When I first discovered Seattle Seahawk Derrick Coleman, it was love at first sight. I mean an NFL player with profound hearing loss? That was amazing to me. My husband (also love at first sight!) has had loss over 50% of his hearing in a fireworks accident at age 12, and has felt ever since that his hearing loss was a significant impediment to a fully realized life. Now I could point to a star, a Seahawk no less, that he could look to as a model for overcoming adversity.
Last week, the disquieting news surfaced that Mr. Coleman, an accomplished Seahawks fullback, was involved in a hit and run accident–the details of which remain murky. (Indeed, a local police department spokesman described it as “complex.”) It isn’t clear whether his hearing loss or intoxication may have played a role, but regardless, it is a tragic episode in the life of an otherwise very promising and successful individual. Reports indicate that he left the crash scene, and was later found a few blocks away barefoot, and that his hearing aid batteries were low. It will be interesting to learn the answers to this unfolding investigation in the days and weeks ahead.
This has prompted me to wonder about the relative nature of our attractions to our “heroes.” Prior to this, I felt like Derrick Coleman walked on water, and yet he is as fallible as any of us. Does his behavior after the accident diminish him in my eyes? Do I feel less proud of him and his ability to overcome the challenges that come with being deaf? Would I feel this conflicted if I couldn’t sympathize about the impact of profound hearing loss?
We like our heroes. And we often hold them in undisputable esteem despite their flaws. But where do you draw the line? I was a student at Indiana University when they last won the national basketball title. Perhaps because I was so proud to be a Hoosier, and because of the rapture of The Shot and the big win, I looked the other way when Coach Bobby Knight infamously threw The Chair. But he completely fell out of favor with me when he made his deplorable comments about rape a few years later. I know some people—including NFL people—have given a pass to Michael Vick, saying that he’s been fully rehabilitated after doing time for the dogfighting debacle several years ago. However, I am nowhere near as able to forgive Michael Vick, as I am Coleman. What does that say about me? About the nature of heroism, about sports stars having feet of clay, and the nature of sympathy in general. Moreover, should sports figures be held to higher standards?
Another provocative example lies in the sad downfall of Lamar Odom, from his heights as a Los Angeles Lakers superstar, to his now well publicized incident involving some combination of illicit drugs leading to his hospitalization. Mr. Odom appears to be making a slow recovery, and though I was never a Lakers fan, I’m rooting for him to get back on his feet. I have no particular affinity for him or the Lakers, but this tragedy does invoke sympathy.
With Coleman, I wonder if I am more empathetic, given I’m the wife of someone with hearing loss. But if Michael Vick were hard of hearing would I feel the same about his shameful forays into dogfighting? Answer, no. But clearly, idolatry is relative.
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