Paul Kurtzman

Yesterday, my friend Paul died.

Paul was 6 months older than me. He was a wrestling fan. He had a wife and a few kids and worked hard and was a spiritual man and was really one of the greatest people you could ever have the pleasure, and honor, to know.

He loved good beer. He loved good people, good friends, good times. He loved soccer. He liked the TV show “Glee”. He traveled to Haiti on a relief mission to help the victims of the 2010 earthquake. He could laugh heartily at nearly any joke, but wasn’t so aloof that he wouldn’t let you know if you said something that was insensitive or just plain old pissed him off.

He got to see Spain vs. the US in soccer this year. He saw the Red Sox collapse. He went to several WrestleManias. He got to see the Bruins win a Stanley Cup again.

I got to drink really good beers with him the last time we hung out. In fact, I discovered a whole new type of beer that I’d never had before, and I discovered that beer with Paul.

When a doctor told him a few years ago that his health was in poor order, and he needed to make urgent lifestyle changes, Paul embraced those changes with gusto. Sure, now and then he’d slip up and eat something less than healthy, but in the grand scheme of things, Paul was serious about getting back into shape, and a simple comparison of “now-and-then” photos shows just how serious – and successful – he was in that mission.

Paul died in the gym, working out, keeping himself in shape.

I am heartbroken, and although I know he’s looking down at us and telling us to “shut the hell up!” with our mourning and whining and simpering, this world is a little less bright without Paul in it.

Yesterday, my friend Paul died.

Paul, the last time he and I hung out. He's disappointed that the Duck-Rabbit Milk Stout was not that good. However, the Ichtegem's Flemish Sour was out of this world, and is my favorite beer ever. RIP buddy. I love you brother.

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