RIP Bud Collins

Never met Dan Jenkins. Bud was my (limited) version of the equivalent in tennis. No one, male or female, sported painted toenails with such aplomb.
Centre court and, subsequently, the press room,were flooded by a backed up drain during a storm late one Friday afternoon of an Australian Open in the mid-90s. We scrambled hither and thither, trying to rescue copy, footwear, and exposed wires. Bud commandeered a chair, planted it on a desk and benignly observed the chaos from on high. I remember him yelling "Abandon ship!", and thinking it nicely summarised the surreality of the moment.
Bud was our wikipedia and verifier or debunker of superlatives; the one who could calm a short-tempered, high-strung, or over-emotional tennis star trying to explain WTF just happened on court with a gentle but relevant opening question at the presser.
The fabric of his pants came from, god knows, Thailand or Indonesia or wherever paisley was invented, and tailored in Italy. They were loud but eloquent. Bud was the opposite of khaki.
A friend of mine reported back from the funeral of a guy who ran a restaurant in Mexico and was rumoured to have been an operative for the CIA. It could never be proved, but it fit the pattern. "They lived such big lives," she said of this guy, and his ilk.
That was Bud. He lived such a big life.

 

We've lost most of the true characters from our field. Instead they're replaced with the Baylisses, Smiths and Whitlocks of today. No one will be posting similarly endearing stories about them when they pass.

RIP.

 

I always felt like Bud helped moderate McEnroe, and turned John into a better analyst and announcer.

 

Was watching Padres Royals last night on TV and how would that play into this?

Dick Enberg on the call.

He had a wonderful and heartwarming tribute at the end of one of the innings to Bud Collins.

One old broadcaster showing his sincere love for another.