Remembering Ryan Davis: Mourning Someone We Never Met

In memory of this guy.

This past Monday the video gaming community was rocked by the tragic news of the sudden death of games journalist Ryan Davis.  As an editor at GameSpot, he was a key figure in the evolution of games coverage on the Internet, pioneering podcasting and video shows.  In 2008 he co-founded the site Giant Bomb with GameSpot alum Jeff Gerstmann, and it was at this time that I came to know Ryan through the weekly Giant Bombcast.  Giant Bomb continued to push forward in games coverage, developing a site that is based as much on the charisma of its editorial staff as games themselves - and the Bombcast is the most important component of the site's image.  Each week's 2-3 hour show, hosted by Ryan, is a mix of informative video game discussion and witty banter about everything from short-wave numbers stations to who would win in a knife-vs-bat fight.  Ryan also featured prominently in video features such as QuickLooks - gameplay with commentary of various (sometimes hilariously bad) games and "This Ain't No Game" reviews of movies inspired by or based on video games (Ryan and I share a love for the classic Cold War thriller WarGames).  Ryan's omnipresence, sheer likeability, and obvious passion and talent for his craft made him a beloved figure among the close-knit Giant Bomb community and the gaming industry at large.  His untimely passing thus came as a tragic gut-punch to everyone who enjoyed his online antics, rendered all the more horrible by the fact that his death came just days after his wedding.  He was 34.

When the news broke, the Internet - or at least gaming's corner of it - erupted in an outpouring of grief.  Thousands of people who had never met Ryan felt like they had lost a good friend, and felt the need to express their sorrow and condolences.  Journalists shared their favorite memories.  Ryan's dad took to Twitter, using an account that hadn't been active for months, to thank everyone for their support and share pictures of his son.  And random fans like me just wanted to find a reason for our sense of loss for someone we never knew.  For a time "Ryan" was the 3rd highest trending topic on Twitter.  On last check the post on Giant Bomb announcing his passing had around 7,000 comments.  Ryan's colleague Brad Shoemaker noted that his girlfriend - an oncology nurse - was truly impressed by such a great outpouring of positivity.  Given how cruel the Internet as a medium generally is, it was a nice sight to behold in the midst of tragedy.

But what of us fans?  What is our grief next to the unspeakable misery of Ryan's friends, family, and widow?  Why did we take it so hard?  He was probably the highest profile star in the young gaming industry to be taken before his time - and definitely the biggest since the rise of social media.  Personally, Ryan's death meant more to me than any "celebrity" who's ever died in my lifetime.  I certainly don't begrudge those who mourn celebrity deaths, but I've never felt any real connection to them.  For thousands of gamers, Ryan was different, and the technology of the Internet enabled this difference.  Thanks to the Bombcast and videos, Ryan was a regular fixture in our lives.  He was likable and easily relatable.  He was just one of the guys, talking about games and other stupid stuff.  We grew to knew him and even knew a fair amount about his personal life.

The Internet, and in particular Internet communities and fandom, are weird this way.  The technology enables the development of relationships - even one-way - with people you'll probably never meet.  We share their interests, laugh at their jokes, cheer their successes, and feel for their losses.  Is this unhealthy?  I suppose it could be, if such online relationships replace or damage our in-person ones.  As an unrelated tweet I saw last week noted, "I have relatives I haven't called in years, and I'm arguing with a 13-year-old on Twitter."  Taken in moderation, however, the Internet offers the unprecedented ability to connect with people we'd never meet, perhaps with common interests that none of our in-person acquaintances share.  The increased audio and video capabilities of today's Internet have made such relationships more real and legitimate - no longer just text in a chat room.  Of course, they can also be deceiving and abusive, just like in-person relationships - as anyone who's seen MTV's Catfish can attest.  But they can also have true meaning.  Many fans, while expressing their condolences, noted that the entertainment and camaraderie provided by Ryan and the Giant Bomb crew really helped them through some tough times.  Is it any wonder that these fans felt they had lost a good friend?

Life goes on for the Giant Bomb community.  Almost unbelievably, the crew recorded a 2-hour podcast this week, when no one would have blamed them for taking a week off.  It was a touching tribute to their fallen comrade.  Giant Bomb and the Bombcast will live on, and it's obvious Ryan would've wanted it that way.  And us fans will always remember the positive impact he had on our lives.  Thanks Ryan, for making the work week, my commute, or chores around the house a lot more bearable.

RIP duder.