John Arlott was not just a cricket commentator – he was cricket’s poet laureate, the voice of summer itself. With his Hampshire burr, gentle humour, and lyrical style, he could describe a cover drive as “humming through the air” or a batsman as “looking like a man trying to open a tin of sardines with a golf club.” He gave us not just cricket, but stories, music, and mischief between the balls.

Arlott made Test matches sound like theatre: one moment grand, the next gently mocking a fielder “ambling about like a farmer after cows.” He spoke to everyone – the lifelong devotee, the casual listener, even the poor soul dragged into the pavilion by a friend with spare tickets. And, of course, he gave the world Ian Botham, which should be worth a knighthood on its own (depending on who you ask).

To knight John Arlott – even posthumously – is to celebrate not only the man but the magic he gave cricket. Indeed, Western Force Cricket Club proudly claim the “ghostly voice of Sir John Arlott” in their ranks, keeping his wit and warmth alive. It’s high time he was Sir John officially.