Joey Johnston, after over 30 years of service to the Tampa Tribune, put this on his Facebook wall. With his permission, I'm putting it here because everyone that loves Joey, Tampa, and sportswriting needs to read it.

I wonder if the 20-year-old kid in the I.D. photo has any idea what's ahead? I wonder if he suspects a new world is about to open for him? I wonder if he knows his thinning hair is officially entering its final days?

When the end came last week, when The Tampa Tribune closed its doors, there was a lot to consider. Mostly, I kept thinking about the random beginning and how a pure accident produced something incredible.

Here's how it went down: One month after my 19th birthday, I saw a notice on USF's Mass Communications bulletin board. The Tribune needed a correspondent for high-school basketball coverage ($10 a game).

I immediately reported to Bill Fay (or "Mr. Fay'' as I called him for the first and last time). He sent me to a game that night and I labored over a five-paragraph bylined story.

That was 36 years ago.

This wasn't a job I planned for or even imagined. But I immediately felt at home with the sights, sounds, smells and incredible array of characters in the newsroom. It was writing about sports. What fun. Mostly, though, it was writing about people. I'm curious. I got to ask questions ... and people would answer!

Sorry to channel my inner Hubert Mizell, but it staggers me to think I have covered 10 Super Bowls, 15 Final Fours, 11 BCS Championship Games, 14 different college-football bowl games, five World Series, three Wimbledons, six U.S. Tennis Opens, two Daytona 500s and, by my rough count, various events at about 125 high schools throughout Florida.

I saw Dwight Gooden pitch during a tournament at Lutz Little League. Four summers later, I was at Shea Stadium to write about Gooden as a New York Mets rookie. He took me over to Darryl Strawberry's locker and said, "This is my sports writer from Tampa. You got a sports writer from Los Angeles?''

I first met Jim Courier as a freckle-faced tennis player from Dade City. Six years later, he was No. 1 in the world and he was a guest on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. He called that night and we laughed about how funny life can be.

I saw the Bucs win a Super Bowl, then watched Rich McKay dance with the Lombardi Trophy at the after-party and sat out by the pool with the Glazer brothers, all of us just soaking it all in. I saw the Lightning win a Stanley Cup, then shared a toast with John Tortorella in his office.

I got to interview Michael Jordan, Joe Montana and Wayne Gretzky. I quickly learned that these were just people — people with a lot more money and a lot more talent — but still people.

When I was 20, the world was something I read about. I had been to two states. I have now been to 47 states, along with three trips to Europe, mostly because of this job that I stumbled upon.

Biggest regret? I wish I had taken more pictures.

If I was starting over, I'd make sure to pose by all the places I visited — Yankee Stadium (new and old), Fenway Park, Dodger Stadium, Wrigley Field, the Metrodome, the SkyDome, Veterans Stadium, the Astrodome, Candlestick Park, the Oakland Coliseum, the old Memorial Stadium in Baltimore, the old Cleveland Stadium, Royals Stadium, the old Tiger Stadium, Marlins Park, PNC Park, Busch Stadium, Riverfront Stadium, Pac-Bell Park, the Trop (I'll get that photo later today), Lambeau Field, Soldier Field, the Silverdome, the Georgia Dome, the Superdome, Sun Devil Stadium, the Edward Jones Dome, Mile High Stadium, the Boston Garden, Qualcomm Stadium, Arrowhead Stadium, Giants Stadium, the Orange Bowl, Dolphins Stadium, RFK Stadium, Cowboys Stadium, the RCA Dome, Heinz Field, Patriots Stadium, Stanford Stadium, Freedom Hall, the Carrier Dome, Rupp Arena, the Pyramid, the Cincinnati Gardens, the Citrus Bowl, the Sun Bowl, the Gator Bowl, the Rose Bowl, Ohio Stadium, Cameron Indoor Stadium, Cole Field House, the Breslin Center, the Spectrum, Michigan Stadium, Notre Dame Stadium, the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, Jordan-Hare Stadium, Neyland Stadium, both Death Valleys (LSU and Clemson), Florida Field, Doak Campbell Stadium, Raymond James Stadium and the two places I grew up with, Tampa Stadium and Al Lopez Field.

