Maybe we should get one misguided, though understandable, notion out of the way. Rickie Lambert is not the greatest striker Bristol Rovers ever had, whatever his current mesmeric record and the ecstatic claims from his voluminous fan club last Saturday.

Some of the supporters had become almost intoxicated by the sheer statistics, as the goals kept going in.

As every would-be mathematician had worked out, he had scored 15 goals by the end of October, more than anyone else in the League. That meant, they rashly argued, he could finish the season with well over 40.

It is true that his boots are at the moment gold-lined. Every time he kicks or heads the ball, it seems to end up in the net.

It leaves him pondering the trend with an air of disbelief. It is an endearing quality.

After the game with Southend, I overheard one small but jubilant group of devotees singing in approximate unison: "Our Rickie is the best we've ever had." Such excessive enthusiasm is not to be criticised

Oh dear, it's all so well intentioned, as the fans get caught up in this kind of spontaneous acclaim. But perhaps they are just too young.

Haven't they heard of Geoff Bradford, Alfie Biggs, Vic Lambden and the talented, temperamental Welshman, Dai Ward?

It is true they belonged essentially to the 1950s but they remain timeless idols.

If we want to update a bit when it comes to goals, what about that flamboyant little poacher, Bruce Bannister – or some of the transitory stylists like Jason Roberts and Barry Hayles ?

Lambert's four goals last weekend were a rare visual treat.

He came cheap at £200,000 from Rochdale, where his career appeared indeterminate, even if he was voted Player of the Year.

Now Rovers are well aware of the fact that the scouts from more illustrious clubs will be coming west to take a prolonged look at him.

When he arrived at the Memorial Stadium, he reminded me with affection of an old-fashioned centre forward, the kind that years ago I watched and admired. The tummy bulged a little and he was hardly a contender for any sprint championships.

Bristol Rovers have discreetly worked on him, sharpening him up and helping him lose a few pounds.

They always knew the natural assets he possessed – the way he could belt a ball from 25 yards, an intuitive positional sense (to offset any lack of speed), and the manner he timed his jumps in a crowded penalty area.

But he's a modest Scouser who wouldn't want to be compared for instance with Bradford or any of the other big scorers from that much quoted era.

He isn't physically made like them and would readily admit that nature didn't invest him with the same technical skills

Bradford started with Soundwell in the Western League, went on to play once for his country. He scored 260 goals, efficient and lethal and almost entirely devoid of a flashy finish.

33 of them came in one record-breaking season, as every Rovers historian will remind us.

Liverpool wanted him but he opted instead to stay with his east Bristol roots and with a voice as authentic as the River Frome that used to meander past the ramshackle and cherished Eastville ground.

Geoff didn't go in much for headlines. One of my early jobs when I came to Bristol was to interview him after a local match.

I was in awe of his presence. It was hard to know which of us was the more nervous. We ended up talking of his fledgling days with his goalkeeper brother at Soundwell.

The Bradford hat-tricks mounted, and he seldom chose to chat about them. He would have approved of the clinical poise of Lambert's tally against Southend, a club surely inhibited by Bristol opposition.

They once conceded six goals to City on a day when Barrie Meyer and Shadow Williams, both with strong Rovers links, came away with a memorable hat-trick

Strikers are the game's glamorous figures when the goals are going in. At unglamorous Walsall, Gilbert Alsop, who grew up in Frampton Cotterill, became the club's cult hero.

The one-time Bath City forward netted 40 times in 43 games and followed up with 48 from 52 in Division 3.

He looked and played rather like Lambert, the crowd loved his obligatory goals. In the same way, the likeable Lambert can do no wrong .