good guy, and Gator Bait was a big part of my early Gator football experience.  And it was an honor for the VS to be the "Official Message Board of Gator Bait Magazine" for (I think it was) a few years.

My farewell Gator Bait column after more than 35 years of covering Florida athletics. Hope you enjoy . . .

Farewell From One Gator to Another

Where to begin this emotional task? We’ll start with a quick anecdote.

It was the summer of 2004, an antsy time at Florida. The glory of the Steve Spurrier Era had long since faded, and across the street, Billy Donovan was having trouble getting past the first weekend of NCAA Tournament play and some of the hoop natives were getting restless. Consequently, as is the norm during a tough stretch, the bond between the media and the players/coaches/administration was fraying. It didn’t originate this way, I actually had a strong relationship with Ron Zook from when he was Florida’s defensive coordinator under Spurrier. But many things soured eventually during that time, and a contentious nature had developed which needed to be addressed.

So we sat in Zook’s office one particular afternoon, accompanied by a sports information department official, and despite his adamant stance that he never read all the “noise” about him, Zook sure seemed to know a lot of details about our coverage of his sinking ship.

So we went at it a bit, each explaining our view of the deteriorating situation, when Zook went too far with a faulty accusation. He claimed I was not being loyal to the University of Florida, how I actually wanted to see his program fail. Big mistake.

You can question my analysis all you want, debate my opinion every hour of the day, take issue with something we printed or said on the airwaves – that’s all part of the gig. But don’t EVER question my integrity when it comes to the University of Florida. Especially from a guy working in a profession where you need to check the logo on the front of your university-issued golf shirt each morning to remember what program was currently issuing your paycheck.

The last words from my end of that conversation still ring clear, “Ron, just remember, I was here a long time before you got here and will be here a long time after you’re gone.” A few months later, the logo on his shirt represented the University of Illinois – he was indeed gone. 

And I indeed stayed, for another 14 years, on top of the 20 or so that preceded Zook’s ill-fated tenure as Gator head man. 

Until now.

It’s been a long run, longer than anyone has ever covered University of Florida athletics. No one who has graced this planet has written more stories, has spent more words, on Gator athletics than I have, a labor of love that spanned nearly four decades. But the time has come to offer a farewell, a finite drop of the curtain some 40 years after initially setting foot in a Gainesville community that was much different, in so many ways, to cover a gasping athletic program that was much different, in so many ways.

In what was an acutely arduous decision, it was finally the right moment to pull up sticks and head down the road. For family reasons, professional reasons, personal reasons, the perfect time had arrived to offer a farewell to the University I love (and graduated from), to the program that will forever remain in my blood, to the town I called home for more than twice as long as the New York burgh where I spent my first 18 years.

None of that came easy. Nor did this exercise, departing words I’d formulated in my head dozens of times over the past few months, usually much different in tone and direction than what you’re reading.
For there is so much to say about a job that was rarely considered a job, a niche many said to me over the years was the best in the world. And most of the time, I concurred. I did have a special deal, which beat getting a real job. There were plenty of downsides and all, but honestly there were so many occasions where I felt like Steve Martin during his old standup routine from many moons ago, where he’d stand on stage with an “arrow” through his head, sporting bunny ears while strumming a banjo and crooning, “I get paid for doing this!”

Indeed, the idea of making a living for so long by merely providing a palette of information, entertainment and grace for Florida athletics was truly overwhelming. Sitting courtside for the National Championship Game at the Final Four, with the esteemed Bob Ryan of the Boston Globe on my left and the UCLA dance team members performing to my right, as the Gators went after their first basketball national title . . . well, that was certainly an instant in time where getting paid seemed like overkill. And yet, having to endure the offensive football run by Will Muschamp and Jim McElwain the past seven seasons balanced out those scales of sportswriter justice.

I knew from an early age what I wanted to do, giving up the ghost of being a professional athlete every time I looked at my teenage self in the mirror. My gift was with the pen, and in tandem with the games I loved to observe, this profession essentially came to me, rather than having to seek it out. 

It was one of the reasons I chose to attend the University of Florida in 1978, despite being a thousand miles to the north. I actively did the research, armed with the criteria of a great academic school, in a warm location (often telling folks I never wanted to hear the term “wind chill factor” ever again), with a big-time athletic program I could sink my teeth into, accompanied by a respected journalism college to provide a professional path. I struck paydirt on most of those, although back in ’78, Gator athletics did not sport the cosmetics or the achievements of the present program.

Again, to remind those like Zook, I chose this university and quickly fell into its deep embrace. It wasn’t because it was a few miles away, it wasn’t because many members of my family had formed an Orange and Blue legacy, or that I had earned state-sponsored academic scholarships and it seemed like a decent place to spend a few years. Nope, I adopted this place and it soon adopted me as well.

We quickly formed a hand-in-hand tandem, and after a while, there was no separating me from my Gator ways. I left a couple of times in the ‘80s, to work for a pair of newspapers in Florida, but found myself idly wishing I was standing on line waiting for my double-wrapped burritos at Burrito Brothers, extra red sauce on the side. Gainesville lamentably lost a bit of its soul with the unfortunate demise of that enchilada-institution, but that’s another sad story for another day.

In a sense, over time, I became synonymous with the Gators, which afforded me the opportunity to not only forge relationships, but friendships with those I covered and worked alongside. When I left Gator Bait for the first time in 1985, the world’s greatest equipment manager Bud Fernandez presented me with an authentic orange No. 21 jersey with Cohen stitched across the name line in the back. It still has a place in my office, and my heart. So many folks gave a piece of their hearts to me, both as a writer and eventually a friend, and it’s those emotions I carry with me today.

The championships will never be forgotten, but neither will Billy Donovan opening up about the pain of losing a child at birth, an incredibly emotional moment that provided a catharsis for both of us, or Mary Wise detailing the events that led to the incredible health scare and eventual heart-warming recovery from the dreaded disease GBS contracted by her fierce on-court warrior Jenny Jones, or Charley Pell, years after his Gator career ended in shambles, sitting on his couch in Jacksonville, softly playing with the fringes of a throw pillow as he described the details of his heart-wrenching failed suicide attempt. I could go on and on.
In the end, it’s been a true blessing for me, to work alongside so many terrific folks, to chronicle the achievements of so many ridiculously talented athletes and teams, to be able to say I was a very small part of something so grand.

We’ve now set up shop in Kansas City, on the Missouri side, and where the professional and personal breezes take me are up to the vagaries of the wind. I’ll leave it to the words from one of my favorite bands, The Growlers, to explain . . .

“ . . . Still always remembering
When the going gets tuff
That the labor of our love
Will reward us soon enough . . .”

For 40 years, I couldn’t have asked for a better reward than to state simply, “I’m a Florida Gator.” Always.

Thanks for having me, I hope you enjoyed the ride nearly as much as I have for all these years.