"It's always sad when a President dies," Skylar said to me last week. I replied that a life cut short is a lot sadder than a life that's long and full, contrasting JFK with Reagan. Of course, there's sadness when anyone passes away. I do believe, though, that there are gradations of unfairness. One of my favorite sportswriters, Ralph Wiley, died suddenly yesterday at 52. He didn't have a lengthy illness, with months and months of excruciating pain. But, still, 52 is too young for a healthy person to die.

I'm going to miss his consistently thoughtful columns for ESPN's Page 2. I looked forward to them. And I often found, when I started reading something absent-mindedly and really liked it, that the byline was Ralph's. My favorite column, for self-interested reasons, is the one on Barry Bonds that I linked to earlier this year. I'll draw your attention to another one that impressed me, on former Minnesota Twins star Kirby Puckett, because it does such a great job of reflecting on the contradictions that define all of us, even our heroes. Goodbye, Ralph. Thanks for keeping it deep.

Mode: spent
Muse: peace and quiet