East Lyme - So much for the dramatic, cinematic, dying declarations. No star of stage or screen could possibly one-up John MacKillop Walker, whose recent effort was downright biblical.

The First Letter of John to Timothy: “For I am already being poured out like a libation, and the time for my departure is near.”

The Last Request of John Walker to his family: Pour a libation.

(No really.)

“We should have wine,” Walker told sons Matt and Andy last Friday night, what would be his last night on the mortal soil, inside Bride Brook Rehabilitation and Nursing Center.

That’s when Matt, honoring the exploits of the region’s First Family of Athletics, went from Bride Brook to nearby Divine Wine Emporium faster than Jeter went first to third. He smuggled in a bottle of Merlot - more expensive than the $8 job his dad requested - and then John and his children Mike, Matt, Andy, Pete and Liz toasted, either in person or through FaceTime.

John Walker’s words: “I loved my life.”

Walker fell asleep later that night and never awakened.

We’ve all got to go, as Rev. Greg Mullaney told the gathering at Walker’s funeral Wednesday at St. Matthias Church, relating an old Arab tale about death’s inevitability.

But who among us ever left us with more panache than John MacKillop Walker? If your final words are “we should have wine” and “I loved my life,” you are a truly blessed soul.

It’s doubtful Mr. Walker appreciated his full impact. Heck, he’s in part responsible for half the sports teams in eastern Connecticut. The Day’s archives will show gaggles of stories and columns over the years about the families of Mike Walker, Matt Walker, Pete Walker, Andy Walker and Liz Sutman, John’s 24 grandchildren and now 10 great grandchildren. John and Kathy Walker did more for the population boom around here than Electric Boat.

I’d run into Mr. and Mrs. Walker almost daily at games. We were all afflicted with “bleacher butt,” which comes from sitting on unforgiving wood or metal for inordinate periods of time.

Andy Walker’s brilliant eulogy of his dad Wednesday spoke of a man whose behaviors were, shall we say, consistent. Our exchanges, for example, reflected Andy’s words.

I would greet Mr. Walker with “Hey, Mr. Walker.”

He would reply, “Mike. Please. Call me John.” (Always the same words and inflection.)

“Whatever you say, Mr. Walker,” I would reply. We’d laugh. But I couldn’t call him John. (When you grow up Italian and Catholic, you learn three things in no particular order: 1. Don’t be late; 2. Never sauce from a jar; 3. Respect one’s elders.)

John Walker lived for more than six years without his beloved Kathy, whose life was celebrated at St. Matthias in September of 2016.

"We're often visited by angels and don't know it," Msgr. Michael Donohue said of her that day. "Worth more than pearls, this lady. She lived the scriptures. Devoted wife, extraordinary mother. She gave every ounce of her life to her children. Her vocation.”

Later, Liz Sutman’s eulogy proved all over again that in brevity, there is poetry.

"She lived the imperfect life perfectly," Liz said.

Indeed.

Or as Rev. Mullaney said of John Walker during Wednesday’s funeral, words that also applied to Kathy: “God pitched the ball of faith to you many times and asked you to knock it out of the park.”

John and Kathy went upper tank, as Dennis Eckersley likes to say.

John and Kathy are together again, likely at a ballgame in heaven’s bleachers, which very likely have cushions, chairbacks and cupholders. They’re sipping $8 Merlot everyday at 5 p.m., looking down on the entire Walker multitude.

They ran the good race and fought the good fight, all right. Now they have their libations. And the satisfaction that nobody else ever, ever, ever, showed their families a better light for the way.

Now we end this as John MacKillop Walker would.

“End of report.”

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro