Chris Eubank
Boxing is synonymous with showpiece entrances but while fighters today utilise thrones, fireworks, mariachi bands and London buses, Chris Eubank could thrill an arena with just a tap of his gloves and a blast of Tina Turner. The preening, chiseled, British two-weight world champion thrived in front of a partisan crowd, soaking in the adoration or – usually – hatred with haughty disdain. His ring walk in Berlin before fighting Graciano Rocchigiani in 1994 is a classic of the genre, finished as ever with a vault over the top rope.
Eubank actually professed to be unfussed by boxing’s theatrics when turning pro, leaving it to his promoter’s wife to pick Simply the Best as his signature tune (thank you, Susan Hearn). Yet he revelled in the razzmatazz. “There were two Chris Eubanks,” he said. “When I entered the ring I wore another mask. The strutting and posturing actually camouflaged fear.” Naseem Hamed, Eubank’s showboating heir, ramped up the gimmicks – flying carpets, Cadillacs, a mock cemetery – and swapped the top-rope leap for a front somersault. But Eubank was the original and, simply, the best.
Chicago Bulls
Netflix’s addictive The Last Dance told us several things we knew already and some we didn’t. Like Michael Jordan was pretty good at basketball. And apparently even if you have creative control over a TV series designed to showcase your otherworldly talent and drive, you can still end up coming across as a bit of a wally. Yet one thing is undeniable: the Chicago Bulls’ starting lineup roll call – backed by The Alan Parsons Project’s anthemic Sirius – is electrifying.
Then Bulls announcer Tommy Davis first heard the 114-second instrumental track in a cinema in 1984 and instantly thought: this would sound even better with men’s names and heights yelled over the top of it. Correct, Tommy. Especially accompanied by a 1990s laser show before a fervent United Center in Chicago, and when the names included Scottie Pippin, Dennis Rodman and of course: “From North Carolina, at guard, 6ft 6in … Michael Jordan.” Cue high- and low-fives from the Bulls on court as the opposition patiently waited for their absolute pasting.
Stephen Bunting
The wonder of darts is some awkward everyman in an eyesore shirt emerging before a raucous crowd, hyped up Chase the Sun and pints of probably-not-water, then getting a reaction like they’re headlining Glastonbury. Each dartist their own song, nickname, style of audience interaction, etc. But the walk-on wonder is St Helens own Stephen “The Bullet” Bunting. After switching from novelty hit Surfin’ Bird – a nod to his resemblance to cartoon character Peter Griffin – to soaring dance anthem Titanium, Bunting has gone supernova.
A fact occasionally pointed out about the bespectacled 2024 Masters champion is that he’s several months younger than Cristinao Ronaldo – as if CR7 is somehow the bar of how a standard 40-year-old should look. Plus when Bunting steps up towards the oche at Ally Pally and does his Christ the Redeemer pose, followed by the double ear-cups to costumed Marios and Luigis bellowing their lungs out in the front row, he gets a level of fevered adoration above anything that greets Ronaldo at Al-Nassr. We know where we’d rather be.
The All Blacks
Is the haka, strictly speaking, an entrance? Pre-game ritual, perhaps? Quick, let’s ask Joe Marler for a definition. To be honest, it can seem a bit unfair that New Zealand get to perform an epic Māori war dance before kick-off while, say, England or Scotland just stand around – a bit like in WWE when the Undertaker got a 12-minute entrance to fight some mulleted chump in blue spandex who was already in the ring. Gee, I wonder who’s going to win this one.
The All Blacks first performed an on-pitch haka in 1888, but by the 1970s it had fallen into farce: just a bunch of dishevelled blokes randomly slapped their thighs (look away now). Thankfully in 1987, incoming captain Buck Shelford decided enough was enough and took his teammates to a Māori school to watch the students perform a haka, learning the tikanga, words and actions. Since then, whether it’s the traditional Ka Mate or the modern Kapa o Pango, the haka has become rugby’s ultimate crossover star, more globally famous than any player you care to mention. Take it away, Tana Umaga.
after newsletter promotion
Ronda Rousey
Ronda Rousey arrived in the UFC in 2012, only a year after president Dana White had been asked when we’d see women compete in the burgeoning promotion and replied: “never”. The reason for the MMA mogul’s rapid backtrack, and Rousey’s subsequent transformation into a pay-per-view superstar, wasn’t just the judoka’s dominance. There are, after all, only so many ways you can promote a series of armbar submission victories. It was “Rowdy” Ronda’s trash talking, theatrics, image and peerless understanding of how to sell a fight.
A key part of that was her entrance. A power strut to the octagon, death stare cranked up to 11, Joan Jett’s punk classic Bad Reputation blaring; channeling a peak Mike Tyson (but with bonus blonde braids). “Joan’s song and rebellious voice are closest to being the music equivalent of my attitude in the ring,” Rousey said. “I like being seen as an intimidating, indomitable force.” It’s just ironic that when Rousey made her biggest entrance at UFC 193, in front of 56,214 fans in Melbourne, it was before the upset defeat by Holly Holm that ended her aura of invincibility once and for all.
Viv Richards
Fast bowlers are the apex predators of the cricket world but they don’t get to really make a big entrance, unless you count pacing to their mark then wafting a hand at square leg to move back a bit. No, it’s the batters who get to make a statement with their grand arrivals – and nobody did it better than Viv Richards. First a wait after the previous West Indies wicket had fallen, ramping up the anticipation. Then King Viv emerged, maroon cap cocked – never a helmet, of course – built like a middleweight boxer but with the air of a heavyweight. The saunter to the crease, arms rotating, gum chewing, a stroll down the wicket – tap of the pitch; his pitch now – a lingering glare at the opposition bowler and finally, when ready, taking his guard.
Michael Atherton, who played against Richards as a young cricketer, later wrote: “What presence! … ‘Look at me’, his walk to the middle trumpeted, ‘I belong here’.” Longtime Guardian reporter Mike Selvey’s appraisal read: “Calculated menace and magnificent theatre from arguably the most devastating batsman of all time.” Unarguably, cricket has never seen an entrance like it, expectation rising as bars emptied and seats filled with rapt fans. And that was before he even started batting.