Any sports writer gets the question: "What was your most memorable event?'' I have plenty, including seeing Kirk Gibson's limping home run to win a World Series game for the Dodgers, Chris Evert against Martina Navratilova on Wimbledon's Centre Court, the Choke at Doak (FSU 31, Florida 31), that amazing night at the Rose Bowl when Vince Young led Texas to a national title, witnessing college-football national titles by Florida, FSU and Miami and experiencing the back-to-back college basketball national titles by Florida.

There was also a World Series in San Francisco that was interrupted by a 7.1 earthquake. Baseball was put on hold. For 10 days, I covered the earthquake and its aftermath. At the collapsed double-decker Nimitz Freeway, where thousands of people were crushed and killed in rush-hour traffic as the earthquake disaster struck, I saw a miracle happen. I watched them pull out a resilient survivor from the rubble. He gave a thumbs-up to the cheering crowd. He had been trapped up there for three days.

All of those places and events were unforgettable. But my career's most memorable moment was different.
I was 21 and still finishing my degree at USF, but I was lucky enough to already have a full-time job at the Tribune. I was mostly covering high schools, but I also did a crazy assortment of things, including water skiing.
Yes, water skiing.

There was a man-made lake in East Hillsborough County owned by Jim McCormick, who attracted the world's best water-skiers for international competitions. I covered them all. The McCormick family had several kids, all in a row, and they competed at the highest levels, too (I called them the "Von Trapp Family Skiers'').

One day, I was in the office and got a horrible call.

Little Jimmy McCormick, who once beat me at ping-pong, had an accident during a practice run that afternoon. He wiped out and his head hit the ski ramp. He wasn't wearing a helmet. He was being air-lifted to the hospital.
Then came another call. Jimmy didn't make it. He was dead. He was 9.

I knew what to do. I had to write a story about Jimmy McCormick and tell people who he was. But I hadn't done anything like this before.

I went to McCormick Lake. The father was sitting on a park bench underneath a tree with a family friend consoling him.

I approached delicately and expressed my sympathy. Then I asked Jim, as hard as it was, if I might ask him a few questions to better tell the readers about what made his son special.

He nodded. I asked a question, but the family friend interrupted and said, "No, no, no. We're not doing this. You need to have some respect. Jim, you don't have to answer this guy's questions right now.''

I just stood there silently, a lump in my throat. Jim looked up and said, "It's OK. He can stay. I trust him.''

He trusted me. In those terrible circumstances, where he was about to bury his 9-year-old son, he trusted ... me?

At that moment, I realized what I had. This wasn't just a fun-and-games job, although it had its share of fun. This wasn't a prolonged adolescence. This was about making a connection with someone and building a relationship. This was something that mattered. This was about someone letting you into their world — whether it was triumph or tragedy — and trusting you to tell their story.

I have never forgotten that. I always tried to fulfill that responsibility.

So, no, I didn't just have a job. I had a calling, a passion, a way to help someone who had been wronged, a way to expose someone who abused their power, a way to console or educate or bring some smiles.

Being a Tribune sports writer took me far and wide, but my heart stayed in one place, my hometown. I dearly love the 813. Those were the stories that mattered most to me, the ones in the Tampa Bay area. It's such a thrill to meet a former athlete now — they might be doctors, lawyers, businesspeople, dads, moms — and have them say my articles are framed on their walls or neatly arranged in scrapbooks.

Tony Dungy was nice enough to text the other day. He wrote, "I can tell you from experience God has something good for you, just as he did for me!''

I remember when Tony was fired by the Bucs and he packed up his belongings in the rain. A few years later, he won a Super Bowl with the Colts. This summer, he will be inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

I have no doubt Tony's words are true.

I can't immediately say what's next for me, but there already are great possibilities. I thought some of this week would be spent slacking with my dear friend Martin Fennelly, the brilliant sports columnist, maybe watching a bunch of Twilight Zone episodes and eating some bon-bons. But no, of course Martin had to be immediately hired by The Tampa Bay Times and get back to work.

I'm actually thrilled for him and I was hoping he would be the first castoff to find solid ground. Selfishly, I wanted to experience just a little of Martin's classic angst before the tide turned, but I couldn't even get that.

I expect everyone to land on their feet. These are dedicated, hard-working, talented people who have learned to be resilient. Their skill set is unique and it will be an asset to almost any endeavor.

Of course, even as things turn for the better, the sting will remain. For me, it's hard to imagine Tampa without The Tampa Tribune. It's also hard for me to imagine Tampa without the Colonnade. I guess things change. I'm not convinced that every change is a good one.

