The squire has left us; when comes such another? There are so many tales told of the exploits of Tom Cryan, sports reporter with the lamented Irish Press and, until his retirement just over a year ago, with the Irish Independent Group, that much could be written.
Unfortunately a lot of it is of a nature to preclude it from the pages of family newspapers. When journalists, particularly those of a sporting bent get together, a certain ripeness seems to set in and, unless the stories can be told with the full splendour of the original delivery, they can lose much in the telling. So it is with Tom Cryan and those who shared so much hilarity with him.
Being in his company was never a boring experience. There was always the certainty of a laugh or an argument or a new insight into the lore of sports journalism in Ireland within the last 50 years. Indeed this is not confined to Ireland, for he was recognised and greeted wherever he went by fellow reporters from all over the globe who had seen him in action.
He also impressed with his imposing physical presence, booming Dublin voice, his ability to tell funny stories about himself and others, or his one-line put-downs.
He acquired his title "The Squire" through his own habit of calling people he met "Squire" if he was unable to remember their names off the top of his towering head. Colleagues soon began to call him "Squire" in reply and it stuck. To his credit he never objected and, one felt, he was quite happy with it, if not flattered.
Boxing was his real sporting passion, but it was his versatility which was his most distinguishing characteristic. At many Olympic Games across the world he concentrated on boxing but athletics, cycling, or anything else which took the fancy of the sports editor, were grist to Tom's mill and he never failed his readers.
If, and this was rare, his personal knowledge was not as broad as he might have liked he would not shrink from approaching anyone who could help, and his ability to assimilate knowledge was prodigious.
But it was in boxing that he felt most at home and never more so than in the National Stadium. Boxing officials on the South Circular Road would frequently remark on his arrival there, not always at the appointed time: "Well lads ye can start now. The Squire has arrived."
When people like Steve Collins, Michael Carruth, Harry Perry, Felix Jones and many others gathered at St Peter's Church, a stone's throw from the home where he was born and reared and Dalymount Park, it was clear evidence of the esteem in which he was held in the sport.
But it wasn't only boxing people who appreciated his great qualities as a reporter or friend. Golf, soccer, GAA, cycling and athletics were all well represented there.
As somebody who travelled with Tom to many places at home in Ireland, in Europe (West and East) and the United States, I was personally indebted to him for many favours as we sought to beat the deadlines.
There are many things about him that I remember. One such is an occasion in Turin for the European boxing championships some years ago when strawberries were being given away and, after a large meal (Tom had a mighty stroke of a knife and fork) he would devour several bowls of strawberries and fresh cream and then, replete, would insist in using Hermasitas to sweeten his coffee. It was in Turin, too, that our little coterie of Tom, Martin Breheny (then of the Irish Press) and myself were drawn into the company of several Scandinavian journalists who immediately recognised Tom. It was a late session, but was to be our last in that particular bar because, by the time we left, they had run out of beer, and didn't open it again for the rest of the championships. Needless to say we found an alternative source.
After we left him in Glasnevin last Tuesday, one of his devoted admirers and colleagues, Martin Breheny of Ireland on Sunday, remarked that The Squire had dominated the coverage of Irish boxing to a greater extent than any other correspondent in any sport. Tom could be fiercely loyal to his cause. In the RDS in Dublin on the night that Barry McGuigan made his first defence of the world featherweight title against Danilo Cabrera, an English tabloid journalist complained about the playing of Amhrain na bhFiann. His argument was that McGuigan was boxing as a British champion and God Save the Queen should have been the anthem played. Tom's trenchant rejection of what he considered to be an outrageous claim left the said reporter suitably contrite.
One of the great moments of his life as a reporter was the morning of Saturday August 8th, 1992. It was thus for many of us who were privileged to see Wayne McCullough and then Michael Carruth win silver and gold Olympic medals respectively in the space of an hour in the Pavello Juventut stadium on the outskirts of Barcelona. Tom had every good reason to know that he had played a significant part in encouraging the two Irish heroes. After Carruth's victory and, after the Irish flag had flown in the on the top of the flag-pole and the stadium had become a cauldron of Irishness, Tom looked across at me and said: "Did I detect a little tear in the eye there, Sean?". He had indeed, but his eyes were wet as well.
Boxing in particular and sports journalism in general will remember The Squire with fondness and affection. His wife Mary, son Shane and sister Eithne have much to reflect upon and be thankful for. Many share their memories and their pride.
