It seems like just yesterday Roy Halladay was mowing down major league hitters. Both during his long tenure with the Toronto Blue Jays and then on to the Philadelphia Phillies, Halladay was among the best in the game.
Two Cy Young awards. An eight time All-Star. And that's just the baseball side.
Nary a whisper of any steroid activity, stepping out on his wife, or any other shenanigans which we hear so much about regarding other professional athletes.
In short, he was all-around good guy. A loving husband and father of two young boys.
And now -- poof -- he's gone -- just like that.
Something obviously went horribly wrong while he was flying his small airplane and it crashed not far off the western coast of Florida. No doubt the authorities will get to the bottom of it in time. But all that doesn't much matter now.
The forty year old is still dead and they're isn't any do-overs. His wife and kids are left to pick up the pieces and hopefully move on.
Yes, I get it. Lots of people die in America (and elsewhere around the world) every day from various causes. Massive violence rears its ugly head way too often. And no, this is not to say Roy Halladay was any more special than the thousands of others that continue to perish every day, again, for various reasons. Every life is precious.
But it seems so awfully sad that a guy like Halladay, who probably still had some "gas in the tank", retired a few years back (2013) so he could spend more time with his family, which he and they will now never have. In another year he'll be eligible for baseball's Hall of Fame, and will likely be a first ballot shoo-in.
To be sure, yours truly never had the pleasure of meeting the man, but I watched his career from afar and definitely appreciated the manner in which he went about it.
A pro's pro on the field and a model citizen off it.
Sometimes, tragically and mysteriously, the good die young indeed.
May he rest in piece and godspeed to his widow, children, other family and friends he left behind.
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