Most likely, you have heard of Sean McDonough.

Syracuse class of 1984. Play-by-play voice of the Boston Red Sox for 15 years now. Host of his own Boston radio show, The McDonough Group, for which he is reportedly paid $500,000 a year.

Ever heard of his dad?

Will McDonough put Sean through Syracuse as a single parent of three children, proved in 1986 that writers could transition to television as an on-air reporter for CBS’ ‘NFL Today,’ pioneered the on-field halftime interview, was a finalist for a Pulitzer Prize, won an Emmy and once punched out an NFL player. Who else can say that?

Will McDonough, who had a history of heart trouble, died a week ago tonight while watching SportsCenter. He was 67, and while he was on the Back Nine professionally — he wrote only a Saturday column for The Boston Globe — he would never lay up. In 41 years at the Globe, McDonough swung harder and hit straighter than almost any sports reporter.

Ask Raymond Clayborn. Following a 56-3 Patriots win against the Jets in 1979, Clayborn approached his locker to find McDonough listening in on a nearby interview. (McDonough, by the way, is said to have taken exactly zero notes in person. Most athletes’ comfort levels with him grew because he would listen rather than scribble on paper or jam a tape recorder in their faces.)

An unnerving media bully by reputation, Clayborn put his finger on McDonough’s chest, but the finger slipped and poked him in the right eye. McDonough — who grew up in public housing in South Boston, or Southie, where everyone is McDonough or Connolly or Sullivan — unloaded a right hand on Clayborn, a left to the forehead and a third shot to the ear for good measure.

This, one writer on hand later admitted thinking, is when they kill all the sportswriters.

‘They say Clayborn was stunned,’ said Globe columnist Jackie MacMullan, ‘which for him was a huge problem because getting punched out by a sportswriter was the kiss of death.’

For Sean, then in high school, it was instant credibility. ‘You know how when you’re a kid, you go around saying, ‘My dad can beat up your dad?’ ‘ Sean told the Globe. ‘Well, after that, I went to school saying, ‘Never mind beating up your dad. My dad can beat up an NFL player.’ ‘

Separate accounts indicate that a reeling Clayborn either a) landed in his locker or b) toppled into other writers. ‘The legend,’ recalled Bob Duffy, who was working the Globe desk that night, “is that in the ensuing exchange, (Patriots’ owner) Billy Sullivan got knocked ass over tea kettle into a laundry basket.’

Either way, McDonough (claiming self defense) got off without so much as a slap on the wrist, while NFL commissioner Pete Rozelle fined Clayborn $2,000.

McDonough, in a sense, never stopped swinging. In his final column, published five days before he died, McDonough ripped Red Sox CEO Larry Lucchino for having ‘very little knowledge of baseball.’

Yet baseball wasn’t even McDonough’s sport. Football was. He covered all 36 Super Bowls and is unquestionably the most well-informed reporter in NFL history. When Drew Bledsoe was in limbo last winter, waiting to see if he would be shipped out of New England, he called McDonough for a scoop. Imagine that.

(ITALICS) Willie, this is Drew. What can you tell me? (ITALICS)

Despite his guns-cocked stance, McDonough became a valued friend of Celtics president Red Auerbach and Bruins president Harry Sinden. Bill Parcells, in the wake of McDonough’s death, told the Globe: ‘He was one of my best friends. Those are the people you can count on the fingers of one hand.’

‘People just don’t let you in like that,’ said MacMullan, who has worked for Sports Illustrated but began her career in the cubicle next to McDonough’s. ‘He was certainly the best reporter I have ever seen, and I’ve worked with some good ones.’

Frank Deford, Peter King, Bob Ryan and Tom Verducci come to mind.

McDonough’s ability to break news while maintaining friendships with his sources and subjects is the rarest of skills in this profession. But ‘with Will,’ MacMullan said, ‘you were in or you were out. If you were in, you had a friend for life. If you were out, look out.’

Parcells was in. McDonough did a weekly national radio show with him and co-authored one of his books. Auerbach was in. He sometimes lifted weights with McDonough. Al Davis was in. So was Rozelle. The latter two were constantly at odds, but McDonough could balance the egos of both and get either on the phone in a moment’s notice.

‘I had guys who normally would spit on your shoes lining up to call me back,’ said Duffy, who compiled the story that celebrated McDonough’s career. ‘I couldn’t get calls returned fast enough. (University of Massachusetts president) Billy Bulger, Al Davis, Bill Parcells, guys like that.’

Now, that is a dad to be proud of.

‘The greatest thing that could happen in anyone’s life is to have a father like our dad,’ Sean McDonough told the Boston Herald. ‘He was an incredible person, so multidimensional with a real common touch. He had a lot of friends, including some of the biggest names in sports, but also that extraordinary common touch.’

Three thousand people turned out Tuesday for a wake at the FleetCenter, home of the Celtics and Bruins. In scope, the ceremony was reminiscent of the funeral for Reggie Lewis, who 10 years ago died of cardiac arrest and was memorialized at another Boston arena.

If only we could all be so common.

Chris Snow is a staff writer at The Daily Orange, where his column appears on Thursday. E-mail him at [email protected].

Published on January 15, 2003 at 12:00 pm