I know I’m a little late with this, but I wanted to weigh in with a tribute to Furman Bisher.

I think Furman would have been overwhelmed by all the thousands of words written about him.

His good friend Dan Jenkins said: “The  most flattering thing I used to say about his work was, ‘He’s the Red Smith  of the South.’

I loved this passage from another one of his good friends, Dave Kindred:

 One time, two years ago, his glorious wife, Linda, called him in the Augusta  press room and Furman became a high school kid in love. “I just finished,  honey,” he said. “It wasn’t much. I keep trying. I’ll do that perfect column  someday.”

Furman never stopped trying until the day he died on March 18 at the age of 93. I got to know the legendary Atlanta columnist during my years covering golf. He was kind, giving and feisty in a charming way.

When he died, I knew I wanted one of my first posts to be a tribute to him. What better way to do it than through his own words.

During the 2008 Masters, I conducted an interview with Furman for a future project. We talked for more than an hour about his career that began in 1938. Here are a few of the excerpts.

In the beginning: I climbed the ladder from the bottom. I started at a little newspaper called the Lumbertown Voice. I was the editor at the age of 20. You can imagine what a smart editor I was. I made $20 a week. I was there for eight months. Then I went to the High Point Enterprise. Did everything under the sun. Covered police beats. Covered the financial markets. On the side, I’d write a little sports every now and then.

Early sports assignment: In Charlotte, I covered the Charlotte Hornets, a Class B team. I traveled a bit with the team. Those were my high moments. Riding the bus mean you were really in there. I’d always go down to the lockerroom and talk to the manager after the game. Nobody ever did that. I just wanted to find out something different from the morning paper. The manager happened to a crusty old coot named Spencer Abbott.

He’d talk out of the side of his mouth. He’d sit and talk until I had what I needed. I learned a lot baseball sitting there.

The next year, he got fired, and they made the second-baseman, who was 22 years old, the manager: Cal Ermer, who went on to manage Twins. Great guy, great person. I went down after the game to talk to him, and he’d said, “Furman, I don’t know what to tell you. Write what you think I might say.’ That’s what I did.

First Masters in 1950: I came through Augusta with the Charlotte Hornets baseball team. I wasn’t assigned to cover the Masters. I just went out and wrote columns on a couple of rounds.

You just walked in, and they were glad to have you. I don’t know that I even got a credential. I don’t remember meeting anybody of authority.

The press room was an army tent down the first fairway. It had a board for the scores. Typewritters on the tables. There were about 8-10 guys in there. That’s where you worked.

If (long-time Nashville columnist) Fred Russell walked in here (Augusta’s massive press center) now, he’d have a heart attack. He’d say, ‘They’re spoiling the hell out of you all.’

On covering Ben Hogan: At first, I was a little shy about approaching Hogan. You could talk to him as long as you asked good questions. He’d give you his time. He was still strung pretty tight in this days. Later on, we got to be pretty good friends. I talked to him when I wrote the book on the Masters. I started to take out my tape recorder and he said, ‘No, I don’t do any tape recordings.’

I have about 5 or 6 letters from him at home. Letters thanking me.  It would be so unusual for an athlete to do that now.

On the power of being a columnist in the pre-ESPN era: Being a columnist meant more. There was no Internet. The sport fan didn’t have sportscenter and ESPN. People are lazy. A lot of people don’t like to read. Now they’d rather sit there and get it through the ears.

It was a great being a columnist back then. Columnists were the voice. People viewed sports through you.  I was in the Sportings News and Saturday Evening Post. It was a little inflating. I used to drive around state of Georgia, get out at a filling station or stop to have a sandwich, and everyone would say, “That’s Furman Bisher.” I’d walk into a stadium and some 10 or 12 year old with his daddy would say, “Hi Furman.” I loved that.

I walk in now and nobody knows me from a side of beef.

His style: My style was to write as I saw it. I didn’t rail about any causes, except I’m against the DH and a lot of these idiotic football rules. What they play now isn’t basketball, it’s court-rassling. I see 10 fouls on a play, and none get called. It’s a form of poorly officiated wrestling.

One regret: I regret one thing about my career: I dealt with fun and games. I’m sorry I didn’t have a more meaningful impact on the world. I’d like to have been an editorial writer. I have solid opinions.

Otherwise, I have no regrets. How can I? I’ve had every break in the world. And I made good money. I’ve (started) scholarships at North Carolina and Furman that my wife and I fund. That sort of salves my dismay at not having been a more politically expressive figure.