SO LONG, HUGHIE
Boxing journalists pay tribute to the one and only Hugh Mcilvanney
‘THE RING WAS DISMANTLED AROUND HIM, THE LIGHTS DIMMED. HE REFUSED TO BUDGE, STANDING ALONE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PITCH’
OTHERS more qualified than me can pick and choose Big Hughie’s finest words from his years at ringside. I like his stand against the American press giants, most army veterans, who slaughtered Ali after the Frazier loss. He was taking on a monster, much like the man he admired so much. Here’s Hughie on their hate: “They wanted a crucifixion, but if they think that is what they got they are bad judges of the genre: The big man came out bigger than he went in.” I love that and I hope that was the week he gave Norman Mailer a slap.
STEVE BUNCE
HUGH MCILVANNEY was a magnificent wordsmith with great insight and a wonderfully dry wit. I never met him but mourn his death because the world has lost a master of the art.
NIGEL COLLINS
WHETHER he was reporting from press row, interviewing larger-than-life figures such as Don King, or observing the rituals of training camps on either side of the Atlantic, Hugh Mcilvanney, whose death is an irreparable loss to the sports world, produced a body of work stunning in its eloquent consistency. No other sport cries out for interpretation the way boxing does, and Mcilvanney was a master at underscoring the numberless variables extant in the fight racket. He did so with unusual craft. That voice, stylised, elevated, yet never less than exact, remains distinct, especially in this, The Age of Blogese, when cheap fanboy wit, invariably accompanied by GIFS, is all the HTML rage.
His gifts — a sinuous prose style, keen psychological insight, an eye for the precise detail, and an understanding of boxing as a multi-layered narrative often controlled by its imagemakers — were all the more remarkable for having been produced almost exclusively under the burden of deadlines. To read The Hardest Game is to be reminded that boxing transcends mere physical risk; it also raises questions about capitalism, masculinity, sociology, morality, and corporate subterfuge. At his best, Mcilvanney managed to fuse many of those subtexts into one perfectly modulated narrative after another. And, somehow, Hugh Mcilvanney was seemingly always at his best.
CARLOS ACEVEDO
HUGH was one of the select few in history who altered the art of writing about boxing. Whereas one of his elite predecessors, A J Liebling, took a largely genial, reflective view, offering an all-encompassing experience of going to a big fight, Hugh preferred a more intimate, passionate exploration – and had the instinct and gift to do that exceptionally well. At his best he was formidably articulate about a business that is by its nature so difficult to understand. He is one of the few we should go on reading long after his passing.
BOB MEE
HUGHIE had been a monumental presence around rings and bars and press rooms for decades before we met and worked together. What a journey it was. Two memories linger.
At the Benn-eubank rematch at Old Trafford, I knocked out a piece for the first edition while Hughie shaped his words for later. He’d not long been given a mobile phone. However, this was lost on him as he continued putting his well considered piece over to copy takers – with the ring being dismantled around him and everyone else inside at the press conference. I ran down to get him, reminding him he could actually walk away from the surrounding carnage with the phone. No. Refused to budge. Lights dimmed and Hughie was standing alone in the middle of the pitch, still filing.
The other was a lovely afternoon in Lake Tahoe. We’d arrived early from Vegas (and the Tyson-holyfield ear-biting drama) before the rest of the guys for Lewisakinwande. I’d had many chats with Hughie over the years, but usually in bars or at dinner in company with others. For maybe three hours or so, we sat quietly in the sun, with the odd cup of tea, talking about everything from Liebling to Gabriel Garcia Marquez, from gambling to Fred Astaire, from Howard Winstone’s footwork to Ali’s sense of humour. Actually, there was a lot of Ali. He really did adore him. And I’m pretty sure Ali was very fond of Hughie, too.
KEVIN MITCHELL
I FIRST met Hugh on my maiden trip to Las Vegas in June 1992 when we were covering Evander Holyfield’s world heavyweight title defence on against Larry Holmes.
Hugh had a trait which for me matched his magical prose that delighted so many and made him the envy of colleagues and newspaper rivals; When others wouldn’t, Hugh was always willing to offer help and advice to young journalists, and I was one of those who heeded and listened to his college of knowledge on several trips.
He had strong opinions that some wouldn’t agree with but would smash them home with stunning belief and justification. Yes, that did end up in loud arguments between him and others. I will never forget sitting behind him during Nigel Benn v Gerald Mcclellan and his emotion as such a dramatic fight unfolded, writing a fight report in his mind. He loved sport, but for me he was The Don when it came to boxing, football and horse racing.
