Ryan Davis was a great man.
Is a great man.
He lived life with an honesty that could be felt with every word and action, produced by a body that just couldn’t keep up with him. He was a father when mine was asleep, a brother when mine was away, a friend when there were none to be found. I had the pleasure of talking to him once. It was on an episode of the long since irrelevant Minor Issues podcast; Andrew (Systech) and I found a photo of his business card while looking through sexy cosplay pictures on Anime Vice. His phone number was on it, and we thought he’d make for a great, impromptu interviewee. Needless to say, the call was awkward. We rang him on a Sunday while he was in the middle of an errand, but he didn’t hesitate to give us his time. If I had it now, I’d give him every millisecond back.
Ryan was nothing short of a hero. He would look adversity dead in the eye, and then cum all over it, laughing while throwing back drink after smoke after burger. This is what I loved about him. When I was a spineless, confused preteen, he was the one who told me to buck up; the one who could put a smile on my face and a boot in my ass. Through Ryan and Giant Bomb I overcame a lot. I even met my best friend in the whole wide world (and now current roommate) DanielJW through Giant Bomb. Dan and I knew each other from the GB community, and ended up meeting/becoming bff’s at film school in Toronto (though we didn’t know it at the time.) It wasn’t until two weeks of constant bro-ing up that Dan wore his Luchadeer shirt and revealed his true self. We were instant-bff after that.
The impact that Ryan and the Giant Bomb crew had on my life is immeasurable, and I know I’m not alone in this. Remember Ryan for who he was and what he brought to all of our lives – the joys, the laughs, the instilling hatred of wingless planes.
Ryan Davis isn’t dead.
Ryan Davis is still a threat.