Larry Drewett: 1938-2005

My friend Larry Drewett passed away last Friday. He was the referee on my football officiating crew. And he was completely insane.

Insane in a good way, though. This is man who, physically, probably had no right being anywhere near a football field, let alone officiating varsity high school contests, which requires a good level of stamina and endurance. But even though he looked frail on the outside, inside he was like the Terminator. Nothing was going to keep Larry away from the game. He couldn't be bargained with; he couldn't be reasoned with. He absolutely would not be stopped... from refereeing football games.

I only joined up with Larry's crew two seasons ago, but in that time I saw him battle an incredible array of ailments. He had diabetes, and his wife Ellen would dutifully follow us after games to whatever restaurant we decided on; she would shoot him up with insulin, then look at the menu and tell Larry what he could and couldn't eat. During the 2003 season he was on kidney dialysis the whole time; so, three times a week, in the middle of the night, he would endure being hooked up to a dialysis machine via the fistula installed in his forearm.

During one game in 2003, a tackled player fell in such a way that his helmet contacted Larry in the ribs. Larry worked the rest of that game, and all of the following game, with cracked ribs; he had trouble working up enough breath to blow the whistle. In fact, it was obvious that even the walk from the locker room to the field was painful for him. But he shrugged it off and insisted he could get through it. He got knocked down again during our playoff game that year, but bounced right up again like nothing had happened.

When Larry went in for a physical during the offseason, the doctor discovered that, at some point, Larry had suffered a small fracture in his foot; he had continued to work through it anyway, claiming it didn't bother him. Larry's kidney transplant finally came through (he had previously lost one kidney to cancer, and the other was failing), so he went through surgery for that over the summer, and still had the energy to hit the field at the start of the 2004 season.

I was worried that he was going to die on the football field, thus traumatizing me and everyone else on the field for life. I kept having this vision of Larry getting clobbered inadvertantly during a game, and not getting up. But he appeared to be in even better shape than the previous year, up until six games into the season, when he had to go under the knife again to have (of all things) his urethra replaced.

But less than a month later, he came back again. I talked with him before that game, and he complained that the doctors should just go ahead and install zippers in him, so that they wouldn't have to keep cutting him open all the time.

It was the following day when we had a game I'll never forget. St. Johns at Bishop O'Connell, on a warm Saturday afternoon; early in the second half, the game was basically a blowout and already decided. One team's quarterback dropped back, was pursued, and lost the ball. Without looking, one of the defenders turned upfield to sprint for the loose ball. Unfortunately, he turned right into Larry and shellacked him. My horrific vision had come true; Larry went flying and hit the ground.

I was mortified. First, I had to cover the play... the defense picked up the fumble, and ran it back all the way for a touchdown. As soon as I rang up the TD, I jogged back to where Larry was lying, fearing the worst. Our umpire and the home team's physician were already hovered over him. But before I even got back to Larry, he stood up like nothing had happened. Larry sat out one play (the try after the touchdown), and then came right back in. After the game, he showed me the cut on his nose that his glasses had made when he hit the ground. He also talked about how he had managed to twist his body so that he could avoid landing on the side that had just been operated on. I could only shake my head in disbelief.

Larry got through four more games; the last two were part of an unprecedented day-night varsity doubleheader. I remember that Larry was sugar crashing during the second game, and we had to fetch him a candy bar to keep him going. But we got through both those games almost flawlessly. He was so good at what he did; his heath was failing, his hearing wasn't so good, and even his vision wasn't the best (thus perpetuating certain stereotypes about referees), but his knowledge of the rules was unparalleled, and his drive to stay on the field was nothing short of inspirational.

Larry didn't make our last regular season game. Shortly thereafter, he was diagnosed with lung cancer, and cancer of his remaining original kidney. It was just too much; he was clearly terminal, and he knew it. But he insisted he would keep fighting. He was actually apologetic that our crew wasn't able to work a playoff game because of his failing health. "I'm sorry I let you guys down," he said to me on the phone, as he was lying in his hospital bed with terminal lung cancer. That, incredibly, seemed like his biggest regret; that we wouldn't get to work one more game because of him. "I'm going to try to get through the chemotherapy, and then get in shape for next season," he said to me. And he meant it.

Like I said: insane.

One of my favorite quotes about life comes from a comic book: Sandman by Neil Gaiman (and Andrew, I know you don't like Gaiman, but I expect some leeway on this particular occasion). One of the main characters is Death, personified; not the Grim Reaper or some creepy spectre, but actually a practical young woman. In this particular issue, she's making her rounds, collecting souls. One man she visits, when he realizes he's died, debates the fairness of it all, whether he deserved to have died right then. And Death replies, matter-of-factly, "You lived what anyone gets... You got a lifetime."

The implication is obvious: you get one lifetime, so do what you love, while you can. You don't want to be the one who, when your times comes, complains that you didn't have enough time. Be the one who says, "I did all right." That's basically the secret of life. I think Larry knew that.

And even though he had literally decades of experience on me, he always treated me as an equal. He never talked down to me; he actually treated me with respect. What more could you ask for from a friend?

That's why I'm going to miss him.