Cox, Lefty, Rich, Richie, or Richard, the many alias' of Cox depending on what mood he was in that day. The self proclaimed super star of our league. Richie was a walking attitude with a twist of spoiled lime. Excellent football player, no doubt about that, played his ass off, had speed, a nasty reckless forearm and a mouth to backup all of the above. Very deserving of his own page of accolades, and then some... Personally, I hated his guts. Which I should not have, was not in my character to pre-judge,

but I did. You see, Rich took up too much of my playing time and never had a nice word for me or about me. Fast forward a few years later, after our football days had long gone, when I grew up into a man and a self employed businessman, I ran into

Mr. Superstar. Well, what do you know? We chatted for a while, went out for a few drinks, some soft bites and the son of a bitch was really a fuckin' softy and a hell of a good person! The lime had been sugar coated all along. All that brown stuff was not spoilage

at all, it was sweet brown sugar! Father of a few kids, some his some not, was working his ass off and making it happen. Cox loved those little rug rats to death, spoiled them rotten. We would hang out several times more for hours, sometimes days, watchin' football games on Sundays with the kids, downing beers with little Cox and Ivan, having a great Ole-time. Unfortunately Richie has

fell out of touch lately, don't know how or why that happened. "Miss you buddy. Get in touch, I wanna see the kids"!