We all scanned the news stories, read the letters from remorseful fans and saw the same images replayed on television. The death of Minnesota Vikings tackle Korey Stringer consumed the sports world for three sweltering August days.
Sure, we wondered why and how. We patiently waited for the details to spew out: heatstroke, conditioning drill, 27 years old, 105 degrees, 330 pounds, devoted father, husband, son, teammate, friend. We knew it was tragic, but did we really connect to this man? Did we understand the emotions his teammates were battling while the cameras rolled?
I didn’t. I had dismissed the situation as an unfortunate and isolated incident. I did not know Stringer. I was objective. Any emotional stress I felt after hearing the news had subsided when I got home from work on Friday night. Then I saw it.
“Rashidi Wheeler, dead at 22.”
It had to be some sick joke.
Or a misprint.
Suddenly I felt that whirlwind of emotions everyone always talks about. I knew this guy. Maybe I couldn’t tell you his favorite book or type of music, but I knew his 40 time, career stats and hometown. I had spoken to him about his senior season, about fighting for his starting job at strong safety, about proving that the Northwestern defense was no longer the anchor sinking a top-20 football team.
I knew the place he had collapsed. Those people choking up at news conferences — now they were Randy Walker and Kevin Bentley. I felt for his mother, Linda Will, who had that chilling, shell-shocked look only brought on by an untimely tragedy.
It had hit home, so to speak. I exchanged e-mails with colleagues who had known Rashidi in a similar way. No one could believe it. It was all so sad.
Yes, remember that Aug. 3, 2001 will forever be a sad day for NU. But what has taken place since that sad day is flat-out disgusting.
In what seemed like a matter of moments, Wheeler’s death became the focal point in a free-for-all forum for lies, anger, greed and confusion. The school withheld details about the incident from Will. A new band of power-mongers pushed and shoved their way into the spotlight. Newspapers spanning the nation began to doggedly cover the story, making it into a media event overnight.
The remorseful words and looks of disbelief were gone. Replacing them were clever, succinct statements from The Rev. Jesse Jackson, formulated to stir anger and outrage. Lawyers were hired, people took sides. Will filed a lawsuit before engaging in a dispute with her ex-husband, George Wheeler, over who would control Rashidi’s estate. The NU program was fixed under the media microscope, and Wheeler’s grieving teammates were bombarded with microphones and tape recorders. The rapidly approaching football season seemed eons away.
How quickly human nature changes when the wrong people rock the boat. With her advisers and lawyers by her side, a previously subdued Will angrily accused the school of taking her son away. Jackson remarked that NU “tried to skirt the law and the death cop caught them.” For several weeks, one scum-spewing Chicago columnist devoted his space to Rashidi Watch, taking it upon himself to promote Will’s fight against a “world-class institution with rich and powerful backers.” While all was quiet at camp NU, the emerging facts about Wheeler’s death revealed the inexcusable errors the school made.
The Blame Game has started. So why don’t we all play along?
Blame NU for not checking the faulty emergency phones on the field. Blame the athletic department for having new trainers present who were not aware of Wheeler’s severe asthma, one of whom allegedly put a bag over his head to prevent “hyperventilation.” Blame Randy Walker for holding a conditioning drill that regularly results in players collapsing and vomiting. Blame Walker for using phrases like “bigger, stronger, faster” to motivate his players every week. Blame Director of Athletics Rick Taylor for failing to stop Walker and his staff.
Blame NU players for finishing the drill while their fallen teammate lay gasping on the sideline. Blame players for not saying the right thing at every moment. Blame Rashidi himself for not using his asthma medication correctly that day. Blame him for going all-out to win his starting job back.
Blame Linda Will for being so easily influenced. Blame her for allowing her asthmatic son to compete in athletics. Blame Jackson for sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Blame some media members for making this into David vs. Goliath. Blame other media members for turning a death into a scandal.
And it doesn’t stop there.
I interviewed Rashidi last April after he had completed a series of grueling wind sprints in practice. Doubled over with hands on knees, he couldn’t even respond to my first question because he was panting so hard. Asthma? I had no idea. So blame me — I deserve it.
Shame on all of us.
We’ve lost sight of what this is all about. A 22-year-old man died way too soon. Just like Stringer, Wheeler was a friend, teammate and son. While there are plenty of people who are at fault, let’s check our emotions before we proceed. It’s easy to be angry, mystified and outraged.
It’s not so easy to grieve.
But give it a shot.
Adam Rittenberg is a Medill junior. He can be reached at [email protected].
