It has been a privilege to be able to write this Time Out column for our readers over the past several years.
As like many of you, the morning newspaper is a staple in my daily routine. We read the thing. We keep track of its many nuances, and we literally tear it apart each and every morning, scouring our beloved newspaper — The Bangor Daily News — for all the bits and pieces we can find to enlighten our lives.
If you are following this space today, then you will soon find that my name may be also found on the obituary page.
Sound a little melodramatic to you? Perhaps. But that’s what a writer does. He writes.
How long have I been following all this sports stuff? Since the days that Bud Leavitt and Owen Osborne started filling these pages up for me, when I was stealing sips from my father’s coffee mug. That’s how long.
Since the days of Jimmy Nelson and Leroy Patterson, racing up and down the old turf of Garland Street Field — more recently known as Cameron Stadium — young boys like myself longed to get just a glimpse of these heroes as they passed us by.
Back in the day, we had our own folk heroes, and we had our giants, too — guys larger than life who played professionally, sometimes right in our own backyards.
What a great day it was when I could see all of this, up close and in person.
The disease I have (renal failure), which started creeping into my life when I was a child, was finally enough to knock me off my feet in 1984. I was a pretty good softball player, and missed being able to play after that. Long before that year, however, I was dealing with one trivial side effect after the other, beginning in 1961.
Yes, that may seem a little much, but trust me when I tell you this: My mother never knew, in actuality, just how much ball I would play.
What were the goals that I never achieved in my life because of all that protection? There are many. I was a pretty good hoopster. You would never know it by the demands that were placed on my time. I was a YMCA ball star long before anyone had ever heard my name.
Since it turned out that I couldn’t play anymore, I started coaching instead. I was lucky enough to coach basketball for more than 30 years, at many different levels. If I had been healthier, I may have tried for the NBA. My disease kept me in the state of Maine, yet I ended up meeting and coaching some wonderful people.
And so it goes.
As I reflect upon my own shortened season, however, I choose to mention my three kids — Scott, Todd and Nate — and my lovely wife Shelly. May my loves and life and the spirit of this space live on through them (my family).
So, I think it’s time for me to go. I think it’s time to put away all these hoop dreams and let this space be filled by someone else, someone perhaps a bit more erudite than I, perhaps a bit better of a writer. You will be the judge of that.
Thank you for allowing me this opportunity, for these many years.