It is generally accepted that Christy Ring was the greatest hurler of all time. Evidence of this can still be seen on old film, mainly in faded black-and-white, though the power and majesty of his skills still shine through. A passing knowledge of hurling is all that is required to appreciate the genius of his play; nor is it a prerequisite that one should hail from Cork to acknowledge his mastery with the camán, writes Owen Dawson.
Christy simply loved to hurl - eight all-Ireland medals is testimony to his enduring passion for the game - but he was by no means oblivious to the enjoyment to be had from other sports. Perhaps it is not well known that he was a superb squash player - the game was tailor-made for his particular strengths. He had enormous, powerful wrists, instant acceleration over a short distance and (especially) a wonderful eye for the ball.
The combination of these factors made him a potent force on the squash courts, but there was one big problem - he would not play in competitions. He would have walked on to the Munster squash team but nothing would budge him. We begged, pleaded, flattered him, but Christy smiled his shy smile and continued to play only "friendlies" with his friends.
"Friendlies" is perhaps the wrong word. I was living in Cork in his squash-playing days of the late 1960s, when Christy would offer to play me once or even twice a week. These occasions were special, for more than the reasons already stated. He could change in and out of his gear in half the time it took the rest of us. He never wore whites - I doubt if he had any. He put on the first old hurling jersey that came out of his bag, smelly or otherwise, and then put a few more jerseys over that one.
As his body warmed up during the game the jerseys came off one at a time; and then (oh the humiliation of it), as you started to flag from running in circles, Christy started getting cold and would put the jerseys back on. And all this was performed as often as not with a warped racket, usually with a few broken strings.
To play him was an education. Although nearing 50, he thought nothing of playing twice in a day and on some occasions even three times. Most of us were merely fodder. As we started a particular game Christy would say how for this set he would play "gently" - drop-shots and lobs only; in the next he would play "length" only - where he would murder the ball with the ferocity of his shot. And when he hit a ball it stayed hit - it simply whistled past you. I doubt if I ever won a set, let alone a match.
Christy never, ever hung around afterwards, not even for a soft drink (he was a teetotaller). In fact, he rarely stayed to have a shower, presumably preferring to wash at home. After a game our thirst was such that the bar became our intensive care unit, but Christy never seemed thirsty. Nor, he once told me, did he ever feel thirsty. What long-term effect this had on his kidneys is a matter of conjecture but it was hardly a helpful one.
One day we were passing each other on the road near Youghal when Christy flagged me down and sat into the car for a chat. Obviously he was in no hurry and, contrary to known form, we talked for almost two hours. In that time not once was hurling mentioned. Squash yes, but not a word on hurling. His assessment of a player was razor-sharp. He could analyse his strengths and weaknesses with wonderful insight and accurately forecast that day those who would go on to succeed - or fail - at the game.
Christy Ring was by no means a social animal. The stories, and indeed songs, about him are the stuff of folklore, as is only natural with a great hero. There is, however one story, I know to be true. In 1979 another great multi-champion Cork hurler was seriously ill in hospital and Christy called to see him. Christy had spent the previous week in Lourdes helping disabled people and had brought back a bottle of holy water. As he was leaving, he gave some to his very sick friend.
As Christy said goodbye he started to cry, the patient started to cry and the third person in the room started to cry. Christy just turned on his heel and walked out. The patient recovered and is hale and hearty to this day. Christy dropped dead in the street in Cork three days later.