Recently I celebrated my 45th birthday and had a conversation with a friend about how I now felt officially old since I am as close to 50 as I am 40. My friend strongly disagreed with my assessment but it did not make me any less convinced that I was old. That is until yesterday when I heard the news of the death of a high school friend, Tim Bosley or as his friends referred to him, "Boz." In that moment I realized just how young I am. Because there is no way Boz should be leaving us yet; he was way too young.
I first became friends with Boz when we played basketball together at North Carroll High School. Anyone who has ever played on a championship sports team knows someone like Boz because although he was never a star and often struggled for playing time he was as essential as the person who scored the most points, threw the most touchdowns or hit the most home runs. He was the guy with moderate talent but the heart of a champion. The guy that you hated to have to gaurd in practices because you knew he would be giving it everything he had all the time and if you let up the slightest bit he was going to make you look bad. In that way he made his teammates better. He was also the guy who was always cheering on his teammates the loudest and the first to greet you in the huddle on the sidelines during a timeout. Boz loved sports for the simple most basic reasons of all; the joy of playing and being a teammate. He recognized and cherished the camaraderie that comes with competing for a common goal. Also, the grueling long bus rides after tough losses and sheer exuberance of winning a playoff game and the feeling of togetherness each end of that emotional spectrum brings. The gift that Boz brought to those teams most of all was his positive nature and his unparalleled humor. He turned those long bus rides into some of the most fun experiences I have ever had. His ability to come up with "one liners" that could have the entire team rolling with laughter was only outdone by his impromptu skits using members of the team as his targets.
Over the years since graduating from high school I lost touch with Boz. We would run into each other at an occasional Orioles game and immediately get lost in laughter recalling those North Carroll basketball days. His name would often come up in conversations with other high school friends. He was simply one of those rare people whom every time you hear his name or recall a memory of him it brought a smile to your face. That is because Boz loved to make people laugh. And that is a wonderful gift to have.
As I have thought about Boz this weekend one particular memory came to mind. On one of those bus trips to a game I was listening to my "Walkman" (for those of you wondering what that is think of an IPod only much bigger and it plays cassette tapes....hard to envision right?). Boz came up to me and asked me what I was listening to. The Rolling Stones, I replied. Boz handed me his earphones and said, "listen to this, these guys are going to be the next Rolling Stones." The song "Bad" by U2 was playing. I immediately thought it was one of the best songs I had ever heard. I suppose you never forget some things from high school. Perhaps your first kiss....your first car....and for me, the guy who turned you onto the epic rock and roll band that would come of age at the same time we did. Thanks for that Boz!
For many years now running has become my emotional outlet. It is the place I go to to try to make sense of things that make no sense. Things like losing an old friend long before you should. Today I went on a long run which I dedicated to Boz. I don't need to tell you what the first song was that was blaring through my IPod as I began my run.
So long Boz. You will be missed.
