When our heroes leave us

Harry B reflects on the passing of George Foreman

I remember my mum being upset when Dusty Springfield passed away. At the time, I understood she was sad because a celebrity she admired in her youth had died, but I didn’t fully grasp why it hit her so hard. As we get older, we begin to understand—when a figure like that passes, it's not just about their death, but about the part of your own life that fades with them.

The passing of George Foreman at 76 marks the end of a chapter in the story of my youth. Growing up we had three television channels, and if you were into sports, you inevitably found heroes in the limited options available. Shows like Grandstand, World of Sport, and Sportsnight were a staple for any young lad. I still recall the oddness of visiting my future wife’s house at 19, only to find a black-and-white film on the TV. It was the first time I encountered a Saturday afternoon without Frank Bough or Des Lynam leading the sports commentary. The two-fingered salutes of Harvey Smith, or the daring escapades of James Hunt, weren’t sports that interest me now, but back then, I would’ve been glued to the TV to watch their outcomes.