BlogSchmog | We live as if the world were as it should be, to show it what it can be.

Lost in a pile of old CDs and Zip discs is a copy of an article I wrote for the DePauw Alumnus shortly after Scott Seator died. Today is the 10th anniversary of his death from Whilm’s Disease, an affliction that is highly curable in little kids; not so much in adults. My Reality Fantasy Sports league friends are spending some time today remembering our friend. Here’s a few items that come to mind …

In the spring of 1989, Don Kaiser and Scott joined me for a sports Spring Break down in Arizona. We saw NBA and NCAA basketball games as well as a few major league baseball spring training contests. Scott, whose family knows the Van Arsdales, snagged some Suns-Sonics tickets for us, introducing me to the Gorilla (slam-dunking mascot). At one of the parks (most likely a Cubs game, but I’m putting the incident further and further back in my memory bank), there was a long stretch of wire link fence lining the third-base side of the outfield. I was standing at the fence scouting pitchers in the bullpen and hoping for autographs. A ball was drilled foul, right at me, bouncing a couple times before clearing the fence and hitting me in the hands. I wasn’t expecting the ball to clear the fence, though, and was startled when it reached me. I dropped the ball, and it rolled into the hands of a nearby kid. For most of the rest of the game, I had a group of small children following close behind me in the hope I would bobble another one. Scott took great delight in that.

I’ve only been to Midland once, a road trip arranged with Beav (Larry Serewicz) specifically to see Scott. He was pretty weak, having to leave our Angels game early to rest, but entertaining as always. He arranged for Beav and I to don the puffy Samurai suits and sprint to get a football. I will only recall that Beav did a header after the first step, allowing me an easy jog to the ball. Several fancy footsteps later, I was spiking the ball in the endzone. It was hard to hear in those things, but I think the emcee on the field wanted me to spike it again, so I did. At least that’s what Scott told me later.

It was a turn-back-the-clock day. Midland used to be the Cubs affiliate, so I was drawn to the Number 23 jersey, paying $80 for the full uni (including socks and pant). Beav got the number of some guy named Sosa. Even though it was actually some journeyman first-baseman doing the honors instead of Ryne Sandberg, I do still claim quite correctly that it was worn in a pro game. Cubs fans are agog. I still have the pants (way too small) and the jersey, and I can’t wear the latter without thinking of Scott.

I always thought that — as the person actually doing the bulk of the work looking up boxscores, managing rosters and publishing newsletters — I was the guy holding Reality together. Over the past couple years, I’ve looked back on the whole Reality experience and realize how much I needed Scott to be around. In some ways it was a very subtle change, but when he died the leagues just weren’t the same. Maybe it was just his willingness to make a deal, talk sports, or annoy the crap out of me. Maybe it was the loss of a friend that should still be here today. I was 2/3 of the way through a book on fantasy sports at the time he died (I fully expected him to recover, even in the final weeks), and I never got back to it. My interest in devoting my time to Reality Weekly newsletters also started to diminish. I stopped collecting autographs. I can’t talk about fantasy sports without talking about Scott.

I wish he were still around, particularly with IU’s interest in building a Sports Informatics program. He would have loved that. I miss him.