Cory Lidle, 34 Years Young, Dies in Crash [J. Mark English]
The Mets game was cancelled due to rain, but even if there was nothing but blue skies, the game should have been postponed anyway to allow time to absorb the trajedy that shook the baseball world today. Afterall, Lidle was a New York ball player, and this sad event transpired just across the river from Shea Stadium.
Cory Lidle will now forever be linked to Roberto Clemente who died on Dec. 31, 1972, and Thurmon Munson who died on August 2, 1979. All three players perished while in flight.
Lidle's unfortunate death is just another constant reminder that sports mean very little when compared to the preciousness of life. Mike and the Maddog of WFAN were full of remorse this afternoon, and had the awkwardness of havinb to deal with their calling out Lidle for his terrible performance in the ALDS last week. One of the last thing he said to the two of them was: "I want to win as much as anybody. But what am I supposed to do? Go cry in my apartment for the next two weeks."
Francessa and Russo were only doing their job as radio talkshow hosts, but they now have an even heavier heart, regretting how poorly they may have treated him.
Donnie Moore, the former Angel, committed suicide in 1989. Moore was blamed for blowing the Angels chance of advancing to the World Series against the Red Sox in 1986 when he gave up a crucial home run...just as the Angels were one out away from winning the ALCS. His life took a terrible downward spiral following the ALCS and he never recovered. His suicide may have been partially the result of many fans forgetting that all of sports really is just a game. No one should have to suffer mental anguish at the expense of dissatisfied fans, teamates, or ownership.
Lidle had a family, and was loved by many. I'm sure he must have known this, and his loved ones that are left behind are the ones who should be prayed for, as well as him. Baseball is only a game, but life is everything.
Lidle loved to fly, and I think its only fitting to remember the poem of aviators, in memory of Cory Lidle:
High Flights - John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
Cory Lidle will now forever be linked to Roberto Clemente who died on Dec. 31, 1972, and Thurmon Munson who died on August 2, 1979. All three players perished while in flight.
Lidle's unfortunate death is just another constant reminder that sports mean very little when compared to the preciousness of life. Mike and the Maddog of WFAN were full of remorse this afternoon, and had the awkwardness of havinb to deal with their calling out Lidle for his terrible performance in the ALDS last week. One of the last thing he said to the two of them was: "I want to win as much as anybody. But what am I supposed to do? Go cry in my apartment for the next two weeks."
Francessa and Russo were only doing their job as radio talkshow hosts, but they now have an even heavier heart, regretting how poorly they may have treated him.
Donnie Moore, the former Angel, committed suicide in 1989. Moore was blamed for blowing the Angels chance of advancing to the World Series against the Red Sox in 1986 when he gave up a crucial home run...just as the Angels were one out away from winning the ALCS. His life took a terrible downward spiral following the ALCS and he never recovered. His suicide may have been partially the result of many fans forgetting that all of sports really is just a game. No one should have to suffer mental anguish at the expense of dissatisfied fans, teamates, or ownership.
Lidle had a family, and was loved by many. I'm sure he must have known this, and his loved ones that are left behind are the ones who should be prayed for, as well as him. Baseball is only a game, but life is everything.
Lidle loved to fly, and I think its only fitting to remember the poem of aviators, in memory of Cory Lidle:
High Flights - John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
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