Was the Tribune operating at top form the last few years? Of course not. We were downright embarrassed at times for the things we were not permitted to do. It wasn't limited resources. It was NO resources. But we always tried to push forward. My sense from the loyal readers was they loved us anyway, warts and all, because our hearts were in the right place. We were gritty and compassionate and approachable and diverse and real. I think we reflected our city.

Moving forward, the Times will be the city's only daily newspaper. I worked there for two years, grew as a journalist, and was treated extremely well. During my tenure, feature writer Thomas French won a Pulitzer. Not that I had anything to do with it, but I got to go to the swank celebration party and everything, so there's that.

My Times supervisor was Mike Stephenson, one of the best people I have ever met, and I'm hoping he's the Times' permanent sports editor moving forward. It pained me to tell Mike I wanted to return to the Tribune because he was so good to me and I so loved working with him.

Paul Tash, the Times chairman and CEO, called me to his office and asked me to stay, giving me a nice pay raise on the spot. I was overwhelmed by that gesture, but told him it wasn't about money and I was going with my heart. I offered to stay as long as they wanted until a replacement for my position was found. I worked another month at the Times — with the pay raise that Mr. Tash had given. I'm not sure if a similar situation has ever occurred in a newspaper war. So on a personal level, I was treated tremendously.

I have many friends in that Times newsroom, including some just joining. I wish them all every success. I do not want to see any more newspapers folding or struggling.

Competition was a great thing, keeping both papers alert. I hope there won't be any malaise or cutting back of local news. I especially hope this for local sports, which has seen its exposure diminish, and I hope a one-newspaper town won't prompt a "Let them eat cake'' approach to coverage plans.

The way it suddenly came down was shocking. The Times announced the purchase in the Tribune auditorium and longtime employees were marched to their desks by guards, asked to pack up their things and leave the property. I'm not sure there's a great way to handle the folding of a newspaper. But there's surely a better way than that. And of course we all regret the fact we weren't given the opportunity to publish our own final edition. It wouldn't have won a Pulitzer. But it would've been the best final edition ever — no doubt!

This episode is the latest in several years of shocking departures. I don't think either newspaper has an especially glittering record in treating veteran people well in recent years.

How can Gary Shelton, a two-time national writer of the year, not be writing Times sports columns any longer? How can an incredible, hard-working, humble talent such as Dave Scheiber be shown the door? How could the Tribune get rid of high-level journalists such as Dan Ruth and Michelle Bearden? It's preposterous.

The Tribune laid off 165 people in 2011 (Black Monday) and that was really the beginning of the end. When Revolution Capital bought the Tribune in 2012, the newspaper began its death from a thousand razor cuts. A pay decrease here, a furlough day there. Travel and news-hole space were cut back. Correspondents went months without getting paid.

Hey, business is business. I get that. Personally, I'm not at all wrapped up in the sound and fury of the Times' victory. What someone else does reflects on them. How you react reflects on you.

I have a friend who went through some tough personal times. But in a sense, she reinvented herself, rising above circumstances, going back to school, moving forward with a new direction. I was kind of amazed at how she pulled it all off, since I largely stayed in one job and never left town. I asked how she navigated such change. "That's what adults do,'' she said.

So it's time to move on. But not before a little more reflection. The three-month charade was pure nonsense. In February, the Tribune cut a deal to be printed by the Times. We know now that the Tribune was sold to the Times at that very moment.

Since then, we endured uncertainty, another pay cut, more furlough days, all so the owner could further line his pockets. We had no communication — none! — on the status of moving away from Parker Street, where the building will be destroyed a high-rises will be build along the Hillsborough River.

There was actually a tour of an alleged new building — with I.T. guys checking it out and logistics being considered. Last week, there was a hockey writer being sent to New York for a game he would never cover, just to make it appear all was well. We were all in the dark and being played.

Shortly after the Tribune sale announcement was made, my cell phone was zapped and wiped of its contacts and photos. My computer and e-mail were frozen. Like any great military strike, I guess, you always try to disable the communications.

At that moment, I was halfway through a story on USF softball player Meredith Bissette. She's 20. She was recently diagnosed with cancer, a rare strain that afflicts one in a million people.

