Wake-Up Call: Some Things Are More Important Than Sports

Saturday is Sportsday at our house. Always has been, and last Saturday was no different. I had my schedule all laid out: watch a couple of televised college basketball games to help me down the road with my bracket; attend a grandson's basketball game, and then join family members to watch the Oregon vs. USC game.

At 4 p.m. we were right on schedule, driving home from the grandson's game, when we realized we were about to go right by an old friend's house.

Husband indicated he wanted to stop in for a few minutes. I rolled my eyes and remembered the last time. Our old cowboy friend Howard had kept the game shows on and barely shifted in his recliner, His wife Barbara took me aside and whispered, "Never sell your horses, Annie. You'll end up with game shows and gin rummy." Still, it had been a good visit, recalling all the cows gathered, trails ridden and that old renegade horse that cleared a mountain stream by about 15 feet. But today was Gameday, and with USC no less.

So we drove on by, deciding we might not get away; that it would be rude to stop without calling first; maybe they had plans; we had to feed the horses...oh, I found plenty of excuses.

The family gathered and we watched yet another woulda, coulda, shoulda Duck game. At least they got it into OT before losing it.

We heard the news on a rare snow day. Our friend Howard had been hit by a car as he crossed the street to get his mail. He refused to go to the hospital, and died a couple of days later.

Now Husband sat in his recliner, barely shifting. I reminded him that we needed to clean the barn.

"We should sell the horses", he said.

My heart stopped, as I profusely tried to apologize for my misplaced priorities.

At last he asked me for a black felt-tipped pen. I knew that he would be going for The List. Husband had started The List about 10 years ago, when we lost 3 friends in less than 2 months. He'd ended up with about 30 names; each time we lost a friend, he crossed out the name. Sounds morbid, but we all grieve in different ways.

I gave him the pen and watched as his big gnarled hands took The List out of his dresser drawer. Shaking a little, he crossed out Howard Rickard. I noticed that there were only two names remaining.

"May I see?" I asked. One name read Lavelle Smith. The second, simply "Me".

Husband grinned ruefully. "Guess I might be Last Man Standing", he said.

A few hugs later, we decided that Howard had opted for OT. On his own terms. He could have gone to the hospital, but after all, maybe he was tired of game shows and gin rummy.

Howard Rickard was 82, just 2 years older than Husband. Their friendship lasted nearly 60 years. And we've been friends with "Lavelle Smith" for over 40 years. Memo to self: Go see Lavelle.

When we told the kids, naturally they wanted to know when the accident happened. We told them, Saturday, January 26, at 6:00 p.m. Just as the Ducks and Trojans tipped off.

And just like the Ducks, Howard put it in OT before losing.

Game Over.