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I'm sure some around here knew Brad and have heard of his passing. I grew up with him and my family was still in fairly good contact with him when he died (little bro attends his basketball camps every year, family usually goes to support him when CEU plays around Northern Utah, etc.). Brad personified what it meant to be a ballplayer, and he was exactly the kind of player I always admired. The kid just flat out played his ass off every time he stepped on the court (he was 6'2" and spent most games checking bigger, more physical 3's, but never relented) and was the ultimate "glue guy." I don't think I've seen him since I moved to Seattle about 6 years ago, but the first handful of years back from my mission I would play pick up with him every week at our local stake center. At that point he had graduated from Weber State and was trying to figure out which direction he was headed in life, and everyone started calling him "Coach Barton" because he was of the way he was constantly shouting out instructions to guys on the floor. Figures he'd end up as a coach, and it's too bad we didn't get to see what he'd do, because I get the impression he would have been a good one.
Last memories are seeing him on that stake center floor. Most of us were just a bunch of dudes out running around playing ball without much of a care about the result, but he wanted to win every. single. time. he stepped on the floor. Few are born with the desire to compete the way he did. My dad sent me a text the other day that said "Neil wrote about characters like Brad, it's better to burn out than fade away." Kid definitely burned. He will be missed.
http://www.standard.net/stories/2011...st-he-did-life
Last memories are seeing him on that stake center floor. Most of us were just a bunch of dudes out running around playing ball without much of a care about the result, but he wanted to win every. single. time. he stepped on the floor. Few are born with the desire to compete the way he did. My dad sent me a text the other day that said "Neil wrote about characters like Brad, it's better to burn out than fade away." Kid definitely burned. He will be missed.
I've got a bunch of Brad Barton stories from my days covering the Weber State basketball beat here at the Standard-Examiner. Unfortunately, very few of them would translate into good newspaper copy.
It's not that they're off color or offensive or embarrassing in any way, it's just that they're more or less inside jokes, the kind of thing that's funny only to the people involved.
So I'll just keep them to myself and be glad I've got them.
See, sometime Tuesday afternoon I got a call from former Weber State coach Joe Cravens, who wanted to let me know personally that Brad was gone, dead at the age of 31, likely the result of complications from Type 1 diabetes.
It was terrible news, of course. And I felt sick inside as Cravens passed along the information. But if I'm being completely truthful here, I wasn't shocked to hear it.
I knew Brad was a diabetic and that he'd battled it most of his life. I remember seeing him give himself insulin injections before games, often doing so while sitting on the bench, in front of the other team. I also remember seeing him play so hard -- pushing himself too hard, really -- that he made himself physically sick.
Anyone who knew Brad knows what I mean. He loved life and he got everything he could out of it. Yes, sometimes that meant going all out, even when his body needed to slow down.
Brad always stayed true to himself, even if it meant not always taking good care of himself.
In some ways that's really sad. In other ways it's almost heroic. I guess that's why a part of me wants to weep because he left us too soon, but the greater part wants to celebrate his life.
Brad played basketball like every game was his last, as if at any moment someone was going to figure out he wasn't the most athletic or physically gifted player on the floor.
That's why he became my favorite Weber State player. He knew he wasn't the best player out there, but he made up for it by being twice as intense and three times more competitive.
Back in July of 2010 he called to let me know he'd been given the head coaching job at the College of Eastern Utah in Price. That led me to write a column about him, which was published in the July 11, 2010, edition of the Standard-Examiner.
Here is an excerpt from that column:
Several years ago, after the Weber State men's basketball team went undefeated in Big Sky Conference play and advanced to the NCAA tournament, I saw an Associated Press photo of Barton, easily one of the toughest ballplayers I've ever come across, standing under the basket, drawing a charge on a Wisconsin player.
The shot was taken from high above the floor, from a camera mounted on top of the backboard. It's a beautiful photo, capturing both players looking up at the ball as it hangs on the front of the rim. Upon seeing that shot, I immediately made it my (laptop computer) wallpaper, a kind of tribute to one of my all-time favorite players.
That's the way I want to remember Brad, playing tough, hard-nosed basketball; pouring himself into the game he loved.
Although I never actually got to see him coach, I'll remember him as someone who embraced the opportunity to teach the game. He played it the right way and he wanted to teach his players to do the same.
Back in July of 2010 he shared with me his personal coaching philosophy.
"We compete every day," he said. "My theory is very basic, just do the things that take no talent, do the things my mom can do, do the things an 8-year-old in the stands can do.
"We dive for loose balls, we sprint back on defense, we're good teammates. It takes no talent to communicate. The things that anybody in the stands can do, we're gonna do every time."
That's the way Brad coached, that's the way he played and, really, that's the way he lived his life.
Let that be a lesson to all of us.
It's not that they're off color or offensive or embarrassing in any way, it's just that they're more or less inside jokes, the kind of thing that's funny only to the people involved.
So I'll just keep them to myself and be glad I've got them.
See, sometime Tuesday afternoon I got a call from former Weber State coach Joe Cravens, who wanted to let me know personally that Brad was gone, dead at the age of 31, likely the result of complications from Type 1 diabetes.
It was terrible news, of course. And I felt sick inside as Cravens passed along the information. But if I'm being completely truthful here, I wasn't shocked to hear it.
I knew Brad was a diabetic and that he'd battled it most of his life. I remember seeing him give himself insulin injections before games, often doing so while sitting on the bench, in front of the other team. I also remember seeing him play so hard -- pushing himself too hard, really -- that he made himself physically sick.
Anyone who knew Brad knows what I mean. He loved life and he got everything he could out of it. Yes, sometimes that meant going all out, even when his body needed to slow down.
Brad always stayed true to himself, even if it meant not always taking good care of himself.
In some ways that's really sad. In other ways it's almost heroic. I guess that's why a part of me wants to weep because he left us too soon, but the greater part wants to celebrate his life.
Brad played basketball like every game was his last, as if at any moment someone was going to figure out he wasn't the most athletic or physically gifted player on the floor.
That's why he became my favorite Weber State player. He knew he wasn't the best player out there, but he made up for it by being twice as intense and three times more competitive.
Back in July of 2010 he called to let me know he'd been given the head coaching job at the College of Eastern Utah in Price. That led me to write a column about him, which was published in the July 11, 2010, edition of the Standard-Examiner.
Here is an excerpt from that column:
Several years ago, after the Weber State men's basketball team went undefeated in Big Sky Conference play and advanced to the NCAA tournament, I saw an Associated Press photo of Barton, easily one of the toughest ballplayers I've ever come across, standing under the basket, drawing a charge on a Wisconsin player.
The shot was taken from high above the floor, from a camera mounted on top of the backboard. It's a beautiful photo, capturing both players looking up at the ball as it hangs on the front of the rim. Upon seeing that shot, I immediately made it my (laptop computer) wallpaper, a kind of tribute to one of my all-time favorite players.
That's the way I want to remember Brad, playing tough, hard-nosed basketball; pouring himself into the game he loved.
Although I never actually got to see him coach, I'll remember him as someone who embraced the opportunity to teach the game. He played it the right way and he wanted to teach his players to do the same.
Back in July of 2010 he shared with me his personal coaching philosophy.
"We compete every day," he said. "My theory is very basic, just do the things that take no talent, do the things my mom can do, do the things an 8-year-old in the stands can do.
"We dive for loose balls, we sprint back on defense, we're good teammates. It takes no talent to communicate. The things that anybody in the stands can do, we're gonna do every time."
That's the way Brad coached, that's the way he played and, really, that's the way he lived his life.
Let that be a lesson to all of us.
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