See what you think. This is what he said:

"As flies to wanton boys we are for the gods, they kill us for the sport.

"Soon the science will not only be able to slow down the ageing of the cells, soon the science will fix the cells to the state and so we will become eternal.

"Only accidents, crimes, wars, will still kill us but, unfortunately, crimes and wars will multiply.

"I love football. Thank you."

All pretty clear, I think, except for that weird bit at the end.

The opening quote is from William Shakespeare's tragedy, King Lear. 

For Gloucester, the character who utters these words – not these exact words, actually, but I for one would not want to be the one correcting Monsieur Cantona on that point – the world has turned, literally, into a darker place, as he has just been blinded by Cornwall and one of Lear's bad-girl daughters, Reagan.

Gloucester questions whether there is justice in the universe. In the aftermath of the UEFA ceremony, Cantona also mused on justice – albeit at a more prosaic level.

Asked, earnestly, about his reaction to the award, he paused for a moment, to the point where one expected to hear another variant on his main speech, before relapsing into sense.

Having politely acknowledged that he was "very happy", and that the award was a "great honour" – while somehow making both phrases ring tragically hollow, almost as if he were an actor, which of course he now is – Cantona went on to point out that it was a "subjective" judgement. "Football is not subjective," he added. "The best team wins. But it is different with awards."

Naturally enough, Cantona's latest public utterance prompted memories of his gnomic announcement in 1995 at a press conference in the wake of his kung-fu kick at a Crystal Palace fan who had abused him as he left the field at Selhurst Park having been sent off for Manchester United.

After learning that an initial two-week prison sentence for assault had been commuted to 120 hours of community service, he told assembled media: "When the seagulls follow the trawler, it's because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea. Thank you very much."

That was the only red herring thrown to the circling press on the day.

Meanwhile a memory has been circling in my head, and I have just realised what, or rather who, it is. It's Colin Murphy.

I only caught up in person with Murphy in 1988, during his second spell as manager of Lincoln City, as he was guiding them back into the English Football League, from which they had been relegated the previous season.

His earlier stint at Sincil Bank had established him as a very effective operator in the lower divisions and, more distinctively, as an extraordinary torturer of the English language, as evidenced by his regular programme notes under the heading "Murph's Message".

"Lincoln programmes from this era are now collector's items far beyond what would be considered the norm for the publications of lower division and Conference clubs from this era," says Wikipedia. And who am I to argue?

The day I covered Lincoln City's 3-0 win over Wealdstone, which allowed them to take a very big step towards their target of promotion from the GM Vauxhall Conference, Murphy was in ebullient mid-programme form.

"Certainly an exciting set of circumstances for supporters when the finale is on edge until possibly the latest possible time of conclusion," he wrote.

Tautological and otiose. It would be a classic Murphy-ism, save for the fact that it is faintly comprehensible.

We need to look back a little further to get the full flavour of this endlessly indigestible prose, and in that respect I am truly grateful to a trawl conducted by the Yorkshire Post’s Chris Waters in January of this year for netting the following prize sardines.

While we're on the theme of food, how about this?

"Life is not like a bowl of cherries, but more like a bowl of Hungarian goulash – hot, sticky and, at times, intestinally negative."

"Grand, but I still understand it," I hear you say. Okay. What about this pre-match observation?

"I realise that not many possess the wisdom of the Mandala, but at times persiflage is not comprehensible. However, don't worry, we shall defeat the diphthongs."

Or this one? "However discombobulating we have been made to appear, we shall genuinely endeavour to discoidulate the cleavage."

Like Cantona, Murphy has found inspiration in the rhythms, if not the words, of the Bard. In an echo of Hamlet's "to be or not to be" soliloquy, he wrote: "To extemporise or not to extemporise – that is the issue we face today", adding: "One thing is for sure in all of these circumstances, if one performs with crapulence they will require a corroborant which will need to give you the strength to perform the corroboree in order to become corrible."

Also, like Cantona, he has been moved to speculation upon the future of humankind: "It is important to remember that the 'club' or 'clubs' are bigger than all of us and they must perpetuate whereas one day I suppose we are going to leave the Earth, later rather than sooner I hope!"

I only encountered the Bard of Lincoln late in his club career. But, make no mistake, his words retained their potency to puzzle right to the final Message of Murph. Evidence this contribution a year after my visit, when Lincoln, having earned promotion, topped the Football League's Division Four.

"We must not have delusions of grandeur," he wrote. "We cannot suffer from tertiary disease of grand paralysis of the insane. Whilst I appreciate that many great decisions and many great victories were achieved with such tertiaries and such insanities in the days of old then accordingly we must continue doing what has put us top, then we shall remain top. In other words, we will not be topped. The aims and ambitions of the players should be perroglyphic."

Sadly the team slipped to 10th, where they finished the following season also. After which Murphy moved on.

If only the players had listened to what he was saying.