Rest in peace, Mad Dog


We’re gonna miss the hell out of you!

On a quiet charter flight to the Dolphins’ first road game of the season in 1976, a massive rookie named Kim Bokamper was walking down the aisle of the plane when Jim Mandich, a tough-nosed, overachieving veteran, stopped him in his tracks.

“Sit down with me, boy,” said Mandich, a member of the only perfect team in NFL history.

If Bokamper was intimidated (he was), it was only because he hadn’t yet understood what he and everyone else who met Mandich would eventually learn: Nobody was kinder. Nobody cared more. Nobody had a larger heart than him.

On Tuesday, Mandich died from bile-duct cancer. He was 62.

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Author: Bill

Birder, cat-lover, pilot, poet. Former lounge lizard, pauper, pagan, lifeguard, chauffeur,cop and martial artist, turned pacifist addiction writer. Tries to be a good husband, father and brother, and makes a decent friend. Likes to take pictures. Stumbling down the Middle Path, one day at a time.

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