My thought on Murf's passing

Many regular Blurb readers won't know Tom Murphy, and frankly I think those that knew him didn't really know him.
Murf was the sports editor for the Messenger Post weeklies. He died in his sleep Monday.
The guy was an institution, one that I think often was taken for granted in the MPN newsroom. I feel weird mentioning it, because if you told the guy that he'd just laugh. He owned a house on Conesus Lake, a steal that he purchased I think it the early 80s for a hell of a lot less than what it's worth now. He told me about it once, and we shared stories about the lake (my family and I spent two summers there when I was in 1st and 2nd grade).
Truth is, I barely knew the guy. Maybe it's because he was so young - 50s - and he was about the age of my own parents, but the news really hit me. I think it has to do more with the fact that when I do go back to MPN to visit, he'd be one of the guys I'd make a point to see. He was one of those people that had such a positive outlook on everything, sometimes you couldn't help but indulge yourself a little and be a part of that. His joys were so simple: sitting on his corner of the world, watching twilight hit the lake, cooking a hot dog on his grill (see a great account of his life from one of his neighbors here.)

Here's the comment I left on the discussion thread at mpnnow.com. I wished I'd read the comment from his neighbor about him grilling hot dogs before I wrote it, because that conversation about the lake was my favorite. But his one really gives you an idea of the guy, though you may never have met him:

"I know that guy."
The statement came out of nowhere. Murf and I were sitting in the Pittsford newsroom decompressing after a hard deadline, and the winter Olympics were on.
"You know who, Murf?" I asked. I had learned my lesson long before to doubt his credibility, but I loved to joke him about the endless statistics and players he'd covered over the years. I could invent a name, Joe Smith, and ask Murf about what town he played in. He'd list every Joe Smith that played every sport in every town in Monroe County, and it's not an exaggeration.
"That skier. I know him. He's from Brighton."
Then he floors me.
"So is the guy running the Web site feed for this broadcast."
That was Murf. He knew the little stuff. If you tried to call him on anything, chances were that he was right.
When I'd harrass him about the piles upon piles of newspapers strewn about his cubicle, threatening to clean it for him, he'd shoot me a "Noooooo, Mahoney. What am I going to do without my archive?" He could stick his hand in a stack seemingly at random, and magically produce any issue you'd be looking for. Of course, they were just the sports pages.
If God needed a statistician, He just got one of the best.