Seven goals in 53 appearances is not the record of a legend or the tally of an icon. Why, then, such fondness for Ryan Edmondson as his Carlisle United spell recedes into the past?

It’s because, it seems, he did that extremely daring thing in serious modern professional football. He gave the impression he was absolutely enjoying himself.

When the public address man advised people that dugouts were not for dancing on, during the heady aftermath of last May’s play-off semi-final second leg, it was not just exuberant supporters he was chastising.

It was United’s number nine, who had only come on in the 65th minute of the game yet was later celebrating as though the last days of Rome were at hand. Had Edmondson, at that moment, suddenly hopped off the dugout and marched out of Brunton Park in the direction of Botchergate, thousands would have gone with him.

(Ok, they probably still went there of their own accord that day, but the point stands).

Edmondson, who appears to be heading Down Under, was always good for a celebration. Think of Swindon Town last season, when he stood still in a penalty box of chaos, headed a last-minute winner then he and his team-mates nearly ruptured veins in the fervent moments that followed.

Think of Wembley, and his broadly beaming and at times roaring face. Think of Northampton Town this season, a 2-2 draw amid a relegation fight, and Edmondson’s only goal of a trying campaign: a header which, for a few agonising minutes, looked like clinching victory.

You may have seen United’s video footage of that spell, of Edmondson finally breaking from his team-mates' embraces, making a little shuffle back towards the Warwick Road End and screaming “******* come on!”. It was about as far removed from choreographed, knowing, Instagram-ready celebrations as you could ever get.

The 22-year-old also appeared an engaging person when it came to supporter relations. He gave of himself and his personality. He was an honest, sincere and amusing guest on The Last Ditch podcast, for instance, and offered people the impression they could get to know the man, aside from the footballer.

There’s not enough of this, generally, so the fond wave-off is entirely understandable. Now, if Carlisle go on to sign a cold-eyed finisher with superior stats and an icy demeanour before this transfer window closes, few of us will complain.

But if you can’t have that, there’s still mileage in having someone who cares; a player who makes the terrace-to-pitch chasm feel that little bit shorter. Edmondson might not have torn up the scoring books but the mark he left still means something.