Remembering Ron Lewis, Eric Guy & Pat Magee, unsung heroes

I was never great at writing obituaries for Boxing News magazine though, having worked there for around eight years, I did my fair share. This struggle wasn’t because I am any sort of empath, by the way, but more that I lacked – and still do – the razor-sharp recollection of facts that make those kinds of articles less of a chore. What year the recently departed figure made their debut, who they were associated with and what they got up to post-retirement were rarely just there, in the back of my modest mind.

All that being said, I recognise now, more than ever before, the significant value of obituaries, or tributes, not only in reflecting the legacy of those who have moved on, but in providing solace to the family and friends the dearly departed have left behind. This is especially true when the heroes leaving this mortal realm are of the unsung variety.

The ghoulish trope of elderly people updating their address books (an anachronism in itself, perhaps) due to death has often been used for comedic effect over the years, but I never expected to start relating to it at ‘just’ 41. However in this year alone – and we’ve yet to reach the halfway point of 2023 – three good people I have been fortunate enough to spend time with have passed on.

I only found out about the death of Pat Magee, Irish boxing promoter and manager, this morning, despite his passing back in March. His daughter informed me on Whatsapp, responding to a GoFundMe link I had sent her father, the object of which is to pay for the funeral of another lost friend, Eric Guy. That Pat’s death had largely gone under the radar may well have pleased a wry, self-effacing man who never sought the spotlight.

Pat brought through a raft of fistic talent, including Tommy McCarthy and Kiko Martinez, but was and will be forever associated with his namesake, Brian Magee, certainly in boxing circles. I used to speak to Pat often in the BN days and found him invariably warm, wise and witty. He was, like a Joe Gallagher now, always pushing for his fighters, albeit in a less voluble but no less effective manner. Having secured his most celebrated charge lucrative paydays with the likes of Mikkel Kessler and Carl Froch, Magee’s gift for negotiation, while remaining friendly, was admirable.

Eric Guy, who died earlier this month, was an altogether different character. Loud and proud, he could never walk into a room unnoticed. The strength of his personality was such that I think his status as a pioneer can be overlooked. I don’t pretend we were close – and his visits to the BN office, taking hours to peruse every recent issue in order to manually calculate his invoices, used to drive me nuts – but it is fair to say that without Eric there may not be a Seconds Out. His work in the embryonic world of video journalism – diligently cataloguing and marketing footage from the amateur years of some of the best fighters in the world – opened the door for us, IFL and the like, providing proof of concept and changing the game. For that alone, we all owe Eric a debt. It should also be noted that Eric was, despite myriad ups and downs in his own life, perennially positive and optimistic, something we can all learn from.

Finally, we come to Ron Lewis, who I knew the best of the trio and whose passing in February did thankfully receive considerable and thoroughly well-deserved coverage, both in the boxing world and beyond. Ron was a friend and mentor to me, we never had a serious argument, except in front of the BoxNation cameras and that was at least partially for entertainment purposes. An exceptionally intelligent and affable giant of a man, Ron covered a wide variety of sports and even worked on the Education section during his long and distinguished career at The Times.

My greatest memory of Ron, however, came far away from the minutiae of our everyday working life. In Los Angeles to cover Canelo vs Matthew Hatton in 2011, Ron and I – two pasty Brits abroad without our partners or families – spontaneously embarked upon a beach-hopping trip. We ate at a traditional diner and, as darkness fell, found ourselves on a moonlit Sleepy Hollow beach, overlooked by modern apartments. It was beautiful in the gathering gloom, dark waves crashing forebodingly into the untainted shore and only a few dog-walkers ambling past. The surreal nature of sharing this romantic moment with a fellow journalist was not lost on me. In years to come, I’d often say to Ron, at the end of our conversations, ‘We’ll always have Sleepy Hollow beach’.

And we always will.