Of the many tributes to pour in for Phil Edwards this week, perhaps the most telling came from a rival reporter.
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Describing Phil as a “workhorse”, he expressed constant surprise at how many bylines one reporter could generate in a single paper.
But that was Phil. As long as he had a cup of tea and a bag of lollies to slurp on, he could produce a volume of work that had competitors and colleagues alike in awe.
So prolific was his output that on mornings after we had worked together my wife took to circling all those Phil Edwards bylines in the paper and casually asking: “So what did you do yesterday?”
Phil's work had quality as well as quantity.
Proof of this came in the breadth of sports paying tribute on social media and in The Examiner last week and in the turnout at his funeral on Monday.
It speaks volumes that so many organisations and clubs that he had at times criticised were among those paying their respects.
It speaks volumes that so many organisations and clubs that Phil had at times criticised were among those paying their respects.
People enjoyed talking to Phil because he listened and he cared.
He had no hidden agenda or pre-conceived angles, he merely let people tell their stories and then reported that story as accurately as possible – a novel concept in these days of instant internet expectation, churnalism and fake news, whatever that is.
It was only fitting that the last of those countless Phil Edwards bylines to appear in The Examiner was charting the progress of a Launceston sportsman stepping up in his chosen field.
And on hearing the news of Phil’s death, aged 59, last week, that sportsman – former Northern Bombers coach and now Brisbane Lions assistant Zane Littlejohn – tweeted: “Sad news! Only spoke with him last week, always reported honestly and fairly! RIP Phil Edwards.”
Sport was more than a job to Phil, it was a passion.
When an ecstatic Abbey de la Motte broke the tape to win the Devonport Women’s Gift in 2011, the first person she hugged was neither a fellow competitor nor coach but the local reporter who had followed her career to that moment. I think that was the only time I saw Phil blush.
Although he had no real interest in soccer, because he knew I did he would listen respectfully as I gave him excitable weekly updates on Brighton and Hove Albion’s bid to reach the Premier League then quietly reply: “Isn’t this the point in the season when they usually choke?”
A proud Swampie who went to Invermay Primary and Brooks High and whose grandfather, Alfred "Ampy" Edwards, captained North Launceston to its first premiership in 1901, Phil would always speak up for Northern Tasmania, not least whenever he heard Southern powerbrokers using parochialism as an argument.
In his final Interchange column earlier this month, he praised Nick Cummins, the incoming chief executive of the state’s peak cricket organisation, for his statement: “This is not Cricket Hobart, it is Cricket Tasmania.”
Phil wrote: “It’s a refreshing outlook and approach that will engage the rest of the state and sit well with cricket fans in the North and North-West – overlooked for too long by a Hobart-centric organisation of the past.”
Phil died just days before Mike Hussey’s report into the state of Tasmanian cricket made the recommendation that it should invest more into the North and North-West of the state but I can almost hear him saying “I told them that!” between slurps on a boiled lolly.
The Interchange column, which he took turns writing with colleagues Corey Martin and Andrew Mathieson, revealed a whole new facet of Phil.
For years he had been content to observe, interview and report and leave it to the readers to draw their own conclusions.
But a column gave him a chance to air opinions he had long voiced to colleagues and he produced some crackers, all from an informed and respected standpoint.
A month ago when asked what he planned to write his column on, Phil surprised us with the reply “surfing”.
He then produced the most absorbing and well-researched account of Tyler Wright’s problematic path to a world title which reached the conclusion: “It’s a great story about the importance of family, of love and of triumph over adversity and a timely reminder that although we love sport – sometimes there are things in life far more important.”
Phil Edwards may have earned a living from Tasmanian sport, but it was a mutually beneficial relationship.
Whenever he was out of the office, either with friends or his beloved family, and it came time to return, he would always say the same thing.
“Oh well, I guess I’d better go back and pretend to do some work.”
He pretended pretty well.