Two Sides of the Same Coin

Last month, I saw a journey come to an end after a lopsided loss in the final game of the year—the same result as the year prior, driving the dagger deep. My career as their voice came to an end.

Last week, I saw a basketball team's hopes shattered by a one-in-a-million buzzer beating shot. Two of the best players in the history of the school's careers abruptly ended within a fleeting moment. Just a measly eight-tenths of a second could have changed that history forever.

This weekend, I saw the crowning achievement of the game of baseball. A perfect game. One of the few ever thrown in history. Truly a special moment to see the team celebrate in a moment of flawlessness.

Saturday ripped my heart out.

The Seton Hill women's lacrosse team hopped on a bus this dreary morning, headed for Millersville University. The bus lost control on the turnpike near Carlisle, smashing through a guard rail, slamming into a tree, killing the bus driver, and the head coach, Kristina Quigley, six months pregnant with a baby boy. She left behind her husband and a young child.

As heartbreaking as losing in the final moment and winning in dominating fashion twice over, the loss of life means so much more than both of these things. I've seen heartbreak. I've seen championships won and lost and careers end in the process. And as the end of the HBO show "Rangers/Flyers 24/7" eloquently told us, never say to an athlete that it's just a game.

In the end, it is. As my broadcast partner at the Marauder Sports Broadcasting Network tweeted today, "It's sadly stories like this that put sports in perspective." Truly.

Whoever wins or loses in the end may mean a lot in the perspective of a season, or individual achievement. However, the loss of life affects us all, especially the carrier of new life.

Sports provide us an escape. We never want that reality to seep into its hallowed halls. We want to celebrate the journey away from adversity to succeed on the court, the ice, the field, whatever have you. We never want to mourn death in sports, especially one so tragic, and one so seemingly unnecessary as today's one happened to be.

It hits so close to home for a few reasons. I travel to games all the time and never expect my next game to be potentially my last. While with Millersville Hockey, I sat towards the front of the bus...right in the line of fire if that kind of accident happened to us. I can't fret about this, because travel must happen, and the show must go on, no matter what may happen.

It's two sides of the same coin. There's a bright side of victory, success, achievement, and the finish line. There's the dark side of defeat, heartbreak, frustration, and sadly...reality.

It will be a painful healing process for community of Seton Hill. They will come together to celebrate Quigley's life on Sunday and pray for the loss of a coach...a teammate...a friend...a mother...and a wife.

I'm reminded over and over again to do my best, no matter what capacity I find myself in. Perhaps I haven't truly lived enough, or found myself in a critical situation to know how scary this must be. I will continue to live on and do my profession to the highest quality to make the most of this life.

Sports will give and take, just like life. Perhaps it's honorable for it to be so organic.

Rest in peace, Kristie Quigley.