STEVE LILLIS
AS a kid who was fascinated by boxing, it was not long before I discovered Hugh Mcilvanney’s writing on the sport. Looking back, I probably didn’t realise the true quality of what I was reading at the time but it’s clear now what a privilege it was for youngsters like me who would scour the
Sunday Times for his stuff every week. A genuine Titan of the industry and, given the changing state of the media, one of the very last great sportswriters.
DECLAN TAYLOR
I WAS given the book Mcilvanney on
Boxing as a teenager and was hooked straight away by how he brought to life some of the great fights someone of my age was too young to have witnessed at the time. The line on Johnny Owen remains one of my favourite ever written but I imagine Mcilvanney wishes he never had to write about such a dark moment. He was also a brilliant news gatherer as can be seen in
his report on the Hillsborough tragedy in
The Observer the next day. He was on the ground speaking to people during one of the darkest moments in football history which must have been incredibly difficult.
CHRIS MCKENNA
THE only man who could do justice with a poignant ode to Hugh Mcilvanney would be the great man himself. He told you things that you knew instantly to be true but could have waited a hundred years to discover yourself.
ED ROBINSON
HUGH MCILVANNEY’S status as the greatest sportswriter Britain has ever produced is secure. His words will live on and yet it seems important to also remember his generosity and kindness. I arrived in London from South Africa in the mid-1980s and I knew no one in this vast and teeming city. But I found some kind of foothold when I eventually contacted Hugh and asked if I could visit him. I had sent him some samples of my overblown writing but he had no idea who I was, apart from the fact I was very young and very shy. Hugh made me feel welcome and he spent a couple of hours with me one afternoon at The Observer.
I was struck most by the way in which he immediately made me feel as if I belonged in his company. He knew he was a great writer but, that day, he showed humility and encouragement. A few years later, we had a riotous evening in Las Vegas and I got very drunk. So did Hugh, but he seemed to drink twice as much as me. When I began to tell him about
Dark Trade, the book I had begun to write, he was even more supportive. After it was finally published in 1996 his kind words about it meant more than any others I was lucky enough to hear at the time.
Over the years we met from time to time and his stories about horse racing, football and, most of all, boxing always entranced me. We resumed contact over the last nine months when, hearing of his illness, I wrote to him. He called me and it was as if nothing had changed. His rich, rolling voice echoed down the line and I loved hearing him talk about boxing all over again. We spoke a few times last year and I am glad I was able to tell him how much his writing meant to me. “That’s good to hear,” Hugh said, “coming from a fellow scribbler and toiler in the vineyards.”
He was the greatest sporting scribbler of them all – and a very kind and amusing man. We will never forget him.
DON MCRAE
THERE have been plenty of boxing writers throughout the years, but there was only one Hugh Mcilvanney. He was not only essential reading for fans of the sport, but also for those who aspired to cover the sport one day. His work will live in perpetuity.
STEVE KIM
IT’S a sad day when you’re ill-equipped with the words to do justice to one of the great wordsmiths of our time. And Hugh was just that. His work was of such a high calibre that it seemed effortless yet he placed thought, care and consideration behind every word. But there was really only one man capable of writing the beautiful eulogy he deserves and Mr Mcilvanney is no longer here. Fortunately he has left behind a library of equally significant and wonderful work that will be enjoyed by future generations.
TRIS DIXON
ON boxing trips, Hughie could be the life and soul of the party, or belligerent and argumentative, usually depending on the time of any given day when he was generally the last man standing. But the fierceness of his debate was pretty much his lifeblood as a man and a sporting journalist, perhaps because he had seen so much in such a phenomenal career.
Think of his amazing piece with Muhammad Ali after he had beaten George Foreman, or the heartfelt account of Johnny Owen’s last fight. I suspect there has never been better writing about our sport. And he was also a formidable broadcaster with those wonderful almost poetic words delivered in an Ayrshire accent that prompted so many inadequate imitations. Like most who he encountered, I am proud to have known a man who truly understood the fight game and, as a professional and a social animal, was a genuine heavyweight.
JOHN RAWLING
‘HIS RICH, ROLLING VOICE ECHOED DOWN THE LINE AND I LOVED HEARING HIM TALK AGAIN’