Matt's Life & Journey

​Oh, Matt. 

For 35 years, Matt has been my older brother, my best friend, and my role model.

Some of my first memories are of me literally following Matt’s footsteps. Around the house, outside, wherever he went, I went.

My parents love telling stories about us as toddlers. Matt was always on the move, quick and agile. Meanwhile, I didn’t really walk until well after 2… but that didn’t stop me from following his every move, just crawling a little more slowly behind.

There’s a story our parents love to tell from when I was about 2 and Matt was 4. Like any kids, we hated bedtime. One night, they thought they finally cracked the code, only to peek into our room and see Matt climbing out of his crib like a trapeze artist and sticking a perfect 10 out of 10 landing. Meanwhile, I’m watching, trying my best to copy him… but completely belly flop to the floor for a 0 out of 10 landing. But hey, wherever he went, I went.

Matt and I were always chasing the next adventure. We’d spend days in the woods, sword fighting with sticks and breaking open logs. One day we found this huge 15-foot log, and Matt said, “I bet we can break this in half!” I was hesitant, but what did I know? I was two years younger and much smaller. So we each grabbed an end and sprinted to ram the center of the log into a tree. Instead of breaking, it turned into a see-saw, with Matt still running and me getting launched about 10 feet backward.

We always created our own fun, no matter where we were. Even waiting for the bus in elementary school, we’d play dodgeball with rocks…until I accidentally hit Matt below the belt…and that was the end of rock dodgeball.

Onto Little League, where I was far too young to play with Matt, but I begged and cried to the best coach in the league (my dad) until they made an exception and moved me up a division so we could be on the same team. I was the youngest player in that division by over a full year. It was a bummer we got stuck as the Red Sox… but I was with Matt, so I was happy.

There’s one moment from those years I’ll never forget. Tied playoff game, late. I get on, Matt comes up. First pitch, he rips a standup triple over the right fielder’s head, scoring me. Crowd goes wild… until the ump calls “dead ball,” saying he wasn’t ready and didn’t see the play. That’s when my disdain for umpires began. Everyone’s losing it, but not Matt. He calmly steps back in and hits the very next pitch to the exact same spot. Another standup triple. Then he looks at the ump and says, “Hey blue, did you see that one?” Maybe the best umpire taunt I’ve ever heard, and definitely the only time I’ve ever seen someone hit two triples in one at-bat. 

Who’d have known that those early baseball days would lead to us forming the best Adult Slow Pitch Softball Dynasty that Morristown had ever seen? We even had a Wikipedia entry under the Sports Dynasties page, right above Tom Brady. Matt and I submitted that edit.

Every year for three decades, my mom’s side of the family took a trip, usually to Block Island. Some of my favorite memories come from those weeks filled with family time. No TV, just beach, fishing, eating, laughing, banana-boating, crabbing, games, talent shows, and so much more.

Then came the chimney sweeps. One year, my ever-inventive older brother Matt and older cousin Kenny decided it would be fun to pin their younger, smaller, better-looking family member (me) to the ground while shoving dandelions up my nose. I can still smell them. 

But I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. Block Island is a part of our family, and it’s one of the places where Matt most thrived. He would make friends with the locals, the oyster divers, the fishermen, the restauranters, the taxi drivers, the tourists, everyone who stepped foot on that island. He was the unofficial mayor of that place. He had an uncanny ability to be that guy everywhere he went. Heck, I imagine he’s now on his way to becoming the unofficial mayor of Heaven.

And Block Island was one of the places where we first found our shared love for fishing. My dad is a top notch captain, instilling in all of his kids respect for water and marine life. And Matt was always the First Mate, relaying orders from the captain and helping remind me how to tie a polymer knot. He was such a good angler too, never being too rough with the rod, but always keeping pressure on the line.

In high school, this dude was a beast of an athlete, first person in the weight room and the last one out, screaming through every rep like Serena. He swore that’s what helped him push out those extra reps, and honestly, it showed. That was Matt: pedal to the metal, full steam ahead in everything he did.

