“DO you know when I found out?”
The dancing brown eyes, normally so full of life, didn’t follow the rueful smile that played across Hugh Russell’s lips this time around.
“The same date as when I got my Olympic medal… couldn’t make it up.”
I can still see Hugh sat across one of the booths away from The Irish News editorial floor around this time last year, revealing the cancer diagnosis that would so shockingly take him from us three months later.
Just 63, a spark plug still with so much to give, days do not yet pass without his loss being keenly felt. That is unlikely to ever change.
It was a cruel piece of symmetry that, on the anniversary of his finest hour – August 2, 1980 – such shattering news should be delivered.
Yet, as he spoke, that was worthy only of throwaway remark, treated as little more than a quirk of fate. Instead, determined to face down his toughest opponent, Hugh’s head whirred in different directions.
To Kathy, his beloved wife. To his grandchildren. To his boys, Hugh jr, James and Calum. And to Hayley, a daddy’s girl if ever there was one. Friend as much as husband and father, the depth of their grief, even with the passage of time, is inconceivable.
In the midst of the mayhem at these Olympic Games in Paris, Hugh has been uppermost in my thoughts.
He loved the Olympics; like, really loved them. Took incredible pride in watching Irish athletes, boxers in particular, follow in his footsteps by finishing up on the podium. Because he knew what it took, that appreciation of their sacrifice and endeavour never wavering.
When Paddy Barnes – like Hugh, a product of Gerry Storey’s famous Holy Family gym - was bringing home bronze from Beijing and London, he waited patiently for the homecoming hero, beaming from ear to ear.
Often Hugh would joke about his occasionally scatty memory – “too many punches, kid” – but, when it came to Moscow 1980, no detail was lost. That whole experience, before, during and after left a lifelong mark on him in the way only the Olympics can.
Barry McGuigan was the country’s golden boy when that team headed off behind the Iron Curtain for the ultimate journey into the unknown.
Even with the USA boycotting those Games in protest at the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan the year previous, the ring in Russia held little prospect of Irish eyes smiling.
But while McGuigan bowed out after losing his second fight, the baby-faced 20-year-old with the head full of red curls hit form straight away, winning three fights before losing out to eventual gold medallist, the classy Bulgarian Peter Lessov, at the semi-final stage.
So far from home, and with no access to English-speaking television or newspapers, Hugh had little idea of the magnitude of his achievement. Back in Belfast, though, the streets around the New Lodge would empty every time he stepped between the ropes.
In bringing home bronze, Hugh had ended Ireland’s 16-year wait for a first boxing medal since Jim McCourt – another huge loss last year – at Tokyo 1964, while it would be another 12 before Michael Carruth and Wayne McCullough shot to stardom in Barcelona.
Moscow was a moment in time for Hugh, forever framed in his mind’s eye.
Of all that he would go on to achieve as a professional, including becoming a two-weight British champion and winning the iconic Lonsdale belt outright, the Olympics always represented something different.
Something unique. Something special. That feeling never left him.
During the last Games in Tokyo, he called me over one day, phone in hand.
“C’mere,” he smiled, placing his glasses on top of his head, “this’ll give you a laugh…”
One of the Irish coaching team had sent him a video from the athletes’ village. Every door bore a picture of one of their own and there, on room 1406, was Hugh – pictured in black and white, gloves raised, an unusually serious look on his face.
“Class, isn’t it?”
He couldn’t have been any more proud.
On Tuesday, eldest son Hugh jr posted details of the first annual memorial golf day in his father’s honour on Facebook, with all proceeds going to Macmillan Cancer Support.
Attached to the post was a beautiful picture of Hugh exactly as we all remember him – a variation of the one used on the front cover of The Irish News, bearing the words ‘Our Champion’, when he died on October 13, 2023.
Eyes dancing, an impish smile that suggested underlying mischief, it captures more than just Hugh’s image; it captures his spirit, his entire essence.
A few hours after Hugh jr’s post, Kellie Harrington threw off her inhibitions and danced around the ring, becoming a two-time Olympic gold medallist a too-good-to-be-true, almost unimaginably perfect end to an international career that brought so much joy.
Sat high up in the stand at Roland-Garros, a part of Hugh was there with me. Nobody would have got a bigger kick out of watching Kellie Harrington’s hand being raised just as night edged towards early morning in Paris.
Because, every four years, no matter where the Olympic Games take place, magic happens. Hugh Russell knew that better than most.
* To contribute to the Hugh Russell memorial golf outing, which takes place at Fortwilliam Golf Club on Friday, August 23, visit https://www.gofundme.com/f/hugh-russell-memorial-golf-outing. For further details, contact Hugh jr either on Facebook or Instagram
