Very few people become journalists because they have a desire to be liked.
In fact, you’re probably not a successful journalist if you haven’t been crossed off the odd Christmas card list along the way.
I was deeply saddened on Friday to hear of the passing of Rebecca Wilson, a fearless journalist who ruffled plenty of feathers but was a passionate, dedicated and ferocious writer.
Rebecca didn’t pull any punches, always willing to give her view, even if it didn’t sit alongside popular opinion.
She was a journalist who had courage, and by all reports she fought breast cancer with an enormous amount of that courage, albeit privately.
At 54, she was simply way too young to lose her life.
But it was more than enough time to leave a mark on her chosen profession and a legacy that will live on forever in the halls of News Limited.
The Saturday paper will never quite be the same, and I’ll miss her banter with Alan Jones on 2GB on a Friday morning.
Not everybody loved her, but she wouldn’t have been doing her job if they did. Sports journalism has lost a giant.