Clay Henry: Mort2u Loved Hogs

My phone lit up. So did I.

When my smartphone said “Mort,” I knew it was going to be something nice.

That was no long shot. It was a sure thing.

Chris Mortensen had only one speed and it was 100 mph wonderful. It was that way until he passed Sunday at the age of 72. No one did all 72 years – the last two decades in Benton and Washington County — better than Mort.

Mort was a reminder every time on the way you should conduct your business, how you raise a family and just in general the way a man should treat his fellow man.

There was no wondering why his network throughout the sports world was probably in the tens of thousands. They all thought Mort was the best and responded when he needed help on confirming a story.

There was some of that with me, but mainly the conversations were about something I’d written on the Razorbacks. But I quickly learned, Mort read everything I wrote.

During our visits there would be questions about my family. He never met some, but he knew them because he’d wrestle the important details of my wife and two daughters. He always called them by name.

Mort did know Sarah well. My oldest daughter often sat with Mort in the Hawgs Illustrated baseball suite as they watched their beloved Razorbacks. He’d ask her about her job as a teacher and her college soccer background about the same way I had interviewed his son Alex when he was a backup quarterback for the Razorbacks.

Colleague Bo Mattingly, also close to Mort, reminded me late Sunday night about comments he read from an email sent by Mort when I was inducted into the Arkansas Sportswriters and Sportscasters Hall of Fame. Mort was at the Manning Passing Academy with good friends Archie, Payton and Eli. He apologized for not attending the dinner in Conway.

The email concerned a commentary I’d written on wade fishing the Norfork River and how I’d helped an LSU fan find the right fly. Mort loved that, both the writing and the slant: I’d helped a rival.

And, make no mistake; Mort was as much of a Razorback fan as anyone in Arkansas. He said “we” in casual conversation at church or the grocery store when talking to strangers who made a connection with the Senior NFL Reporter for ESPN.

When the Mortensen’s moved to Arkansas in Alex’ college days, they quickly became plugged in at Cross Church and became friends with Pastor Dr. Ronnie Floyd. One of the first calls Micki made Sunday was to Floyd, now Pastor Emeritus.

Floyd knew Mortensen had been in the hospital some over the last few months, but was not ready for that call.

“I’ve been their pastor and friend, but I was not prepared for that call,” Floyd said. “To be a friend to Chris is a great thing to be and I have to admit that we talked a lot of football.

“If there was anyone who liked talking ball, it was Chris. He loved it and was humble about his position.

“But the most important thing we knew about Chris was his genuine faith in Jesus Christ and that faith saw him through the greatest battle of his life, against cancer.”

Floyd said family was the other constant.

“He dearly loved Micki and Alex,” Floyd said. “There was hardly a conversation when they didn’t come up. He was so proud of Alex and believed in him as he worked for Coach Saban.

“When Alex made the move to become offensive coordinator at Alabama-Birmingham, it made Chris beam because he knew all of Alex’ hard work had come to fruition.”

Floyd called Alex just after talking to Micki.

“I asked him if they’d gotten the word out yet?” Floyd said. “Alex said he didn’t know how to handle that. I said, ‘Your father is a major personality and this is a public event. I told him (ESPN) had to be alerted.

“So I intentionally watched to see how quickly it was public at ESPN. It was immediate. You have to understand how well he was connected all over the country. I’ve also been watching as news spread on social media and what people had to say. It was always the same, how much respect and the way he was viewed both by the media and the coaches and players he covered.

“I listened this morning on national radio. It was always the same, what a great man of integrity. He said it, it was going to be right every time. What everyone also knew was what a great man of faith you had in Chris. People loved and cared about him and he was connected everywhere.”
Mort became well connected in short time across Arkansas. It might have been about the Hogs, but his faith was probably interwoven. Mort loved Jesus and knew his battle with stage IV throat cancer put him closer to that grand meeting with his Savior.

Mort amazed me in his battle with cancer. First, came the call that he was stricken, but not dead.

“I’m going to die,” he said. “But you are going to die, too. We just need to keep running the right race.”

It was his way of getting to the heart of the matter – with heart.

