Back in February when I returned to the open volleyball at Ithaca High School, the first person I saw was a familiar face from 10 years ago. Although I could not recall his name (Roger), I did remember him as a great person to have either on the same team or on the opposing team. He recognized me too, and we re-acquainted ourselves and caught up a bit.

Thus, when exactly two weeks one of the guys with whom I work told me that Roger had suffered a fatal heart attack, it depressed me quite a bit. He was a fit 53-year-old who apparently ate well, etc. He had just dropped his kids off at school.

Roger had the class-clown personality: on that February night near the end of the evening he found a portable public-address box and started narrating and wise-cracking players' actions, making all kinds of hilarious remarks.

Roger played across from me the night before his death. I can accept people dying from accidents or after long-term health problems, but it's just so lame that someone like him who seemed to do everything right health-wise just goes away like that without warning.