For More than 40 Years Folks, Over Punters Moans And Groans,

Primarily, on radio we’ve heard his dulcet tones.

Yes, wirelesses, transistors, all tuned to hear Ian Craig,

His accurate descriptions were never, ever vague.

A racing game enthusiast, right from the very start,

Bad luck struck him early on, which damn near broke his heart.

A bad rheumatic fever, to bed he was confined.

Ironically, this illness made up a young Ian’s mind.

His dreams of being a jockey would never be fulfilled.

Instead to be a caller, ‘twas what his maker willed.

Trots and dogs from early on, would see him cut his teeth.

But that was only temporary; he was destined for the heath.

He moved across to 2KY in 1968,

It didn’t take him very long to become the punter’s mate.

A very early Retro, you could say that it spawned SKY’s.

Yes, the medium of telly would see his profile rise.

But the medium of radio was what Ian would do best,

And for more than 40 years my friends, Australia has been blessed.

Slippers, Derbies, Doncasters, ah yes the metric mile,

It may be 35 of them; Ian’s called them all in style.

From Luskin Star, to Kingston Town, yes Ian’s called all the greats,

And in so doing, quite obviously, he’s made so many mates.

There’s slapsy Maxie Presnell, Wayne Wilson, that’s just two.

Rod Fuller and Bryan Martin, just to name a few.

We remember with affection too, how everyone was matey,

And the ease with which he’d call that mare entitled Kakakakatie.

With Tappy gone in recent years, now Ian, it’s hard to swallow,

I’ve scratched my head and pondered, who on earth, we’ll follow.

Yes, equine influenza, and the visit of the Pope,

Despite the massive odds at times, somehow we seemed to cope.

This game is steeped in history, there’s not too much to fear,

The brush with death behind him, yes Matty Hill is here.

So ladies, gents, girls and boys, please stand up one and all,

And savour every sentence of Ian Craig’s final call.

 

Poet  Steve 'Captain My Captain' Symon