Sometimes Bad News is Just Bad News

You will have to excuse me. I don't have any idea how to deal with the feelings that stem from knowing someone that dies suddenly at 27 years old from a brain aneurysm. I wouldn't know how to act for a total stranger and I sure don't know how to deal with it when it was someone I had, at least at one time considered a friend. Granted, I haven't seen him in over a year. I didn't have his phone number and can't imagine he spent too much time thinking about me or my life anymore. Why would he? Things change and people come in and out of your life with a randomness that could only be duplicated if you gave construction paper and a marker to an epileptic blind monkey. The actual feelings that came over me when I learned a friend had died mostly manifested as sadness and fear. Sadness for a guy that didn't get to live a full life and parents that had to bury their kid. Fear because, well what if I have bury a child one day. Apparently that happens to people.

I'm not good at dealing with these things. I deal with most things by making myself laugh. I read Facebook updates about a tragedy and all I really want to do is comment on everyone's atrocious grammar (Seriously. Learn what words mean, people). Now I would never be in charge of memorializing anyone as long as there are semi-literate people that don't default to poop jokes with access to a typing machine and the interwebs. So the only thing I can really do is share what I thought about when I started thinking again after getting horrible news. So here goes. Hopefully this will make you laugh a little. Otherwise I'm going to have to fall back on the poop jokes. So if you happen to be reading this because you heard the news too and
you clicked on Craighead's picture just sitting on your couch on your computer, I hope it will make remind you of something that makes you smile for for a minute. It's too late to return the favor to Josh anyway.

The first story I remembered every time Josh's name came up, not surprisingly happened in the basketball locker room. Josh played basketball on the same HS team as me, but he was a little younger. There was always a swagger to Josh that could only be described as "smart assy." He was funny, but he was inevitably going to draw some negative attention from the older players because he didn't even remotely respect any form of hierarchy or seniority (which all seems completely logical now. If I knew then what I know now, I would have just hit some of the older guys with chairs when I was younger playing on the team). Anyway - back to him drawing negative attention. We, in the sports world had this substance called "liquid heat." It was a concentrated, watery version of icy hot that was meant to be diluted considerably and rubbed on sore muscles. Diluted, the stuff was almost unbearably hot. Undiluted and it was absolutely intolerable. At one point, I put the diluted liquid heat on my pulled groin and had to take a shower when... umm lets just say I would have been better off wearing something more supportive. But enough about my fiery junk. The stuff was potent. So potent that one member of the team, Al could not resist the urge to put the undiluted liquid heat on Josh's deodorant when he wasn't in the locker room. Now Josh, being on JV, practiced in another gym, but we were told that he spent the whole practice frantically blowing on his armpits - confused by his situation and questioning why his armpit hair hated him so much.

Obviously there were no secrets and Josh almost immediately found out what Al had done to his Old Spice. Never to be one to take anything lying down - (cut to) a post-game later in the week when we were getting dressed after our showers in the locker room (stay focused, ladies. Yes - I showered and yes I looked amazing). We are all talking and minding our own business when suddenly Al stopped. He looked in both directions and his face got red. he screamed something to the effect of, "Craighead, YOU IDIOT!" Then he ripped through his underwear like Lou Ferrigno ripped through a pair of dungarees, ran into the shower, turned the water on cold and stayed under it for the next 20 minutes letting the cold water rinse away the molten liquid heat concentrate. Josh Craighead had poured liquid heat concentrate on the underwear of a guy that was literally twice his size, knowing the whole time that there would be no doubt who was responsible. I hate to laugh when a friend suffers, but I do have that male genetic trait that secretly wishes he could watch people getting hurt all day. Actually I pretty much spend my whole day fighting the urge to trip people, but I'm not exaggerating when I say that it was the funniest thing I have ever seen happen in front of me (and I've seen your mother dance). Anytime Josh's name is brought up - I immediately think about that night, Josh blowing on his armpits in lay-up drills, Al's pain and all of the other laughs I had with or at Josh's expense.

I know this isn't really funny. I, at one point or another worked with Josh, played basketball with Josh and probably envied Josh in a lot of ways. He died for no apparent reason, which I guess just happens sometimes. I know there are a lot of people that will miss him. I wasn't very close to him recently, but that doesn't really change the memories that come up when someone says his name. I have known a whole lot of people that wouldn't strike one memory in my brain. I guess all we can really do when someone dies is remember them. Which kind of sucks, but then again it could always be worse. Your name could be Richard Head or something.


(My apologies to Cortland Finnegan for using his picture with Josh below. Maybe if he would just play football and stop trying to prove how scrappy and tough he is by getting fines and acting like he hasn't ever tackled anyone, I wouldn't have used it).