It’s easy to hate sportswriters.

We’re full of cynicism, a second helping of sarcasm, and a seething disdain for your favorite team that we just can’t hide.

Idiots, all of us.

Everyone except Bob Holt.

A reporter who could make even Nick Saban smile became his reluctant institution – a humble, self-deprecating antithesis to everything people hate about our profession.

Bob died last night. He was 65.

The void he leaves in this industry and in his adopted hometown of Fayetteville is larger than he imagined or wanted to admit. That’s because the longtime Razorback beat writer for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette was too kind to acknowledge how universally popular he was.

He truly was the unicorn at every SEC media event with no professional rival or enemy. In a company that is a Bravo reality show with no cameras, Bob might have been the only one in a media workroom that everyone liked.

Even the coaches.

Even…Saban.

Holt’s famously nasal voice coupled with frequent and wordy questions made him a media star for decades. Although the cheerful scribe seemed almost shy in some social situations, he combined a quick wit and lack of fear with a disarmingly folksy delivery that had to be heard to be fully appreciated.

Take SEC Media Days 2022, for example.

From his traditional front row seat, Bob Saban asked a question only Bob could ask, in a way only he could ask.

“I don’t know if you noticed,” Bob said, “it stopped raining right before you came up. I don’t know if you had control over it or not.”

Saban smiled and denied Messiah-level control of the weather with a grin that no one else in this room would have received.

That’s what comes with decades of goodwill based on his genuinely curious nature and disarming personality. Watching him perform at SEC Media Days was such an honor that ten years ago I spent a few days writing about him instead of the supposed stars of the event.

Under the headline “Meet Bob Holt, SEC Media Days’ Curiest Reporter and Reluctant Cult Hero,” appeared the most interesting piece of journalism I have ever produced in this Hoover Hotel ballroom.

“People kind of make fun of me because, I don’t know, I wear people down,” Bob said in the article. “I don’t compare myself at all to (late CBS journalist) Mike Wallace, but if you ask someone enough questions… I just have a natural curiosity that I think every reporter should have. I just like to ask questions.”

And it’s true.

With a smile and a friendly demeanor, Bob was able to ask specific questions. If a trainer dodged his first attempt, Bob wouldn’t let him off the hook. He was a throwback, a real journalist in an increasingly digital world who could grill a coach with a question in the friendliest way possible.

Even better, he insisted on introducing himself before every question as if none of the people involved knew about it.

“Bob Holt, Arkansas Democrat-Gazette” became a sing-along hit at league media meetings.

Bob loved his cats, the Detroit Tigers and the Green Bay Packers.

Alabama basketball coach Nate Oats, a cheese fan himself, always peppered Bob with Packer talk at SEC Hoops Media Days before getting down to business.

Everyone just wanted to be Bob’s friend.

I loved being with Bob, selfishly hoping that some of his goodness would rub off. That wasn’t the case.

But every day in his orbit was clearly better, as cliche as it may sound.

Young writers were overwhelmed by meeting the legend, which was funny because his chronic modesty made that admiration almost indelible.

But he was incredibly funny and could piss off a fellow writer like no other.

Like the time Ross Dellenger, now of Yahoo Sports, jumped out of his Atlanta hotel on his way to the 2018 SEC Media Days at the College Football Hall of Fame. Seconds after Ross was approached on the sidewalk by a foul-mouthed stranger, he encountered Bob and Democrat-Gazette co-beat writer Tom Murphy.

Still dazed from the bizarre encounter, a smiling Bob added the punch line.

“What about the white belt?” became Bob’s phrase, repeated on barstools throughout the SEC for years to come. It was funny because that’s as mean as Bob can be and because he was never mistaken for a fashion icon.

Bob could write, though.

His love for the craft was evident, and when an Arkansas native was on the SEC roster, coaches could expect to hear from Bob. He was all about the finer details – old fashioned and through and through.

“I don’t work for the Wall Street Journal,” Bob told me in the 2014 Media Days article. “I don’t work for The New York Times. You know, I don’t work for USA Today. I work for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette and as Bill Clinton says, “It’s a small, wonderful state,” but for me you always have to consider the local perspective. I mean, you always have to. …I’ve gotten jokes about it. So-and-so flew over Arkansas, so you’re going to do a story about it.”

In our business, there is a morbid badge of honor for dying at the keyboard. Well, Bob came close by adding another final act that only old journalists could appreciate.

Bob collapsed as he returned to the press box after conducting postgame interviews about Arkansas’ season-ending loss at Missouri.

As a Mizzou graduate, Bob felt at home in a sense.

And his final line was posted Sunday morning in a hospital he would never leave with a ventilator keeping him alive long enough for his family to arrive and say goodbye.

He leaves behind a blood brother and sister and generations of inked guys who were friends but felt like family.

Bob was the nicest guy in a shop full of jackals – the best kind of unicorn that could never be replaced.

Bob was loved whether he could admit it or not.

We will miss him more than he could ever know.

And if you have a moment, say a prayer for St. Peter.

Bob has been standing outside the pearly gates for hours, bombarding him with questions about every Razorback in paradise.

Michael Casagrande is a reporter for Alabama Media Group. Follow him on Twitter @ByCasagrande or further Facebook.