Shifty writes -
Cantankerous. Belligerent. Opinionated. A braggart. A fantasist. A soak.
All true. And it all bounces off. The other side of the ledger outweighed it all. He was all those things, yes, but in the best and most humane sort of way. And often the funniest. There will be many stories told in the wake of Coco's passing which will bring back memories of his power to entertain, wittingly or not. I look forward to being reminded of many. But I'd rather not reminisce about igniting trouser pockets or lascivious lido legends but instead recall the McGill I knew and loved, the man and his character.
As I write this, I am slightly the worse for wear, which is fine because that is how I knew Colin. We were rarely both sober together - just long enough to play a game of cricket - before we corrected the situation. I think this is why he and I were enduringly fond of each other, kindred naughty boys. I had the privilege of spending thirty years under his wing, and I witnessed the evolution of a corinthian hero.
I first met him soon after arriving at Holy Cross from university in 1992. I was told I needed to speak to "the beardy alcoholic holding up the bar". I didn't have to look for long. As a student I'd scored more pints than runs, so meeting Colin immediately made me feel at home and in my element. Like anyone meeting McGill for the first time, it didn't take me long to realise he was a man of big appetites. Some disapproved. I revelled in it.
He was also, clearly, a very social animal, which I believe is why cricket was the game for him, and Holy Cross the cricket club. It was a simple but happy formula. With cricket came booze, with booze came banter, with banter came friendship. And the whole package was entirely to his taste. That so many people consider themselves Colin's friend is testimony enough to his own engaging and accepting brand of persona. I think it also explains why he gave his heart and soul to the Cross, through thick and thin. He and Holy Cross were conjoined by their shared nature and values.
There is much to be said about Coco's avuncular warmth and generosity with his time and wisdom, but at the bottom of it all he made is laugh. From the pithy curse in the slips to the manic rants in the bar, he always had something to say and it was either funny, filthy or both. The tall tales, the wild exaggerations, even the bare-faced lies were all part of a brilliantly honed act, and I believe Coco always knew he was there to perform for us. It was another form of giving, which we used to lap up. Because we knew, in the midst of each expletive-laden tirade against whatever inept performance or umpiring fiasco had raised his ire, that that gruff chuckle was never more than a few seconds away. That within moments of dismissing someone as a "useless c**t", his cackling laughter would be ringing around the Green Room again.
There is one anecdote that springs to mind which makes the point. Coco, in his infallibility, had given Dennis Cartwright out LBW and Dennis, in revenge, had swiped McGill's fags. The apoplexy in McGill's soul was truly epic. The rage was murderous. I feared for Dennis's future. But once Coco had unloaded the full measure of his bile on Dennis, the clouds parted, glasses were raised and the banter returned. Because Coco couldn't hold a grudge. He was always a paper tiger. In fact, harsh criticism was only half of it. No one has mastered the act of the foul-mouthed compliment like Colin. He would often leap to the defence of the slighted, reassuring them that they were "too f**king talented" or "not f**king stupid enough" to have done anything wrong. I saw him use this trick to raise the confidence of many a young player, in the process building bonds which made him so dear to so many.
His other natural element was, of course, the cricket pitch. We all know that Coco's commitment bordered on the obsessive. He would play whenever asked, wherever, in whatever conditions, with anyone. His love of the game was an example to everyone and in his devotion to the club he put us all to shame. When no one else would captain the midweek team, Colin would. "Aye, alright, go on then", he would grumble, pretending that he didn't secretly relish the chance. How many times did he catch the bus to Arbo to roll the square? He might moan about being dropped to the thirds, but he never said no.
He was also an impeccable sportsman. Rather too much in the eyes of some of his teammates as they watched his finger go up. He was every inch the competitive cricketer but also knew what friendly cricket is. An unselfish captain, he used the third eleven and midweeks to give everyone a chance and to bring on youngsters, when he had them and to give them an example in sportsmanship and fairness. He was much more apt to sledge his own teammates than any of he opposition, and with good reason at times.
Some may say that Colin had delusions about his own abilities, and he certainly made some hefty boasts over the years - his virtual hat-trick will endure forever. But I would recall that when he made a comeback for the first eleven in the 1990s he more than held his own and made a large personal contribution to a string of good seasons for the club. He proved wrong anyone who thought he was a self-centred cricketer and showed himself a very disciplined and capable bowler, and as his captain he did me proud. Whether on the pitch, in the nets, working on the ground or captaining, Colin was never less than admirably wholehearted, for which the club owes him a great debt.
I don't think it's unfair to describe Coco as a rough diamond. A cliche, for sure, but in his case the flaws only made the sparkle brighter. They were small flaws.
And so he departs, leaving a little less spark in our lives, for the great score box in the sky, where I can see him telling Richie Benaud how to bowl a proper leg break. I imagine him sitting with other past Crossers over Arbo, drinking his celestial nippie-sweeties, talking shite and swearing at the antics below. I look forward one day to joining him when my time comes.
Colin McGill. Intelligent. Articulate. Devoted. A sportsman. A gentleman. A legend. RIP.
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