Derek Boogaard, aka "the Boogeyman" died last week. As a Minnesotan and a hockey fan, this made me sad. But only until the M.E.'s report became public. It wasn't a giant anyuerism, as I hoped, given Boogaard's history of many concussions. It wasn't a heart attack, or a subtle heart defect.
It turns out that Boogaard, the gentle giant of Minnesota hockey (he actually left the Wild last season for a season with the NY Rangers--doesn't change the fact that he was Minnesotan) O.D.'d on oxycontin and alcohol. The M.E. is calling it "accidental." HOW exactly is this accidental, I ask myself. Did he trip and fall on that concoction? And if so, shouldn't this be ruled murder, as someone left this known lethal concoction laying around Boogaard's apartment? Calling this accidental is a favor to Boogaard's family and fans, but it is TOTAL BULLSHIT. He had to have known what he was getting into, given the precedents.
I'm mad, though, mostly because this big lug had everything and he gave it all up. All the O.D.'s we hear about are folks like him. James Dean, Elvis, John Candy, Charlie Sheen (well, not quite yet, but its coming)...they were all icons. They had it all. And maybe that's why they do it. They forget they are just human, that this shit can ruin them too.
So do I want my kids to idolize these dead superstars? No. Do I want them to aspire to be like them? Absolutely not. But do I want them to appreciate their accomplishments and understand that their success was also their downfall? Sure. It's always better to learn from someone else's mistakes, after all. Thanks for that, Boogaard. I bet you wish you were remembered as more than just another dumbass.
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