Greg Greenday, one of the good guys, died the other day. He was a Daily Times sports writer and editor. But I'll always remember him as The Glider.

The nickname was given to him (I don't know by whom but I'm sure) half out of respect and half in jest. Back when the Daily Times had a softball team, he played third base. We were not world beaters. But we were mildly competitive most summer Sunday mornings. Greg summed us up; friendly, self-deprecating, but not completely untalented on the ball field. Even when he bobbled a shot to the hot corner, he did it smoothly. When he made the play he moved with actual grace. And that's how he lived his life.

No matter how many wicked, top-spinning shots life hit his way - and believe he got more tough chances than most of us - he handled them with almost saint-like grace and good humor.

He left the Daily Times a few years ago to pursue an opportunity that didn't work out. But he soldiered on and back to the business for which he never lost his affection. Not so much for writing and the work but for the people he worked with and wrote about. He was one of those guys who was a pleasure to be around; friendly, cheerful, kind and funny.

Not too long ago, doctors discovered a spot on his lung. It was cancer. He handled the diagnosis with typical Glider-like aplomb and confidence. He started chemo and it seemed to be working. And then, suddenly, he was dead.

There are people in this world who despite their decency and kindness seem to attract hardship. Greg was one of those people. They say that God never asks us to shoulder more than we can handle. He asked a lot of Greg. And then He took him home.

Not that I believe in God. But I want to today. If there is a heaven, Glider is in it. That I have no doubt about.