Remembering the impact of Dave Nieman on and off the field

By BOB CHAVEZ

These are words that no one wants to write. And they’re words that no one wants to read.

They’re words that, quite honestly, are difficult to even believe.

But they are true. And there is no way to overstate how unfortunate this truth is.

Because a world without Dave Nieman is a lesser world. 

Nieman was a coach, yes. And a teacher, husband and father. But he also was a human being of the highest order and going forward in a world without Nieman won’t be easy. For that matter, going anywhere in Canandaigua _ knowing that the possibility of running into “Nemo” is gone _ is a possibility we are not ready to accept. It’s a reality so real it borders on the absurd.

Nemo left this world on Sunday after suffering a traumatic brain injury in an ATV accident in early August. And for those who knew him, you knew a soul that existed the way souls were meant to exist. Tough but fair, kind but honest, driven but grounded. 

This was Nieman and it’s no stretch to say that there are dozens of former athletes and students that live by his lessons today as adults. Whether he was coaching varsity or junior varsity, football or girls lacrosse, starters or non-starters, he did it with one clear message: Believe in yourself.

If there is a defining characteristic for Nemo, it’s energy. He carried it yes, but he also glowed  it. It was infectious. Who among you will not soon forget the cadence of his bouncing gait as he walked toward you, a smile so big it reached you well before the physical impact of his hug or fist bump? 

And then, his words. Always encouraging. Always honest and always full of an optimism that made you believe the world was yours to take. In the words of Seneca The Younger, Nieman made sense of the phrase about a future that lies in uncertainty, so “live immediately.”

Anyone can say the words that Nieman said, but no one could say them the way that Nieman said them. And that comes from a genuine place, a place that cannot be faked.

And he didn’t say what he said because he felt like he had to. He did it because that’s who he was. Genuine and real. It all came at the direction of a heart that was bigger than all the Finger Lakes put together. 

As it is said, that is something that can’t be coached. And we are all better for having experienced it.

There is an old sports cliché that points to players who will run through a wall for a coach because of their love for that coach. Indeed, there are plenty of players who would do that for Nemo. But here’s the thing: There is no doubt he’d do the same for his players. 

That’s the level of energy, the level of passion and the level of dedication Nemo brought to life. Anything that would help an athlete be better, he’d do it. Anything that would help a student achieve new heights, he’d do it.

Maybe that’s why this is so difficult to believe. Why would a man, husband, father and coach be taken from us so soon? Why are we so cruelly denied more of his boundless energy? Why can’t we have just one more hug or conversation? Why are a wife and two children left with no answers to painful questions that deserve explanation?

As someone said recently while looking at the ground as if to hide tears, “it’s not fair.”

And really, it is that simple. To lose someone who selflessly gave so much of himself to mold future community leaders, to no longer have access to such a fountain of positivity and to have nothing now but memories of Nieman, it’s just not fair.

It’s not easy to write words through tears. And it’s not any easier to find these words still here after wiping away the tears, somehow hoping this heartbreaking reality can be swept away with them. 

But it is not to be. We must all now face a new day and a new school year without David Nieman. This is our new reality, even if we don’t like it.

Now, more than ever, we need each other. But before we can be there for each other, we need to believe in ourselves. Then we can be there for others. 

Nemo wouldn’t want it any other way.