My mind is made up. When finally they get around to offering me a Knighthood for services to sports' nutty slack, I shall politely refuse it.

Clearly, somebody must do something in protest against the way boxing's promoter-emeritus, BJ (Barney) Eastwood, has been passed over in every Honours' List since he ruled supreme as Britain's first manager of six world champions.

In a confetti year for awards-giving, top names in sport dominated the New Year Honours, but again this 75-year-old self-made millionaire, and pillar of Ulster society, was not among them, a sorry omission one finds hard to comprehend.

Not that too many of us will be surprised. Wasn't it nearly 40 years after his historic Open triumph at Hoylake before a dozing establishment woke up to Fred Daly's value as golf's No.1 ambassador, and awarded him the MBE. "What took them so long ?," quizzed Ireland's Golfing Union president of the day.

Bookmaking was Eastwood's business (before he sold out to Ladbrokes 12 months ago), and collecting works of art and antique furniture his motivating passion.

Boxing, however, will always remain an engaging footnote in this most fulfiling of lives.

To say that BJ kept the game alive here in troubled times would be to sell him short. He was 'Mr Boxing', the sport's top power-broker; promoter of over 70 championship fights, nearly half of them world title contests, and 'manager of the year' in 1991, a measure of his standing, and clout, internationally.

Americans called him boxing's biggest mover-and-shaker, his eye for a prime cut never blurred, as good friend Harry Doherty might say.

Of all athletes, professional fighters are the most exposed and least protected, and I'm not talking about the padding in their gloves. More about padding in their lives, what money rewards they took from the game, and no Eastwood fighter, you can be sure, ever ended up broke.

Most wealthy sportsmen play golf or polo, or own a luxury yacht or two. Not Barney Eastwood. Instead, he kept a stable of blue-chip boxers, first Barry McGuigan, then five more world champions, four of them at the same time.

Until it closed ten years ago, the Eastwood gym in Castle Street was boxing's market-place, a sanctuary for fighting talk and culture.

BJ wanted only the best for McGuigan, and made certain he got it -- from good coaching and sparring, to contests he knew Barry had a bright chance of winning. Like that Loftus Road thriller against the ageing, weight-troubled Pedroza in '85.

Boxing's shrewdest of promoters could have engaged Azumah Nelson for £500,000 less than he paid the Panamanian, but here was one bookmaker who didn't like the odds.

Nelson, he felt, was a great champion on the way up, and Pedroza a legend on the way down!

Castle Street was like a morgue after McGuigan's shock defeat in Las Vegas led to a split with Eastwood, but not for long.

Dave McAuley was soon to fill the void after losing to Bassa in possibly the greatest championship fight in King's Hall history, and Hodkinson, Cordoba and Espana were quick to follow Dave Boy's example. They were heady days in Irish boxing.

Espana, BJ would say, was the most polished fighter he ever managed. a smart boxer-puncher who was unbeaten in 30 contests prior to defending the WBA wel

terweight crown against Quartey, from Ghana, in Paris.

A knock-out defeat there not only drained Espana's energy for the sport, but BJ's as well, and when the axe fell on a third installment of Close v Eubank here six months later, it was the last straw for a man who had given more to boxing than he ever got out of it.

Would Eastwood have kept the pot boiling had Wayne McCullough stayed at home instead of high-flying it to the United States?

"Maybe. Who knows ?," smiles BJ. "When his manager there turned down my offer of over a million dollars for three big King's Hall fights, that was the end.

“Of all things in life, boxing, I can honestly say, took up the most time, and was the least rewarded!"

Eastwood, always the professional, has never sought the limelight, even in high-profile business circles, and looks back with awe on his teenage years.

He was only 19 when he married Frances and bought a pub in Carrickfergus with £2,000 borrowed from the bank.

The couple had a daughter and six handsome sons, one of whom died tragically at the age of 29.

Modest to a fault, Eastwood has given generously of his time and money to charity, and a wide choice of good causes, notably the Royal Victoria Hospital.

For half-a-century, the man who took McGuigan and McAuley to the stars and back has adorned the sport he loves most.

His choice for an Honours' List award is long overdue, and would be universally popular, especially among those whose careers he helped build and illuminate.