to be photographed with James Bond star Daniel Craig. And there’s no prizes for guessing who looked the part in the suit.

Craig is a Liverpool fan and idolises Gerrard. The duo cut a very special dash together.

Gerrard was jokingly asked which one was James Bond, and his reply was: "I’d love it to be me."

I’ve got news for you Steven. You are Liverpool’s James Bond, the super-hero who carries the hopes and prayers of a generation of Liverpool fans, Craig included.

And now Gerrard has been voted the Football Writers’ Footballer of the Year, following in the illustrious footsteps of Stanley Matthews, Bobby Moore, George Best, Nat Lofthouse and Tom Finney.

Giants of the game, and now the Huyton-born Liverpool captain can rub shoulders with the true greats.

In a season when Manchester United could win four trophies, the league title again, the European Cup again, the skipper of the team who pushed them closest but still failed is considered our best player.

There will be plenty, from all club persuasions, who would heartily endorse the choice.

Gerrard’s triumph is a victory for a working class hero. He is the player everyone would want in their side.

The player who loves and plays for the club he has supported all his life, the player every fan would want their own players to be like.

The player who will sweat blood until Liverpool are league champions again. It probably won’t be this season, but everyone knows Gerrard will be back at Manchester United’s throats again in August. And he is not going away.

Gerrard is Liverpool. A famous son of a great, sometimes maligned, city. He could have gone to Chelsea, earned plenty and won plenty. Sir Alex Ferguson would have walked the length of the East Lancs Road to sign him.