Lewis Thomas Charles Richards was “Louie the Lip” long before he forged a pioneering media career as football’s reigning larrikin. Born and bred in Abbotsford – which he dubbed “the higher class part of Collingwood” – he graduated from kicking paper footballs around those working class laneways to captaining his beloved Magpies to the 1953 premiership. The personification of a nuggetty, niggly Collingwood rover, he survived 250 games in one of football’s toughest eras through a combination of skill, courage, cunning and sheer bravado.
Born into Collingwood’s legendary Pannam clan, he understood the truth that “there’s no sentiment in football”. The Magpie attitude was forged in Jock McHale’s conviction that it was “a sin to lose”. Richards wasn’t about to argue with his football deity. As any umpire of the day would testify, McHale was one of the few he wouldn’t argue with. One of the era’s preeminent football pests, he was a serial tribunal attendee, but only once a defendant. That sole suspension taught him the value of a quick exit from the scene of a crime. He cheekily revelled in his recurring role as lead witness for the prosecution, as it was proof he’d got one over an opponent yet again.
An early stint as apprentice engineer had proved disastrous enough to convince young Richards football was his destiny. As football wages didn’t go far in those days, a day job as publican seemed not too much a further stretch. But the qualities that had served him well as a footballer would also make him a media natural. When his playing career finished, he really found his niche analysing the game in his own inimitable style. The rest would become football media history.
If Richards didn’t mind dishing it out, he could also take it. Especially when he figured out there was a quid to be made in wearing the joke. As The Kiss of Death he was the enduring butt of his own folly, promoting the game and himself with ever more outlandish stunts. Teaming with his many ghost writers, Richards also left an indelible contribution to football’s language. How much poorer would a game without “Lethal Leigh”, the “Flying Doormat” or the “Galloping Gasometer” be? This is a tiny sample of the gems that flowed from the Richards “tripewriter”.
But for generations of fans, this isn’t even the main part of the story. Many remember him as an integral part of the unforgettable cast that populated the barely organised chaos that was World of Sport. There he was reunited with two old playing foes now turned kindred spirits. When Richards, Jack Dyer and Bob Davis were handed the seemingly mundane task of reading out the week’s teams late on a Thursday night, football found its ultimate comic jewel. Countless shows have subsequently strived to imitate the idiosyncratic genius of League Teams, but none have ever captured the anarchic chemistry that these three great rascals produced week after week for 15 years.
Part PT Barnum, part Groucho Marx, all Collingwood, Lou Richards’ talents took him from the streets of Abbotsford to the mansions of Toorak, and he never stopped reminding us along the way. It was his great gift that we always laughed with him. Born of a generation that had little, he had the wisdom to enjoy better times to the fullest when they came. He was the last survivor of that great era of characters, and it is a measure of our profound loss that we genuinely say football will never see his like again.
