Tragedy trumps all: even sports

When I saw Thursday's staff column open, I told myself I wasn't going to write about Hurricane Katrina. I refused to use it in any way -- for creativity, acclaim or attention.\nBut it didn't matter how many times I attempted to write about how good the Colts will look this year defending the run with the addition of Corey Simon, or how the Spurs are the obvious favorite once again with the addition of Michael Finley. The catastrophe loomed over my head and refused to go away -- much like the storm.\nI had to pretend I was excited Saturday watching my Irish crush Pittsburgh, when the same question kept finding its way into the back of my head: "Why does any of this matter?"\nWhile I was shouting at Brady Quinn, people in New Orleans were living in lawlessness, a scene out of "Lord of the Flies." Horrifying rumors of cannibalism were even starting to surface -- people, our fellow Americans, forced to turn on their own countrymen, in our own backyard.\nBut in a time when sports shouldn't matter, I don't think our athletes -- who often seem to exist in another realm of existence -- have ever felt more down to earth. \nSaints wide receiver Joe Horndescribed many people's sentiments when he said to ESPN's Jim Rome that he hasn't been able to eat or watch television. Mind you, this is the same guy whose biggest concern about a year ago was managing to incorporate his cell phone into his end zone celebration.\nAccording to The Associated Press, Horn journeyed to the Astrodome to meet with refugees who he said just needed to be loved. Horn kissed babies, signed autographs and yelled words of encouragement to the crowd. People were elated just to see someone they recognized.\nHorn showed us why we have sports in this country. The best thing the Louisiana State football team can do this year is win 10 or 11 games. Someone or something needs to give these people a slice of reality.\nAnd to think, two months ago the media were hovering around the Eagles' training camp feasting over the soap opera-like feud between Donovan McNabb and Terrell Owens. The media's literal obsession with this is now so clearly stupid and pointless.\nA cell phone and a soap opera, and now we're writing about this -- a scene out of "Escape from New York."\nWhat a difference a year makes.\nAnd then there's the ever-enduring Brett Favre.\nFor nearly half an hour last week, a shaky-voiced Favre stood in front of the media and expressed his uncertainty and fear for his family, who still live in his childhood home in southern Mississippi.\n"In my gut, I feel like they're OK, but with each minute that passes, I begin to wonder," said Favre in his press conference, who later learned the home was lost. "This is one of those situations where I would love to do whatever I could to help a lot of people, but I don't even know where to start."\nFavre would consider returning home and not playing in Thursday night's preseason game against the Tennessee Titans. But his wife Deanna told him to play, and he played, just as he always does, no matter what trial or tribulation plagues him.\nHe got beat up in the game, spraining an ankle, but returned on the same drive to lead his team to a touchdown.\nBut watching him limp off and then back on to the field, Favre has never looked more real or more human.\nHe looked like Johnny Nine-to-Five, who lives on the corner of Second and Henderson streets and drinks Bud Light. He looked like a second-shift supervisor at Lowe's, who has for two weeks reluctantly dragged into work every afternoon with horrible thoughts of the tragedy stuck in his head.\nHe looked like an ordinary guy who, amid this awful catastrophe, has simply had to force himself to go to work and try to live normally.\nJust like every other American, he wants to help but he doesn't even know where to start.\nAnd in the end, I guess I myself feel a whole lot like Favre, as I write and re-write this column. I don't want to use Katrina as a vehicle or as an excuse -- I just want to go to work and class and try to live normally. \nBut I can't avoid writing about it. I just can't.