Dave Fairbank will not like this very much. Because it's
about him.
The longtime Daily Press scribe
filed his final column yesterday, capping a three-decade career chronicling Hampton Roads sports.
(He probably won't like the 'longtime' thing, either, even as his own Twitter
bio casts him as a relic from another age.) In an era where it seems the prime directive of
sportswriters across the land is to get as much face time as possible, and the
hot take is the currency of the day, Fairbank is an ego-less throwback to an earlier
time, when a well-turned phrase and a killer lede were the coin of the
sportswriting realm.
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| Glamour Shot! |
I first met Dave in 1991 (or '92 - most of the events of
that era blur together for me), though I doubt either one of us remembers it
very well. He covered William & Mary football, and I worked in the
press box for W&M's Sports Information Office, responsible for
preparing drive charts and huffing mimeograph fluid fumes. After a late-season
game, several of our staff retired to a local drinking establishment with some
of the reporters on the Tribe beat. It was the first, but not last time
Fairbank drank me under a table.
We reconnected nearly two decades later via the magic of
Twitter and the resurgence (well, surgence, maybe. 're' sort of implies a
previous golden era) of Tribe hoops. At some point during the 2012 CAA
Basketball Tournament, I wandered down to press row and reintroduced
myself. At some very different point
during the 2014 CAA Basketball Tournament, Teejay and I found ourselves
stumbling around Baltimore at 2:30 in the morning with a bemused scribe in tow.
It seems Dave Fairbank has a soft spot for dipshittery and the proponents thereof.
Fairbank is oft-described here as a FOG:TB, and it's true
that he's become part of our community -Marls and I hung out with him at the year's CAA hoops tourney, he always stops by our Homecoming football tailgate, and the last two years he's joined our merry band of idiots for lunch at Tortuga's Lie during the Outer Banks Fishing Trip.
Marls offered this when I asked him about Fairbank, "I had a long talk with him over too many scotches at this year’s CAA tourney. As the conversation turned from basketball, to general sports, to politics, to history, to religion; Dave’s intellect, breadth of knowledge, graciousness, and personal decency became all the more apparent. In short, he is a really good guy in a world that all too often lacks them." I couldn't really say it much better than that, even if I don't remember that conversation (reference the aforementioned sub-table drinking).
On a selfish note, he's sent me emails on more than one occasion with kind words in reference
to something we wrote. That's meaningful to me personally, because I deeply respect the man's own writing talent. He's both a consummate journalistic
professional and a gifted wit. Two of my favorite recent Fairbank pieces show
his range.
WILLIAMSBURG — As Josh Tutwiler plummeted through the fall
Missouri air, the sheer rock face racing past and the ledge from which he fell
rapidly receding, he felt his conscious mind split in two.
Growing up in rural Maine, young Bobby Wilder was often
alone with his thoughts, a common occurrence for residents of the least
populous state east of the Mississippi. Little was given to Wilder, who
subsisted on snow and deer jerky for the first 15 years of his life.
As he grew
older, he began to question whether an abundance of timber and lobster
adequately compensated for the harsh winters and crushing isolation of the
lower 48's Gateway to New Brunswick. He saw the toll it exacted on those around
him. You think fellow Mainer Stephen King dreamed up all the twisted, horrific stuff
he writes? Heck no. He was simply relaying friends' and neighbors' vacations
and family gatherings. Anyway, Wilder took to football and football to him. He
loved the competition, but even more the game provided the kind of human
interaction and camaraderie he was permitted to see only Thursdays on the
family Magnavox and in dog-eared issues of People magazine he stashed in his
locker.
Wilder viewed football as a vessel and vowed that when he could no
longer play, he would remain in the game and share its lessons with others like
himself. He served a 17-year apprenticeship at his alma mater, the University
of Maine, which was a little like a Trappist monastery without the robes and
abbey ale. When he finally had the opportunity to venture south and begin his
own program at Old Dominion, he would defy convention. He would onside kick as
if it were a contract incentive. He would be true to the spirit of native
Algonquin tribes and follow their credo of "behanem papoose kickit
wuss" — which translates roughly to "only women and children punt
inside their opponents' 40."
ODU's program soared to great heights more
quickly than anyone could imagine, but now faces an even greater challenge: a
program that didn't exist seven years ago competes in the Football Bowl Subdivision.
Well, when you've doused yourself in whale oil and set yourself on fire to get
warm, Conference USA doesn't seem so tough. There's snow in the icebox and deer
jerky in the bottom left desk drawer.
