We’re only halfway into the year and 2022 has already claimed three iconic Buffalo Bills.

It started April 21 when quarterback Darryl Lamonica passed away, in his sleep, at age 80.

Then, June 24, beloved trainer Eddie Abramoski’s life ended after 88 years due to multiple health issues.

And, finally, this past Monday, wide receiver Marlin Briscoe expired, at 76, from pneumonia.

NEITHER OF the two players were with the team when I started covering it in 1973.

My only interaction with Lamonica came in the mid-70s at a media session before a celebrity sports dinner at Buffalo’s Statler Hotel. I wanted to talk to him as, in 1967, the Bills had traded him and wide receiver Glenn Bass to Oakland for wideout Art Powell and backup QB Tom Flores.

Lamonica went from being a 24th-round pick in ‘63 — the American Football League had only eight teams back then — and Jack Kemp’s caddy for four seasons in Buffalo to a starter with the Raiders whom he led to four straight division titles and won two AFL MVP awards.

In Oakland, Lamonica, in keeping with owner/coach Al Davis’ philosophy, became known as the “Mad Bomber” due to the team’s reliance on long passes.

Two things struck me about him that day, one, all the time we talked he was wearing a flamboyant fur jacket and, two, he was a “great talker”, as we mediatypes like to call them, oozing charisma, charm and humor.

I left thinking, “Of course that guy was a quarterback at Notre Dame.”

MY PATH never crossed Briscoe’s, but I knew his story.

A star quarterback at the University of Omaha, he was drafted by the Broncos in the 14th round … as a cornerback. But his contract was structured so that he could compete for the QB job, as well.

A month into his rookie year, Denver coach Lou Saban put him in at quarterback when the starter was injured. A week later he became the first Black starting QB in pro football history. Though undersized at 5-foot-10, 177 pounds, he was so elusive Briscoe earned the nickname “Marlin The Magician.”

And when Saban told him another player would be the starting quarterback the following season, he asked to be released and was signed by the Bills. Buffalo already had Kemp, Flores and James Harris, who was Black and a more traditionally-sized QB (6-foot-4, 210 pounds) and went on to be a full-time starter for the Rams.

Thus, the Bills made Briscoe a wide receiver and he turned out to be a good one, catching a team-leading 18 touchdown passes over three seasons, which caught the Dolphins’ attention.

Buffalo traded him to Miami for a first-round draft choice in 1973 which the Bills turned into Hall of Fame guard Joe DeLamielleure.

As productive as Briscoe was, the Dolphins lost that deal.

ABE CAME with the franchise, hired at the team’s inception in 1960.

By the time I started covering the team 14 years later, Abramoski was an institution.

But trainers are unusual people.

They are employees of the team and an integral part of the organization, but ultimately their loyalty leans toward the players they treat … both physically and mentally.

Clearly, the trainer is intimately familiar with their medical issues, but the best ones, which Abe was, also become a Father Confessor, a trusted source for players to share their concerns and receive encouragement and advice.

Back in the days when the media had much more access to the locker room, it was clear how much the players idolized Abe and were secure in the knowledge that what they said in the training room stayed there. He was not about to betray their confidence.

In 50 years covering the team, the only Bills trainer I ever talked to on a professional basis was Allegany’s Bud Carpenter. If he had an announcement to make, he specifically asked for me — no other press — and often issued a reminder that I was the only media member he’d ever allowed in his training room.

Clearly, he felt a sense of loyalty to a writer from his hometown area and knew I had the wisdom not to ask about any injuries.

The only way I got to know Abe before he retired, after 36 years on the job, was in the days when the media traveled to road games with the team.

The night before, in the hotel restaurant or bar, we’d gather and he would talk about his avocation, carrier pigeons, a subject that fascinated us. He raised and raced them with notable success, finding it both therapeutic and fulfilling.

But it was in retirement that I got to know him best.

We were part of a 12-person committee that chose the Bills annual Wall of Fame selection. His stories, dated to the franchise’s birth, always got our attention whether it was informing us what player didn’t have the high character necessary to be inducted or noting that Robert James, a three-time Pro Bowler and Wall selection, wasn’t as skilled a cornerback as teammate Booker Edgerson.

Before Covid, he was in the press box, seated in his wheelchair, watching every home game. He was treated as the respected celebrity he had unwittingly become and it won’t be the same in his absence.

(Chuck Pollock, a Times Herald senior sports columnist, can be reached at cpollock@oleantimesherald.com)