Two different opinions about playing this weekend -
Don't make the same mistake, Paul
espn.go.com
HYDE: Games offer diversion we need
sun-sentinel.com
and a more general article -
Thoughts of sports lost in rubble that is World Trade Center
sportsline.com
NEW YORK -- I write this column from the roof of my building, stealing glances after
every sentence or two at the smoke that is rising from the worst tragedy in American
history. My sole purpose for such a column is to inform the numerous friends and
family who unsuccessfully tried to reach me Tuesday that I am safe.
I am not working the phones today.
I am not scouring sources for a scoop (before Tuesday one of the most important
things in my life).
Instead, I've spent most of the day sitting by the phone
waiting to hear if a good friend of mine, Jake, who
works on the 103rd floor of one of the World Trade
Center Towers had been killed. I've been on the phone
all day with my friend "Smitty" receiving constant
updates.
Halfway through the day we still remained optimistic. But
as we all search the city's hospitals and building after
building collapses we still have not heard from him.
Our optimism is nearly emptied. We all pretty much
have been resigned to the fact that our lovable friend, one of the funniest people I will
ever meet, is dead. Jake leaves behind three beautiful young children and one heck
of a woman and wife.
We had a previous scare earlier in the day when Smitty last heard from another
friend named Dave as the second of two planes hit the World Trade Center. Smitty
sat stunned as screams shot through the telephone receiver only to be followed by
Dave's reaction, "I'm getting the @#$!% out of here!"
The phone line went dead and nobody heard from him for hours.
Our fortune could not have been greater than when Dave popped up hours later
calling Smitty asking to be picked up across the river in New Jersey (which we've all
done to Smitty at least a thousand times in our lives). Dave escaped with his life and
arrived soon after at Jake's house. We will all gather there together within the next 24
hours.
I'm still unsure of several others. A few friends and cousins. The only thing that keeps
myself and others going is the fact that we're all pretty numb. It's too
incomprehensible to comprehend.
So as I watched the beautiful blue sky above my city become hardened with the
blowing ashes of terror, was I supposed to care about anything else, especially
sports? I awoke this morning, gathered my belongings to make the cross-town trek
to CBS' Black Rock building in mid-town. I had planned to work the phones. I had
planned to go about life today. But our world had changed forever.
Here's how my day unfolded:
Before heading over to the office, I flipped on the television set to check the weather.
The time was 9:45. All I wanted to see was the weather. I didn't ask for this. None of
us did. I certainly never asked for the pictures.
I went to college at Pace University in downtown New York, a mere two blocks from
the World Trade Center. But as I sat and stared blankly at my television set, I couldn't
help but to think my children (if I ever have any) and my grandchildren will never, ever
experience this wonderful American landmark.
They will never experience the America that I have known and loved. That America
changed today.
Instead of walking to my office, I immediately headed up to my roof. I live a few steps
from the East River in the low 60s on Manhattan's Upper East Side.
A handful of people stood and stared toward downtown. Unfortunately, I too saw what
dropped their mouths. Disgusting, appalling black and gray smoke infiltrated the sky
and littering the Big Apple with terror. Soon after I arrived on the roof the second
tower went down. As our world came crashing down, I heard nothing but silence.
After watching the horror unfold, my senses returned and I realized I was directly next
to the 59th Street Bridge, a potential target, and less than 20 blocks from the United
Nations. I wasn't hanging around to see if either would be next.
As I tried to think about the unthinkable, I received first word that this tragedy had hit
those personal to me.
Giants running back Tiki Barber's wife Ginny has a sister who works on the 30th floor
of the WTC. Ginny had yet to hear from her loved one and, as one would imagine,
was in a complete state of disbelief, shock, anger and misery. Tiki had informed me
that Ginny had been hysterical, fearing for her beloved sibling. Tiki was not a football
player who I cover today.
Instead, he was a man with his wife who could have used a friend. Sports had
disappeared.
I ran up to Tiki's, thinking he could certainly use a friend if such terror hit his family.
Thankfully, after two hours of not hearing from his sister-in-law she phoned to let us
all know she walked down the 30 flights and fled to a nearby apartment.
Sports was the furthest thing from both of our minds.
"If one person asks me about last night's game," Barber seethed, "I'll literally freak. In
the grand scheme of things, one football game is nothing."
But I can't help but to think about all those people whose sisters didn't make it out.
What about all the wives married to men like my friend Jake?
The ultimate father to his three daughters, an incredible husband and coincidentally,
perhaps the only man on the planet who would have been capable of making me
laugh on a day like this.
What about those less fortunate than me who might have had numerous friends and
loved ones still unaccounted for? My grief is strong enough, but probably pales in
comparison to what many of my neighbors are fighting through as I type this column.
(I just looked up again and caught a glimpse of the Empire State Building and it just
hit me that I am now staring at New York's tallest building -- a statement I have never
been able to utter in my short lifetime).
After being assured that Ginny would be fine, I left Barber's apartment with another
friend -- who I affectionately call South African Mike (I've got an interesting crew of
buds) -- and we went to 68th Street and First Avenue to donate blood.
I honor my fellow New Yorkers. The line to help our neighbors in need protruded out
the clinic down First and around the corner.
In fact, there was a three-hour wait to give blood and the clinic across the street had
closed after exhausting its capacity. I then spent the late hours of the evening going
to different hospitals searching for Jake. There wasn't much hope. He was sitting at
his desk this morning and was hit by an airplane.
My hope for Jake has all but waned. I spent my evening waiting on lines searching
for his name on hospital lists. I met those much less fortunate than me. I met heroes
who did a lot more than me. All I am is a sportswriter, looking for a friend who we all
miss a great deal.
I received calls today from players, former players, public relations men, reporters.
The world I live in, the sports world, showed they care. And that's great.
Unfortunately. I don't live in the sports world today. Today, I live in a war zone,
complete with warships in the River outside my apartment, U.S. Air Force fighter jets
flying overhead, constant sirens and that disgusting unending flow of smoke that I
can't seem to take my eyes off of.
We love ya, Jake. |
