Under the title "Sports Lore" we list some initials. Readers have asked about them, and just who were the folks we were remembering. I have asked some of the people who knew them best to introduce them to our readers. It is not easy to sum up love of somebody. All to often words, no matter how many, cannot say what we wish they could. However, the three of us tried. It is safe to say the thinking of a loved one brought tears, some words, and lots of smiles. It is also safe to say that without them we would never have given Sports Lore a try. You may see initials, but we who wrote feel and see, much more. Even now!

Robert Leap
By Chef Mike

It has been more than five years since Bob left us. It was a month before my daughter was born. Writing this more than five years after he passed I had to sit and think a while on what to say and where to begin.

Bob was a loving father that cared greatly for his children giving them a morally sound up bringing. A father that would be proud of how they all turned out. He was a man that gave of himself to his family and friends. His love for his wife was only surpassed by his love for his children.

My friend Bob was somebody that you could go to in a time of need or if you had a good joke. He opened himself to everybody. His house was always open to whoever wanted to stop by.

Every year he would have a family gathering just after the holidays, it began as a way to make sure everybody saw each other close to the Christmas season. Over the years during one of these parties a dart game broke out after a few drinks and a couple of guy's saying they could beat each other at darts. That simple little dart game was soon catapulted into what was known as SUPER DARTS. This is not just some family getting together for a game of darts. There were teams and trophies, the singing of the national anthem. There were live shows performed by family members. The event had a half time. Depending on the year there were between twenty and thirty or more participating in this event. The game took place usually between the NFL championship weekend and the Super bowl.

Bob was an accomplished artist in watercolors. He played the guitar and keyboards. He owned a business with his sister for more than fifteen years until they decided that was enough and sold it. He had a semi regular game of cards that usually lasted until the next day. He built a sound proof room for his son to practice the drums and then later his son's band ended up practicing there. Bob was one of, if not the first person that I knew of that was on line in cyberspace. A man in his mid to late forties embracing the future of technology that most of us at that time did not even understand. He taught himself how to write basic programs for his computer.

A person that looked at life and met all of it's challenges. Bob was born with polio and never let it slow him down. He loved the sound of his family and friends around him. When you met Bob Leap you could not help but like him. He truly was that kind of guy. Bob was also very stubborn on his opinions of many things but never offended anybody because he respected other opinions. Bob showed respect to all and never asked for anything in return.

Bob is missed terribly to this day. When his son got married the family left an open space for Bob next to his wife so he would be remembered even at his son's wedding.

Bob embraced the fact that I was a chef and would be genuinely interested in what I had to say. He had a love of food that surpassed me sometimes. He taught himself how to cook and loved to make dinner for people.

It is not that often you find somebody that enjoyed taking on new challenges after new challenges. Bob wanted to master everything he tried to do. He had a drive most of us could only hope for.

I am a better person today because I became a great friend with Bob before he passed away. There is a certain truth in that just because somebody has died physically doesn't mean that his or her memory will die. Bob Leap will always be with me because of what he did for me. He was a friend that cared.

Susan Sweeney
By Chef Mike

S.S. stands for Susan Sweeney. Susan was my mother. She was a wonderfully strong person that fought cancer for eight years. Susan raised three hard working men that are dedicated to their families. She lived her life to the fullest. My mother loved to travel, especially when she got to go to Ireland a couple of years before she passed away. Her life at the end was dedicated to her six grandchildren. She made sure that all birthdays were remembered and nobody got left out.

There were many things that she had to give up when she got sick but she never complained. The family found out after she passed away that her strength was so strong she was counseling others with cancer on what to expect and how to fight it. She never gave in and never would admit defeat.

Ironically my mother made sure everybody had a birthday party every year but she never got to celebrate her 61st with her family.

My mother was such a strong person that even the doctors who took care of her over the years were devastated when she passed.

A void was left inside all of us that will never be filled.

My mother loved her husband, sons, daughter in laws and most of all her grandchildren.

She will always be remembered.

