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A tribute to James Hunt, whose personality was larger than life, whose tongue nor fists were tied by political correctness or public relations, who had balls of brass and who had, “Sex, Breakfast of Champions” embroidered on his racing overalls.  Formula One’s flamboyant playboy and showman with charm, charisma and a devilish smile.  All that aside, Hunt was a serious competitor when he slipped on his helmet and climbed into the cockpit.  Only his commitment to compete was stronger than his insatiable hunger for victory.

I would like to thank the Hunt family, in particular Tom and Fred  Hunt, for providing this poem, their blessing.

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Indulge me please for a moment or two, while I pay tribute to where it’s certainly due

If you happen to be a Formula One fan, you’ll have most certainly heard of this man

Sometimes known as “Hunt the Shunt”, he was born James Simon Wallis Hunt

Naturally skilled with passion so pure, naughty schoolboy charm with magnetic allure

He defined the term “PLAYBOY” in every way. The world was his oyster, his life a buffet

Tabloids loved him as much as the birds, who swooned and chased him by flocks and by herds

His sense of humour was one for the books, it was only outdone by his smashing good looks

Charismatic and tender with a Rock Star smile, tenaciously ruthless was his driving style

The drug was danger, victory the goal, while the hearts of his fans, he boldly stole

Fast fists on circuit and faster to strip. Quick on the draw, from the lip or the hip

A modern-day hero, who battled rivals on track. Mistakes behind the wheel, one would rarely get back

When driving was dangerous and sex was safe, James Hunt faced death, not a bruise or a chafe

He commanded attention then held it firm if not firmer. Living life to the limit, with impetuous fervour

Political correctness did not exist and breaking rules was required, just to subsist

The sport misses champions like bad boy James, when drivers were personalities and not just names

A quick glimpse at his life, in Ron Howard’s Rush, where some scenes are sure, to make many blush

Most stories are true, he was cool to the core. We shouldn’t forget though, that he was much much more

A father, a husband, F1’s Golden Boy. Champagne, cigarettes and a wee pinch of coy

He left this world, far too soon. Cheating death on the track but he was not immune

Let’s remember this champion, with this little rhyme. May his memory and legacy outlast all time

I’ll always fight hard to be out in front and live my life at the speed of HUNT…