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Frank Deford, renowned sportswriter, dies at 78. Frank Deford, the renowned sportswriter and commentator, has died. He was 78. The death was confirmed Monday by NPR, where Deford delivered commentaries for 37 years. "Frank [left] us 1,656 of his signature insights into the world of sports and the human stories behind athletic triumphs," NPR President and CEO Jarl Mohn said in a statement. "The world of sports commentaries will never be the same." Deford was also well known for a decades-long career at Sports Illustrated, where he started working in 1962. The SI Twitter account called him a "titan and a gentleman." Deford wrote lengthy features on iconic sports figures like Bob Knight, the cantankerous Indiana basketball coach, and Billy Conn, the boxer known as "The Pittsburgh Kid." He was awarded the National Humanities Medal by President Barack Obama in 2013 "for transforming how we think about sports." "A dedicated writer and storyteller, Mr. Deford has offered a consistent, compelling voice in print and on radio, reaching beyond scores and statistics to reveal the humanity woven into the games we love," Obama said. Deford wrote regularly for NPR and delivered commentaries on "Morning Edition" until just a few weeks ago. "From the Super Bowl as Shakespeare to the Sports Curmudgeon, to his regular castigating of the NCAA over how it treats its student athletes, to America's complicated love affair with the NFL, Frank made every week memorable," NPR noted at the time. In his final appearance, Deford said he was grateful to have reached an audience that included people who "haven't necessarily given a hoot about sports." "Nothing has pleased me so much as when someone -- usually a woman -- writes me or tells me that she's appreciated sports more because NPR allowed me to treat sports seriously, as another branch on the tree of culture," he said. Deford was voted U.S. Sportswriter of the Year six times, and was elected to the National Association of Sportscasters and Sportswriters Hall of Fame. His 1981 novel "Everybody's All-American" was adapted into a movie. Prominent sportswriters weighed in with their memories of his life and work. "I loved reading Frank Deford in SI and I loved The National," tweeted Bill Simmons, referring to the short-lived daily sports newspaper where Deford was editor-in-chief almost three decades ago. "Sad to hear he passed away." "R.I.P. Frank Deford, a very nice man every time I met him," wrote Will Leitch, the Sports on Earth editor and Deadspin founder. I loved reading Frank Deford in SI and I loved The National. Sad to hear he passed away. My favorite Deford piece: https://t.co/aq4NHCNyBw — Bill Simmons (@BillSimmons) May 29, 2017. R.I.P. Frank Deford, a very nice man every time I met him. This 2008 Daulerio interview with him was quite a thing. https://t.co/69IfzCnTD1 — Will Leitch (@williamfleitch) May 29, 2017. A great writer, father, inspiration & soul: Frank Deford RIP. Talent, character, kindness. Handsome to boot. — Scott Simon (@nprscottsimon) May 29, 2017. I just saw the news about Frank Deford. He hadn't been well but I'm in shock. The best of the best as a writer and as a man. On radio right — John Feinstein (@JFeinsteinBooks) May 29, 2017. The Best of Frank Deford. Few writers have been as closely identified with anyone place as Frank Deford was with Sports Illustrated. In two separate stints at the magazine, first from 1962 to '89 and then from 1998 to 2017, Deford established himself as the best sportswriter in America. His bonus stories for SI became the stuff of legend. Here are 10 of his very best. They are presented in no particular order. Each one is its own gift. Deford was a longtime supporter of the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. Readers wishing to make a donation in his memory can contact the foundation at www.cff.org. The Boxer and the Blonde. Issue Date: June 17, 1985. The boxer is going on 67, except in The Ring record book, where he is going on 68. But he has all his marbles; and he has his looks (except for the fighter's mashed nose); and he has the blonde; and they have the same house, the one with the club cellar, that they bought in the summer of 1941. A great deal of this is about that bright ripe summer, the last one before the forlorn simplicity of a Depression was buried in the thick- braided rubble of blood and Spam. What a fight the boxer had that June! It might have been the best in the history of the ring. Certainly, it was the most dramatic, alltime, any way you look at it. The boxer lost, though. Probably he would have won, except for the blonde—whom he loved so much, and wanted so much to make proud of him. And later, it was the blonde's old man, the boxer's father-in-law (if you can believe this), who cost him a rematch for the heavyweight championship of the world. Those were some kind of times. Read the whole story. Raised By Women To Conquer Men. Issue Date: August 28, 1978. Playing, competing, with a racket in his left hand, Jimbo is more a Thompson than a Connors—in a sense, he is Jimmy Thompson. Has any player ever been more natural? But then, in an instant, he wiggles his tail, waves a finger, tries to joke or be smart, tries too hard—for he is not facile in this way and his routines are forced and embarrassing, and that is why the crowds dislike him. He is Jimmy Thompson no more. He is trying so hard to be Jimmy Connors, raised by women to conquer men, but unable to be a man, to be Big Jim or Bill Riordan. He is unable to be one of the boys. Read the whole story. The Ring Leader. Issue Date: May 10, 1999. It was 30 years ago, and the car containing the old retired basketball player and the young sportswriter stopped at a traffic light on the way to the airport in Los Angeles. (Of course, in the nature of things, old players aren't that much older than young writers.) The old player said, "I'm sorry, I'd like to be your friend." The young writer said, "But I thought we were friends." "No, I'd like to be your friend, and we can be friendly, but friendship takes a lot of effort if it's going to work, and we're going off in different directions in our lives, so, no, we really can't be friends." And that was as close as I ever got to being on Bill Russell's team. Read the whole story. The Rabbit Hunter. Issue Date: Jan. 16, 1981. As Bobby Knight is the first to say, a considerable part of his difficulty in the world at large is the simple matter of appearance. "What do we call it?" he wonders. "Countenance. A lot of my problem is just too many people don't go beyond countenances." That's astute—Bobby Knight is an astute man—but it's not so much that his appearance is unappealing. No, like so much of him, his looks arc merely at odds. Probably, for example, no matter how well you know Coach Knight, you have never been informed—much less noticed yourself —that he's dimpled. Well, he is, and invariably when anyone else has dimples, a great to-do is made about them. But, in Bobby's case, being dimpled just won't fly. After all: DIMPLED COACH RAGES AGAIN. No. But then, symbolically, Knight doesn't possess dimples, plural, as one would expect. He has only the prize one, on his left side. Visualize him, standing in line, dressed like the New Year's Baby, when they were handing out dimples. He gets the one on his left side. "What the bleep is this?" says little Bobby drawing away. "Wait, wait!" cries the Good Fairy or the Angel Gabriel or whoever's in charge of distributing dimples. But it's too late. Bobby has no time for this extraneous crap with dimples. He's already way down the line, taking extras on bile. Read the whole story. The Kid Who Ran Into Doors. Issue Date: September 1, 1975. The late Tony DeSpirito could have been the best there ever was on a horse, the very best. He knew that himself. When he visited his children, who had been too young to see him when he was great, sometimes he would laugh and say, "I'm the king.