Jeremy Clarkson is a British institution. In my humble opinion, he’s on the same level as the Queen and Jack the Ripper. He’s as important to British culture as fish and chips and the Union Jack. The only English TV personality that even comes close to him is Stephen Fry, but he is a bit too posh for our tastes. And he drives around in a London taxi instead of a Maserati, so there’s that too.

Mr. Clarkson is the exact type of man-child that we appreciate over here at the BSBFB headquarters. He’s reckless, bold, brash, and painfully unhip. He dresses like your dad if your dad was completely blind and mildly demented. He likes loud, fast cars, explosions, and loud, fast women. He’s living the life we all would if we could, and it’s great fun to watch. I don’t know if I’d call him a hero, but he’s pretty darn close.

If the English had any sense they’d erect big brass statues of Jeremy Clarkson all over the countryside to honor his achievements. Hosting Top Gear for a million-and-a-half years has got to be worth a medal or two at the very least. He’s one of the greatest TV presenters — in the world.