Daps for the Dead

Yeah bro it’s the wildest thing seeing you all laid out like that. I hope you don’t mind bro. I brought Jesse Jordan and Jake to come help me see you like this. Even all motionless and grey and quiet, you’re still the fucking legend. Remember on St. Patty’s when you chugged that liter of vodka and beat the shit out of those two guys that jumped our pledge. Or the time in Amsterdam we lost you deep in that 24-hour rave and then you resurfaced at our hotel with those two hookers and told us everything was prepaid. King. I was too soft to do anything then, but you, man. I was like, this guy fucks. This guy’s a pure fucking legend.

And I guess the thing about legends is that they were mortal men first and the thing that the Greeks will tell you about being mortal is that it’s both a fucking blessing and a curse that man gets to die, but honestly bro, this feels hella cursed.

I got the news on the ice bro, and I thought I got rocked into the boards and then I was in the change room with the trainer over me telling me to breathe and my chest wouldn’t fucking open. It’s like that other thing I told you about. The thing you swore you’d take to your grave. Well. Props bro.

All the frats did this collection and we raised about 30 grand and us four boys just strutted into your funeral all proud and shit, looking clean, suited, proper you know, to hand your mom this support money. It was all in a black briefcase and for a second it had me wondering who the hell I got to fucking pay to get you back.

It’s been a rough go bro. Before we came here we took a 12 pack of Pabst—the tall boys—to your room and shot-gunned the whole thing. We left you one on your bed. There I told the boys that if they ever need to get shit off their chests, or share stuff or whatever, and they don’t, then it’s open season bro. They’ll get smacked. A few bruises is better than this.

We’re thinking of making a cut-out of you for the Sunday game to prop you up next to the TV so we can throw Cheetos at you. Love you bro. Legend.