Day -334 WorldCup2018
(Today I, together with his family and numerous friends celebrated the amazing life of my friend Adam Day who I sadly hadn't seen for a while. Below is what I read, or paraphrased)
Every day for the past 660 days I have been keeping a daily countdown to next year’s World Cup in Russia, writing a football related post or about something significant that happened in the world that day. The day I heard about Adam’s passing I shared my story about his excitement at showing me his grandfathers’ (former Fifa vice-president) world cup winners’ medal on a wonderful evening spent at his parents’ house in Port Hope. He loved that he knew somebody for whom that medal was so significant, and he was excited to ask his Mom to find it for him. He loved that he could do something which made somebody else happy. So as I thought over and over again about coming here today and remembering Adam I decided my way of doing this was to write today’s post about Adam and read it to you.
I’m not a writer. I wonder if Adam ever read my posts. We hadn’t spoken for longer than I’ve been doing this. But if I had spoken to him about it I know exactly what he would have done. Within a day or two he probably would have had a fancy website set up for me and told me what I could do to make it better, who to talk to, where to go, what I should add. Why? Because that’s what Adam did. He got joy out of helping other people develop their crazy dreams. That was his reward. He did it many years ago when he stopped in Malta to visit for a few weeks in between his trips to Turkey(?), Bosnia (chasing a good story there, I recall). I was trying to start up a tennis coaching business and he took it upon himself to get a website going for me. I never asked. He knew he could help and that made him happy.
Adam’s passion and enthusiasm for anything he undertook was evident when we worked together. Coaching was not just a job. It was a challenge for him to see what new technique he could develop to not only help his students but to make the act of coaching more interesting for himself. He developed countless games which all his fellow coaches were drawn into by his enthusiasm…….and competitiveness. To this day I have not played a more intense game of mini-tennis as I did with Adam, over and over again. Ironhands, as he was known, would not give you any point without a battle.
His incredible enthusiasm convinced my wife Kristine and me to join him, Caroline and Alexia on a crazy hike through the Apennine mountains in Italy one January about 17 years ago. There was very little information we could find about the trail but one thing we did remember coming across was advice that it was not recommended to attempt the hike in the winter. That did not stop Adam. Kristine has already shared her memory of the adventure, and Adam’s constant encouragement when he went up ahead and radioed to us that he was sitting in a beautiful chalet drinking a beer. There was no chalet and no beer but it kept us going. In the end the snow beat us, but even the post-hike became an adventure.
This week I kept thinking back to the details of a trip to Kristine’s family’s cottage with Adam and Caroline. It was early Spring and I remember waiting for them to come pick us up. Adam had been up all night writing, I believe, his essay for his application to school in Kamloops. He needed a few hours’ sleep so we set off a bit later and he asked me to drive. I don’t know why this all came back to me so clearly but I remember that we took him to a place in Toronto for a meatball sandwich that we thought he would enjoy, and, probably because I was deep in conversation with Adam about some new car, or tennis racquet, I ended up on Highway 27 instead of the 427.
Adam had been excited by the prospect of a tennis court at the cottage. He was all pumped about all the mini- tennis matches we were going to have and the endless baseline rally games. Unfortunately, the court was still covered in snow. But, of course that was but a challenge not an obstacle. We could have done many other things over those few days that we were there but, no, we were all happily roped into Adam’s snow clearing mission. It feels like it was two whole days of shovelling, always in good humour. The cool, damp weather didn’t help with drying the court once it was clear. But tennis had to be played. And play we did, until every tennis ball we had was so heavy and wet that only Ironhands could deal with it. There is a picture at the cottage of us playing tennis on the court with snow banks all around the perimeter. Even in Hunstville, Adam is a legend.
That story was very prevalent in my head these last few days. Maybe it’s because I hadn’t spoken to Adam for so long and that was the happy memory which was so perfectly Adam that I wanted to preserve. I wish I had spoken to him. I wish I could have heard his stories beyond Bosnia and Turkey. But I didn’t. Others did and I know from what I’ve read that he had a profound effect on many other people.
I really hope, Ironhands, that you are truly at peace now.
Post-script: Adam's mom remembered the medal story and told me another one which she knew I would appreciate. She had a man in to do some work on their furnace and ducts. Behind the furnace he found a football and asked where it was from. Margaret replied that it was the ball used at the World Cup Final in Mexico, 1970. It too belonged to Margaret's dad.The guy obviously knew his football and said he would take the ball as payment for his work.
