A while back a friend remarked that a piece I’d written – on cricket probably though, perhaps, darts – was “worthy of Frank Keating”. I can’t say if the compliment was earned but it was appreciated mightily. To be compared to Keating, on however dubious a basis, was the kind of pleasantness guaranteed to put a smile on your face. That sounds vainglorious but it’s a really a measure of how good Frank Keating was.
Keating, who has died aged 75, was one of this country’s great sportswriters. For many years he was the Spectator’s sports columnist and his weekly epistle, though the last thing in the magazine, was always among the first treats to be unwrapped each Thursday.
Though he moonlighted here, his chief renown was justly won at the Guardian. As you might expect, Matthew Engel has written a typically lovely tribute for his old friend and colleague.
Hack is often considered a pejorative label but it need not always be so.
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