IT must have been a slow news day. Login or signup to continue reading I think I was in kindergarten, or maybe year one, and either at Mum's request or of my own volition, I had taken a bunch of flowers in for my teacher. So had one of my classmates, from memory.
At some point, I remember us both being summoned from our class with the words: "Come on, grab the flowers, you're going to get your picture in the paper." Everyone was excited, but I had no idea what this meant. I'd obviously had my picture taken previously but what was all this about in the paper ? Were they going to take a photo and then wrap it like a present? Anyway, the next day Mum and Dad brought home the Griffith Area News , and there I was with my flowers and my classmate and my teacher, and for the first time in my life, I found myself entranced by the magic of newspapers.
A year or two later, I remember the school held a creative-writing competition, and to my complete amazement, I won a prize. A book about dinosaurs. My parents made a fuss, as did my teacher.
So as a young kid of about seven or eight, I suddenly took a liking to writing. It seemed a lot easier than maths, at the very least. When we moved to an even smaller Riverina town, Gundagai, for my first year of high school, another opportunity arose that probably sealed my ultimate fate.
One night I noticed Dad, a very good cricketer who once played against the West Indies, flicking through the scorebooks and taking notes on pieces of paper. I asked what he was doing and it was a cricket report he was putting in an envelope for "Scoop" Sullivan, the editor/owner of the local paper, the Gundagai Independent . A few days later, I noted it was published word for word.
So I followed suit. Each week, in pencil, I started scrawling out junior-cricket match reports, which Scoop obligingly ran in the newspaper he printed with an old-school press from a bygone era. I was 13 years old, and my stories were appearing in a real paper.
Even better, my reports had no byline attached, so the anonymous scribe's heroics with bat or ball often featured prominently. Little was I to know that just five years later, barely out of high school, I would start earning a living at a newspaper with far greater readership numbers than Scoop Sullivan's little one-man operation. In 1986, a few months after turning 18, I was offered a cadetship at the Newcastle Herald, and I started living my dream.
I still can't believe how lucky I was. Within about six months, I had been welcomed by sports editor Stewart Roach into his department, where I was mentored by some absolute legends, including Neil Jameson, Allyn Hamonet, Sam North, Terry Radley, John Gilmour, Bill Hawke and the larger-than-life Jack "Bumper" Farrell. By the time I was 20, Stewart had entrusted me with covering the fledgling Newcastle Knights in their inaugural NSWRL crusade.
Like those foundation players, it was a sink-or-swim initiation for me, too. I haven't covered every Knights season since. I spent a couple of years in England, four years at the Canberra Times and about seven years working behind the scenes, as a sub-editor.
By my count it's 25 seasons on the Knights round, on and off. I was there when they won the greatest grand final of all time, in 1997, and I was back in the same press box 11 years later when the Jets won their only A-League title. I've been paid to watch and write about amazing sporting events - hundreds of NRL and A-League games, State of Origins, grand finals, international cricket, the London Olympics, Wimbledon, rugby league at Wembley.
In hindsight, it's hard to believe. I have also been privileged and honoured to serve as sports editor for the past nine years, leading a small but awesome team. Along the way, I've been lucky enough to win a few awards, including a Walkley, and somehow found time to write a book.
But now it's all over. I have accepted a generous redundancy offer, along with five of my highly respected workmates. So after kicking off on August 3, 2002, the full-time siren sounds today on Sporting Declaration.
I'm so grateful and I can't say enough thank-yous. I have worked with hundreds of lifelong friends over my 30-plus years at the Herald . I've had four stints at this newspaper over three separate eras, from the glorious, golden years of broadsheet pages and black-and-white photos developed in darkrooms, onto the tabloid evolution and the advent of the internet, and finally during the ever-hastening transition from print to fully digital.
Two great men, in particular, allowed me to do this. My sports editors, Stewart Roach and Kevin Cranson, not only provided me with incredible opportunities but the staunchest of support. They backed me in.
I was also blessed to spend a large part of my career working in tandem with Brett Keeble, a master craftsman and an even better bloke. To our sports team over the past nine years - James Gardiner, Craig Kerry, Josh Callinan, Renee Valentine, Max McKinney, Michael Parris, Barry Toohey and Ben Drzyzga - we've made miracles happen every day. Great honours.
I couldn't knock a spot off ya. Craig, you work harder than any journalist I have ever known, and I will see you on the golf course. To the myriad others who have helped produce the Herald each day - my editors, subs, fellow reporters, photographers, graphic artists and admin staff - you have my utmost respect.
Good luck going forward. To all the players, coaches and officials, thanks for answering my questions. I hope you'll be hearing a few more from me yet.
Most importantly of all, to my beautiful wife Jeanne and daughters Olivia and Amelia, thank you for believing in me, for your love and support and advice, and for just accepting that I worked weekends and nights, and too much overtime, and was often on the road covering games. I couldn't have lived my dream without you. And last but by no means least, to you, the readers, thank you.
It's been a labour of love for me. Now it's time to turn the page. READ MORE: Robert Dillon wins Walkley Award for sports journalism Herald journalist wins Australian Sports Commission award Game over: How Tinkler lost the Knights Sporting Declaration: Shame old Pommies always hypocrites Sporting Declaration: Why the Matildas won't solve Australian soccer's real problem Sporting Declaration: Good riddance to the Supercars race DAILY Today's top stories curated by our news team.
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