(Today I, together with his family and numerous friends celebrated the amazing life of my friend Adam Day who I sadly hadn't seen for a while. Below is what I read, or paraphrased)
Every day for the past 660 days I have been keeping a daily countdown to next year’s World Cup in Russia, writing a football related post or about something significant that happened in the world that day. The day I heard about Adam’s passing I shared my story about his excitement at showing me his grandfathers’ (former Fifa vice-president) world cup winners’ medal on a wonderful evening spent at his parents’ house in Port Hope. He loved that he knew somebody for whom that medal was so significant, and he was excited to ask his Mom to find it for him. He loved that he could do something which made somebody else happy. So as I thought over and over again about coming here today and remembering Adam I decided my way of doing this was to write today’s post about Adam and read it to you.
I’m not a writer. I wonder if Adam ever read my posts. We hadn’t spoken for longer than I’ve been doing this. But if I had spoken to him about it I know exactly what he would have done. Within a day or two he probably would have had a fancy website set up for me and told me what I could do to make it better, who to talk to, where to go, what I should add. Why? Because that’s what Adam did. He got joy out of helping other people develop their crazy dreams. That was his reward. He did it many years ago when he stopped in Malta to visit for a few weeks in between his trips to Turkey(?), Bosnia (chasing a good story there, I recall). I was trying to start up a tennis coaching business and he took it upon himself to get a website going for me. I never asked. He knew he could help and that made him happy.
Adam’s passion and enthusiasm for anything he undertook was evident when we worked together. Coaching was not just a job. It was a challenge for him to see what new technique he could develop to not only help his students but to make the act of coaching more interesting for himself. He developed countless games which all his fellow coaches were drawn into by his enthusiasm…….and competitiveness. To this day I have not played a more intense game of mini-tennis as I did with Adam, over and over again. Ironhands, as he was known, would not give you any point without a battle.
His incredible enthusiasm convinced my wife Kristine and me to join him, Caroline and Alexia on a crazy hike through the Apennine mountains in Italy one January about 17 years ago. There was very little information we could find about the trail but one thing we did remember coming across was advice that it was not recommended to attempt the hike in the winter. That did not stop Adam. Kristine has already shared her memory of the adventure, and Adam’s constant encouragement when he went up ahead and radioed to us that he was sitting in a beautiful chalet drinking a beer. There was no chalet and no beer but it kept us going. In the end the snow beat us, but even the post-hike became an adventure.
This week I kept thinking back to the details of a trip to Kristine’s family’s cottage with Adam and Caroline. It was early Spring and I remember waiting for them to come pick us up. Adam had been up all night writing, I believe, his essay for his application to school in Kamloops. He needed a few hours’ sleep so we set off a bit later and he asked me to drive. I don’t know why this all came back to me so clearly but I remember that we took him to a place in Toronto for a meatball sandwich that we thought he would enjoy, and, probably because I was deep in conversation with Adam about some new car, or tennis racquet, I ended up on Highway 27 instead of the 427.
Adam had been excited by the prospect of a tennis court at the cottage. He was all pumped about all the mini- tennis matches we were going to have and the endless baseline rally games. Unfortunately, the court was still covered in snow. But, of course that was but a challenge not an obstacle. We could have done many other things over those few days that we were there but, no, we were all happily roped into Adam’s snow clearing mission. It feels like it was two whole days of shovelling, always in good humour. The cool, damp weather didn’t help with drying the court once it was clear. But tennis had to be played. And play we did, until every tennis ball we had was so heavy and wet that only Ironhands could deal with it. There is a picture at the cottage of us playing tennis on the court with snow banks all around the perimeter. Even in Hunstville, Adam is a legend.
That story was very prevalent in my head these last few days. Maybe it’s because I hadn’t spoken to Adam for so long and that was the happy memory which was so perfectly Adam that I wanted to preserve. I wish I had spoken to him. I wish I could have heard his stories beyond Bosnia and Turkey. But I didn’t. Others did and I know from what I’ve read that he had a profound effect on many other people.
I really hope, Ironhands, that you are truly at peace now.
Post-script: Adam's mom remembered the medal story and told me another one which she knew I would appreciate. She had a man in to do some work on their furnace and ducts. Behind the furnace he found a football and asked where it was from. Margaret replied that it was the ball used at the World Cup Final in Mexico, 1970. It too belonged to Margaret's dad.The guy obviously knew his football and said he would take the ball as payment for his work.
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