ednesday evenings were always a special treat in the Parker household when I was young.

It was the one schoolnight in the week when I was allowed to stay up late.

The reason was Sportsnight.

That distinctive theme tune would hit the first few beats and you were ready to be whisked away into a world of football, maybe a bit of rugby, snooker or athletics and, if you were really lucky, some boxing.

It sounds like the prehistoric age for those who can switch on their TV day or night now and pick up a game. But way back when, this was the only sport you’d catch outside of Saturday afternoons and Match of the Day.

So it was easily possible to avoid the score and watch that night’s game as if it were live.

You could even watch a big fight that had taken place a day or two earlier without being aware of the winner.

That was when I first became acquainted with Harry Carpenter. For me, he was Mr Boxing on a Wednesday night.

I’m too young (believe it or not) to properly recall his verbal sparring with Muhammad Ali, though the clips have become familiar through their frequent airings down the years.

For me, Harry was the voice of York Hall; evocative of long-forgotten domestic names slugging it out on a regular basis.

Then, of course, he brought boxing to the masses with his repartee alongside Frank Bruno.

Their relationship was far more than commentator and sportsman. They became a double act that transcended the boxing ring; good friends who would appear together on chat shows, variety programmes and even an advert for HP sauce.

“Know what I mean, ’Arry” was the catchphrase that everyone knew, even if they didn’t have the slightest interest in boxing.

Bruno became a national treasure, possibly more for his quips with Carpenter than his prowess in the ring. In the era of Morecambe and Wise and the Two Ronnies, ’Arry and Frank held their own.

Carpenter was an inscrutably honest journalist but, not surprisingly, the mask slipped with Bruno. That one moment when he had Mike Tyson on the ropes was too much for the man on the mike.

As a thumping left hook rocked Tyson, Carpenter roared: “Get in there, Frank!”

Carpenter later apologised for what he saw as a lack of professionalism. But the boxing fans just loved him even more for it.

Let’s face it, the rest of us were screaming exactly the same.

Carpenter also regularly commentated on Barry McGuigan’s rise to world glory. He was there the night the Irishman won the title at Loftus Road.

As McGuigan said this week, his words reflected the rhythm of that fight.

“McGuigan’s work is not so effective in this round,” said Carpenter, seconds before Pedroza was dumped on the canvas. “Oh yes it is now …”

Carpenter was as big a heavyweight in boxing circles as Bruno; hugely respected by the fighters as much as his listeners.

He never said too much. While we live in an era of screechy, over-the-type hype machines passing as commentators, Carpenter felt that less was more.

Boxing is not the same without him. Wednesday nights never were.