Hair loss, fans, fears and the wife he couldn't be without ... Rotherham United legend Ronnie Moore opens up as a big day looms in his cancer battle

He was the blond striker who became a Rotherham United playing legend, then the slightly-less-blond boss who achieved even more success as a manager, then the silver-maned elder statesman whom Millers fans love to this day.

The man they call ‘The King’ is fighting cancer and the hair loss is part of his ordeal over the last seven months. The barnet - for now, at least - has gone, but the old Ronnie spark certainly hasn't.

That quick wit, that twinkle in his eye, that ready laugh, they're all still there.

“I mean, if you saw how many tablets there are in our house,” he says. “I did say to my missus: ‘Look, if ever you wanted to get rid of me, now is your chance because there are so many tablets that you can make a mess of!’

“But she's been brilliant, you know. I can't thank her enough.”

He's talking about wife Angela who's been with him through his battle every step of the way. Quite literally, in fact. The pair - often along with dog Bella - are a regular sight tramping the roads and fields together in and around Bramley and Wickersley.

“I'm still keeping myself fit,” he says. “I don't run - I wish I could, but my knees won't allow that anymore - but I do walk quite a lot. Since these apps have come out where you can monitor your steps, I've been checking mine.

“I try to do 10,000 to 15,000 a day. I think that it's helped me get through all the treatment I've needed. I was out of hospital in two weeks after my stem-cell transplant.

“The doctor said there that he'd never had a patient who wasn't either sick or had diarrhoea. I was very, very fortunate. The only thing I've had is a sore throat that caused me to get a tickly cough. It lasted a week but it's gone now and I'm feeling good.”

Ronnie discovered he had myeloma - a form of blood cancer - last year. He had been feeling overly fatigued and it was Angela who persuaded him to be checked out. Chemotherapy and a stem-cell transplant have ensued while Mrs Moore has uncomplainingly become a dab hand at injections and tablet monitoring.

“I mean, God, the work that she has had to put in,” he says. “She's also had to drive me to Hallamshire Hospital and then try to park there. That's no easy task! I think we're through the rough part and we're now looking forward. It's like two Ronnie Moores. I've had my Ronnie Moore life up to 72, 73. Now my new life is going to start.

“I might wake up in the morning with a bit of pain and think: ‘Oh, God, what's this?’ But I'm mentally tough and I've just got to get on with it. This ‘remission’ could last for two years, could last for five years, could last for ten years. My stem cells last for five to eight years. Imagine in that eight-year spell how far they're going to be down the road to a cure.

“You've got to make the most of every day and enjoy life, and that's what I'm going to do. That's what I always have done, to be honest. I've lived a good life already and I've still got plenty left. I don't want to be carried out anywhere just yet, I want to leave that for quite a long time!”

‘Ang’ is his rock. “Well, without her,” he begins … and his voice tails away.

Ronnie's hair was lost during chemotherapy. It's a temporary thing. Give it two or three months, say the doctors, and it should grow again.

Only he might be in for a surprise. It could come back in any colour, he's been warned. “Dark, light, anything,” he grins. ”I'm quite fancying ginger.”

A big day is approaching on Thursday - the one when the visits to Sheffield will stop and he will only need check-ins now and again closer to home.

“I'm coming to the end of my treatment,” he says. ”It started on July 24th and I'm finished on March 19th - that's my last chemo injection, then I should finish at Hallamshire. The people there have been absolutely magnificent; everybody - the nurses, the doctors. It's been the same at Rotherham Hospital. They're so good at what they do.

“Hopefully, after the 19th I'll be just at Rotherham. They call it a ‘maintenance pill’ and I think I'll be taking that for the rest of my life.

“The myeloma is dormant at this moment. They call it ‘remission’, but it's not really a remission. They can't cure it, but they can control it.”

We're chatting in the media suite Huddersfield Town earlier this month, having travelled to the match together - something we've done numerous times over the years - and he's tucking into a sausage-and-egg butty an hour or two before Rotherham's 12.30pm kick-off against the Terriers.

As usual, he's been asked a couple of times for autographs by early fans outside the ground. As usual, there's a steady stream of figures from within the game popping over to say ‘hello’ once he's inside. As usual, I have to sort out the Wi-Fi password on his phone.

It's his first time on the beat as a Radio Sheffield summariser for a while and everyone is delighted to see him looking so well.

“This is a good day for me,” he says. “You do miss it. It is a little bit emotional. You're coming back when once you were thinking: ‘Am I ever going to be able to do something like that again?’

“It's nice to get that bit of knowledge you have out there, and I think people appreciate it. I don't sit on the fence, but I don't slaughter people for the sake of slaughtering them. I enjoy every minute that I'm doing it.”

He's pleased to reach a stage where he can savour a glass of wine again, although as yet there's been no indulgence in his favourite Staropramen lager at Wickersley Social Club about three quarters of a mile from where he lives with Angela and their 20-year-old daughter, Charlotte.

“It's been tough,” he reflects. “Because as soon as you're with the family and somebody mentions cancer, it's like ‘ooof’. It can lower the mood a bit! That ‘c’ word just frightens the life out of you.”

The legend was last seen at AESSEAL New York Stadium on February 7 when he received his trophy before kick-off against Cardiff City for being chosen as the Millers' ‘Greatest Ever Manager’ in the club's centenary-year poll.

The ovation he received moved him close to tears, just as have the thousands of shows of support on social media since he went public with his diagnosis.

“It's unreal, absolutely unreal,” he says. “You know, those messages really have helped. When you read some of the them, it gives you a huge lift. Even fans from other clubs have got in touch. I've had some fantastic ones from Sheffield Wednesday, Sheffield United and Barnsley followers.

”But my own group of fans, the Rotherham United family, wow, they're so special. When I was on the pitch for that celebration, it was absolutely brilliant. To actually be voted by the supporters as the best manager in 100 years ... it's bonkers when you think how many decent managers there have been. A manager I had, Ian Porterfield, was fantastic.

“The fans have been amazing with me. When I first came here as manager, it it took us two years to sort the mess out. I often think: ‘I wonder what they thought for that two years?’ Were they saying: ‘He's come here and done nothing in his first year and nothing in his second year.’

“The fans gave me time, you know. Hopefully, me and Breck paid them back.”

‘Breck’ is John Breckin, first Ronnie's teammate, then his number two and, through it all, his closest friend.

And it was Breck who was on the pitch and suddenly produced a very apt piece of headwear when the 'Greatest Ever' presentation was made.

A crown.

Even on a bald head, it looked just right.

The blond striker, the slightly-less-blond boss, the silver-maned elder statesman whom Millers fans love to this day.

The man who has taken on cancer and is still smiling.

Long live The King.