Well, it's happened.
One in my group of friends has died.
Greg was a throwback to my somewhat wilder days. You know...those days of Ultra-excess. He was the Friday thru Sunday buddy...and sometimes on Mondays...Tuesdays....etc. You know what I mean.
Those were fairly carefree days. We were all young, single, makin' some good money. We threw it around like we would always have more. The days were long, and the nights were longer. We always joked about how we were shocked that we were still alive after all we had gone thru, like survival was a badge of honor. We thought those times would last forever.
Then, one by one, we all began to meet our much better halves, get married, and drift away. All of us except Greg.
Greg was that forever single friend that was always there if we needed to escape on the rare night away from the house. Then, he would be gone from our thoughts until the next time we got the pass.
Every now and then, over the past 5 or 6 years, one of us would get the call from Greg to catch a game, or get a beer after work. But, we usually had to give him the standard "Sorry, Mook...I gotta get home tonight."
We would often hear about "Greg" sightings now and then, but for the most part, never thought much about what he was up to.
Today, I got the call.
It's not important how he died. It's just important that he lived.
Over the past hours, I've thought about how he affected some of the things I do and say today.
If you ever hear me talking about the "dirty cheatin' Browns (the NFL team)...that's a Mookie.
If you ever see the precision with which I can bounce a quarter into a cup...that's because of Mookie.
By the way....Greg's nickname was Mookie. If you ever want to know why, just ask me sometime. It's a hilarious story. Greg didn't like the nickname much...but that's okay. It seemed to fit!
Mookie loved the Colts...and it went back to the Baltimore days...not just the modern Manning Colts. I remember he had a bobble head of Johnny Unitas on his fridge.
He loved Crown Royal...but usually drank the cheaper stuff. Unless one of us was buying!
He loved the Reds...we had some great road trips to Cincinnati.
We sold cars together. 12 hour days on the lot...but we had a blast!
He's a buddy from an era I'm glad is over...but he was still a buddy. I have no regrets the paths I took, and where I've ended up.
I just wish I had talked to him one more time.
Greg...Mookie...was 45.
After a lengthy sabatical, he sits in front of his computer, fingers ready at the keyboard. So much to say...so much to write. Topics race wildly through his mind, each fighting for the right to take their rightful place on the field of honor...the blog. Many will read the entries. Some will cry. Some will laugh. But one thing is certain...he must write, because he is...the Media Pastor.
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