YHC is not known as a man with little to say. Nor has YHC ever been as much at a loss for words as he is right now. This backblast is significantly late, and I apologize. Much thought and soul searching has gone into the words that will soon appear before your eye in another one of life’s fleeting moments that we can never get back. For that moment of your eternity, I am grateful and will try to maximize this window of time that we share.
It’s hard for me to articulate how I, personally, feel. And it seems that if there is a wrong thing to say at the wrong time then I will blurt it out right on cue. I have done my best to reread, edit, let others read, edit as much as possible, so if something seems insensitive or blunt then I apologize and hope you realize that I did not intend anything here to come across that way.
I bleeping hate cancer. It didn’t really bother me too badly until about 6 years ago when my wife’s family was blasted by it twice in just a 9-month span. Now, I am watching it play out its grotesque, Dionysian tragedy with a friend. It’s surreal to me and, often, a blurring of the lines between fantasy and reality takes place. It’s like I am watching a movie where my life is portrayed by some terrible c-list actor looking to jump start his career.
I have had some great conversations with Rocky over the last several years and I can’t think of a single time where I didn’t enjoy the light-hearted banter, theories on participation trophies and coaching kids, random observations on life, and, yes, even the 56-7 references.
For the past several weeks, as Rocky has been in the hospital, I have been having a recurring dream where I see him helping me at basketball practice. He and I would hold a ball at either elbow and the players would sprint around us, grab the ball, and shoot a jumper. The first time we did the drill, Rocky sat on a bench along the baseline looking like he was casually taking in a ball game. Of course, he was pretty intently focused on the action on the court and our little team worked their tails off to get better. One of those players was Trace, Rocky’s 2.0. That kid is all hustle. He makes Pete Rose look like a lousy cherry-picker.
In my dream, he stands thee at the left elbow, back to the basket, holding a ball. As the last player slips around, grabs the ball, and buries a jumper, he looks up at me and suddenly the gym is empty and I wake up. And I wonder if I am living my every moment to the fullest. Am I investing in the eternal things, the things of the highest priority, like Rocky has been the last couple of years? Would have the courage to look up and keep fighting after such a long fight already (even if it like one of those stinking-tail tigers!)?
I have questioned myself relentlessly, with each answer being measured against the example of “Never Quit” displayed by a man with the character the caliber of Rocky.
I am fortunate to have the privilege of knowing Rocky. For that, I will be forever grateful.
We all wore orange and YHC put together a workout to honor Rocky. YHC knew there needed be a couple of key components for it to properly honor our brother. It had to be hard. It had to bring you to the precipice of quitting, where the desire was so strong it could be tasted. It had to involve Clemson somehow. Anyone who knows Rocky knows this was the most critical component. We’ve all heard the jokes about blood running orange, but I’m pretty sure Rocky’s blood is actually orange. So here’s what we ended up with:
“Rocky”
- 36 minute AMRAP
- 19 burpees
- 81 American Hammers (I believe we counted one side, but need Bean or Alpo to confirm)
- 20 burpees
- 17 pull-ups
Hopefully, the workout did some justice to Rocky and his fight, though it is all too easy to recognize that a silly workout means little compared to his fight.
It was great seeing quite a few #Kotters pax out to honor our brother! Hopefully, you men can join us more frequently. You have been missed!