Josh

While I was preparing to move from Pittsburgh to Hartford last summer, unbeknownst to me, one of my best friends from early childhood passed away. I learned today that Josh, the boy who introduced me to The Legend of Zelda and invited me to play at his house when other kids in my class teased me mercilessly, died following an epileptic seizure and subsequent head trauma.

The (single) highlight of my athletic career came at Josh's hands. He was one of the strongest, most respected pitchers in Little League, and I one of the weakest, least regarded hitters (with a batting average hovering at .000). In the bottom of the final inning, Josh had all but wrapped up a no-hitter, when I came to bat. I swung at and missed (by a wide margin) the first two pitches. With a count of 0-and-2, I closed my eyes as he wound up for the third pitch (since keeping them open had brought me no success following the first two). Eyelids clenched, I swung and to everyone's surprise (especially mine), I had hit a line drive to an unsuspecting outfield and made it to first base before the ball. This story has long been the feather in the cap of a completely unillustrious personal sporting history... today, it falls flat.

Although I haven't seen him for over a dozen years, it is shocking and sobering when someone so vibrant, so healthy, so decent, so friendly slips away. He was 28.