OCT. 11 -- REMEMBERING LIDLE

Unfortunately, covering sports in 2006 isn't what it used to be. For some reason, athletes and reporters don't fraternize like they once did, and there isn't as much trust between the two sides.

Cory Lidle was a throwback to a different time.

From the moment I met Lidle, in February during spring training in Clearwater, Fla., I found him easy to talk to. And not just about baseball. Lidle was an avid poker player, and while I'm not, that didn't stop him from telling me about some winning hand he had the previous night.

Even on the days he started, Lidle would chat with anyone who passed by his locker. Most pitchers are too superstitious for that.

About pitching, Lidle was passionate, and as much as any pitcher, he'd talk your ear off about the science of throwing a good breaking pitch. Lidle didn't throw 95 mph, and he knew he wasn't going to overwhelm any major-league hitters with his stuff. Instead, he tried to out-think the batter.

And make no mistake, Lidle was a thinker.

After being knocked around in an early-season start, Lidle flummoxed reporters by insisting that, upon further video review of his performance, he didn't pitch as badly as his line indicated. The joke among the media became that, in his mind, Lidle never threw a bad pitch. But the reality was Lidle believed so much in what he was throwing that, at least to him, he usually made the right pitch at the right time.

Lidle had one other passion: Piloting an airplane. By now, after his single-engine four-seater crashed into a 50-story building in Manhattan earlier today, killing him and a flight instructor, everyone knows about his fondness for flying and his insistence that it was a safe hobby. I once asked if he had any reservations about flying, especially after the tragic death of Thurman Munson, who perished when a plane he was piloting crashed near his home in Canton, Ohio, in 1979.

But in his 34 years, Lidle wasn't afraid of anything.

Not after he wasn't drafted out of South Hills (Calif.) High. And not after he was relegated to playing in the independent Pioneer League in 1993. He crossed a picket line in 1995 because the Milwaukee Brewers pressured him to pitch only to release him anyway before the 1996 season, and because of that "transgression," he never was allowed membership into the Major League Baseball Players Association.

Lidle played in the Twins, Brewers, Mets, Diamondbacks, Devil Rays, Athletics, Blue Jays, Reds, Phillies and Yankees organizations. He survived Tommy John elbow surgery in 1998 and went 82-72 with a 4.57 ERA in his major-league career.

You don't overcome so many obstacles without trusting yourself.

Often, Lidle took heat from teammates for speaking his mind. Many of the Phillies didn't like it when, after being traded to the Yankees, Lidle questioned their will to win. In spring training, Lidle criticized Barry Bonds for his alleged steroid use and said Bonds' homers shouldn't count.

But Lidle also was loyal to his friends. After the news broke today, I phoned Phils catcher Chris Coste, who was home in Fargo, N.D., watching the tragedy unfold on television, and he told me the following story.

In early June, Coste was sitting with Lidle during a game in Washington. Coste was upset because, since being called up to the majors a few weeks earlier, he wasn't getting much playing time. Lidle remarked that, after pitching to Coste in spring training, he discovered Coste was a much better catcher than he thought. Lidle said he wanted to pitch to Coste more often, and he marched into manager Charlie Manuel's office and expressed that desire.

Within a few weeks, Coste had become Lidle's personal catcher. He went on to bat .328 with 32 RBIs and become one of the most pleasant surprises in the Phillies' season. But without Lidle's endorsement, Coste isn't sure he wouldn't have been sent back to the minors before he ever got the chance to open anyone's eyes.

That, more than anything, is what I'll remember about Cory Lidle, whose life ended far too early because he insisted on doing something he loved.