BuckeyeChuck
Member
Lately there have been a spate of high-profile sports suicides. Ryan Freel is the latest: Ryan Freel dies of apparent suicide - ESPN
I'm an avid Reds fan. My kids have a love-hate relationship with warm weather because they know that means there will be Reds baseball on the TV, regardless of what they want to watch. I hope to fan the flames of passion for America's national pastime and I have little doubt that when they have little ones, they will be indoctrinating them with the wishbone C on the red hat.
As a child, I idolized my sports heroes. Eric Davis, a man of some controversy in Cincinnati because he was the team's first million dollar player, was my favorite player. They weren't really people; they were something larger than that.
At Ohio State I lived in a dormitory with freshman football players, so the myth of superhumanity was quickly dispelled, especially when I typed their papers for $1/page. (Hey, I was one of the few who had a PC in his dorm room, plus a dot matrix printer.) When you type their semi-literate scrawls, you may still scream for them on Saturdays, but you no longer see them as much different from you ... well, except that I was/am a lot smarter. We all had talents; mine didn't manifest on the gridiron.
As I've aged (now in my 40's), I've increasingly realized the humanity of players and coaches. The truth is that I don't *know* any of them. They are not family; they are not my friends. I don't contribute to their success, and their failure is not something about which to be angry because it is not aggression against my person or property. (I think the average fan often never realizes this.)
In shoft, I am entertained by these men (and sometimes, women) and I hope they have fulfilling lives with their families, just as I hope for me. Now, for the ugly part of this post: I have extreme difficulty with any form of commemoration for those who die by suicide. I was outraged by the outpouring of emotion for Junior Seau. I will not be joining in any commemoration of Ryan Freel, regardless of how fondly I recall the way he played the game, and I do indeed recall it fondly.
Suicide is ultimate cowardice. It is the ultimate selfish act, a striking contrast to the gift of He who gave His life for me.
It is my belief that head trauma in sports contributes greatly to mental illness in many of these athletes, and that this disease contributes to an extreme irrationality leading to this ultimately selfish act. Nonetheless, I cannot see my way to veneration of those who commit this act, regardless of the circumstances. What of Ryan's ex-wife, his child, his parents, his siblings (if any), his friends?
I offer no commentary on the right to die, which is a different topic and can be debated at another time. Choices have consequences, and just because I am free to make a choice doesn't mean the choice is a good one. One thing I tell people who huff about "rights to choose" and all that is "It's your right to choose and it's my right to judge." That's what I'm doing here and my judgement agrees with great rock band Rush, in the song The Pass, from Presto:
No hero in your tragedy.
No daring in your escape.
No salutes for your surrender.
Nothing noble in your fate.
Christ! What have you done?
I'm an avid Reds fan. My kids have a love-hate relationship with warm weather because they know that means there will be Reds baseball on the TV, regardless of what they want to watch. I hope to fan the flames of passion for America's national pastime and I have little doubt that when they have little ones, they will be indoctrinating them with the wishbone C on the red hat.
As a child, I idolized my sports heroes. Eric Davis, a man of some controversy in Cincinnati because he was the team's first million dollar player, was my favorite player. They weren't really people; they were something larger than that.
At Ohio State I lived in a dormitory with freshman football players, so the myth of superhumanity was quickly dispelled, especially when I typed their papers for $1/page. (Hey, I was one of the few who had a PC in his dorm room, plus a dot matrix printer.) When you type their semi-literate scrawls, you may still scream for them on Saturdays, but you no longer see them as much different from you ... well, except that I was/am a lot smarter. We all had talents; mine didn't manifest on the gridiron.
As I've aged (now in my 40's), I've increasingly realized the humanity of players and coaches. The truth is that I don't *know* any of them. They are not family; they are not my friends. I don't contribute to their success, and their failure is not something about which to be angry because it is not aggression against my person or property. (I think the average fan often never realizes this.)
In shoft, I am entertained by these men (and sometimes, women) and I hope they have fulfilling lives with their families, just as I hope for me. Now, for the ugly part of this post: I have extreme difficulty with any form of commemoration for those who die by suicide. I was outraged by the outpouring of emotion for Junior Seau. I will not be joining in any commemoration of Ryan Freel, regardless of how fondly I recall the way he played the game, and I do indeed recall it fondly.
Suicide is ultimate cowardice. It is the ultimate selfish act, a striking contrast to the gift of He who gave His life for me.
It is my belief that head trauma in sports contributes greatly to mental illness in many of these athletes, and that this disease contributes to an extreme irrationality leading to this ultimately selfish act. Nonetheless, I cannot see my way to veneration of those who commit this act, regardless of the circumstances. What of Ryan's ex-wife, his child, his parents, his siblings (if any), his friends?
I offer no commentary on the right to die, which is a different topic and can be debated at another time. Choices have consequences, and just because I am free to make a choice doesn't mean the choice is a good one. One thing I tell people who huff about "rights to choose" and all that is "It's your right to choose and it's my right to judge." That's what I'm doing here and my judgement agrees with great rock band Rush, in the song The Pass, from Presto:
No hero in your tragedy.
No daring in your escape.
No salutes for your surrender.
Nothing noble in your fate.
Christ! What have you done?
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