DAYTONA BEACH, Fla. – It has been my sad duty to inform my colleagues and then the community of the death of our friend "Radio Mike" Johnson the other day.
 
When Stuart Scott passed, Rich Eisen delivered the most sincere and heartfelt three minutes of broadcast sports journalism honoring his friend. The ESPN family soon followed. Even Keith Olbermann churned out segments that loosened the waterworks, and if Olbermann can do that…
 
The Monday Night Football crew did the same when the lights turned out and the party was over for "Dandy" Don Meredith and Frank Gifford. Ditto for NBC News when a heart attack felled Tim Russert as well as the Inside The NBA/TNT folks for the amazing Craig Sager. And when the great Walter Cronkite passed – you would have thought God himself died.
 
Alas, the passing of Mike Johnson, known to all at Bethune-Cookman as Radio Mike, did not generate the same level of media reaction. It was nice, though, and it was my honor to facilitate what was published. Still, I asked myself why we media types do our best stuff when it's about us media types. (I'm not bragging, but I actually liked my obit/tribute piece…)
 
Perhaps it's the dynamics of athletics. We're part of the program, but we're really not on the team. The coaches and players aren't exactly our teammates, even though they are and will always be our guys and gals.
 
We're a team within the team. The broadcast booth and the media room are our playing fields. The bond of that shared experience is as strong as any player's game day.
 
Maybe it is like what Springsteen said … "We take care of our own."
 
It saddens me that my last working experience with Radio Mike wasn't a great one. It was a softball conference tournament, and the program was going through a rough patch. Now, Radio Mike could hold his own with Larry Munson, Lindsey Nelson and Vin Scully on his best days, but it's hard to bring your "A" game when calling a team for the first time all season. Throw in some of his talk show cronies back at the station refusing to yield one nanosecond of their precious, self-indulgent yak fests causing three of our games to be joined in progress is why not even Bethune Grill wings could sooth the disdain in my soul.
 
But you know what?
 
The team made it to championship Saturday. The yakfesters offered an olive branch in the form of a 30-minute pregame show, and Radio Mike and I did a nice job. Now that internal tempest had subsided, I could smile when, even on the third day, he was still concocting variants on how to pronounce [the name of B-CU pitcher Sabrina] Anguiano. Impressive, when you think about it.
 
Everything worked out in the end.
 
A few weeks later, I appreciated – now, even more so – listening to Radio Mike and Darryl Nattiel being able to call an NCAA baseball regional victory. And the final time I saw him, I was able to present a perfect going away token…a martini glass emblazoned with a B-CU logo.
 
My goodness, that man loved a good martini!
 
Five years of working men's basketball alongside him and many a multi-martini dinner inspired me to have my own signature drink – a rum and coke, hold the rum, which he would order for me while I finished my duties. It reminded me of my LDS mission – at first, you tolerate your partner's idiosyncrasies, then accept them and eventually enjoy them. You also memorize each other's stories and are able to finish each other's sentences. To this day, there's a waitress in the Hampton Roads area of Virginia, and another in Normal, Illinois, who think I was the voice of the Tennessee Lady Volunteers, and were impressed with my stories of Bridgette Gordon and Pat Summitt.
 
Radio Mike did not like that. So I stopped doing it. Eventually.
 
I could also tell you the story about that time he asked a bar maid how long she was in prison. Or the times we would trudge through famous hotel lobbies and watering holes rather than actual historical sites [his idiosyncrasy]. Or the four aircraft carriers we toured [mine]. Or the time we drove to Steubenville, Ohio just to see Dean Martin's childhood home. The one day he let me drive his Jaguar back from a game at South Carolina State [Him: "The radio doesn't work all that great." Me: "Does the gas pedal?"] The time we worked a football game in Orlando and a basketball game in California both in less than 24 hours. Or not having minded paying an extra $10 for a seafood pasta in San Francisco because the restaurant was the setting for the Maltese Falcon, and we were three feet away from the flippin' Maltese Falcon.
 
Nattiel has a barrage of Radio Mike stories also.
 
So do Larry Wesley and Lynn W. Thompson.
 
Even Vanessa Blair-Lewis can share how we somehow managed to make them appear to be the same height in the publicity photo.
 
Great stories all, but you'll have to hear them from us in person.
 
Why? Happiness shared is doubled. Grief shared is halved. A good story – shared in person the right way with selected embellishments and redacting, grows exponentially. Allow us that.
 
And allow me to share one more observation.
 
Friday night after posting the stories, then covering  Mainland High School as it put up 33 points in 25 minutes of spring football action, I'm doing late dinner, and the bar maid appreciates why I'm drinking a rum and coke – hold the rum, out of a martini glass, adds an olive and comps it.  Inspiration kicks in immediately.
 
The game story I wrote was about how new Bucs quarterback Jake Novello could never replace previous all-world signal caller Denzel Houston, but throwing four touchdown passes definitely showed how he could succeed him. So it is with us – we'll never replace Radio Mike.
 
Shortly, you're going to hear about a young guy named Nolan Alexander. Ironically, he's coming into the Wildcats family as Radio Mike moves on to the next world. Nolan's really good. However, Nolan will never replace Radio Mike, but he can succeed him as we begin a new era.
 
So concludes this sad duty. Thank you for your indulgence. Now, join me if you will.
 
Find a glass. You know what's in mine.
 
Here's to Radio Mike.