My introduction to Carl Adamec came on Feb. 17, 2016. UConn had just beaten Cincinnati 88-34 at Gampel Pavilion and as the media contingent waited to talk to Geno Auriemma, then-Bearcats head coach Jamelle Elliott popped in for an unplanned press conference. When the questions finished, Elliott exited into the hallway, only to be trailed by Adamec, as he often did, for a quick 1-on-1.

“ALMANAC!” Elliott yelled from the hallway.

Everyone else in the room chuckled and joked that it was the perfect nickname for Carl. At the time, I didn’t get it. I had covered no more than a handful of games and succeeded at making myself nearly invisible in that time.

But over the next decade, I came to learn that Carl really was an almanac for all things UConn women’s basketball. He chronicled the program from Geno Auriemma’s earliest days — first at the Manchester Journal Inquirer and then, after the paper was acquired by Hearst Media in 2023, at CT Insider — and knew more about its history than anyone.

I was lucky enough to work alongside Carl and eventually call him a friend. He passed away this week at the age of 68.

Nobody could ever accuse Carl of not caring. He loved his New York sports — the Knicks, Giants, Yankees, Rangers and St. John’s, his alma mater. Few people enjoyed the Knicks’ run to their first NBA championship in 53 years earlier this summer than him. If he showed up to a media availability in something other than a crewneck sweatshirt of one of those teams, it was an upset. He was a proud graduate of Putnam High School in Connecticut, too.

Carl also had high standards for everybody on the UConn women’s basketball beat. As Mike Anthony described perfectly in his story, Carl would not hesitate to tell you if you got something wrong in a story or a tweet. One time in 2018, he followed me on Twitter, sent me a direct message to tell me the Huskies’ trip to Baylor wouldn’t be a homecoming for Lexi Gordon since she grew up in the Dallas area, then promptly unfollowed me once our conversation ended.

I remember Carl telling me about how, at some point earlier his tenure, the game notes from the team’s sports information director were riddled with so many errors that he took to writing his own each game.

When UConn celebrated Auriemma and Chris Dailey’s 40th season in 2024-25, I considered ranking the 40 greatest players in program history. I got so far as creating a list, deciding on the format to unveil it and building a template for the stories. But I could never pull the trigger to actually put it out. In the back of my head, I knew Carl would tell me I was wrong about, well, most of it. I knew he’d be right, too.

As it turned out, Carl was working on his own top 50 ranking when he passed, according to Anthony. It’s a shame he never finished because, as with all his other coverage of the Huskies, it would’ve been the definitive account.

Nobody saw more than Carl and, crucially, nobody remembered more. There were many times when Geno would field a question about a past season, game or player, only to immediately ask Carl for the answer. He was a walking encyclopedia of UConn women’s basketball.

When the United States Basketball Writers of America inducted him into their Hall of Fame in 2023. Auriemma made a four-hour drive from Houston, where he was watching UConn men’s basketball march to their fifth national championship, to Dallas for the ceremony.

But for all the plaudits Carl will rightfully receive for his coverage, he wasn’t a robot who just spit out stats and facts. Well, actually, he might’ve been, but he had a big heart, too.

If you didn’t know Carl, he could seem prickly or aloof. If you weren’t inside his circle, he didn’t pay you much attention. But once he allowed you inside that barrier, you were one of his people and he’d do anything for you.

During my first year on the beat, I was a high school senior who was largely terrified to speak a word to anyone. But I eventually learned we had a connection. Carl, who reported on high school sports with the same conviction as he did UConn, covered a friend of mine at RHAM. I finally worked up the courage to tell him and as the conversation began, Carl didn’t even bother to take his eyes off his computer screen. But once I told him about the link, his entire demeanor changed and he excitedly asked how my friend and her family were doing.

Just like that, I was inside.

Carl began calling me Danny — a nickname I generally loathe but have allowed three people in my life to use. I certainly wasn’t going to correct him.

One day, he took me off to the side and let me know that UConn would be announcing a home-and-home series with Maryland so I could get a story pre-written. Another time, I accidentally stepped in on one of his 1-on-1s with a player — a big no-no to him — but when I apologized later, he told me it was no big deal; I worked hard on my own so he knew I wasn’t copying him.

Leading into the 2024-25 season, I’d spent an inordinate amount of time talking up incoming freshman Allie Ziebell. So naturally, anytime she missed a shot, he’d turn around and just stare at me. “Be patient, she’ll get there,” I’d always say. “I know,” he’d reply. “I just like giving you a hard time about it.”

Carl stopped attending games in person this past season due to health troubles. I never felt his absence more than when Ziebell dropped 34 points against Xavier in January.

The angriest I ever saw him had nothing to do with basketball, or the beat. Instead, he found out I split the bill with my girlfriend for our Valentine’s Day meal. He was beyond himself that I didn’t cover the entire thing. I thought he’d never forgive me.

But the memory that’s stuck with me the most in the last 24 hours since I learned of his passing wasn’t a funny story or interaction. Instead, we sat next to each other during the 2025 national championship game. I don’t particularly remember anything we talked about. I just remember being there together. Even then, I knew it was special to cover my first national championship next to the guy who’d seen them all. I just never imagined it’d be his last.

Some sportswriters aspire to climb the later, move up from covering a local beat into a national gig for ESPN, The Athletic or some other renowned publication. Others want to become feature writers.

But me? I’ve always wanted to be Carl — someone who stuck around one place for decades and knew everything there is to know about a team. I have a long way to go to catch up — this will be my 12th season covering UConn women’s basketball and nine covering UConn men’s hockey — but I’m getting there.

This past season, I asked UConn men’s hockey coach Mike Cavanaugh a question about one of his players reaching a statistical milestone.

“I didn’t even know that,” Cavanaugh told me. “You’re like my statistician. You tell me when all of these guys break records.”

My god, I thought, I’m Cav’s Carl.

Without Carl around during the women’s basketball season, I started to get all the questions that would’ve previously been directed at Carl. Along the way, I picked up a new nickname: Young Carl. I viewed it as an ultimate badge of honor.

It’s difficult to imagine that UConn will begin a new season in November without Carl there to cover it. He was supposed to retire alongside Geno, then write the definitive history of the program.

UConn should honor Carl by inducting him into the Huskies of Honor. Nobody outside the walls of Gampel Pavilion and the Werth Champions Center have done more for the program than him. He’s certainly earned a place among the greats.

Carl was a pillar of the UConn women’s basketball beat and leaves a void that will never be filled. Reporters will always come and go but he was an institution. There’s no replacing his dedication and commitment.

And above all else, I’m going to miss him tremendously.