Our long time colleague and friend Tim Moses passed away on March 22. There wasn't a reporter at TSN who didn't have some quality time with, and stories to share about, him. That includes John Lu, who shares this tribute in Tim's memory.

The saying, "Hurry up and wait" is a truism in sports media.

Waiting for players, coaches and GMs to speak and press conferences to start is commonplace. I don't know if my old friend and cameraman extraordinaire Tim Moses coined that phrase, but it was one of his favourites and it was on brand for his personality.

We lost Tim suddenly and unexpectedly over the weekend. One of the genuine good guys in the business has iris'ed down for the last time, and I will dearly miss a witty colleague, patient coach and chill mentor.

I first met Tim 23 years ago, when then-TSN vice president of programming Keith Pelley assigned me to do an audition story at the end of my internship at the network. Tim and I went to the Air Canada Centre to cover a Raptors shootaround where I was literally lost among giants, surrounded by some of the largest, most physically imposing humans I'd ever encountered.

Tim guided me through the scrums with Vince Carter and Tracy McGrady and then shot a variety of standups for my on-camera segments: static, walking, with a stick mic, with a lavalier (lapel) mic. Tim made me feel relaxed throughout the process with his calm, encouraging and helpful manner.

Six hours later, Pelley hired me as a cub reporter who had yet to graduate from journalism school and my career with TSN was off and running in dizzying fashion. Tim would become one of my regular cameramen who, along with my dear friends Dean Willers and Marc Malette, held my hand through the growing pains I encountered as a rookie in one of the toughest sports media markets in North America.

As I progressed over the next seven years, Tim helped greatly to relieving the pressure I often felt. When I'd encounter hair-on-fire moments, Tim would inevitably talk me off the ledge with another of his favourite sayings: "It's only TV."

Tim also helped vet my standups. He would often ask me, "Do you talk like that?" when my propensity to use five-dollar words would make my delivery sound clumsy. Tim was all about writing conversationally, which is harder to do than it sounds.

Conversation flowed naturally during our frequent drives to Hamilton and other outlying communities surrounding Toronto in Tim's signature white Ford SUVs. I learned much about Tim's beloved wife, Terry, and his son, Evan, whose career in the Canadian military was an immense source of pride for his dad.

Our many road trips took us to Blue Jays spring training in Dunedin, Fla., one February, where Tim taught me to appreciate good single malt scotches like Cardhu and The Macallan.

Tim also had a sharp sense of humour, tinged with just the right amount of sarcasm, which he exercised liberally when referring to my wife Caroline's and my late Miniature Pinscher named 'Prize' as a "designer dog" after I showed him a photo of our pooch wearing a red Roots dog sweater.

However, Tim's sense of humour potentially threatened our safety one morning in the fall of 2006. The Washington Capitals were in Toronto and had just finished their morning skate at Air Canada Centre. We went to interview Donald Brashear (he of 236 career NHL fights) who was seated at his locker stall, untying his skates.

While hurrying up to wait for Brashear to talk to us, I noticed his shoulder pads hanging in his locker. The yellow, tattered, ancient protective gear was a relic from the early 1980s, and I remarked to Brashear that I hadn't seen equipment like that since my youth. The veteran enforcer looked up at me with an icy stare and went back to untying his skates.

Tim (and his irrepressible sense of humour) was undaunted in our attempts to engage Brashear in small talk, so he reached over to the shoulder pads, felt them between his thumb and index finger, and quipped, "What's the matter? Can't afford new ones?"

As the words left Tim's mouth, the shoulder pads fell to the floor. Brashear paused for a millisecond before bending over to gruffly pick them up while I felt my blood freeze and bladder empty (Not really - blood doesn't freeze indoors).

Brashear then looked Tim in the eyes and growled, "Don't. Touch. My. Stuff." I had never seen Tim speechless until that moment.

Tim more than made up for scaring the crap out of me because a less than a year later he was the videographer for my wedding. Three weeks later, Caroline and I relocated to Montréal. My connection with Tim started with him shooting my audition video and circled back to him chronicling my wedding. 

Another of Tim’s favourite sayings was, “Standing by.” Tim, I know you’re standing by for all of us who loved you and were blessed to be your friends and colleagues. I’m raising a glass of good single malt to you.