Henry Blofeld's imminent retirement makes David Clayton consider some of his other commentator heroes.

Blowers is retiring and no longer will we hear his mellifluous tones, in a cricket context at least. Like his predecessors, Brian 'Johnners' Johnston and the great John Arlott, his distinctive voice is filed away in our own personal sound banks. It defines those lazy summer days when the BBC's Test Match Special would be burbling away on the corner of the desk at work. A lack of action on the field (a gritty Boycott innings comes to mind) was made as engaging as any spectacular hook to the boundary by Henry Blofeld's wider observations.

I guess we all have our favourites. My own commentating hero, Murray Walker, would only perform standing up which I totally understand. It opened his chest and gave his lungs a bit more turbo-power. He told me this himself when I went to interview him a few years ago. He was thankfully sitting down at the time. He maintained he was also blessed with a voice that cut through the noise of Formula One. It sure did and that's why you wouldn't want Murray describing cricket!

To this day, the late Peter O'Sullevan defines the sound of horse racing for me. He was calmness personified at the start. 'They're under starter's orders…..they're orf!' But then his voice seemed to add an octave for each furlong galloped towards the winning post. Just like the jockeys, he presumably had to pace himself for the longer races.

We hold commentators like Blofeld, Walker and O'Sullevan dear because they're describing something about which we're passionate, or presumably we wouldn't be tuned in. Then, longevity of service on the airwaves renders them national treasures because commentators share our own greatest sporting moments and then enhance them. Norwich City fans will always recall, with huge delight, Chris Goreham and Neil Adams not so much describing, as screaming the moment Simeon Jackson got the winner when the Canaries beat Derby 3-2 at the last gasp and pretty much ensured a promotion. 'You beauty, you absolute beauty… the place is going bananas!' Whether it makes football sense written down matters not, it shoe-horned itself into the collective, local euphoria.

The pace of the sport defines the commentator. Having sat in the commentary box next to our own local treasure, the late, great Roy Waller and then his equally brilliant successor, the aforementioned Chris Goreham, I hold the greatest admiration for our describers of football. I've managed some 40 years' experience in broadcasting, but I simply couldn't do it. Its fine to go along with the edict of 'say what you see' but the speed at which the action moves over the pitch – all right, not necessarily during the Canaries' least edifying matches – means the pressure of keeping up and not making a mistake is ever-present. Not only do you have to explain who has the ball and what he's trying to do with it, if indeed you have any idea, you must impart the drama, the tension and the jeopardy. Football has short periods of down-time during a game when commentator and summariser can muse on their surroundings, but overall it's frenetic stuff.

Great commentators have a vocabulary and imagination beyond the words they need to describe their sport. I had the privilege of interviewing Kenneth Wolstenholme remembered for his 'Some people are on the pitch, they think it's all over... it is now,' as Geoff Hurst scored his hat trick in the final moment of extra time to win England the 1966 World Cup. The first bit is description because there were people on the pitch. The last three words, added spontaneously as Hurst hit the back of the net, are perfection. He couldn't have planned to say that. Lucky? Perhaps, but Wolstenholme had the skill to find those words in that split second and capture the moment for all time.

If you'll allow me, Blowers, before you lay down that microphone you yourself are a Dear Old Thing!