Losing a hero

When Michael Jackson died, I thought to myself "what do you expect, the guy had tons of issues" and it really had no emotional impact on me whatsoever.

Steve McNair's death is a completely different animal though, because here is a guy that I looked up to for a large majority of my childhood. Here was the leader of the Tennessee Titans (my favorite team), here was a guy that came from a modest beginning at Alcorn State, here was a guy that never gave up even when his body betrayed him.

I remember him willing the Titans to within a yard of the endzone in the Super Bowl. I remember him playing with injuries far numerous to list. I remember him being the reason Tennessee was one of the most sucessful franchises in this decade.

And he's gone, at age 36.

Since the full details haven't come out, nor do I expect them to - I can't really comment on that, but what I can write about is just what it has felt like the past two days.

I got a text from my friend Joel, and at first I didn't believe him. Namely because shooting deaths feel like they'd be largely reserved to someone that was involved in the wrong people. Not somebody like Steve McNair, who seemed like he was a champion of the community and by all accounts, a very nice guy.

Air McNair? Dead? Is this a hoax?

Once I confirmed it, I still was in shock. I have two pieces of memorabilia sitting in my room right now with Steve McNair on it. When I got home and saw those, all I could think about was the shooting death. It was senseless and tragic. It sucked. Plain and simple.

And that's the weird thing about us, we tend to put people in high esteem that are athletes, actors and leaders. Even though their just as human and mortal as us. When they die, we're supposed to be stunned even though that's basically the fate of everyone. Unlike our religious convictions, our heroes are very fragile and can be gone in a blink of an eye.

We lost a hero on July 4. His name was Steve McNair.