Miss Statham, the Heartbeat of the Ring

An appreciation post for the singing unsung hero of mine.
In every story worth telling, there is a character who appears without fanfare or fuss, but like a perfume on the breeze, unbidden, unforgettable, and wholly transformative. For the East Midlands boxing faithful, that person is Miss Claire Statham , though when she lifts the mic to introduce a bout or lifts a friend from despair, she might as well be Shannon K, her stage-self, her songbird incarnation.

To call her the Master of Ceremonies is to use language too small. She is, rather, the mistress of feeling, of tone, of atmosphere that rare human who can, just by walking into a room, alter its barometric pressure. Like an expensive fragrance yes, that’s the only simile that will do Claire does not announce herself; she simply arrives, and the mood lifts. The crowd straightens. Even the grouchy old official who grumbles about schedules and refreshments finds himself smiling, inexplicably soothed.

She is a mother, a daughter, a sister, and a steward of countless tiny kindnesses. The kind that are never photographed, never posted, never praised and yet live on in the hearts of those fortunate enough to have received them.

And I must speak personally here. I once mentioned, in passing and without expectation, some small quandary a thing I myself forgot. And then, as if she had captured my words in a jar and incubated them under the warmth of her care, Claire called me two weeks later. “I got this thing for you ,” she said, “I know its what you wanted so I sorted.” And there it was. Done. Without fuss. Without credit. As if this were simply how the world worked.

Let me assure you it is not how the world works. It is how Claire Statham works.

And I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again with the full weight of a region behind me  if being nice was a championship, Claire Statham would be the undisputed world champion. Not on points. Not by decision. But by glorious, unanimous knockout.

Even the most disagreeable folks the arm-folders and frowners, the skeptics and cynics all carry a soft spot for Miss Statham. Not because they choose to. Because she earns it. Her generosity is quiet freakish. Her advice, given freely, is better than most professionals charging by the hour. The sort of help that begins, always, with: “Oh yes, I used to do this. All you need is…”

And then magically she hands you something she prepared earlier.

Her love for boxing is no side note. It is elemental. It connects her to the South Normanton School of Boxing, a place sacred to her, and to her father Gordon, from whom as the saying goes she clearly did not fall far. Apples and trees. Inherited grace.

She does not seek spotlight, only service. And that’s why she must be celebrated.

So here it is not just from me, but from every boxer, every coach, every official, to the Regional President:

Claire Statham, we salute you. We treasure you. We love you dearly.

You are the heartbeat of our ring, the soul of our sport, the warmth in our corner.

And the East Midlands would never be the same without you — thank heavens we don’t have to imagine it. you are here you are real and you are our friend.