I started paying attention to football and rooting for my hometown Chargers in the early 1990s. There were some pretty good years then -- the Super Bowl run of 1994-95 for example -- but there were some extremely lean years as well. The Ryan Leaf debacle of 1998 set the franchise back a number of seasons until another icon, LaDainian Tomlinson, assumed the powder blue mantle, but we always had Junior Seau. Even when the team sucked -- and the Bolts were really, really bad at times -- #55 still played with passion and generated excitement. But he was more to the city than that. He was a native son. And he was a huge presence in the community, running a very successful restaurant (named Seau's) in Mission Valley, just down the street from the stadium. He also was very active in community service, as are many athletes, but seeing Junior on the nightly newscast at a local elementary school or charity event, that huge smile flashing like a lightning bolt across his face, seemed different, more special somehow.
He was Our Guy. He personified sports in a market where there hasn't been much success. And for 13 years, he was the face of the Chargers franchise. His apparent suicide is heart-breaking, like a punch in the gut. Even though I only met him once -- when I asked for his autograph while he was eating at a restaurant (I was a stupid kid, interrupting his dinner conversation, but he still smiled and signed for me anyway) -- I still feel like I lost someone I knew.
He was Our Guy. He personified sports in a market where there hasn't been much success. And for 13 years, he was the face of the Chargers franchise. His apparent suicide is heart-breaking, like a punch in the gut. Even though I only met him once -- when I asked for his autograph while he was eating at a restaurant (I was a stupid kid, interrupting his dinner conversation, but he still smiled and signed for me anyway) -- I still feel like I lost someone I knew.
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