You really couldn’t miss: George and Billy bickering in our town; the last fights of Frazier and Ali; money and drugs; the Islanders — best team I ever covered — winning Stanley Cups in my backyard.

Vecchione was succeeded by Neil Amdur, who prodded me to write more big-ticket columns, often calling me an hour before deadline and saying, “Listen, big guy, I know your column is already edited, but this just happened.” Amdur and Vecchione both sussed out that I could type fast. I loved to spend a few days crafting a theme but also came to love (at least most of the time) the high-wire act — instant profundity about immediate events that people were talking about.

The opinions were always mine; nobody ever told me what to think. I proposed abolishing boxing because it was bad for the brain, but boxers were generally so decent that I loved being around the gyms. Having written about addiction, I was able to discuss the trend of athletes’ entering treatment centers. I wrote about soccer, knowing that the world’s favorite sport would catch on here.

Just a few of my favorite columns:

¶ My friend Rich Murray took his teenage son R. J. hunting in western Pennsylvania right after Thanksgiving in 1982. A four-point buck meandered through the woods and Rich put down his rifle to let R. J. have the shot. But R. J. was munching a leftover turkey sandwich, cranberries and stuffing and all, which meant no venison in the freezer for their relatives. When Rich and R. J. told me the story, we all roared with laughter. In those days, columnists could write their own headlines. Mine was: “The Sandwich Eater” (based on “The Deer Hunter,” of course).