William Albert Shefski
By Patrick Shefski

My father was a great coach by nature, even as a quarterback on the sandlots of South Philadelphia. And after winning the coveted, neighborhood Hoagie Bowl back in the late forties and early fifties, he went on to play a large role in the foundation of a football club for young athletes in the Police Athletic League -- also in South Philadelphia. He won many games and a few championships as a head coach with the Edward O'Mally football squad in those days. Eventually, he moved his large family -- practically a football squad in itself -- to South Jersey where he continued to coach hundred's of young athletes as they passed by his dining room table on the way to practice at Collingswood High School in the Camden suburbs. The move to Collingswood came many years after his stint as a professional sports writer for the Philadelphia Daily News. His glory days as a writer helped him pay the bills as a father of eight, but only fulfilled a small part of his need to follow the world of football -- at the professional, collegiate and high school levels. When I watched him at home, at his dining room table, with a coffee, or a beer in front of him and a tremendous knowledge of most sports in his head, I saw the other side of his need to give sound lessons to any one willing to learn. He was so generous when he passed this passion onto all of the kids that came to him and asked him how they should "be" on the court, on the field, in their young athletic minds. That's when I watched him thrive as a sports enthusiast, and as an incredible teacher. He loved watching kids grow up, especially -- but by no means only -- when they were athletes. He especially liked kids in their teenage years, a rarity for most parents who deal with the daily exhaustion of raising an adolescent, constantly struggling to keep them going in a healthy direction. And I'm sure that he did this because he was always on the field -- playing the game in his mind, from memory -- when he was teaching young athletes. He loved to relive his experiences as an athlete himself, a quality that most coaches -- most teachers
-- fail to accomplish, or get carried away with, resulting in the best lessons lost on the youth in athletics. He was a big kid himself. A man who had a deep, personal understanding of life, love and kindness to others. In his lessons he changed the lives of hundreds, if not thousands of those who were fortunate enough to hear his instructions when it came to an important play the day before a big game.

If you haven't read his articles from the sixties when he covered a very young and very badly coached Philadelphia Eagles in the newly formed NFL, do it -- you'll see the too often neglected, or badly reported, human side of professional football. If you had the great privilege of being coached by him in any aspect of life, even if it had nothing to do with athletics, cherish it! You are rare indeed. You have been blessed in a tremendous way. You have been coached by the best, nurtured by one of the most loving father's that God ever placed on this playing field called Earth. Quite often he was very difficult to deal with, as many great teachers are sometimes. But much more than being a great teacher, he was a great man. He taught others how to be as great as he tried to be himself, only faltering when his body and mind started to fail him. But he kept trying to teach even up until his final breath. He never even considered quitting the game until the pistol went off and the score board lights stood still. I know this metaphor works -- has great validity -- because I was there on that day, in the huddle. I learned so much in my family huddle that I'm still in complete awe at how he was able to pull off his final play, his last great feat of legendary coaching for his mourning family -- his home squad. But somehow he managed to give instruction even in his final, pain-ridden days. His entire extended family will take his greatest lessons with them - even the painful ones. Now and for all of eternity.

But I'm not being asked to speak for all that knew him. I have no intention of trying to convey so many personal relationships with the late, great, William Albert Shefski. So I'll share my own personal, last lesson with you. The lesson is simple and often not well coached. But he was so old school, that that simplest lessons became very profound and on the mark when he had his say. And please indulge me one more moment so I can relay this message in the best way I know how. When I often imagine having a beer with him, since his death, I imagine these words said: I ask in confusion, "Yo Shesk, what should I do now!" And he says, "Don't quit, kid. Not even if your body fails you in the last quarter, don't ever quit. And when you win and you go out to celebrate, STAY OUT OF TROUBLE! Be good." Than he'd punch me in the arm, always pulling the punch, because if he didn't he'd knock me over - even in his sixties. Lombardi, Paterno, Brown -- the greatest teachers of a game that my father loved dearly - they are up there with my father in stature as a man. I say this with no reservation. If you knew the game of football and understood how hard it is to coach that game to kids without turning them into pampered and spoiled prima donnas like my father knew how, you would understand the comparison. He was by no means a star, a Pulitzer Prize winner, or even a man recognized with awards from his local community. Only those who had the privilege of sitting at his bar, or around his dining room table, were touched by his old school wisdom. He was a truly kind soul, a dying breed of tough men, who would try his best to teach kids how to be good in life, as they are in the game. And goddamn that guy was a great coach!

John Joseph Toone
By Mike Toone

A couple of things were happening in late September 1920. One brought great sadness, the other event great joy. The sadness to many was finding out the World Series game was thrown by the Chicago White Sox. They went down in history with the nickname Black Sox. The happiness was to a young couple in New York City. A son named John was born to them. In time, and thru life, he brought joy to many. It is his history, or memory, that still brings a smile to ones lips.

Dad grew up in New York City and was not distracted by country things. There was no hunting, fishing, camping or trapping in his background. However, he knew how to take a subway or bus to every sporting event in the city. He had team favorites, knew the players, their averages, and in time the game. No matter what the game, baseball, football, hockey or basketball it was worth watching. No matter the outcome to his team the game was the game. It was how it was played.

Sort of like how he approached life, and how he taught the six of us siblings. His interest was not just in sports, but also in music. It seems my brothers and sisters made choices of either sports or music. It was seldom both. It didn't matter, as Dad, with Mom, was always there to support us. Sometimes the game, or the performance, went well. Sometimes it did not. It didn't matter to Dad; it was how it was played.

He was one to teach by example, and as children do, they watch and learn. To this day I can still hear, see, and feel him around me. I also play the game fairly. No matter if the game be parenthood, work, or fun. I don't know if this website is what he would have done. However, like in years past, I can feel him in the audience hoping me on. Thanks, Dad.