Fred......

My first and abiding memory of rugby was how my Dad would call me in from the garden on bitterly cold Saturday afternoons to watch what was then the 5 nations. And while we had brief salad days in the early 80's, the softly spoken commentary of Fred Cogley was forever both the comforting constant after an inevitable drubbing or the humble valour of what were then rare victories. We could have baten the All Blacks or the mighty Baa Baa's and he'd never get carried away. Sure, he was on Sports Stadium most of the year but it wasn't the same unless Fred was at the rugby, sheepskin coat at the ready. He warmed up virtually every moment of a game; I suppose you could say that he was the central heating of Irish Rugby.

And as the game moved on Fred didn't seem to yet he did. He was always two steps ahead of the game even if he sounded a step behind; it took a long time for you to spot that in his delivery. When the 90's arrived and extra games made the TV schedules he seemed to take a back seat, covering games in Cardiff or Scotland while some new chaw called Sherwin got the home games along with Hamilton, before quietly retiring altogether to let the new guns get heated up over the things that never worried Fred, and unnecessarily at that.

As for my own personal memories, well I was in his company three times. Once pitchside where he took in a J game with his son and one night in the Dropping Well, where he sat beside me one dinner time. That evening I rued not saying hello to him but I was blessed with one more chance in 2013, where I shared a lift with him in the Beacon. Not one to waste a third chance, I said hello and thanked him for all the entertainment from his years on the television. He thanked me and hoped that I got good sleep when he was on! Just as the lift stopped, he asked me what was up with me and I told him that it was a finger break.

"Ah hands" he said; "They don't make them like they used to."

Rest in Peace, Fred, and thank you again.

Him and Bill McLaren, Saturday afternoons in front of the fire with Dad watching Ireland getting hockeyed... fond memories.