I have loved Twitter for a while. It’s a great source of information if utilized properly and one of the primary reasons why I quit F-book. However, the list of things you can accomplish in 140 characters is limited. Remembering someone who has passed away does not fall into that category. One afternoon in his Religion class during my junior year of high school, Mr. Lowe asked what the most important part of an obituary was. It seemed like a morbid question at the time and wasn’t met with much enthusiasm, so he took to the chalkboard at the front of the classroom and wrote a couple of random dates in large white letters with a thin line connecting them. Everyone was confused until Mr. Lowe circled the dash. As he explained it, that small line stood for everything the deceased had accomplished between birth and death. Graduations, marriage, children, employment - an entire existence represented by the smallest punctuation. I couldn’t help but be reminded of that story when I was told that Steven Smith had been killed in a car accident. Maybe it’s because we’re the same age, or because we have a lot in common, or because we spent so much time working and traveling together over four years at GW. Whatever the reason, it hits very close to home. I don’t intend to make this about me, but there are many people who are much better suited to speak about the type of person Steven was than I am, so I can only do his memory so much justice. I also don’t want to be disingenuous and make it sound as though we were best friends. We certainly had our differences over time, especially during the year when I was Sports Director at WRGW, but there was always a level of mutual respect that existed between the two of us. I wasn’t bothered by any of our skirmishes because they were never more than creative differences. For every time he wreaked havoc on our itinerary (like when he put us on the wrong bus in Baltimore so we ended up in New York City instead of back in D.C.), there was a time when he’d buy everyone a round of drinks on the road. For every instance when he had his webcam up and running on his computer during a basketball broadcast, there were two when he would open his apartment up to other individuals (usually strangers) from the station during winter break. For every moment when Steven lost his mind in the front row of the student section at the Smith Center, there were three when he’d volunteer his time to mentor new people in the department. He was a genuinely good guy who always meant well. The thing I admired most about Steven was that he was always himself. He was comfortable in his own skin and what you saw was what you got. That doesn’t mean he always told you what you wanted to hear, but you at least respected him for being honest. It was refreshing. I think it’d be a better world if there were more people like that. Anyhow, about a year after graduation, Steven sent me a message on Twitter saying that the dissolution of our friendship was one of the greatest regrets he had about his time at college. I didn’t respond. I thought it was a bit strange (especially since it was unprovoked and we hadn’t spoken in a while), I felt limited by 140 characters and I was still at a point where I was settling into real life, so I was more concerned about myself than anyone else. In hindsight, he deserved more from me. His passion made me want to become a better host, broadcaster, engineer and producer. I probably wouldn’t have stuck with WRGW if it wasn’t for his encouragement, especially during the first couple of semesters when I was still getting to know everyone and everything. I can’t definitively say that I’m waking up to drive to ESPN every morning in a world in which I didn’t have him to push me. I know I’m not the only one who feels that way. So wherever you are, Steven E., I am very sorry for never getting back to you and setting things right. I’m confident that you impacted more people than you ever realized you were capable of doing, which is validated by the outpouring I’ve witnessed in various locations today. Thank you for the memories, both good and bad, and the lessons I’ve learned from all of them. I know you’ll work some magic on the Yankees if you’re able to do so. Rest well, friend.

I have loved Twitter for a while. It’s a great source of information if utilized properly and one of the primary reasons why I quit F-book. However, the list of things you can accomplish in 140 characters is limited. Remembering someone who has passed away does not fall into that category.

One afternoon in his Religion class during my junior year of high school, Mr. Lowe asked what the most important part of an obituary was. It seemed like a morbid question at the time and wasn’t met with much enthusiasm, so he took to the chalkboard at the front of the classroom and wrote a couple of random dates in large white letters with a thin line connecting them. Everyone was confused until Mr. Lowe circled the dash. As he explained it, that small line stood for everything the deceased had accomplished between birth and death. Graduations, marriage, children, employment - an entire existence represented by the smallest punctuation. I couldn’t help but be reminded of that story when I was told that Steven Smith had been killed in a car accident. Maybe it’s because we’re the same age, or because we have a lot in common, or because we spent so much time working and traveling together over four years at GW. Whatever the reason, it hits very close to home.

I don’t intend to make this about me, but there are many people who are much better suited to speak about the type of person Steven was than I am, so I can only do his memory so much justice. I also don’t want to be disingenuous and make it sound as though we were best friends. We certainly had our differences over time, especially during the year when I was Sports Director at WRGW, but there was always a level of mutual respect that existed between the two of us. I wasn’t bothered by any of our skirmishes because they were never more than creative differences. For every time he wreaked havoc on our itinerary (like when he put us on the wrong bus in Baltimore so we ended up in New York City instead of back in D.C.), there was a time when he’d buy everyone a round of drinks on the road. For every instance when he had his webcam up and running on his computer during a basketball broadcast, there were two when he would open his apartment up to other individuals (usually strangers) from the station during winter break. For every moment when Steven lost his mind in the front row of the student section at the Smith Center, there were three when he’d volunteer his time to mentor new people in the department. He was a genuinely good guy who always meant well.

The thing I admired most about Steven was that he was always himself. He was comfortable in his own skin and what you saw was what you got. That doesn’t mean he always told you what you wanted to hear, but you at least respected him for being honest. It was refreshing. I think it’d be a better world if there were more people like that.

Anyhow, about a year after graduation, Steven sent me a message on Twitter saying that the dissolution of our friendship was one of the greatest regrets he had about his time at college. I didn’t respond. I thought it was a bit strange (especially since it was unprovoked and we hadn’t spoken in a while), I felt limited by 140 characters and I was still at a point where I was settling into real life, so I was more concerned about myself than anyone else. In hindsight, he deserved more from me. His passion made me want to become a better host, broadcaster, engineer and producer. I probably wouldn’t have stuck with WRGW if it wasn’t for his encouragement, especially during the first couple of semesters when I was still getting to know everyone and everything. I can’t definitively say that I’m waking up to drive to ESPN every morning in a world in which I didn’t have him to push me. I know I’m not the only one who feels that way.

So wherever you are, Steven E., I am very sorry for never getting back to you and setting things right. I’m confident that you impacted more people than you ever realized you were capable of doing, which is validated by the outpouring I’ve witnessed in various locations today. Thank you for the memories, both good and bad, and the lessons I’ve learned from all of them. I know you’ll work some magic on the Yankees if you’re able to do so. Rest well, friend.