I spent a lot of years traveling with Jim Irwin. He and I both covered the Bucks and Packers for about five or six years. You get to know someone pretty well when you're on the road with him.

In his early years Jim managed to have a good time. But he eventually finished with the drinking and partying and became a health nut. He was also a golf nut and a theater nut.

And he's part of one of my favorite on the road stories.

One year we were covering a Packers game in New York against the Giants. The game lasted longer than expected. I had rented a car and Jim and Max McGee joined me in the car on our way to La Guardia, under a tremendous amount of pressure to make the plane.

We sped along the highway, Jim reading the map and Max screaming for me to drive on the shoulder.

Finally we saw La Guardia coming up fast, but our plane was due to take off in a few minutes.

"Just leave the thing," Jim shouted at me.

"What?" I replied.

"The car," Max yelled. "Leave the damn thing."

We pulled up to the door and jumped out, leaving the rental car with the keys in it and ran like hell to successfully make our plane.

A week later Avis called my boss to ask "where the heck was the car" I rented.

I called Jim to verify our story and testify that we didn't steal the car.

"I have no idea what he's talking about," he said to my boss. And he left it there until about a week later when he called to admit he was just messing with me.

Jim was a wonderful husband, father and broadcaster. But in addition, he was a fun-filled friend.

I'm sad he died.