Life after the loss of a genuine friend? Hard and disappointing, but oh, so memorable...

Brian Fishman spent more energy trying to hand you a piece of paper than you would spend reading the enormous media guide he produced every winter.

But that's what makes Brian unique.

I'm sure everyone has stories about Brian, and I'm no exception. There are nights we spent drinking, days we spent arguing and time in between we spent chatting. In my 21 years, his is, without a doubt, the most vibrant personality I have ever encountered.

And this morning, and yesterday morning and every morning since he passed away on Thursday, I have awoken to a less complete world, one missing a friend.

Because an enormous majority of you never met Brian, these words mean little to your daily routine.

But that's the very reason I'm writing, so you'll all have a better idea what you missed.

The relationship between a sportswriter and a sports information director is intended to be professional. An SID should act as a press agent for the team and a liaison between the players/coaches and the media. Often these relationships become strained as the SID has to control access to the team while the reporter wants complete authority to roam free within the inner sanctum of the athletic world.

With Brian - nobody actually called him Brian, to everyone he was simply 'Fish' - the possibility of a normal interaction did not exist. He was just way too intense.

But the more I got to know him and expect the next sentence or thought that was coming, the more I appreciated the change from the norm. He genuinely wanted to help and I was more than willing to listen.

His three years in the Michigan Athletic Department were unparalleled. Ask Red Berenson, Michigan's hockey coach, or Bruce Madej, Fish's former boss at Michigan, and both will tell you no one worked harder. Fish worked when there was no work to be done, though most of it went unnoticed.

Though Berenson built two championship teams on the ice, Fish brought them to life as he aided the college hockey explosion of the past 3-4 years. Rarely could a Michigan face - be it Brendan Morrison, Marty Turco or Krikor Arman - be missed when a college hockey interview or highlight was shown. He helped turn a moderately exciting program into a well-recognized unit. I admired the effort, I loved the work ethic and I empathized with his drive to succeed. And now I know what I'll miss.

Writers and SIDs are not supposed to be friends. They're not supposed to deal with each other on any level outside of the professional realm. But Fish didn't care. He remembered what he loved about his life and that was his collegiate experience at Wisconsin. So he wanted to make sure all of our college experiences - those of me and my fellow hockey beat writers at the Daily - were full of memorable moments (or unmemorable depending on the situation.)

Occasionally, those times came with him and his enthusiasm - a man seven years older than us, trying to act our age instead of his own. That's why I find it so hard to believe that Fish's energy won't be calling me this week pitching a story or striking up a conversation to see how my various travails have been - or at least to see a beer count.

When I think of Fish, I'll remember Milwaukee's Barkan Bash when he came storming into the Hyatt Regency 333 restaurant demanding a drink-off with me - his version of a gentleman's duel. Of course, at the time he was draped in free t-shirts, carrying free mugs and sporting a free hat, all remnants of his previous stops that evening. Combined with his ever-present suit, the moment was perfectly Fishman.

Or I'll recall the time when, after the 1996-97 season was complete, my beat partners and I surprised him with a thank-you gift for a year of aid.

He navigated five rookies around the greatest college hockey team of all time and helped us produce a year of excellence. Upon receiving the gift, his eyes bulged from his head. Though shrouded by a bag, when our 24-pack of Molson Ice peeked through the top, his face lit up (at least more than it already was.) Because we were in his office, he quickly covered the package, peeked to see if his boss was around and then declared it "the perfect gift."

Or I'll think about the day last summer when I stopped in to see him and he tried to talk me out of sports journalism. He knew my career path was already chosen, but he couldn't hold back. He pointed out all the negatives, why he turned away from the profession and why I wouldn't enjoy it. One of his co-workers - a man who also knew me - told him to stop badgering me, that it was my life. But I appreciated Fish's honesty. I always knew he'd be straight with me, regardless of the situation - a rare trait today.

That's how I'll always think of Brian Fishman. He enjoyed life and moved with an enormous zest for all he did, along with an honesty that radiated with every head-bob.

People come in and out of your life regularly and some have a greater impact than others. On behalf of the lucky 13 Michigan Daily beat writers he assisted in his three-year Michigan tenure, I can only offer unspeakable appreciation. To a man - and one woman - we won't forget our season of good fortune because of how he helped us, aided us and guided us into what were unchartered waters.

Though we're currently spread across the country, we'll get together one day and raise a glass - or a 24-pack - to Brian and remember his intensity, his passion and his kindness.

Then we'll toast. This one's for you, Fish.

- Mark Snyder can be reached via

e-mail at msnyder@umich.edu.

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SNYDER

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01-11-99