Death of a God

I haven't been able to get away from the tragic death of Washington Redskins Safety, Sean Taylor. Every day for a week, whether it be television, print, or online, I've seen this story take a prominent position in the news of the day.

It's sad when people die, and it's great that he was much loved among his teammates, was a fantastic player, and apparently a good father. It's also touching how on the first play of the Redskins game this Sunday, the team fielded only 10 players instead of the usual 11 (that's class). However, do we really need to act as if a head of state died? It's not like he's the Pope, people. He was 24, had a relatively short career in the NFL, and other than being able to knock the shit out of people and being a good guy, I don't see why he would get this level of media attention for a solid week.

I don't mean to speak ill of the dead, but I don't think even Mother Theresa got this kind of news coverage. Seriously. At this point I'm waiting for him to rise from the grave after three days, or at least become one of those conspiracy theory icons that people refuse to believe is dead.

My gut tells me that this is probably more about the power of football than any one person. The religiosity of this game and the way that its worship seems to overwhelm the minds of the plebian masses so completely as to undermine the importance of the things that really matter, is scary. I love football, and I've followed the New Orleans Saints religiously since I was a kid, but far too frequently I speak with people who can talk endlessly about football players but have next to no understanding of anything else. I'm at the point that when I see people with flags on their cars, I wince.

This weekend I saw many people wearing Sean Taylor Jerseys or having some insignia commemorating his life (mostly "21", his number). It was heartwarming to see so many people who apparently care a great deal, but something about it didn't sit well in my gut. You see, I couldn't remember the last time I saw anyone wear an insignia for the tens of thousands of civilians our country has killed in Iraq, the monks lost in Burma, or the thousands of lives destroyed in Sudan. Then again, I've never seen a monk stop a running back cold on 3rd and 1 from the goal line.

As disturbed as I am by this, I realize it is inevitable. In a world where we have made sport our religion, it's only fitting that we send off its greatest warriors as one might a God.