Sports Can't Escape Life
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by J Cunningham
I'm stunned and saddened by the loss of Sean Taylor earlier today.
Not because I knew the Washington Redskins safety personally -- I didn't -- and not because as a Redskins fan, he was one of my favorite players (though he most certainly was). No, what gets me is how in one instant, the very fabric of sports and one of the reasons I enjoy them was invaded by the harshest, most cruel entity known to mankind:
Life.
For many, myself included, sports is an escape from the rigors and stresses of daily life. When I tune in to a football game or a show about college basketball on ESPN, I want to hear about the coaches, the players, the on-the-field action. I don't want to stare the harsh realities of life and death in the face when I'm trying to enjoy a simple game. When I'm having a bad day or things aren't quite going the way I'd like them to, I use sports to help me feel better. Watching a baseball game or listening to experts break down the big NFL game of the week helps me forget about my problems for a little while, escape to a world of fun and games.
Taylor's premature death is but another tragic interruption upon our daily retreat. Instead of focusing on a Pro Bowl safety coming into his own and trying to rehab his knee to get back on the field for a Redskins team that's suffered three straight tough losses, we're talking about his checkered past, mourning the fact that his 18-month-old daughter will grow up without her father.
Which is probably the most tragic reality of the whole ordeal.
When I made the decision seven years ago to become a journalist, I decided to write about sports so I could avoid these harsh realities. I'm well aware of how bad life can be, how violent people can be toward one another. I didn't want to make my living writing about such dreary subjects as murder, robbery, politics and police corruption. And sports was my sanctuary; instead of writing daily about police looking for an armed robber or interviewing a crying grandmother about how her beloved grandson was killed by a drunk driver, I wanted to make my living writing about the games we all love.
The plays they make, the championships they win and how, often, sports can bring out some of the best in humanity. I'm reminded of a story I did for HRVarsity.com back in September, writing about how the Granby High School field hockey team was wearing pink uniforms throughout the season to benefit breast cancer. It was the positive, uplifting tale you might not get while browsing through the national or local section of your newspaper, a story made possible solely by the presence of sports.
But sometimes, life barges into the sanctity of sports and reminds all of us that no one's immune from the cruel reality. Not players, not coaches ... no one. Life doesn't care what you do for a living, or who you are. Nor does it care how many home runs you hit or whether you're among the league leaders in interceptions. Life doesn't give a damn about a 24-year-old football player changing his life and trying to provide for his young family while performing at a high level on the football field.
But the fans did care. Taylor's death is tragic, as is the reminder that not even our daily escapes are safe from the cruel hand of fate.