I mean, read that again. It's amazing. That piece led to a round of emails in the G:TB and extended community, most of which combined a sense of awe, and the belief the Daily Press editorial staff viewed Fairbank like the brothers of Delta House saw Bluto: 'Forget it, he's rolling'. That one writer could pen both of those offerings, well, that's worth celebrating. Whether Dave likes it or not.
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We're not the only people on the interwebs that dig Dave Fairbank and his work. Michael Litos, another FOG:TB and erstwhile CAA hoops community member, offered this (in about 30 minutes, which speaks to his fondness for Fairbank) when asked for memories of the man's work:
Dave Fairbank made me nervous, that first time he
acknowledged me. We passed each other in the tunnel that connects the Richmond
Marriott to the Richmond Coliseum at the 2004, maybe 2005, CAA tournament.
There were head nods, but mine was filled with anxiety. I
mean, this was Dave Fairbank. An actual beat guy whose stuff I read. I wanted
to talk #caahoops for my very average blog, and was new to this part of the
show.
"Hey."
"Hey."
We eventually got to know each other, and my admiration for
his writing style only increased. He's retiring, and that's a loss for anyone
who reads his stuff.
Fairbank would not want some long, gushy tome. That's not
his style. Dave's dry wit makes the Sahara thirst, and he'd probably prefer you
wake up one day in October when The Tribe begins practice again and wonder
"what happened to Fairbank? I haven't read his stuff in awhile."
However he is worthy of something for his great career and
sensational writing, so I'll let his writing do the talking. This is from a
piece he wrote on former Tribe center Tim Rusthoven (#Beasthoven in our
hearts), which I've had bookmarked in my browser for more than two years.
The lead is glorious--poking fun at the town, the coach, and
oh by the way establishing what he will talk about:
There's a saying around William and Mary Basketball World
Headquarters: Do your work early. It has nothing to do with the town's glut of
pancake houses or a latent Amish streak in head coach Tony Shaver.
Towards the middle you get a spot-on and descriptive
overview of Beasthoven's impact on the floor:
Rusthoven isn't the Tribe's most gifted player, which he
readily admits. He is W&M's most important player. He provides a post
presence for a team that plays outside-in, that spreads the floor and attempts
to create space for passers and cutters and perimeter shooters. He forces
opponents to defend honestly and not simply concentrate on the Tribe's wings
and guards.
And then he summarizes with a behind-the-scenes anecdote,
which brings you closer to the action and ties the piece together--and he
manages to work in "three different kinds of cheesed off:"
In a recent loss at Northeastern, Shaver was three different
kinds of cheesed off at the Tribe's dismal first-half performance. He demanded
that Rusthoven get a touch on every possession of the second half. The players
didn't quite comply, but the message was delivered. He finished with a
career-high 25 points and 11 rebounds as the Tribe came back and took the
league leaders to double overtime.
There’s so much more. I admit I had to Ghoogle (Editor's Note: We see what you did there, MGL) this one, but
I remember Fairbank flashing his wordsmith prowess in a hilarious way--placing
a Hampden-Sydney quarterback in a romance novel. Flat out brilliant:
The Tigers of the Old Dominion Athletic Conference showcase
a remarkably versatile passing attack. Their leader, Nash Nance, sounds like
either a quarterback, the lead in a Southern romance novel, or the alter ego of
a crimefighting superhero. Perhaps all three.
[Excerpt from the soon-to-be-released novel: Quarterback's
Diablo Heart
Nance coolly surveyed the field as the comely Sabrina
Wickersham stood alongside him, her milky white hands trembling with
anticipation, a forelock of her auburn hair masking the fear in her eyes.
"Nash, you mustn't throw into double coverage. It's too
dangerous."
"Sabrina, my little doe, don't worry. The safety's
cheating too far forward and he won't be able to help the corner over the
top."
Nance let fly, then took Sabrina into his arms for a deep
kiss. He never saw the pass drop into Walker's hands 55 yards downfield. He
didn't have to. There was work to be done and a city to be saved.]
Putting all of that into context: you know those folks who
post links to their writing on twitter, and you stop what you are doing to read
them? That’s Dave Fairbank, a stop-and-read quality writer.
Salut.
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We count ourselves fortunate here at G:TB to have turned more than a few online acquaintances into real-world friendships. The aforementioned MGL is one of them. LeBron James another. And we're really pleased to count Dave Fairbank in that number. Given his choice of beachside (semi?)retirement venues, we're quite certain that we've not seen the last of him.
And we're still working on getting him to write that comprehensive history of William & Mary basketball. We'll write the chapter on G:TB's influence on the Tribe's recent success.
Godspeed, Dave. We'll see you at the beach.
over how terrible that name is, but we did manage to make it through. And we couldn't be happier about the winners.
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