A conversation with Bob Crampsey was like being chauffeur-driven in a purring Rolls-Royce down the road to knowledge. There was, though, the odd bump.

Once after reading a history of the American Civil War, I lectured him insistently over lunch on the whys and wherefores of the war between the states. Somewhat impressed by his thoughtful interjections, I said in an off-hand manner: "You seem to know something about the conflict."

He replied gently: "I have been lecturing on it for some time." It was also his specialist subject on Mastermind where he was a semi-finalist.

The anecdote reveals two aspects of Bob's character. The first is that he was a man of immense intellect with wide-ranging interests. The second is that he was a gentleman who carried his learning easily and entered a conversation without fanfare.

Properly, he will be remembered as a legend in Scottish football. He would sniff at this, waving away tributes with a brisk foray into the history of Third Lanark or to fervently praise a great footballer or team.

However, his place in Scottish football is firmly established as he is the only non-footballer in the Hall of Fame. The journalists who vote for this award were united in their initial deliberations that no writers would be admitted, believing that the hall should be inhabited by those who distinguished themselves in action rather than in word. Bob Crampsey was the exception.

His contribution to Scottish football can not properly be defined. Like a tanner ba' player, he strayed into every area, illuminating it with his own special talent.

He was its peerless chronicler through his stints on Scotsport, Sportscene, Sportsound, Radio Clyde and other media outlets. He was its reliable, informative historian through his books on Jock Stein, Third Lanark and Queen's Park. He was its greatest referee. Tens of thousands of pub debates have been settled by the Now You Know column in the Evening Times.

He was, more importantly, its heart and soul. Bob was a lover and an evangelist for the Scottish game. He was no wide-eyed innocent but he championed the sport and he was unstinting when praise was due. His obituaries of sportsmen, published regularly in The Herald, spoke of a time of pivots and custodians, of robust full-backs and shimmying inside-forwards. But Bob was an acute commentator on the modern game. He was never shy about giving his opinion. It was always laced with his innate decency but it could carry a bite for all that. His statements were made with the quiet authority of someone who was concerned about more than sport. He had a vast hinterland. He was an associate of the Royal College of Music, he was a biographer of Stein and Sir Thomas Lipton, he was a historian of profound knowledge and imagination.

He was always a teacher. Formally, this vocation reached its height when he became rector of St Ambrose High School in Coatbridge. However, Bob's gift for passing on knowledge was never restricted to a classroom. He was also a missionary for cricket in Lanarkshire. Bob was a lover of the game and of Somerset, in particular. He would tell stories of his unavailing attempts to interest his pupils in a game perceived as exclusively English.

"I did not get far," he would whisper, "until they realised what kind of pain could be inflicted with a cricket ball."

He would then segue into a discourse on cricket and its importance to the working-class communities of northern England, perhaps taking the by-pass route to the assertion that Jackie Robinson, the black baseball player, may have been America's greatest sportsman.

A history of baseball would be accompanied by observations about its place in American history, particularly as regards immigration to the land of the free. He could then break into a riff on music, classical or modern, jazz or orchestral.

There is a danger that this suggests that Bob could dominate conversations or even become a bore.

This would be refuted by minutes in his company. He was a quiet but articulate man. His fabulous, rolling voice that graced the airwaves was gentle in private conversation.

One had to lean forward at times to listen to his message. It was always worth the effort. From Real Madrid to surreal modern art, he had an opinion that was offered with the benefit of learning but without the need to convince.

He would tell you something and then cock his head to hear what you had to say. He was the Brain of Britain who had time for an eejit who thought he knew everything about the Civil War.

Bob Crampsey was Scotland's Mr Football. But he was much more. In a phrase redolent of his era, he was a gentleman and a scholar.