Last Thursday evening, long-time VCU play-by-play announcer Terry Sisisky lost his bout with stomach cancer.

Tim Pearrell wrote a very good article detailing the facts of Sisisky’s 28-year VCU career. Sisisky’s passing is very sad on every imaginable level, personal to professional, and whether you knew him or not.

For me, the striking memory is this: All Sisisky ever did was what he loved, and Terry Sisisky was always Terry Sisisky. He lived in the moment. That uncompromising internal manner is why Sisisky brought a smile to everyone he touched, and I believe we all secretly wish we could live like that.

My first memory of Terry was when I was a student at VCU. Junior year. I was living in Gladding Residence Center and a VCU road game was tuned on the radio. Reception was tough in the brick fortress of a building, but we found a way in the days before streaming.

I have only vague memories of the actual game. VCU may have been playing Memphis, and the shot may have tied the game late after a big comeback. I don’t really remember. Shoot, the year could be wrong.

But I do remember T-Man’s call of a Chris Brower bomb. It wasn’t a fallaway three like we all became accustomed to, but “Chris Brower for threeeeeeeeee….it’s good!!…it’s good!!…Chris Brower from the cornerrrrrrr!” stands the test of time.

That I remember Terry’s call but not the details of the game is what you need to know.

Terry was an original. Sure, he set up his radio equipment at 3pm for a 7pm tipoff and checked and re-checked it every 15 minutes. One glance at his game notes and multi-colored hieroglyphics made you wonder if he was calling a basketball game or a bake off.

And yes, no matter where he was going it had to happen right now. There was no time to tarry for Terry. What people never saw was his humanity within the craziness.

Terry Sisisky never had a five-minute conversation in his life. It was either drive-by where he’d flash you that toothy smile and you were lucky to avoid being hit by the mad scientist hair, or you chatted with him for 15 minutes. You always got at least a smile, point, nod, handshake, or treatise on VCUs rebounding woes.

His personality and passion was evident and catching and that’s what people talked about. Sisisky cared–cared deeply–and even though nobody ever said it, that is what was catching, too.

What you also didn’t hear and don’t know are the things he allowed occur that made him uncomfortable.

Though a self-deprecating preparation freak with everything in its place, he allowed those of us that went on the road with VCU to crowd behind him at timeouts and at the end of games.

In the dark ages before we could do everything but cook breakfast on our cell phones, the only access to stats we had were displayed on the press row monitors. If you’re reading this blog, you’re a geek like us and know what I mean. Terry knew this, understood this, and allowed us to peer over his shoulder to see game stats despite the fact that he had a job to do and he was nervous. He always smiled through the discomfort.

Here’s something else you don’t know: Terry was always complimentary to the guys “back at the studio” pressing the buttons. I spent one season alongside Terry doing color, and in every timeout where we had to cut to a commercial or to a taped interview, he thanked the studio board operators for the smooth transition, made sure they knew he appreciated it, and that they were doing a good job for him.

Terry told me he was never scared of calling games. He told me calling VCU games was fun, and that the time he was most scared in his career was the first time he sat down in the office of VCU coach JD Barnett.

We’ve lost an icon in the CAA, man far more important than a torrent of 28 years worth of basketball.

Terry and I last spoke in the middle of an aisle at Target. It was one of those random encounters, and we laughed about all sorts of things for at least 15 minutes. His hair was everywhere and he roared with approval at the fun we were having. As always, I was near tears laughing.

Though he was preparing to call the state basketball tournament, I was in a hurry that day and cut our conversation short.

Damn.