Requiem for a heavyweight

Xavier Nation grieved as it bade farewell yesterday to one of its finest. More than a thousand gathered at Barkers Road to salute Michael Rush and to voice their support for his family and loved ones, with friends old and new, the sporting and legal fraternities filling and spilling out of the beautiful chapel that was truly his spiritual home.

Einstein once said that "Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to a divine purpose. From the standpoint of daily life, however, there is one thing we do know: That we are here for the sake of others...for the countless unknown souls with whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy. Many times a day, I realize how much my outer and inner life is built upon the labors of people, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received."

So it was with Michael Rush, the epitome of the Jesuit ideal, a man for others.  The turn-out yesterday was testimony to the countless lives he touched in his too-few years among us.

He was at once a tough and gentle man.  Team-mate and opponent alike have observed that he played it hard, but always with a sense of fairness.  He played to win, but not to hurt.  Born on Boxing Day, he died two days after the anniversary of Ned Kelly’s hanging, thus closer to the Christ than to the Bushranger, though only just!

Mick’s talents, as we discovered yesterday, extended even to arrangement of the liturgy.   Those grand hymnal memories of our youth that have since fallen from fashion, Hail Redeemer King Divine; Hail Queen of Heaven; and Faith of Our Fathers maintained the mood of a Mass of Thanksgiving.  But at the last, there were no dry eyes as the lone Irish piper’s mournful lament led the pallbearers from the chapel. 

Michael Rush lies at rest in Cheltenham but he lives on in the hearts and memories of Xavier Nation.  We are all poorer for his passing, but so much richer for having known him.

Fidemus. 

Rushy’s long and brave last stand

He went down in late June last year, while watching Dan play his first U19 game.  The news reached us at the Snakepit, where the Red ‘n’ Blacks were torching Bernies.

Diabetes, we reckoned.  It wasn’t the first time Mick had ignored his sugar levels.

We were wrong.  The next Monday, the medicos donned the black handkerchiefs and gave it to him straight.  Mick appealed their sentence.

He fought.  Hard.  He took a chance where there was none.  He chose surgery and came out singing the Irish national anthem.  He began therapy to clean up what the scalpel could not.

Two weeks after his blackout, Mick walked into Toorak Park.  The Xavs smashed Marcellin, but Rushy was the focus.  Many displayed that day just how much he meant to them.

Mick was overwhelmed by the reception.  "What a great club," he said. The club that he helped save.

Mick hung in there.  He continued treatment and varied medication.  He let us know about his highs but he kept the lows to himself.  He didn't complain.

As the Xavs marched into the finals, Rushy felt better.  The Xavs took the flag, but Mick took a turn and missed the glory – though he saw the tape before the celebrations ended.

He made it to Cup Day, as said he would.  He had set that target early, and now he had the doctors scratching their heads.

The weather got warmer and Mick got sunnier.  He tested the limits, got tired, rested, and then came back for more.  He announced new ambitions.

The autumn set him back.  He stumbled at the Junction.  We suspected, but we didn’t want to think about it.

Winter came and Mick held court wherever Dan was playing.  We knew, but we didn’t accept it. 

In the spring, the doctors reassessed.  Rushy disagreed. He went back to Flemington.  On Cup Day, he was there when Makybe Diva won it again.

He said his final goodbyes.  He picked his final winner, and backed it. With a lot. 

He went out a winner, to nobody’s surprise.

Mick was taken, but never beaten.  Never.

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