Anybody who thinks sports writers don’t go to heaven is wrong, I swear, at least about one of us.
Let me back up to a night a little over a decade ago to get a running start at what I’m writing here.
Utah had just finished playing Washington State in Pullman and the snow was falling onto the field, blanketing it, coming down in icy clumps. I was with a group of reporters in the press box, all of us covering the football game, all of us having finished and sent in our stories. Darkness closed in fast, transforming into a cold, black night.
The Utes had won in overtime, in crazy fashion, stumbling all over themselves in the first half, and coming alive in the second. Twice they had taken 10-point leads only to see them slip away and twice they had clawed back — enough to win a game on the final play, a game they seemed destined to lose.
“We didn’t give up,” a frozen-nosed Kyle Whittingham said afterward. “We kept fighting.”
As all the media types packed up to leave the stadium, I looked over at a friend, everybody’s friend, a reporter for the Deseret News by the name of Dirk Facer.
A grin creased upward across his face, and a hearty chuckle boomed out of his mouth. Dirk had witnessed and written about a whole lot of Utah games through the years, and this one was about as insane as any of them.
In his trademark manner, Facer had wisecracked his way throughout the contest, conjuring more than a few laughs from the ink-stained wretches as the Utes battled down below. He was typically the funniest guy on press row, game after game after game, and often I wished silently that he would inject more of that glorious dripping sarcasm into his honorable copy.
The only thing that outshined his humor was his decency and kindness. In a competitive profession that can, at times, take on the attributes of a viper pit, everyone loved Dirk Facer. He was a big man with a big heart. He was the sort of soul who, if you had the good fortune of hearing good news, you’d want him to deliver it to you — inside of that fantastic laugh of his. If you had some bad fortune and had to hear bad news, sad news, tragic news, about something or someone you cared about, he’d be the friend you’d want to deliver it.
That sad, tragic news came on Wednesday night, not from Dirk, but about him. His son, Austin, who idolized his father, sent out a message on social media that read this way:
“… My dad passed away today. We spent two very long nights in the ICU before saying goodbye this afternoon. I’m sharing this news because I know he’s very loved and admired by pretty much everyone who knows me. He was my hero. I think everyone knows that. I love my dad and I know everyone else does, too. You probably know that my dad had been desperately fighting for a kidney transplant for a long time. He never got it. However, he got to be a hero for another family that we’ve never met through organ donation. It was such a fitting last gesture by him. We will share more details on plans to celebrate his life in the next day or so.”
Sometimes, this life is too, too cruel. And this is one of those times. Like Austin wrote it, people who worked alongside Dirk forever enjoyed his company. Even the coaches and players he covered liked him. I had the pleasure of sharing many a lunch with Facer out on the road, hearing his tales, sharing his humor.
That late night at Washington State, I had planned to ride from Pullman up to Spokane, where most of us had flown into, with another pair of writers. As the storm continued to bear down, Dirk climbed into his car by his lonesome. I jumped out of my original ride and climbed aboard Facer’s car.
It was not a night to drive alone. Anyone who’s been on that road in the winter knows what I mean.
Oh, the stories that spilled out of our mouths — Dirk’s, in particular — on that long trip up the highway. Even as we could hardly see the road in front of us, we chortled our guts out as we white-knuckled our way. Our conversation slid from sports to philosophy, from fond memories to friends, from fears to family, from the people we covered to the people we cared about. I wish the whole world could have heard the wise words spoken by Dirk Facer that night. What a wonderful human.
In subsequent years, as we crossed paths from event to event, the beat writer for the Des News and the columnist for The Tribune often guffawed about that shared ride, that shared experience.
He thanked me for jumping aboard, for cackling at his jokes. I thanked him for the entertainment, for getting us to our destination safely.
I don’t know what I don’t know. But I believe this: Facer’s next stop, if there’s love and justice in God’s vast world, will be a heavenly one. And as the tears flow down here over the loss of an old friend, the angels up there, guaranteed, will be laughing alongside a new one.
