Sport was never a "thing" in our house

Neither of my parents followed it, which is a strange paradox considering my father’s career

As a sound engineer for the BBC, his professional life was often defined by the very atmosphere he ignored at home

He spent decades capturing the acoustic soul of British athletics: the sharp crack of a bat during Cricket at Edgbaston and Trent Bridge, the roar of the fans at Coventry’s Highfield Road (where he once managed to get himself locked in), and the rhythmic splashing of rowing at the National Water Sports Centre.  He also did many a series of Pot Black (snooker) and Sheffield for darts.

He was there for the high-octane scream of Formula 1 engines at Silverstone and traveled to St. Andrews in July 1970 to mix the sound for the Commonwealth Games alongside his cameraman mate, Clive Stevens

However, his indifference to the sporting world peaked in 1976

When the Winter Olympics headed to Montreal, the BBC offered him a three-week stint on-site

To everyone’s bafflement, he simply said no

We still have no idea why; perhaps he’d just heard enough sport to last a lifetime

When the BBC politely informed him that a "request" was actually a mandate and he had to go, Dad found the ultimate loophole

He didn't argue, and he didn't protest, he simply booked three weeks of annual leave and stayed home

Conclusion

In the end, my father’s career was a masterclass in professional detachment

He spent his life ensuring millions of people could hear every play, every engine rev, and every cheer, all while making sure he didn't have to listen to any of it himself

He was the man who brought the world’s greatest games into people's living rooms, yet he wouldn't even cross the Atlantic to see them in person, not even when the BBC insisted