The death of Darrent Williams makes me think back to a Monday night in September, 2001, and puts some perspective on what’s really important.

10 September, 2001: My Denver Broncos open their season on Monday Night Football, at home against the Giants. As I recall, the Broncos lose, but the real loss was #87, Ed McCaffery, who breaks his leg. Ed is maybe my very favorite Bronco, him or Steve Atwater, who wore #27 (and may have been finishing his career with the Jets in 2001, I don’t recall).

I’ve been a fan of the Denver Broncos Football Team since I was a very young child. I don’t remember why; I have no connection to the city, have never been to Denver. I suppose it was the 1977 Super Bowl, when they lost to the Dallas Cowboys, that made me a fan. Along the same time Grandpa Jack had given me a bunch of Broncos stuff for Christmas: I remember a robe, pajamas, a banner, and some pencils. My brother got the same stuff, but from the Baltimore Colts. At any rate, ever since then I’ve been a Broncos fan, living through the 4-10, 6-10, seasons of complete despair, to the bitter sweet late ’80s where they’d make Super Bowls only to get blown out, to the late ’90s when we’d finally be vilified by back-to-back NFL Championships.

We spent the evening of 10 September 2001 at the funeral home, as the patriarch of my wife’s family, Vernon “Mr.” Spiker, her grandad, had died just days before. The funeral was the next day; Monday was the viewing. Mr. Spiker could be counted only in the very top percentile of worthy men, among the very finest of people. Most of us will go through life being associated with only a small handful of really significant human beings, and I count him near the top of my very short list. That Monday night was not a particularly sad and somber affair; Mr. Spiker always extracted smiles and warmth from the people around him, and, there, steeping in his memories, those same smiles and warmth overwhelmed any sadness that we had. There were tears, of course, but, more than that, we were all proud and humbled to know him, and to meet all together and bask one last time in the man’s understated greatness.

I came home a bit early from the viewing Monday night (at the time we lived walking distance from the Funeral home), put our young children to bed, then assumed my position in front of the TV as a member of Bronco Nation. Another season with high hopes. Then Ed broke his leg in the game. He would recover, of course, later, but he was never the same receiver. I went to bed finally that night sad and disheartened. I knew the Broncos would have a hard time recovering from the loss of their number two receiver, and I’d lost my favorite player for the season. Those feelings were tempered, of course, by the loss of Mr. Spiker, but, as I said, the feelings surrounding his loss were much more of peace and respect than actual sadness.

We woke the next morning, 11 September 2001, prepared for a funeral. I was sad, too, for the loss of my favorite player from my favorite team. Of course, other, world-changing forces were at work that day. We had no idea, no citizen of the world did, how much our lives would be forever altered. We would soon, in just minutes after we got up, actually, be jolted into harsh reminders of what was actually important. Who was Ed McCaffery, and what were the Denver Broncos, and, even, who was Mr. Spiker, in the wake of the horror that is now simply known as “September Eleventh?”

What the hell kind of judge are you of ‘What’s Important?’”
— Dana Whitaker, SportsNight (Aaron Sorkin)

31 December, 2006: My Denver Broncos end their season and playoff hopes with an overtime loss to the San Francisco 49ers. Ed is long gone, his #87 now looking out of place on a promising but inexperienced David Kircus, and Steve’s #27 now worn with some credibility by a very good second-year corner named Darrent Williams. Darrent stood out on defense for several reasons, but one of the more interesting ones was that his entire name was on the back of his jersey.

Several weeks earlier, I had predicted (now, of course, I wish I had blogged about it) that the Broncos would miss the playoffs. While sitting around the Thanksgiving dinner table, I spelled out how the Broncos would not make the postseason if they lost that day to Kansas City. They would win at Arizona, and win the big home game against Cincinnati, but losses at Seattle and against the Chargers, and maybe the 49ers, would put them out of the playoff race. And that’s just what went down; just how it happened, in overtime against San Francisco. Another promising and hopefull season, gone. No playoffs. I had known that the move at quarterback from Jake Plummer to Jay Cutler was not, as the coach had said, a move for the present. Though his play was erratic, they’d miss Jake’s calm and poise and experience. I never agreed with the move at quarterback, though even I must admit that young Cutler is a very promising quarterback, and there are echos of a young John Elway in some of his play.

Disgusted at my prediction actually coming true, I went to bed that night sad that my Broncos had played their last game until August. We had our small little New Years’ Eve party at home, my middle son also depressed at Football, because his team, the Cincinnati Bengals, had also squandered their slim playoff hopes with a loss earlier in the day.

When we finally awoke in 2007, reality and a much clearer focus of What’s Important was brought to bear with the news that #27 had been shot to death the night before. A 24-year old man, a starting cornerback in the NFL, a significant contributer to my favorite team, had lost more than a chance at the playoffs. Members of my favorite team, most of which I could name, had lost, forever, a friend and teammate. A coach had lost, forever, a very fine player. A city had lost, forever, one of its more promising young citizens.

I don’t mean to draw direct parallels between the loss, by a bullet to the neck, of a fine young man to the tragedy of the terrorist attacks, but they’re linked in my mind by the realities that I had immediately before, to the realities that both of these events brought back into very sharp focus. The forthcoming weeks will show just what happened last New Years’ Eve in Denver; there’s talk of gang relations, though I seriously doubt that we’ll ever hear the word “thug” associated with ‘D-Will’. I refuse to believe that he was directly associated with that nonsense, and was instead in the wrong place, associated with the wrong people, doing the wrong thing, at the wrong-est of times.

Bronco Nation will mourn the loss of Darrent Williams today, as the entire team flies down, just as if it were an away game, to his funeral in Ft. Worth, TX, today. In a matter of sorts, it is an away game. Very away, very far from the circumstances that the team usually boards an airplane. There’s an empty seat next to one of these stars, where a brightly-burning star once sat, and is now snuffed out. I read of a report that the NFL Commissioner will also be present at the services today, a powerful statement and a very nice gesture. Those of us who are fans of the team, and were fans of #27, will mourn quietly to ourselves, far away from Texas, about a senseless tragedy that took one of our guys. Killing is always senseless. Death might be a necessary part of existence, but not like that. Never like that.

Those of you that know me also know that you won’t ever hear the anti-gun rant from me, and you won’t hear it now. I do not think that less guns is ever the answer to any problem, just like I hardly ever think that more guns is ever the answer. This is about people, not machines. It’s never about the devices used to kill; senseless killings have been happening long before someone put chemicals together to make explosions, and would continue unabated if some knee-jerking politician was ever able to truly remove firearms from the populace. Such thinking is foolish, uninformed, and, ultimately, pointless.

Anyway, this rambling posting will help me move past the killing of Darrent Williams. It’s heartbreaking, it’s tragic, and it serves as a harsh reminder of what’s actually important. Sad because your team didn’t make the playoffs? What the hell kind of judge are you of “What’s Important?”