Canucks writer Jason Botchford passed away suddenly this week. Here, friends and colleagues share their memories of Botch.

I always knew that Botch would bring it.

On the radio.

In print.

The man had energy for days.

You could hear it in his voice and feel it in his writing. Jason Botchford did his job with the kind of passion that you just can’t teach.

If he were a hockey player, you’d love his compete level — his willingness to battle in the corners and get his nose dirty in front of the net. You might even throw him on a fourth line with Jay Beagle and Tyler Motte. Tell him to get in on the forecheck, turn some pucks over and all that good stuff.

Just kidding, Botch! I wouldn’t put you on that line. I know you like fourth lines that can score. Please stop yelling at me.

I will miss being able to rile up my friend like that.

I will miss so much about Botch.

I don’t remember the first time I ever met him. I’m not good with details like that.

What I do remember is that Botch was the only writer at ‘The Province’ to give Halford and I the time of day when we started the Kurtenblog. He recognized what we were trying to do and instead of seeing our silly blog as a threat, he saw the opportunity to speak with the fans in a different way and he wanted to lend a hand.

When we started our ridiculous radio show, he’d never turn down an invite to call in. His theme song was ‘Ramble On’ by Led Zeppelin. We used to joke before he came on that he’d “been down in the basement drinking coffee for about the last four hours.”

He’d get so excited talking about the Canucks that he wouldn’t so much breathe as gulp the air.

His following grew and grew. Not everyone liked his style, or what he had to say. But hey, name a single interesting person that everyone liked.

And for the record, Botch never said or wrote anything that he didn’t believe. He wasn’t just “playing a character” like some media types I’ve known. The Botch you all saw was the real Botch.

On his watch, the Canucks nearly won it all, and then just like that, they fell apart. As we sit here today, 2011 seems like a long time ago.

Contrary to popular opinion, a bad team is not good for the local media. Yes, we’re critics and criticizing a bad team is like shooting fish in a barrel. But if the fans tune out, we’re screwed.

Botch kept the fans tuned in. Even when Jayson Megna was skating with the Sedins, The Provies remained required reading.

That takes some talent.

I used to love texting Botch during games and telling him to get this or that into The Provies. I’d be disappointed if my ideas didn’t make the cut, because The Provies set the narrative for thousands of Canucks fans.

It’s why Halford and I pushed The Athletic to hire Botch and create The Athletties.

I can’t believe he’s gone less than a year after he joined.

Of far more significance, I can’t fathom how his family must be feeling. Botch was only 48. He leaves behind a wife and three young children. I hope it helps them even a little to know how many lives he touched, simply by covering a hockey team.

I often wonder if I’ll ever see the Canucks win the Stanley Cup. There are 31 teams now — soon to be 32 — and only one wins each year. The math suggests I may not.

But deep down I know that my life won’t really change if they do or they don’t. Far more life-altering are the people we get to spend time with, and the laughs we have along the way.

I’m grateful I got to spend time with my buddy, Botch.

–Jason Brough

Man, I loved working with Botch. His energy and passion and innovation were infectious. That probably sounds trite and cliched, but whatever. That infectious nature was what made our collaborations work so well — he’d get excited about something, then I’d get excited, then Brough would get excited, and then Botch would get more excited.

Then someone would make a Sea of Granlund joke, and we’d all start laughing.

This probably explains how we ended up doing the Power Hour Live back in January. It started innocently enough — we were kicking around a few ideas for a subscriber/Q&A-type event thing — but it snowballed right quick.

“What if we held it in a movie theatre?”

“Does anybody know Dweeb’s real name?”

“Think Jay Swing can DJ?”

“Should we have a comedian open up for us?”

“Prizes! We need prizes!”

“How much does it cost to rent a fog machine?”

To be honest, we couldn’t help ourselves. I joked that, by the end, we were Jerry Lewis and three telephones away from hosting a variety show. We just wanted to do so much stuff.

But that’s what made it so great. And that’s what made working together so great. With Brough and I, there were concerns about pulling it off, if anybody would show up, if it’d be a total bust.

Then there was Botch. I don’t think for a second he had even the slightest notion of doing anything other than getting on stage, grabbing the mic and absolutely crushing it.

Which he did.

And once he got rolling, we did too. Then someone made a Halford is Hutton joke, and we all started laughing.

I often think about that night a lot, even more now since learning of Botch’s passing. I can’t recall the last time I had that much fun, doing something I absolutely loved, with two guys I absolutely loved spending time with. Botch said it was probably the most fun he had working last season. That meant a lot. It definitely was for me.

Now, I’m going to miss that. I’m going to miss the laughs. I’m going to miss jokes about Shotgun Jake purists and Little Things and the fact Tim Schaller played 36 games last year. I’m going to miss him rolling into the studio every Tuesday and Thursday. I’m going to miss hearing “gentlllllllllemennnnn,” at the start of every show.

Mostly, though, I’m going to miss my friend.

–Mike Halford