He was a varsity wrestler, and I, his wrestling dummy. I remember many a night where Matt and my dad would be practicing in the basement, hearing my dad’s voice: “Hey Chris, get down here, I want Matt to practice his single-leg takedown!” And so the wrestling dummy – dummy in both senses of the word – would stroll down, only to be flung all over the place.

He was also a really, really good linebacker. The dude loved contact. He didn’t just want to hit you, he wanted to run through you. He had great instincts, and an even better work ethic. He was such a good player, teammate, and leader, that he was voted captain of the football team by his peers his senior year. Dude was an animal on the field.

Speaking of football, one time we were on the beach tossing the ball with our cousins when some guys challenged us to a rough-touch 7-on-7. Matt immediately accepted and drew up the whole gameplan: “Give the ball to Chris, everyone else get in front of him and hit somebody.” Then he looked at me and said, “When in doubt, get behind me.” We were up 28-0 before they called it. There I was again, literally following his footsteps as my lead blocker.

He dabbled in basketball just once, joining me on one of my weekly basketball trips to the Y so he could get in a sweat. I was trying to explain the rules of pick-up, when he waved his hand and said, “I got this.” Before any points were even scored, he straight up tackled the guy he was defending and then kept saying “No blood, no foul!” while waving his finger like Dikembe. The game quickly petered out after, and that was the entirety of his basketball career.

Even after he graduated and wasn’t playing anymore, Matt was always around the game. He volunteered as a middle school wrestling coach, and we both joined my dad’s staff as assistant coaches for Seanny’s Pop Warner teams. As an aside, I’d be remiss not to mention my dad’s 27-3 record as head coach - some say it’s still a New Jersey Pop Warner record to this day. But Matt had a great sports mind and an incredible ability to connect with players as a coach.

Beyond sports, another thing you need to realize about Matt is how important food was to him. Food was one of his love languages - it was one of the ways that he showed he cared. He lived for the opportunity to make you a delicious, homemade meal and spend time with you while cooking, eating, and hearing about your day.

But younger Matt was a sandwich ninja. From ages 8 to 18, anytime I made one, I had to first check where he was. I’d think I was in the clear, take my time building the perfect sandwich, step away for five seconds…and come back to at least one bite missing, courtesy of Matt. Every time, no matter where he was on the planet, he found it.

And for every family holiday, every Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Year’s Eve, Easter, or any other family gathering, Matt would work with my Dad to put together the menu, and they’d bring that menu to life perfectly. Linguine and clam sauce, stuffed lobster tails, old-bay seasoned crabs, T-bone steaks, tiramisu; there was not one dish this man could not flawlessly create.

Speaking of holidays, Easter egg hunts were always physical. One year, we’re lined up, ready to go. Our parents said “Ready, set, go,” and within five steps, Matt flings me into a wall after we both spotted the same egg. He got the egg, I got a concussion. I’d like to say we were kids…but we were about 21 and 23. Hey, no blood, no foul.

There are so many stories like this. One time we were home alone and he asked me for an apple. So, of course I threw it when he wasn’t looking. It hit him, we locked eyes, and I bolted upstairs fearing the repercussions. I turn back at the top and see Matt firing that apple like a 100 mph fastball up the stairs. I dive as it explodes against the wall, raining down over me like fireworks. We both just looked at each other and yelled, “That was awesome!” We did our best to clean up the damage, but remnants of that apple stain stayed on the wall for five years because neither of us wanted to fess up to mother.

Matt was a huge game guy. Any game, any rules, he was in. We played a ton of Monopoly, Risk, and cards, and he was an incredible poker player. His great emotional intelligence allowed him to always know when you were bluffing. For over a decade now, we’ve played in a couple annual charity poker events, and a few years ago we ended up at a table with World Series of Poker champion Chris Moneymaker. He knocked all of us out, except Matt. They went head-to-head for quite a few hands, and Matt came out on top literally every time.