As you’re free to tell from that summary, it’s not exactlySpace Jam.
Essentially, the eulogy becomes a roast.
Two things are especially poignant about this scene.
Second, the character he’s saying “will not be missed” is played by his own brother.
This has been in my brain for days now.
I won’t get into a tribute to Jimbo here.
But no one comes to a humor/sports/pop culture blog to read a heartfelt expression of brotherly love and admiration.
Or the sharing of memories about someone they didn’t know.
So I’ll kick the can of paying homage down the road for the services next week.
There’s no reason to do the show before the show.
Besides, JT would’ve hated it if I did it here.
No, this post is about the epiphany I’ve had over the last week or so.
Bear with me and I’ll have a go at tie this all together into something semi-comprehensible.
One of my sons talked to me a few days about a girl he knew who hated small talk.
As in, would not engage in anything she considered to be shallow or inconsequential conversation.
First, that aversion to small talk is largely (though not exclusively) a Chick Think thing.
This is definitely one I wish I’d come up with.
Next, I reminded my boy about the power of small talk and it’s importance in our lives.
That the Thornton men pride ourselves in it.
That his uncles have 7th degree black belts in banter.
Masters degrees in chit chat.
That they’re Nobel Laureates in chatter.
Summa cum lauder in wittiness.
Kennedy Center Honorees in the noble art of jibber jabber.
This was one of my favorite teachable dad moments in recent memory.
Now all the more important after standing alone at the bedside of the undisputed World Heavyweight Champion of Conversation.
Because when it came to discussing meaningless nonsense, Jim had no equal.
It was an artform he practiced every day, until he perfected it.
The sound of that ring was like a call to adventure.
You’d yell “I’ll get it!”
and give a shot to beat others to answer it.
Because who could tell what wonders awaited on the other end of that call?
But at some point in the last dozen or so years, the cellphone ring became a nuisance.
Someone interupting whatever you were in the middle of instead of just texting.
The ultimate personal life example of the work meeting that should’ve been an email.
Typically when I was in the last sentence of a blog I’d been working on for two hours.
Or at the gym.
Or in the middle of a TV show.
And rarely was it ever anything important.
He’d be calling to rant about some nonsense he heard on Boston sports radio.
Or some current event.
A million dollar idea he’d just come up with was a common theme.
(How I wish I could right now.)
But the absolute most insane calls were the utterly random topics.
He once asked who I think would win a fight between Buddha, Mohamed, and Jesus.
Here’s one I’ve been dining out on in my stand up sets for years.
The Red Sox were facing the Tigers in the 2013 playoffs and he called.
Who would you rather be?"
Me:“Out of those choices, I most want to be Gisele.”
A constant exercise in staying on your toes.
In fact, our last call came the night before he passed.
First he wanted to know how our friends' daughter’s wedding that I officiated went.
We quickly pivoted to his belief the film version ofFriday Night Lightsis the best football movie ever made.
Then we said we’ll talk in the morning.
That chance never came.
And won’t come again until we’re together again in the next life.
Most guys I know, in fact.
The cringey cliche of the insufferable times we live in is to call it our “Love Language.”
Earlier I said these calls were never anything important.
“Important” isn’t a strong enough word.
I’m all for the occasional “Love you, pal” among friends.
I’m getting too old not to say it.
Prove it by being hilarious.
By coming at me with nonsense, and laughing at my nonsense.
All my friends do.
And they know as well as I we just lost the best there ever was in that game.
Thanks for reading to the end while I work through this.
I’ll be back with more of the usual claptrap over the weekend.
Until then, take care of your health.
And for crying out loud, call your brother.
