I’m an SI subscriber for one reason. It’s found on the last page. His name is Rick Reilly, and he’s arguably one of the best writers working in America today. I’m not limiting him to sports writing, I’m referring to anyone currenty employed putting
pen pixels to paper monitor.
Seven years ago tomorrow Reilly published a peice of art. It’s the story of “the toughest coach who ever lived.” I’ve read it more than a dozen times, and not once have my eyes finished dry. I bought his book just to have this one column forever within arm’s reach. The last line just gets me.
Last night I was finishing up my most recent issue of SI and, as it my nature, I read Rick last. I never know what to expect – a Yankees rant, the list of the unwritten rules in sports, a story on his old Little League team “The Nuts,” his last offering to the god Armstrong. He can come from any direction, yet is always wonderfully delightful in his choice of words.
The column I read was piece which got me. It again involved the saddest tale one can tell – a parent dealing with the sudden loss of a child. If you have time, spend it with Rick and Mark Lemke. It’s a moving read.