Like many men of my age, I have spent much of the last month asking my children, in song, whether they feel the power of the Gladiators. They have looked at me in bemusement or embarrassment, then looked away when I tell them yet again about Eunice Huthart.
Aged 13, I would have given anything to have a go on the travelator. I’ve tried running up a few downward escalators in the years since, but it’s tricky when there are people coming the other way to meet you. I’d still be keen to attempt that famous, final obstacle of the show’s “Eliminator”, but I don’t know if my dodgy knee would cope with it now.
Back then, when Gladiators was in its original incarnation, I was – like most people – a fan of the resident heel, Wolf. And Jet, obviously. I tuned in without fail, watching with my brother and our mates, willing the contestants on and hoping for a bit of a ruck. It was event telly in an era when telly was all we had.
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