Hey, sports fans! Mr. Ronald is here to light up the game — but today, we don’t just report a score or break down a buzzer-beater. No, today, we tip our hat, raise our voice, and pour out our full-hearted respect for a man who was the living, breathing heartbeat of rugby league. Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you—again—to a legend who needs no re-introduction: Ray French.
Now, if rugby had a Mount Rushmore, trust me when I say this — Ray’s face would be carved up there with a booming mic in one hand and a rolled-up matchday program in the other. Because Ray French wasn’t just a player. He wasn’t just a voice. He was the soul of the scrum, the bard of the ball, and the gentleman whose warm tones brought clashes in Castleford and triumphs in St. Helens straight into our living rooms — and straight into our hearts.
Let me break it down for you.
This man was dual-code royalty. That’s right — Ray didn’t just stick to one arena. He dominated both rugby union and rugby league at the international level. Try pulling that off without leaving a trail of broken tackles and broken expectations. From lacing up his boots for England in rugby union to donning the red and white of Great Britain in rugby league, Ray French carved his name into the annals of two sports with the confidence of a man who knew he belonged.
But as time marched on, it wasn’t the sight of Ray dodging defenders that became iconic — it was his unmistakable voice painting pictures from the commentary box. When Ray spoke, the game sparkled. He could turn a knock-on into a moment of poetic drama. He made the muddy brilliance of the Northern Super League feel like Wembley under the lights. His words didn’t just describe the game — they gave it soul.
He spoke with authority, with fire, but above all, with love. You could hear the thrill in his voice when a young lad broke the line. You could feel the ache when the final whistle blew and dreams were deferred. He didn’t just narrate the play — he *felt* it. Just like we did.
Now, players come and go. Voices rise and fade. But legends? Legends echo forever. And that’s exactly what Ray French was — and always will be.
Because beyond the stats, beyond caps and tackles, this man carried himself with the kind of humility and humor that reminded us all what sport is really about. Not just the wins — but the warmth. The handshake at full-time. The shared stories in the clubhouse. And the joy of hearing *that* voice just as the crowd reached its crescendo.
He was a friendly face behind the frenzy, the calm in the commentary storm. To fans, he was a narrator. To players, a mentor. To the world of rugby… an irreplaceable icon.
So here’s to you, Ray. Thank you for giving us a blueprint on how to play with passion and speak with purpose. From the hard yards on the field to the golden tones on the mic, you showed us what it means to love a game — and give it everything you’ve got.
And if there’s a heavenly pitch up there, I reckon you’re already calling the plays, voice soaring over the clouds like it did over the terraces of Wilderspool and Odsal.
Forever in our hearts. Eternally in our ears.
Play on, legend. Play on.
— Mr. Ronald
