Imagine sitting courtside for the most electrifying moment in your city's sports history, knowing you have to capture it in words—live, with no safety net. That was my reality on Father's Day, 2016, alongside the legendary Bill Livingston. It wasn’t just any game; it was Game 7 of the NBA Finals, where the Cleveland Cavaliers defied the odds to beat the Golden State Warriors and bring home the championship. For Cleveland fans, this was more than a win—it was a moment of redemption, a rare triumph in a city where sports heartbreak is practically a civic tradition. But here's where it gets personal: Bill Livingston, my colleague and occasional rival, was right there with me, typing furiously as history unfolded.
Bill, or Livy as we called him, had been a fixture in Cleveland sports journalism since 1984, arriving from the Philadelphia Inquirer with a reputation for sharp opinions and elegant prose. I was born in Cleveland in 1955, so while I missed the Browns’ 1964 title, I’d witnessed my share of near-misses—like the Tribe’s heartbreaking Game 7 loss in the 1997 World Series. Livy and I had covered that game too, rivals then, teammates later when I joined The Plain Dealer. For 22 years, we’d competed, each trying to outdo the other, but that night in Oakland, we were united by the weight of the moment.
And this is the part most people miss: writing a live sports column is like walking a tightrope. No time to think, just type. Livy called it working without a net. That night, with the Cavs clawing back from a 3-1 series deficit—something no NBA team had ever done—the stakes were higher than ever. If they won, it would be a career-defining story. If they lost… well, let’s just say neither of us wanted to write that version.
As the game clock ticked down, the tension was palpable. With 1:50 left, the score was tied at 89. Golden State’s Andre Iguodala had an open layup—until LeBron James soared in for a block that felt like destiny. Livy and I exchanged a glance, unspoken fear in our eyes. But then, with 53 seconds left, Kyrie Irving hit a three-pointer that put the Cavs ahead. When Steph Curry’s potential game-tying shot rimmed out, Livy turned to me and said, ‘They’re gonna win this thing!’ I couldn’t speak, just nodded and kept typing.
Twice, I asked Livy, ‘What was the score again?’ The last thing I wanted was to botch the final tally in a story this big. ‘93-89,’ he confirmed. And so it was—the Cavs won, 93-89. Livy joked later that we’d survived another night without a net, but I knew better. My net was sitting right next to me: a master of the craft, a mentor, a friend.
Livy’s passing in 2026 hit hard. He was 77, a giant in sports journalism, with four books to his name—including George Steinbrenner’s Pipe Dream and Above and Beyond, a gripping tale of Cleveland’s Olympic hero, Tim Mack. He loved the Olympics, track and field, and the NBA, regaling me with stories of covering the Philadelphia 76ers and players like Bubbles Hawkins—a name that still makes me smile.
But here’s the controversial part: Was that Cavs championship the greatest moment in Cleveland sports history? Some say the Browns’ 1964 title or the Tribe’s 1948 pennant run deserve that honor. What do you think? And while we’re at it, was Livy’s working without a net philosophy the best way to capture live sports, or does it risk sacrificing depth for speed? Let’s debate it in the comments.
That night in Oakland, Livy and I didn’t just witness history—we wrote it. And for me, he was more than a colleague; he was the net I never knew I needed. Rest in peace, Livy. The story goes on, but it’s not the same without you.
