His obituary referred to his gigantic grin, infectious laughter, good humor, loyalty and friendship. Yes. All this. That was Andy Macy.

And it was with profound sadness that I — we — learned of Andy's recent death. He was 63.

Hard to even know where to begin. But maybe here: You met him for the first time and 30 seconds into the conversation, you were at ease. A good, decent man. A father? Sure. But really, a dad.

I came to know him through his sons, John, Tim and Brian. John worked for us once in the sports department at The Day, giggling along to, shall we say, the random observations of newspaper people. Brian was a boxer once, among the reasons Andy founded Macy's Gym. And Tim could be the mayor. Governor.

Andy lived in Preston. He played football at Ledyard High, scoring the first touchdown for the Colonels as an ECC school. He was an entrepreneur. And yet his resume, deep and impressive, just never tells his story. Andy was about the way he treated people and how he made them feel.

"Put simply, outside my immediate family, nobody has had such a profound effect and lasting influence on my life as Andy Macy," his friend Joe Pollack said. "Through his coaching on and off the field, and in and out of the ring, he gave me confidence in myself when I had none. He pushed me harder than I ever could have pushed myself, despite a great deal of resistance from me.

"He showed me what I was capable of when I worked hard and stuck to something no matter the difficulty. The values I learned from him have helped me through my most challenging experiences, and allow me to persevere even when the obstacles I face seem insurmountable."

Andy helped form the Groton Challenger Little League, to allow John and other disabled children in the region to play organized baseball. When Brian and Tim expressed an interest in boxing, he founded Macy's Gym. Nine world champions trained there. Andy later became Vice President of Connecticut USA Boxing.

My best memories of Andy came because we both share the talent of instigating. Andy would post to "The Boneyard," an Internet site dedicated to passionate UConn sports fans, under the name "DrewDog." Andy was my staunch defender to all the UConn fans who couldn't stand me (the list continues to grow).

So I'd write something that offended them. They'd begin the assault. And then Andy would start. Soon, the posters did everything but swallow a thesaurus trying to find the right words to, essentially, say we're both horrific. The best part: We'd go offline and absolutely roar, knowing that we completely and totally got under their skin.

Hey, some people collect stamps. I like to bust a few chops. Andy was a wonderful partner.

Andy's legacy, aside from his family, is this: How you treat people counts. Even the ones who can't do anything for you. It's how you make them feel in your presence. How you make them feel about themselves. Even on a bad day, Andy was the guy laughing. It costs nothing to be happy. Or to be a nice guy.

Life has this habit of happening and occasionally, you lose connection with people who mean something to you. Andy and I hadn't talked in a while. Funny, though, that since his death, I've tried to emulate him and his way around people.

Robert Frost once said there are three words that sum up everything he knows about life: It goes on. And now we go on without Andy Macy. But we can sure learn a lot from him. Life goes on. It'll be better if we live ours like Andy lived his.

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro.