When Words Collide, Sentences Form

Feeling of Personal Loss in Sports...

Sports is a crazy beast. It brings you up to the highest of highs, and brings you to the lowest of lows...all through the swing of a bat, the shout of an ump, the buzz at "0," the cling of a post hit. Yet all of those emotions are not due to life and death situations...although the emotions may be confused at times when there is a death.

When a sports celebrity dies, there is a sadness. He or she transformed a sport as we know it today, made us love the sport, helped us connect to a city, introduced us to a new style, or simply made something that always seemed out of our grasp possible. I believe that this is why when a great athlete dies, ripples are sent through a sea of people that never knew him or her personally, never spoke a word to him or her, and whom they would never really want to meet on the street anyway.

However, there should be a separation between understanding the connection, love, emotional tie and devastation that a fan feels when their sports hero dies...and that same line of connectivity to the loss of someone that actually personally affected an individual within their life by driving them to school when they missed the bus or giving them a shoulder to cry on when they failed a final or cheered for them as they made their first 3 point shot. And today in general, I think that line is blurred for many fans.

As everyone is aware, Kirby Puckett died yesterday. A tragedy - yes...it brings to light the danger of a family history of heart disease and a pattern of poor health that can befall even the most gifted and athletic and seemingly invincible individuals. Incredibly sad to lose his voice telling stories of his glory days, passing long motivation to other youth from inner cities attempting to accomplish the impossible and sign a pro contract and his pure athleticism. He was an amazing public figure in the sport of baseball, and nothing that happened outside the lines can diminish his numbers on the field (a sentiment Pete Rose is probably echoing right now)...however it is necessary to separate the pain and sadness of losing someone that is loved as an influential sports figure with the pain and sadness of losing someone that you truly love. And sadly, I have to repeat that line has been blurred by many.

I understand that Kirby Puckett is not my favorite sports personality...I didn't grow up falling in love with a team because of his late inning heroics to win a World Series for my small market team. I didn't wake up every day in February to see his face beaming with excitement on the morning news as he predicted another great season for the hometown team. I didn't grow up a fan of teams that perennially suffered from lackluster seasons, only to be led publicly on and off the field by one individual to not one, but two improbable championships. I do, however, remember both of those championships quite vividly...not necessarily for the heroics of one individual but for an entire team. And, I do, however, remember the day that Kirby retired, not for my own loss at not seeing him ever take to the field again - but for the brief reminder, even at the young age of 17, that perfect health and a long career is not guaranteed to anyone - no matter how strong, famous or heroic.

The closest sports "hero" memory that I can come up with to compare this to is the death of Dale Earnhardt. As a kid, the man in the yellow and blue Wrangler #3 car captivated my sister and I, as we fell in love with watching cars speed around an oval. My sister even had a plastic replica yellow Earnhardt helmet. I remember watching the Daytona 500 the year that he changed to the black Goodwrench #3 and being confused - wondering why our favorite driver...the first athlete we ever passionately followed...wasn't in the biggest race in the world. Until we suddenly realized that his car was a different color and had a different sponsor. (I still, to this day, identify him more with the yellow and blue Wrangler car than with the black Goodwrench car.) And I will always remember where I was sitting the day that I learned he had been killed in Turn 3 at Daytona in 2001. Sitting on the couch in my apartment in Gainesville, my then-boyfriend in the kitchen...and the newscaster breaks in around 6:30 or so with the news. I was absolutely torn apart. The first athlete who had ever attracted me to a sport, who I thought was the epitome of all things great within his sport...had died. I cried, and I felt a sense of personal loss.

And that was my mistake. As years have passed and I have reflected upon that feeling...I realize that it was NOT personal loss that I felt. No, that is reserved for family, friends, colleagues that knew the Intimidator. Those who were touched by his class, work ethic and spirit every day because they personally interacted with him. My loss was not a personal loss. It was a sadness. A sadness that I would never see my favorite driver take to the track again. A sadness that the man who had defined one of my favorite sports was lost...while helping to redefine it. And that might have been the toughest pill to swallow - one always says in cases like that "At least he died doing what he loved." And yes - that was true. But that possibly makes it harder to accept and understand.

How dare I, a fan, a person reading about him on the internet, watching his car from thousands of miles away on a TV, attempt to feel a personal loss for his death? How could I, a casual observer who truly knew nothing about the actual man himself because I had never even been in his presence, feel a personal loss? And how dare I diminish the feelings of personal loss of his friends, family and colleagues who truly knew who the person was that was killed in that car by imposing my own false feelings of personal loss? Personal impact? Maybe, yes. Intense sadness for the loss of a legend before his time? Yes. Personal loss? I realize now - No.

And finally, there needs to be a separation of the feelings for an athlete as a contributor to a sport and as a person in a time of loss. In many cases...there is a difference. We put athletes up on a pedestal, are crushed when they falter and don't live up to our expectations, and then push aside the negative in death. Let us remember them for all that they were...good, bad and ugly...for that is truly their legacy.

posted by Steph @ 3:28 PM