Some years later, a McMenemy prodigy, the prematurely late and desperately missed Alan Ball, conjured the same recipe. A virtuoso Le Tissier was allowed to weave his masterful tune alongside ten road-sweepers who understood the necessity to work hard, thus allowing their very own Stravinsky to do nothing but flick the ball gloriously into the top corner from a mere 35 yards.

In other clubs, and under other managers, so this pattern of industry and art is meticulously woven for success. The great Arsenal side relying on Viera to release the potency of Henry and Bergkamp, Roy Keane's bullying to Ryan Giggs wizardry and latterly Makele of Chelsea providing the fight to Cole and Robben's skill. Souness and Dalgliesh. Nobby Styles and Bobby Charlton… the list of hod-carriers to interior designers is endless.

And this balance is, to my mind, the missing ingredient from our otherwise potent squad of talented young footballers with a desire to get the ball down and play it.

A weakness which was expertly exploited by both Peter Taylor and Darren Ferguson whose teams, as well as playing some neat football, chose to attack our defence directly safe in the knowledge that while we may be fleet of foot we are frankly perilously light on fight.

But this dilemma is not uncommon. Managers, admirably keen to play attractive attacking football, can forget that you cannot pass the ball if you are not in possession of it.

This is why I have long admired the 'Venables spine' approach. A midfield general, fiercely combative can not only impose himself on the game, but on the opposition too. Prone to collecting yellow cards, and more than their fair share of reds, these are the players who whisper death in the ears of opposition forwards and can bring about a resounding drop in confidence from the first whistle.

Souness was the master, Keane a mere infant by comparison. And irritatingly this 'Godfather' role is one that has remained unfilled at Southampton since the days of Hurlock and Horne. It is as much a mental role as it is physical and demands a 'sledger' of the highest calibre.

Behind the general, the captain marshals the defence. Tall, commanding and typically English or Scando-Russian, ball-playing is an advantage but purely optional. An intelligent leader he must be, for he surveys the entire battlefield and on his solitary word the back four moves up or down regimentally.

Not a role for the faint hearted, it is one that the much-missed Michael Svensson played with vision and aplomb. There's one word that defines the best centre-back - towering, and this rarely refers to height.

And then there's the man who leads the line - the adjutant. A role that James Beattie played so well for us in 2003, and that our own Alan Shearer probably played better than any striker of the current era.

He can be pacey, nimble, skilful or simply a barn-storming powerhouse in the Steve Howard or Emile Heskey mould. But one thing he must do well is to bring others into play.

Few players do this better than Didier Drogba and few players remind me so much of him as our own Kenwyne Jones. Still young and prone to mistakes, he also has the strength and presence of mind to hold the ball up while others manoeuvre into attacking options.

In recent days fans have accused our team of lacking backbone, and without Jones and the other roles unfilled, I believe they're right. There is simply no spine of percussion around which our more gifted musicians can flourish. The net result is that skilful players like Skacel and Surman are pulled into duties that ill become them.

Accomplished footballers as they may be, Surman is too easily shrugged off the ball by lumping middle-aged opponents and while Skacel is stronger, he would be better employed creating than protecting.

This lack of leadership on the pitch has allowed us to be dominated by teams with lesser talent, safe in the knowledge that hard work will always beat skill unless skill works hard.

I'm not convinced that our current squad has the requisite bite for success in this league. And until that spine is evident I hold out scant hope of beating teams who employ a direct approach - although we could well beat those whose primary intention is to play football.

So my message to George Burley is two-fold. First, we must toughen up the players we have. Some require additional bulk that can be earned in the gym. And then we must recruit the midfield general and defensive captain we are so sadly lacking. Because today the sweet strains of Vivaldi are suffocating under the garbage piled high in our streets.