On Thursday May 29, 21-year-old Canucks defenceman Luc Bourdon died in a tragic motorcycle accident in New Brunswick. I was shocked by the news like everyone else, and saddened to hear that such a young person had to lose their life. My best memory of Bourdon was when he played for Team Canada the 2006 World Junior Championships, held in Vancouver. Bourdon had been drafted that past summer by the Canucks, and the fans at Pacific Coliseum immediately embraced him as one of their own, a future Canuck with bright prospects. Every time he touched the puck, the fans cheered "Luuuuuuuuc", and I was one of them. I'm sure he must have been thrilled to be a fan favourite so early in his career, and when he made his debut at GM Place in a Canucks uniform, the "Luuuuc" chant lived on. Although he struggled to stick at the NHL level, and was overshadowed by the meteoric rise of Alex Edler, I had no doubt he would develop into a solid presence on the Canucks' blueline.
I felt a tinge of regret when I realized that I, and the hockey fans of Vancouver, didn't know much about Luc outside of hockey. All of the news reports were cold and fact-based and all I could think was that it was so sad that Luc was taken away before he could emerge not only as a full-fledged hockey star but as a member of the community. Iain McIntyre of the Vancouver Sun wrote a
great tribute to Luc, giving a lot of insight on his background and I learned a lot about him that I didn't know. These personal details helped flesh out the image I had of Luc, and balanced the impersonal news reports to begin to reveal the real person. The biggest shame is that this is as much as we'll ever know.
I think McIntyre is right when he says that many fans treat hockey players as commodities. Players are people like any other, and it's really unfortunate that it takes an incident like this for people to take a step back and think about the human side to the story. Unfortunately, this won't change anything, and after the shock has worn off, it will be right back to athletes being talked about like machines with no feelings. The "win-or-go-home" reality of pro sports means that this will never change; you're either a winner or a loser, you can either play or you can't. This cutthroat competitiveness gives pro sports its high drama, but the biggest casualty is the humanity of the athelets.
