Nota bene; Ben was not present to defend himself at the telling of this at Scott’s celebration of life, but then neither was Scott for that matter…
Once upon a deep winter night, Scott and a handful of men friends played poker at Conrad and Loran’s cabin in Granby. The air was arctic chill outside over moon-spattered snow but the wood burner was roaring as the stereo cycled through the complete collection of KBCO Studio C discs.The preferred libations that evening were brown & tan, bourbon whisky and aged tequila’s - neat, with some high ABV craft beers to ease into things if one were so inclined.
In my recollection the events precedent included a late afternoon walk through the scrub down to Willow Creek and the beaver pond skating rink thereon to bask in the thin red light of the setting sun, followed by a meal of something excellent prepared by Conrad.  Thereafter commenced the first of numerous rounds of $20/round Texas Hold’em - no funny business poker and everyone can play together until your chips run out and then the next one starts.
As the evening wore into night and early morning and new and better variants of brown liquor were tested, there was a gradual change in table banter from benign pleasantries after supper, to muttered speculations whether a given player had the cards to back their bet, to quasi-jovial proclamations that if the speculator wished to know they should find courage and just see the bet dammit.
Except for Scott, Conrad and I, all the other players were on the same soccer team in Boulder. The further into the wee hours the more the energy of discourse between Ben, Mike, Dale, Paul and Ray.  After midnight, when the poker banter was an increasingly less satisfying medium for asserting some sort of dominance, talk turned to half-humble assertions of physical prowess, at first of a soccer nature and then more general.
At this time I had not known Scott for very long but I knew him to be a kind, smart person with a reserved demeanor not want to force himself upon group dynamics through brazen declarations or loud speech but at the same time not a shy person. By half way from the turn of the day to dawn we soccer-less players had become amused passive spectators to the soccer team animus, occasionally encouraging its progression with chuckled acknowledgements.  In between the turn of games, and focused on his soccer colleagues, it came to pass that Ben allowed he could take most anyone in arm wrestling. To my surprise, still, and with a twinkle in his eye, Scott suggested he thought he thought he would try that test.  Now Ben had wrestled at Boulder High and has always appeared wiry strong in a wrestler sort of way.  Scott was taller, and, that night at least, less boastful.
In this pause between games, there may have been a round of shots, I can’t remember, and there may have been some side bets on the outcome, too.  I picture a somewhat awkward “we’re doing this?” but resolved “we’re doing this” meeting at opposite sides of the dining table amidst our ring of spectators.  Mike may have been the referee, supervising the fairness of grip and placement.  Then with a quick hit and a pin, Scott was the victor and grinning “Hale fellow, well met” to Ben while sounds of raucous merriment enveloped us.
I gained an appreciation for this new aspect of Scott’s persona that night.  We are poorer for its absence now.

Scott was and continues to be an indelible part of my life. We had the luck to meet at a time and age when we all were still forming the people we would become. That forming occurred at a place that came with a heavy dose of pressure. Pressure to achieve, pressure to keep up, pressure to earn your spot, pressure to fit in, pressure to grow from being a bunch of knucklehead boys into productive men. The experience was a kinetic one; full of energy and emotion. We had fun with each other, we fought with each other, we succeeded and failed with each other, we competed with each other, encouraged each other, and challenged each other. That kinetic energy and intense experience shaped us all individually forever. It also left us all chemically connected, with a bond that, I am grateful to say, continues even decades later.

I am eternally grateful for the connection I had with Ski in particular. Ski was nothing if not authentic. He was always, unapologetically who he was. He was unlike anyone else I’d ever met when I was 18 and that is still true today. In college, he was an outsized human being from Alabama who roamed campus wearing a one-of-a-kind leather hat, sharing his big goofy laugh and practicing a self-designed regime of inconsistent hygiene. He was also prone to giving advice and insight about pretty much everything. We would have deep, hours long discussions in our dorm, over a meal of 100 chicken wings, or walking campus. In those early days, I mostly thought his advice was a bunch of bullshit (he was only 19 or 20 and didn’t really know what he was talking about). I am sure my insights were equally naive. Luckily over time his insights got better, and I learned to listen more. He became an eternally loyal and caring friend who offered thoughtful, enabling and supportive advice. He was also really, really good at just listening. He was a true shaman, a Zen master, an overgrown Yoda.

I think my most lasting memory of Ski will be the hours we spent several years ago in New York. He was in town for a conference and we agreed to meet for a drink, which we did. We both had some deep things to share and to work through. After we’d finished our drink, neither of us wanted to end our discussion. We ended up simply wandering the streets of New York on a cold January evening. We talked about our families, our hopes and our fears about the future. Our frustrations about the way some things had unfolded. We reminded each other that, despite the challenges of life, we were both fundamentally blessed with a lot of things to be grateful for. Neither of us judged or influenced. It was authentic and rooted in that chemical bond we had built so long ago.

After several hours, our wandering was interrupted by a call I got from my Doctor. He was calling to tell me about some test results and his message was simple - “You need to go to the emergency room right now”. Ski and I quickly parted, and I made my way to the emergency room. A few minutes after being admitted, I looked up to see Ski walking in. He ended up spending most of the night with me in a little space off the main emergency room. He quickly went into Doctor mode and made sure I was squared away and that the nurses and other attendants were on their ‘A game’. We picked up on our discussion about the issues we were both dealing with and kept talking for a while. But after a bit, we both settled into a comfortable silence, simply content in knowing we had each other to lean on.

While I miss Ski deeply, the connection we built and the comfort it brings still endures.

Love you Ski, Ned