She trusted me enough to let me interview her and her mother from a Boston hospital room. Honestly, it was one of the most life-affirming interviews I have ever done. It's the kind of story I relish. Thankfully, I was able to recover my notes and the in-progress story. I will now finish it for USF's athletic Web site because it's a story that should be told.
Obstacles are nothing new for recent stories. Despite ridiculous hurdles, right to the end, we kept putting out the paper.

I would love to read, "The Last Days of The Tampa Tribune,'' by Lane DeGregory, a terrific Pulitzer Prize-winning writer for the Times. What intrigue. What a curious timeline. What fascinating inside information that could be exposed once and for all. Unfortunately, the Times was in on the charade, so that can't happen.

For the folks at Revolution, it was a stunningly effective business deal. With the sale of the waterfront property and then the newspaper itself, it looks like the owner made upwards of $30-million. That's a lot of money. But it won't buy class. It should be enough to pay all the vendors that have been stiffed.

Unlike the Tribune's five most recent publishers and assorted executives from previous owner Media General, I never met the Tribune's most recent owner. I'll be honest, though, I haven't heard good things. His dark legacy seems secure.

I'd much rather think about the sports editors who helped to shape me, the great Tom McEwen, Richard Lord, Joe DeSalvo, Paul C. Smith, Duke Maas, Nick Pugliese, Kim Pendery, Joanne Korth, Doug Jacobs, Robert Mashburn, Jim Jenks, Carl Lisciandrello, Mike Pennetti, Mike Garbett, Rick Mayer and Tom Ford.

I will always remember working with Martin Fennelly, Chris Harry, Brett McMurphy, Mike Frankel, Bill Fay, David Whitley, Roy Cummings, Ira Kaufman, Erik Erlendsson, Roger Mooney, Bill Chastain, Holly Cain, Jim Selman, Jim Henderson, Katherine Smith, Bill Ward, Adam Adkins, Herb Branham, Nick Williams, Carter Gaddis, Rozel Swain, Pat Yasinskas, Scott Carter, Jim Henry, Doug Carlson, Tom Edrington, Bob Austin, David Alfonso, Jason Davis, Anwar Richardson, Craig Dolch, Gregg Doyel, Ron Kaspiskie, Joe Frisaro, Rick Harmon, Ernest Hooper, Tom Jones, Frank Klein, Richard Lemanski, Marc Lancaster, Eddie Daniels, Joey Knight, Andy Smith, Mike Servidio, Jim Holliman, Mike Farkas, Todd Burgess, Mike Hartz, Keisha Riggins, Richard Mudry, Mike O'Keefe, Kathy Preble, Bob Chick, Scott Purks, Selena Roberts, Jerome Sierra, Lamar Sparkman, Lance Van Auken, Scott Wallin, Tony Reid, Doug Musgrove, Andy Staples and Daryl Presgraves (I know I'm leaving someone out, sorry!).

I am forever grateful for the flexibility my job allowed, particularly when it came to raising my son. I could often manipulate my work schedule — thanks to the mobility of a cell phone and laptop — and I missed almost none of his events.

Sometimes, he had to tag along by necessity. I remember interviewing Bucs quarterback Jeff Garcia and my son, then 4, crawled up his leg and torso, then hung from his neck. Garcia just smiled and kept talking.

My son could care less about me being a sports writer, but I know he wants what's best for me. As he said in a prayer, "Please help my dad find a job that will make him happy.'' I so appreciate his sentiment, but I would tell him it's not the job itself that makes you happy. It's the people, always the people.

I would also tell him it's just like his baseball games. When you make an out, you don't whine or complain. You keep your head up and you try again. Over the long haul, if you keep doing it the right way, you succeed.

My favorite all-time quote is this: "Fame is a vapor, popularity is an accident and money takes wings. The only that endures is character.''

The Tampa Tribune was charming because of its characters, but it also had tremendous character. I've never seen a group of people who worked together so well, who cared about each other so much and who made it all so much fun.

I apologize for the length of this missive, which might have broken Facebook. But at the moment, I am operating without a net or an editor who can reel me in. A long time ago, I found a home behind this keyboard and sometimes the words pour out, particularly if I am left unchecked.

My Tribune career began with an accident. It ended with a crash. But on the whole, I wouldn't change a thing. It reminds me of another quote, this one from Dr. Seuss.

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened.''

Love you all,
Joey J.