During his long tough months at the MD Anderson Cancer Hospital in Houston, he’d send me texts as he sat on an outside bench trying to gain a bit of warmth from that Texas sun. Cancer makes you cold, he texted. He wondered if I was going to be at the Arkansas games at Minute Maid Park one week later.

He wrote, “The Astros have a suite; join me. It will be fun and I need some fun with friends.”

It wasn’t that Mort lacked friends in Houston. He made friends everywhere he went, but he wanted to see some Razorback friends like me. He wanted to talk Arkansas baseball while watching them play. Oh, he did love Arkansas baseball, a sure winner under Dave Van Horn. And he was often there. He might text me after landing on a flight from an NFL city as he prepared for the draft. He wanted details on the UA baseball game.

If anyone knew baseball, it was Mort. He was the best beat writer for both the Los Angeles Dodgers and Atlanta Braves in his pre-ESPN days. Actually, he was the best beat writer in Major League Baseball. He was the best at anything he did.

Mort told me Van Horn was as good as any baseball manager or coach he’d covered. He was fascinated at the way he both went by the managing book and trusted his gut when he might pull a pitcher with a 1-2 count on a good hitter after two foul balls.

“He knows that pitcher doesn’t have a swing and miss pitch for that particular batter and he thinks there is one in the bullpen,” Mort said. “Man, he’s good.”

Mort wasn’t good. He was the best ever. And, his family reflects that. Wife Micki sent notes when I wrote on son Alex, also an amazing person. When I wrote about Mort years ago, well before cancer, a package came in the mail. It was cut glass seahorse Waterford candleholders from Tiffany’s. It’s the only thing in our house we are afraid to use.

The note from Micki: Seahorses represent friendship. We are forever friends. You are nice to all in my family. Love, Micki.

Micki may know this, but if she sent Waterford crystal to all of Mort’s friends, they would have to sell all their horses. They have several.

I laughed hard when Mort told stories about the day he broke the news to Micki about his cancer diagnosis. She broke down more than once when he explained over and over that he would fight it and be around for a good while (and that turned out to be true). He said he caught a break when the horses got out of the pasture and they had to stop the cancer talk to run them down. He said perhaps Jesus set them free as a nice break.

Mort is about the only one I know that could find humor in breaking the news of a tough cancer diagnosis.

I tried to call him Mr. Mortensen a few times, but that produced anger, the only time I ever saw it with him. Most of the good reporters seek balance in their style, but his needle always pointed to the positive side. He saw the good in everything.

His email was mort2u, a reminder to everyone to just call him Mort.

We talked a lot of football. He noted the change in what was going on at Alabama because son Alex worked for Nick Saban. He said Saban had always thought he could win with defense, but after Johnny Manziel ‘s arrival at Texas A&M, Mort said there was a major upgrade on offense.

“You need to score 35 a game to win in the SEC,” he told me last year when I mentioned that the Arkansas defense had improved. “That’s even at Alabama where Saban used to think he could limit everyone to one touchdown. You can’t do that even with great talent now. The Hogs need an offense that can score 35 in an SEC game – every time.”

To visit with him on the phone was a treat. He never ended a call, no matter how busy he might have been. He let you decide when it was time to go. He made everyone feel like they were a big deal.
In reality, you were talking to the big deal, the coolest person you’d ever know.

I saw him from afar outside of Baum-Walker Stadium a few years ago. I was waiting for him with a ticket to our company suite. I stayed put at the meeting point. He would take three or four steps and someone would recognize him. There would be a conversation, and then a few more steps and it would be repeated.

That might have bugged someone, but not Mort. He loved to talk with Razorback fans. When we sat down, I mentioned what I’d just seen.

“It was great,” he said. “I’m the same as them. We were talking about if Kevin Kopps should win college player of the year. He will win by a landslide.”

Mort reminded me that day of the injustice of Darren McFadden not winning a Heisman Trophy.

“That’s not going to happen with Kopps,” Mort said. “He has no rivals like McFadden did with Tim Tebow.”

The point of all of this is to remind us what we lost Sunday. Yes, ESPN lost their best all-time reporter. In Chris Mortensen, Razorback Nation lost one of us.