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He tackled the kid and threw him to the ground, landing on top of him and breaking his collarbone.

I found out later that day that the kid's brother was named Rocky. The guy was massive (a future all-city lineman in high school, no less).

No fight ensued, but I did learn that I possessed a real gift of what the Irish call "the gab." I talked my way out of it.

But no matter what he put you through, he could always just give you a look and make you laugh. We always loved to tell "Chris stories." I've heard them from friends, relatives, teachers, coaches—even priests and nuns.

You could be the funniest guy in the room just by describing some of the stuff Chris did.

Chris had far too much depth and way too much pain.