I haven't written about the brutal murder of the iconic "Tuba Man," since it was first reported last week. I tried the first time, but the death just seemed too strange. Beaten to death by a group of cowardly thugs for no apparent reason. The man wasn't
rich, he wasn't confrontational, he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people.
But as I read of the tribute people paid to the Seattle sports icon, it finally started to sink in how much this death means to Seattle. I remember vividly walking past the Tuba Man during the 1995 miracle playoff run. He was part of it, part of the excitement, part of the euphoria. He somehow captured fans happiness. And now he's been reduced to a homicide statistic.
The worst aspect of his death is the manner it which it was done, the prolonged pain he must have experienced and the seemingly unprovoked circumstances that preceded it. These kids were searching for some kind of macho-affirming high by beating an old man to death. They couldn't have known that they were robbing Seattle of a piece of its identity. But, hopefully, they will pay for doing so.