TRIBUTES TO BRIAN WOOLNOUGH

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TRIBUTES TO BRIAN WOOLNOUGH

TRIBUTES have been pouring in for Daily Star chief sports writer Brian Woolnough following his death at the age of 63. Here are the touching words of his Fleet Street colleagues:

SHAUN CUSTIS (Chief Football Writer, The Sun)


BRIAN WOOLNOUGH was a giant of a sports journalist.

I joined The Sun not long after he departed for The Star and, to me, it felt like trying to replace Alan Shearer.

Like Shearer, Wooly was renowned for hitting the target and hitting it hard.

He was also a passionate England supporter and had no time for whingeing footballers who were not prepared to sweat buckets for their country.

His voice carried weight. Once Wooly decided the England boss had to go or a player be dropped, it opened the door for others to pile in.

But Wooly had to say it for it to have any credence.

He taught me how to keep it simple and effective in tabloid newspapers just by watching and listening to him in action.

If you needed an idea for a back-page lead story Brian had some tried and tested skills which always came up trumps.

At World Cup 98 I happened to be passing when Glenn Hoddle surprisingly allowed the players out of the hotel to have a stroll by the beach under the watchful eye of the gendarmerie.

“Did they have guns?” Wooly asked. “Of course,” I said. “They always carry guns.”

“Doesn’t matter, “ replied Wooly. “There’s your back page: ‘Gun Guard on England stars’.

It was straightforward and obvious really, but a story which had great impact.

“Don’t like draws,” was another of his mantras. A game with a decisive result was always easier to get your teeth into. You could give praise to one team and batter the other one.

As a presenter on the Sunday Supplement, a job he enjoyed so much, Wooly was brilliant at keeping order in a debate but also making sure it never lost momentum, cleverly switching the topic if he felt the passion had gone out of a subject.

He loved newspapers, he loved TV, he loved sport and he loved life.

“Red wine and pasta boys,” was the cry as we headed out for the evening meal.

I will raise a glass of red to Brian today - a great bloke and a great journalist who, like our other good friend Danny Fullbrook of the Daily Star, has left us far too soon.


NIGEL CLARKE

FOR FIFTEEN years we travelled the world together.

Wooly as the Sun and then the Daily Star man, and myself as the Mirror man, and then the Daily Mail correspondent.

We never exchanged a cross word, instead we were drawn together as if by an invisible umbilical cord, by a love of life itself. How sad that Wooly’s has been so cut short.

I was social fixer for the trips to whatever country we were covering with England, or one of the London teams playing in Europe, and Wooly was an able right hand man.

It was up to me to find the restaurant, check the menu make certain it had the right red wine and Wooly’s beloved pasta.

Then of course we would find a piano bar and sing out hearts out until the early hours.

All very innocent but that was Wooly, a wholesome kind of bloke who hated to hear bad language, was intolerant of rudeness, a gentle giant, a good friend and a formidable rival.

He hated having even a cold. It got in the way of a lifestyle he loved.

He liked boat trips too, so it was also down to me to recruit a few of the chaps and take to the high seas, or indulge in river trips, ie cruising the Seine in Paris and the Danube in Hungary.

Once work for the day was finished we invariably would traipse around the local shops.

Wooly of course was invariably armed with a list of household items drawn up by Linda to bring home.

He never complained. Be it glass in Prague, carpets in Rabat - markets in any city were his great love.

Spices, dried tomatoes, you name it Woolly went for it. There would always be a time for haggle, and he would leave satisfied he had bartered some stall holder down by 10p.

The years 1990 and 1992 were stand out ones for Wooly. In 1990 we had six weeks in Italy for the World Cup Finals.

Up at 7am, a run together along the white sandy beach where we were based in Sardinia.

Then a swim in the sea, work, lunch, wine, pasta. Siesta, bar, dinner, bed. Sardinia, Milan, Bologna, Naples, Rome. Perfect.

Our companions were John Wragg from the Express, David Harrison of Today and Tony Stenson from the Star on Sunday.

The local restaurant owners knew us by our first names by the time we went home.

Wraggie was about the same size as Wooly. Locals nicknamed them the Brothers Grimm. But Brian’s life was larger than fairytales.

In 1992 it was the Euros in Sweden. We were based in Malmo.

The four of us hired as Volvo, and as Wooly had one at home he was the driver.

Picnics on deserted beaches. Red wine, white wine and dried reindeer and sausage to supplement the pasta.

In those days Wooly seemed indestructible. I never saw him take a drink too many. He was just too affable to be anything other than a nice man.

He knew his limits, and used the same kind of discipline in his private life as he did as a thoroughly competent journalist.

Our job was invariably to produce the news story of the day. The Sun, Star and Mirror were great competitors but it never stopped us testing our friendships by trying to outdo one another.

We respected each others ability to do the job. Our mantra was always ‘work first...play later.’

Neither did we fall out if we did one another on a story. But journalists are like that, by and large rather good blokes.

I grew to know him and admire his knack for story getting. He has been known to barge into a referee’s room after a match to get his tale.

And to make sure it was accurate he would refuse to leave until he had confirmation.

The words I remember most from him were always the same. He would finish his story rub his hands together and say, “nice glass of red Nobby?”.

Wooly was a mate, a pal, a companion, we shared rooms together because we got on.

In a profession like ours, the stress can take its toll. We helped each other deal with it. And lived a better life. Until now.


DAVID WOODS

WOOLY put over his thoughts and views beautifully and without a hint of malice - and was much loved for it.

Of course, he knew how to give the great and the good - or more likely those who had proved all too disappointingly to be the not-so-great or good - a hard time when needed.

But his tough questions were always asked in a quiet and even charming way.

They were often short and always to the point.

Wooly was looking for a good and honest answer which could lead to a revealing story, not trying to prove to others how clever he was - and Brian was clever, without a shadow of a doubt.

He was also kind and thoughtful and always considerate of others.

On a personal note I will never forget how Brian, then working for a rival paper, and another thoroughly decent fellow who knew the ropes well, Nigel Clarke, took me under their wing at my first major trip abroad, Euro 2000.

I shall always cherish the memory of sitting at the front of the football writers’ ‘battle bus’ for Belgium and Holland with Brian as he inquired how I was handling being away from home for such a long period for the first time in my career.

He was genuinely interested and willing to offer some wise words of advice, which only a fool would have ignored.

Brian, of course, also knew how to have a good time, but never to excess.

And he never forgot how important the family back home were, the people whose support and love kept you going when things were not going so well.