Duffers was from Wolverhampton, the heartland of manufacturing. The other two Midland Mafia boys had wrapped up the cycling gigs on television, so David was left with the rest of the duties on offer. This usually involved tribune work; calling races home for the benefit of the crowd in market squares or city parks. He was the live voice on-site. So while Liggett and Porter were embedded inside their cosy studios with lip mikes and headphones, David was under a brolly on the public address system, geeing up a crowd of damp fans at, say, the Lincoln Grand Prix. If you attended a UK cycling event from the 1970s onwards, then you knew David’s voice.
This was a man who stood tall in so many ways – almost 2m (6ft 6in) in his stockinged feet, with a fingertip-to-fingertip span bigger than his height. He would extend his canoe-paddle hands on thin wrists in every direction and the returned handshakes were warm and frequent. You couldn’t go to a bike show and walk three paces with him before someone would shout: ‘Duffers!!!’ And another long chat would ensue with either a fan or one of the many thousands of folk he was connected to in the business. He was a genuine gent with a big heart and a bigger sense of mischief. I loved him.
So how did he move into the cosy studio of Eurosport? Well, back in 1989 when the channel started, it was, frankly, regarded as a little lowbrow by the other two busy boys on terrestrial TV. They passed David’s name to a desperate producer in Paris who needed someone to call home the Milan–San Remo on the new channel. David jumped at the chance and never let go of the position. He grew with Eurosport and became the most prolific commentator of his generation. Sure, he was ‘only’ on satellite TV, but he didn’t care because the races were plentiful. He was a boy in a toyshop and the door was now locked behind him on this gig.
Without the strictures of ITV or the BBC, Duffers developed his own style. In the absence of any production guidance, or even a co-commentator, and with hours and hours of long stage races to fill, he relied on his experience on the PA in Preston and beyond – and that stood him in good stead. Being able to regale the audience with his musings and his tales both big and small from the cycling world, he was a wonder to behold. That, coupled with a rapacious appetite for good food and, ahem, the products of the grape and hop, meant that he could fill dead air like no other. And he took this all very seriously.
In the early days of our pairings, he said to me with a wink and a tap on the side of the nose: ‘Tomorrow we are in the Algarve, so tonight we are going to sample a bit of it!’ We were to voice the race from a studio just outside London, but that night David and I went to a Portuguese restaurant called O Galo Negro. It was in Lewisham, I believe. Anyway, we had Portuguese wine and spiced chicken, all written down in his notebook with the correct pronunciations. He then informed the owner that he would be mentioning his place on television the following day and would he like to seal the deal with one of his finest port wines? This was a given. David enquired after the owner’s original place of birth and other bits and bobs. The next day, before we went on air, David said: ‘We won’t be saying we are actually in Portugal, but we won’t be saying we are not there either. We will, however, be helping the audience to believe we are there. Leave it to me.’
I did my welcome and teed the race up. David then had his moment: ‘Thanks, Carlton. Well, I’d just like to take a moment to thank our friend Jose Balan from Tavira, whose Frango Temporado is the talk of the town; it’s spicy chicken and was all washed down with a spectacular Galitos Red – lots of blackcurrants and liquorice notes. . .’ And on he went. There was nothing happening in the race because the breakaway had gone early, we had three hours to kill and David’s trip had not only covered 20 minutes of quiet time but had also framed the day and made the audience assume we were in Portugal, adding credibility to the rest of the week’s broadcast. Genius.
Sadly, David is no longer with us. I presented a eulogy at a celebration of his life in the spring of 2016. The mood was naturally sombre as I began with: ‘David told me a few secret truths about cycling. Many of which I can’t pass on. But one thing I can share is this: He once told me that Lucozade Sport, in a see-through bottle, is exactly the same colour as Scotch and Ginger!’ The place erupted.
Having fun is what life is all about. And David knew that. He showed me that being on the telly as a commentator is not about fitting in, it’s about being yourself. Anyone can impersonate a commentator, but being a unique one is the goal. ‘Be yourself,’ he told me, ‘and if they like you, then you will fly. Never forget that nobody else will ever be as good at being you as you are.’ So I duly made a pact with David, who I’m sure still hangs around, to simply be myself. So far, it has stood me in good stead.
