George Gross is set to be inducted into the Slovak Hockey Hall of Fame. (Craig Robertson, Sun Media file photo)

George Gross always knew how to make a grand entrance in this world.

So, it seems fitting somehow that on Christianity's biggest holiday of the year, he would begin his adventure into the next.

Gross, the Baron of sports journalism in Canada for almost 60 years, died yesterday after suffering a heart attack at his Etobicoke home.

He's survived by his wife, Elizabeth, son George, daughter Elizabeth (Teddy), and the Toronto Sun sports department, which he built out of wooden crates for desks, a couple of wonky typewriters, an innate stubbornness that wouldn't abide failure and a telephone line to the sports world. But a bit of us all died with him.

It seems trite to suggest his passing marks the end of era. But it's not without validity. Gross came from an era when sports journalism was not merely a profession. It was a lifestyle.

Gone in recent months are Jim Hunt, Pat Marsden, Milt Dunnell and now Gross. They were from a time when sports journalism was as much about being part of the sports scene as it was writing about it.

One of his most treasured possessions was a 1967 Stanley Cup ring given to him (and to Dunnell) when the Maple Leafs last won the NHL championship. He was of an era when athletes and the people who wrote about them had character and colour.

Gross, who was 85, will long be remembered for having both. Born in Bratislava in 1923 he was proficient in five languages: English, Slovak, Czech, German and Hungarian but, in a pinch, he could also hold a conversation in Russian, Polish, Serbian or Croatian.

His temper was mercurial and as his assistant sports editor for several years in the 1980s I still have the memos to prove it. But he never stayed angry and when his face had stopped just short of fire engine-red, he'd put his hand on your shoulder and give you his patented "Okay, kiddo!" and it was on to the next story.

Because for Gross it was always about the next story, the next edition.

When he was Sun sports editor in the 1980s it wasn't unusual for him to be in the office by 8 a.m., and still be there 12 hours later. And if the next morning the section didn't meet with his approval, some night editor would be getting a not-too-cheery wakeup call.

He was demanding. But he never asked more of anyone else than he asked of himself.

"I didn't put 24 hours a day into it but maybe 15-16 hours," he said in January at his 85th birthday. "I never regretted one minute. I enjoyed the athletes, the people, the journalists. If you have the time for journalism you can accomplish a lot."

Amateur athletes never had a bolder champion. And amateur sport knew it, bestowing the Olympic Order on him -- the only North American journalist ever to be so honoured.

And it wasn't because he always pandered to them. Once, while sitting in his office, he lit into Juan Antonio Samaranch, the then Olympic boss, like a father taking his wayward son out behind the woodshed.

His boundless energy was reflected by his induction into five different halls of fame, a career that spans from Barbara Ann Scott to Mats Sundin, 17 trips to Wimbledon and the 1974 National Newspaper Award chronicling Vaclav Nedomansky's defection from behind the Iron Curtain.

For Gross, who defected himself from Czechoslovakia in 1949, it was validation. It remained one of his proudest achievements.

His career started with the Toronto Telegram in 1959 and, when it folded, moved to the upstart Sun in 1971 as sports editor. In 1986 he became corporate sports editor of Sun Media. He would cover nine Olympic Games, eight World Cups in soccer, 11 world hockey championships and 10 world figure skating championships.

He was still writing three columns each week, covering anything from high school sports to a sit-down lunch with Gary Bettman. And if he called Martina Navratilova or Anna Kournikova today, they'd scratch each other's eyes out to be the first to call him back -- most guys just dream of having little, black books with that kind of action between the covers.

The day before he was to meet his last deadline, Sun news reporter Jack Boland sat and talked to him for about 45 minutes.

"We talked about the old Leafs and some guy had e-mailed him five or six times about a hockey stick that Syl Apps had signed and George was waiting for him to bring it in. George says: 'I've been here since 7:30 and that dunderhead still isn't here. If he doesn't hurry up, I'm going to die before he gets here.' "

As usual, George had the scoop -- a true newspaperman to the end.