But take it from me, he could shoot hard questions. And also shoot down soft answers.

One night we covered the same quarterfinal football game in Seneca. Or was it Sabetha? Somewhere along US-36 highway. We kicked ourselves for not riding up there together. Bundled to withstand a nasty north wind, we wouldn't have spotted each other on opposite ends of the press box if not for the cozy square footage.

He invited me on at halftime and, in closing, asked about the Kansas high school playoff system. I responded, and he wrapped it up with something like: "Thanks, Kevin. Sounds like you're on board with the activities association."

Hard to imagine any worse insult could be directed at the state prep writer considering the KSHSAA was ruled with an iron fist and progressive as Jiffy Pop.

I laughed it off, laughed about it long after that, but for whatever reason, never forgot.

It was that way with Paradis. Many were impacted by his work, and never forgot his voice, his delivery and his antics on television for Channel 13.

Maybe it happened to be the weekly Royals highlight show when he did it, or a variety of off-the-wall segments including birthdays, or the long-running gags and barbs exchanged both on the air and in print with longtime Capital-Journal columnist Bob Hentzen.

For me, however, Ron Paradis was sports talk radio. His sports talk was provocative before sports talk was popular.

It helped that WIBW-AM (580) was the flagship for both Kansas State and the Kansas City Royals back then. Still, Topeka was/is a small market. Yet Paradis was as good as I ever heard engaging both callers and guests. Working for the "Voice of Kansas," he gripped most of the state each evening that talk show aired.

When the forum was taken from him, his spirit was shattered. He no longer asked coaches the same tough questions on television. No longer hit on the same tough angles.

Like the time Bill Snyder (much younger then and oft-criticized for restrictions he imposed on the media) was especially perturbed following a victory — yes, a victory — against archrival Kansas. Paradis, leaning on crumpled goal posts in what was then KSU Stadium, pulled no punches sharing that part of the day's events with viewers.

Shortly after returning for his second tour as Kansas State coach, Snyder divulged to me that Paradis had made a point to come to a function Snyder was attending in Topeka. Paradis apologized for any past transgressions and misgivings.

The last few years I enjoyed my conversations with Ron — some long, some brief, and always random.

Once we were in Dillon's. It was the day before Christmas. He bought a poinsettia as a centerpiece for the dinner he was attending and convinced me to do the same.

Another time we were at a T-ball game involving his grandson and my great-nephew, who, it turned out, were teammates. Ron showed off the tattoo of his grandson, and convinced me the boy and the tattoo were priceless.

"The kid saved my life," he said.

He didn't go into much more detail and I didn't pry. Didn't feel right doing it, maybe because I felt like an amateur at something Paradis perfected.

Lately, we ran into each other again, working out at the Berkshire Country Club gym. Paradis was a regular there, more so than me, and also marshaled on the golf course. He convinced me he was at peace.

Upon learning Monday that Ron had passed, I realized, though, we weren't close, that he was many things — a friend, a rival, a recluse, an icon.

I will not forget him. Especially when realizing tough questions need to be asked ... yet answers matter even more.