Poets in the
Corner 

I was a World of Sport child
Every Saturday at four
Dickie handed over to Kent
For grunts and groans galore

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A stage of canvas
A taut-roped ring
Anticipation on the faces
Such a primeval thing

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The dapper MC
In amplified tones
A formal preamble
To the crushing of bones

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The protagonists enter
Take their respective bows
To cheers and boos
As tradition allows

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The grapplers played out
A variety of roles
But goodie and baddie
Were the standard poles

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We all had our favourites
According to style
A subjective élite
Above the vast rank and file

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Take Mike Marino
With his masterly technique
Or hunky Steve Veidor’s
Adonis physique

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The ultimate showman
A spangly treat
Was the camp, caped figure
Of Adrian Street

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The hard man from New Cross
How he relished his fate
Rule-bending Mick McManus
The one we all loved to hate!

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In the tag team sphere
Attachments were loyal
Support was unrivalled
For the Brothers Royal

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The unenviable task
Of Max Ward, referee
With his distinctive counting
“One-aaah, two-aaah, three-aaah!”

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Evocative terms
Like the forearm jab
Half or full nelson
And the Boston crab

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In the commentator’s seat
Was the perfect choice
The urbane Kent Walton
With the velvety voice

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Each bout was a drama
In acts we called rounds
Full of sweaty spectacle
And pained grappling sounds

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Cynics may have scoffed
But which of them dared
To enter the ring
With torso thus bared?

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I pay tribute to those heroes
Who brought the sport to its peak
With a tearful, valedictory
“Have a great week…till next week!”

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