Phills’ death a tragic waste
by Tom Rathkamp
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wasn’t into drugs. He didn’t beat his wife or abuse his children. No
coach of his ever found fingerprints on their neck. He wasn’t rude on
the court. He wasn’t a menace to his teammates, neither on nor off the
hardwood.
These sorted traits did not describe Bobby Phills, the
Charlotte Hornets guard who lost his life last week in a senseless act of
adventure. This wasn’t the usual tempestuous, self-serving overnight
millionaire we are challenged to write about and discuss, which is what
makes this tragedy so perplexing. You couldn’t see this coming. You
couldn’t deduce that "Oh well …he was a drinker or druggie, so
what happened is not a shock." A reckless existence did not set the
table for this disaster.
As a player,
Phills always seemed to score 10 points over his average against my
hometown team, the Milwaukee Bucks. He was tenacious, physical, and
relentless. Despite the success his teammates had, it was a lone jumper or
dunk by Phills that often provided the dagger. The Bucks drafted him, but
unfortunately, he never got a chance to play here. I wish he had. Off the
court, the Greater Charlotte community was rewarded constantly with his
time, generosity and commitment.
We cannot begin to fathom the pain and suffering of his family,
friends, teammates and philanthropic benefactors. Phills’ wife lost a
husband. His two young children lost a daddy. Everybody close to him lost
a good guy on that suburban Charlotte road that day. We marvel in the
posthumous glorifications of this man, and for good reason. But then we
turn back to this dark day and ask:
Why?
As model as he and other athletes seem to us, we caught a scary glimpse
of their own perception of infallibility. Their mortality bar seems much
higher than ours does, at times. Does somebody who has his
"stuff" together suddenly believe that going over 100 MPH in a
Porsche is equivalent to my wife going 35 in a minivan? Does the challenge
and competition on the basketball court spawn further competition wherever
and whenever the opportunity presents itself off the court? These
questions might seem insensitive so soon after his death, but as a father
of two children myself, I cannot look past the sad reality that he put his
family’s life in permanent peril by partaking in this senseless, foolish
race down a crowded city street.
We can’t scream at Bobby. We can’t shake our fingers at him. He’s
probably shaking his head at himself right now. We can only reflect,
sympathize and learn.
Why?
This wasn’t Latrell Sprewell. This wasn’t Shawn Kemp. Nor was it
Lawrence Phillips or John Rocker. We do not wish a pathetic fate for any
of those guys, no matter how mind-boggling their behavior. But when you
look closely at the eventual consequences of their perpetrations (whether
intentional or not), what Bobby Phills did was imminently worse because he
lost his life, and his family did too. Nothing is worse than that.
In the end, we only hope and pray that the next guy who dares to
participate in such a self-indulging episode, stops, thinks, and reflects
on the people who love him, and count on him. I know David Wesley, Phills
friend, teammate, and unfortunate drag race cohort, probably is. Besides
Phills’ family, Wesley is probably the guy doing the most head
scratching, and we feel for him also. The rest of us just shake our own
heads, and ask:
Why?
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