Seventy nights. Seventy different moods. And each night he was there, always making me feel better with heartfelt words and horrible, overly cheesy love songs good for a few laughs.
But of all those occasions, there is one that I will remember the most. It was Valentine's Day, it was cold and rainy, and I had just received a joke valentine from a friend signed simply "The Crimson." I fumbled with my Walkman, turned it to 106.7, and Dave was there.
"If you love what you do, why complain?," he said.
And then he played Bobby McFerrin.
Perfect.
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They say that being sports editor is a lonely job, that it will make you go slightly mad.
Maybe they're right.