RON HART: There will never be another Scott Driver

Published: Tuesday, November 20, 2012 at 06:00 PM.

He grew up with rough and tumble brothers, so he could argue vehemently with you one moment and buy you a drink the next. He never held grudges; he forgave and forgot — an important human trait essential for long-term relationships.

In the two weekends before he died, we went on golf trips: with my son to Merion and with another group to The Honors. In truth, it could be a public, state park course, which was actually more fun since he could play his Stone Temple Pilots on his Putman-programmed iPod from the golf cart — loud — while we played, and he never missed the chance to belt out the lyrics he thought he knew.

He could hit a drive 300 yards and his 95-yard sand wedge just as far on his approach shot. In golf, he was only as happy as his last shot.

We both had ADD, but somehow we grew calmer in each other’s presence. Memphians, fond of their hunting, would always try to get us to go with them to enjoy “their patient sport.” Driver would say, “Hunting is not a sport, Junior. A sport is where both sides know they are participating.”

Scott loved his Tiger basketball. Coach Josh Pastner came to his memorial golf tournament at Chickasaw last month (an annual event to raise money for Street Ministries); Scott would have been pleased. He was visibly shaken when former Memphis coach John Calipari coached his way out of a 9-point lead with two minutes to go in the National Championship game. He said that for days he would walk down the hall, see his son, Gregory, and not be able to make eye contact.

During Tigers games, he sat behind the opponents’ bench, riding the opposing team's coaches. His favorite was Cincinnati coach Bob Huggins, who always dressed like a lookout for a massage parlor. Driver would give him a fashion tongue lashing, and then as the Tigers scored he would yell, “How about that, Mr. S & K three-piece suit?!”

It was amazing to see how people came together and attended his funeral. He used to say, “No matter how important you think you are, attendance at your funeral will depend a crap load on the weather.” Scott would have said about his funeral in his faux-bravado, “this is not about me; it is about what you think of me.”

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