Farewell, Sam Allardyce. We shall not see your like again. After 44 years in professional football, one of the Premier League's most colourful, divisive and, depending on your perspective, successful managers has chosen to walk away from the game at the age of 62.
His decision to resign from Crystal Palace -- and, if we are to accept his stated intent not to take another job, retire from the game -- is entirely understandable. The Premier League has never been more pressurised or exposed. The money at stake is eye-watering, and while Allardyce was better-prepared than most when it came to sending a team over the white line, he was just as powerless as any other manager when the game began.
He knows well the potential cost of lengthy exposure to stress. In 2002, for the purposes of a BBC documentary, he and fellow manager Dave Bassett were wired up to heart monitors when their teams met in the Premier League. At one stage, Allardyce's heart rate reached 160 beats per minute, four times his resting pulse and rather more than you would expect from a man essentially standing still.
Allardyce is financially secure. He has a family, including grandchildren, and no one can blame him for wanting to step back and enjoy the fruits of a life's labour. The loss to the English game, however, will be significant. It won't seem the same without Big Sam out there, relentlessly being Big Sam, getting up people's noses.
Of course, there were elements of Allardyce's career that were less than palatable; a penchant for signing players who shared his agent was, at the very best, the sort of thing that raised awkward questions. But there was also a spirit and self-belief that was hard not to admire.
Allardyce did not have the playing career to earn himself a quick, easy start at the top. He had to get there the hard way, starting out in Ireland as player-manager of Limerick and moving to Preston North End as a coach. A caretaker spell in charge followed before he moved on to manage Blackpool and then Notts County.
But it was at Bolton Wanderers where he really made his name. They were languishing in the bottom half of the second flight when he took over in 1999; when he left in 2007, they had established themselves as regular top-10 finishers in the Premier League.
That Bolton side was renowned for its physical presence and robust approach but was spearheaded by players of unimpeachable class. Allardyce took chances with footballers whom the bigger clubs had overlooked, either for reasons of age or attitude. Nicolas Anelka excelled under his management. Jay-Jay Okocha was outstanding while Gary Speed brought class and composure to the midfield. For all the talk of direct balls and set pieces, they boasted a fine, technical team.
Allardyce was one of the first managers to embrace analytics, facing initial opposition inside and outside the dressing room before calmly proving data's worth. He had a backroom staff as large as a pop star's entourage, taking care of everything from fitness to analysis to nutrition. When the game's offside laws were tweaked in 2003, he didn't moan; he adapted, immediately creating a cynical routine to take advantage of them. In his pursuit of improvement, he left nothing to chance.
In spite of all this, his large frame and gruff accent made it easy for some to characterise him as an oaf rather than a man seeking to lift himself through sheer hard work and bloody-mindedness. And Allardyce could be particularly uncompromising. At both Newcastle and West Ham, his pragmatism swiftly alienated supporters who had come to expect better despite that attitude serving him well at other clubs.
He happily baited more illustrious managers, infuriating Arsene Wenger on a regular basis, and revelled in the moments when he was able to gain the upper hand. He was, from the start to the end of his career, wholeheartedly "Big Sam" for better or for worse, and it was never worse than the night he lost his job as England manager. The loss of such a prestigious position would have hurt him terribly but perhaps not as much as the knowledge that he had made himself look as stupid as his detractors had always said he was.
But there was more to Allardyce than that. For all the stress and controversy, there was no doubt that he loved the front line of football. His joy at drawing a "19th century football" barb from Jose Mourinho, despite their friendship, was particularly memorable, but nothing will top his audible guffaws of laughter at Swansea's Chico Flores and his less-than-convincing appeals to the referee.
It was also telling that Steve Bruce, another friend in the game, was so eager to get out of London for Allardyce's 60th birthday party in 2014 that he left his Hull side in the dressing room, strode out of the Emirates Stadium and caught a crowded tube train to make the earliest possible trip north. Clearly there ain't no party like a Big Sam party.
Sadly for the Premier League, that party has apparently finally drawn to a close.