'For a guy who's not very patriotic, I love Spain. It's my home."
You hope when the light against which he raged was slowly expiring, Michael Robinson enjoyed the sunset for one last time. And, perhaps, with a cool cerveza close to hand.
Perhaps mindful of the great fortune fate had bestowed upon him, Robinson gorged on life and it reciprocated generously.
Dying at 61 may seem like such a cruel sorrow, and clearly such a burden for his wife Chris, as well as Liam and Aimee, to sustain.
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But nobody could say that Michael Robinson did not enjoy a life that was well lived. A personality that always seemed larger than life itself could barely rein in his enthusiasm for greeting every sunrise.
Sadly, there will be no more.
He may not have been much of a patriot; and few should ever deem that a fault; but he was an emotional man, as his dear friend Graeme Souness reminded us yesterday, forlornly regretful that he didn't seize the opportunity to telephone his new Marbella home for one last chat.
Another former Liverpool and current media colleague told us that they had met Robinson at Anfield last month.
Although slowly succumbing to the melanoma that had served him with a death sentence in December, 2018, he had been in good spirits.
An observation that will crease a smiling recognition of remembrance across so many faces this week.
For that was how he always was. In good spirits. And, quite often, imbibing them too.
After taking up citizenship in Spain in 1989, he spent more than half his life in that country, a stirring Second Act which saw him make his mark in TV broadcasting, showcasing the perceptive intellect and wit which may not have endured in his native land.
If Spain would become his permanent home in the second-half of his life, his first was spent on the move - forging a career which would be renowned for nothing less than total commitment, if not elaborate talent. But always emotion.
It would still bring him 24 international caps, as well as a wondrous trophy-laden spell with Liverpool culminating in 1984's European Cup, League and League Cup treble, the high-point of a 300-plus game spell in the English game before finishing his career, at 31, while with Osasuna.
He likened himself to a Bohemian and his tastes were such; his love for Hemingway may not have been shared in an Anfield dressing-room but found kindred spirits in the bars and cafes of Madrid, amidst endless whirls of Marlboro cigarette smoke and copious G 'n' Ts.
He was at once of one country and of none; from one place but from all over. He could trace his roots to 1732 in Cork but reckons his ancestors arrived on the Spanish Armada a century or more before.
Which may have made his conversion to the Irish cause less controversial than it perhaps should have been; having seen his expressed desire to play for England rebuffed, his attention turned towards Ireland instead.
"I'm no way patriotic in any sense of the word and I'm not a fan of flags or any objects that promote the country you are from," he said.
Alan Kelly Snr, at Preston, had fired an early volley of enthusiasm about Ireland and Robinson would also pay tribute to the coach for maximising his dormant potential when they wanted to let him go as an 18-year-old.
As Alan Jnr told me via Twitter, "I remember dad talking about Michael & the extra training sessions they did together.. Dad was a hard taskmaster when it came to training but he said Michael matched his demands every step of the way."
Ireland may have been a marriage of convenience, after persuading mother Kathleen to apply for her Irish citizenship, but most could square that circle; when he scored one of his four international goals to beat France, he recalled "almost breaking down in tears".
Later, he told Aidan Fitzmaurice of this parish that he "wept like a child" when Ireland lost out on qualification for the 1982 World Cup on goal difference.
He was discarded, with characteristic discrimination, by Jack Charlton despite featuring in the Iceland triangular trophy in 1986, even if it seemed his all-action style might have suited.
Charlton had a house in Valencia but ahead of Euro 88 still spurned any visit to see Robinson, nicknamed 'Robin' for his goal-scoring penchant in La Liga between 1987 and 1989.
The player would sternly confront the manager at St James' Park about the matter and also went public in this newspaper; he knew either act would end his days in green but Michael (never, ever, Mick) would always rage against a slight.
His parents had taught him this much; his dad, Arthur, had also been a pro, with Brighton, too, amongst others, and had fought in World War II.
They moved from Leicester to Blackpool when Kathleen was still pregnant with him; his early life of constant movement had commenced even before he was born.
Bobby Charlton signed him for Preston; Malcolm Allison made him Britain's most expensive teenager before being sold at a loss to Brighton; suitably rehabilitated, when he signed for Liverpool, he broke their wage structure.
He never felt comfortable there; he was dropped for the last ten games of the title-winning campaign and arguably only appeared in the European Cup final win against Roma because five subs were allowed.
He did score a hat-trick against Wolves but told Simon Hughes in an interview that when he received the ball, signed by his team-mates, Kenny Dalglish had penned, 'I don't believe it'.
Still, it wasn't bad "for a hairy-arsed centre-forward." Alan Mullery signed him for QPR and then got sacked; Robinson knew he should have left England before he did.
In Spain, Robinson would mix with Seve Ballesteros, Argentina's 1986 World Cup winner Jorge Valdano and politicians with ease; it was there he found his voice, and his home, and his people, too.
"I am a Des Lynam who has to work as well," he said; unlike the pundits in England he despised, he could be piercing and entertaining all at once and millions of Spaniards loved him for it. He matched his persona with off-camera ebullience; asked the key to a good siesta, he remarked "a good f***ing lunch!"
He enjoys the longest sleep now and perhaps, as he liked to, we should all raise a glass in his honour.
Here's to you, Mr Robinson.