Cornell student George Boiardi passed away yesteray evening after taking a shot to the chest during a varsity lacrosse game. Admittedly I was stunned, first to hear the news, second to the idea that none of the other beat writers (I cover the team) had contacted me, third to hear the news.
I saw it on the way to class today. I was passing the Indian-run convenience store by the Eddy Gate, when I saw the Ithaca Journal banner headline in the news stand. I didn't catch the words, but the photo was unmistakable -- a paper-width shot of the men's lacrosse team, lined up and on their knees. I quickly bought a copy, along with the day's Daily Sun.
What started as a walk to class has quickly turned into a trial of sorrow and reflection.
I didn't know George and had never met him during my time covering the team, but the fact that he was chosen as a team captain tells me plenty. He was clearly a dedicated teammate, caring friend, and talented athlete. I have no way of putting into words what his teammates must be feeling. I feel for them, his family, and even more so for the young man who fired the shot. I hope that he doesn't blame himself for the fluke accident.
Which leads me to something that I've been questioning all day: killed, or died? As a writer, word choice is crucial becuase of the emotions and memories certain phrasings may envoke.
To me, the word killed implies malice. You kill an enemy, or a pest. Murderers kill. Killing happens on the battle field. So does it apply to an athletic event?
When a student commits suicide, we say suicide. We say they passed away, or died. We don't say that the razor blade, overdose, or gorge killed them. Instead, we describe those things as a cause of death.
That said, I take issue with the use of the word "killed" to describe George's death. George died, of an accident no less. There was no malice. There was no intent. There was no killing.
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