We are deeply saddened by the loss of long-time Louisville sports information director Kenny Klein. We had a great working relationship, and as a consummate professional, Kenny always represented his institution well and embraced the rivalry while keeping the competition between the white lines. Our condolences are with his family, friends, and the countless athletes, coaches, administrators and media who benefited from his presence.
I have had the honor of meeting many wonderful people in my career, but none better than Kenny. A special person at every level, personally and professionally. My heart breaks for his family and friends.
Prayers to Kenny Klein, his family and his friends. The former Louisville SID is one of the kindest men in sports and beloved by everyone that knows him
The Lessons I Learned from My Dad
I am not the man my father is.
I am trying. Some days closer. Some days farther.
He never sat me down and explained these lessons. He lived them. I’m still learning them.
Show up.
The kitchen table. The hospital room. The funeral. The picket line. The call from the son who won’t answer.
Show up.
Most days that’s the whole job.
My whole life I watched him do it. Not for cameras. Not for headlines. Not because there was something in it for him. He showed up because someone needed him.
I learned that grief doesn’t make you special.
My father buried a wife and daughter. He buried a son. Yet he never treated grief as a claim on other people’s sympathy. Instead, it made him notice theirs.
A mother who lost a child. A father sitting beside a hospital bed. A kid scared about what comes next. A son who lost his mother, his sister, his brother.
He always noticed.
I learned that power is not the point.
The people who chase power eventually confuse the office with themselves.
My father never did.
Whether he was a county councilman, a senator, vice president, or president, he was the same man.
The title changed.
He didn’t.
I learned that family comes first.
The train from Wilmington wasn’t symbolism.
It was every night.
He read to us. Showed up to games. Sat through hospital rooms. Waited up for children who were lost.
And when the day came that the country and the family could not both have him at full strength, he chose family. He relinquished the last chapter of how he wanted to be remembered. And he never complained about it.
Most of all, I learned that love is not soft.
Love is discipline.
Love is showing up at one in the morning when nobody is watching.
Love is answering the phone.
Love is staying.
Love is getting back up after life knocks you down and doing it all again tomorrow.
That love saved my life.
I’ve failed at many of these lessons, sometimes in very public ways.
He loved me anyway.
That’s the last lesson.
I am not trying to become my father.
I am trying to carry what he gave me.
And if I can do that, even imperfectly, that will be enough.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you.
NBC should give Paige McKenzie more run as an on-course broadcaster. She does a great job passing along info we can’t see on the screen. Two thumbs up.
Something was lost when sportswriters stopped writing lines like this, so I’m bringing them back in the spirit of Dan Jenkins, Jim Murray and Rick Reilly.
“Folks the 11th green is smaller than some Manhattan apartments, and just as expensive to maintain. You could maybe host a dinner party here, but only if you removed the leaf in your table.”
The concept of “losing” a golf course is one of the all-time Golfisms. If you’re a sicko you know exactly what it means. If you’re not you’re puzzled as to how adults can lose track of a 200 acre property.
KENTUCKY FACT OF THE DAY:
Joe Fulks, of tiny Kuttawa High School led the @NBA (then known as the BAA) in scoring as a rookie for the league champion Philadelphia Warriors in the 1946-47 season.
A two-time NBA All-Star, he was named to the NBA 25th Anniversary Team in 1971.