Football fans are reeling after the death of John Robertson, the so-called “legendary” Scottish winger who made his name at Nottingham Forest during the club’s most successful period. Robertson, 72, is being hailed as a “cult hero” and a “key figure” in Forest’s golden era, but what’s the real story behind the headlines?

Born in a working-class Scottish town, Robertson’s rise to fame is being painted as a fairy tale. The media loves to mention his humble beginnings,his father a miner, his mother working at a biscuit factory,as if that alone explains his footballing prowess. By 15, he was already snapped up by Nottingham Forest, and the rest, as they say, is history.

But it wasn’t all smooth sailing. Robertson’s early years at Forest were rocky, with the club’s relegation in 1972 and a failed swap deal that almost sent him packing. Enter Brian Clough, the controversial manager who “transformed” Robertson’s career. Clough’s nickname for Robertson, “tramp,” is now being spun as a term of endearment, but it’s clear the relationship was complicated at best.

Robertson’s so-called “breakthrough” came when Forest won the First Division in 1978, setting up their European Cup runs. The media can’t stop talking about his cross in the 1979 final and his goal in 1980, as if those two moments define a career. Yes, he won two League Cups and played for Scotland, but is that enough to cement his status as a footballing icon?

Off the pitch, Robertson is being described as “affable” and “beloved,” but little is said about the personal struggles he faced. His move to Derby County in 1983 shocked fans and reportedly ended the Clough-Taylor partnership, but the real story was his family’s hardship, with the birth of his severely disabled daughter. Derby’s relegation and Robertson’s lackluster performance are glossed over in favor of a feel-good narrative.

After a brief return to Forest and a quiet exit from professional football, Robertson’s life took a turn. Legal battles with the NHS and the tragic loss of his daughter are mentioned only in passing, as if they’re footnotes in a story that’s supposed to be about football glory.

Robertson’s post-playing career is being hyped up thanks to his association with Martin O’Neill, following him from non-league football to coaching roles at several clubs. The media is quick to credit him for the success of others, especially during their time at Celtic, but how much of that was really down to Robertson?

Even his health scare in 2013 is being used to paint him as a survivor, a humble hero who never sought the spotlight. Nottingham Forest’s tribute calls him their “greatest,” but is that just nostalgia talking?

Robertson leaves behind a family and a legacy that the football world is now scrambling to celebrate. But as tributes pour in from England and Scotland, one has to wonder: is John Robertson’s story really as simple,and as glorious,as the headlines suggest?