Sean Taylor, 1983-2007

“Treachery and treason
There’s always an excuse for it
And when I find the reason
I still can’t get used to it…”
Mark Knopfler/Dire Straits: “Private Investigations”

Have you become weary of turning on the news or picking up the paper to learn that yet another life so full of promise has been lost at the hand of a gun? Saddened, yes; shocked, no. It doesn’t matter whether the young man or woman is famous or anonymous, it’s but another murder here in the good ol’ U.S. of A. Something to be mentioned in passing between the weather forecast and the college basketball scores. Life is the most precious thing on earth, yet daily, the news is filled with utterly senseless, stupid acts of violence that regard human life so cheaply.

Sean Taylor is today’s victim. My God, he was just a kid. My oldest boy was born in the same year. But incidents with professional athletes and guns take place every day. Taylor was on the cusp of fulfilling the greatness on a football field that the experts had predicted. Taylor’s calling card was the ability to deliver bone-jarring hits to opposing receivers or runners who came into his area. He was finally learning how to use his head for something more than a weapon on the field and had started to mature into All-Pro status. How good was he? On the verge of becoming this generation’s Ronnie Lott, that’s how good. All of that means nothing now, since some gutless punk mortally wounded him early Monday morning during what media reports have termed a home invasion.

If Taylor’s death happened a couple of years back when he was rolling with a bad crew of thugs and continually making bad choices most people would’ve just shrugged and regarded his demise as inevitable. But he became a father, and by all accounts parenthood transformed him into a responsible, highly motivated young man. That’s what makes his death all the more tragic. His name ceased to appear on the police blotter and the only news reported about him reflected a guy who was serious about his work. Becoming a father tends to have that effect on rowdy lads. The people and things that were once so important fade as we learn how to change diapers and take responsibility for the life that we helped to place on this fragile planet. Fatherhood is about the best part of being a man. Now another baby in America will grow up without her daddy.

Do you know what’s impressive? Money? Possessions? No; those come and go and the older you get the value of “things” begins to dissipate as you confront your own mortality, gray hair and creaky joints. What’s impressive is standing in the checkout line at Wal-Mart and seeing a rough-looking guy cradling his baby girl and remembering when you were standing in his shoes. The responsibility (which never ends) is frightening but any man worth his salt will tell you that there is nothing more fulfilling in life.

Football is the last thing on the minds of his teammates and coaches, who will now have summon the strength to play out the month of December. But all of the joy of “playing a game” has been lost in the shock and grief of losing a friend and teammate. For his family, the loss is far more acute. Football players can be replaced at any time; murder victims can’t. We send along our condolences to his family and friends. May he Rest in Peace.