What is there to say anymore about a purely good deed? How do you recognize, celebrate, memorialize an act of kindness done for no other reason than it was the right thing to do?
On the scales of justice, how can the story -- the tragic, noble and abrupt story -- of John Anczarski counterbalance the 24-hour media bleating about the BP's callousness, recklessness, carelessness?
How can we talk more about John Anczarski and less about Lady Gaga's middle finger?
How will we ever know about something if we can't get a corporate sponsor? Or a reality show? Or a twitter account? Or ESPN coverage? Or a sneaker contract?
What does it matter that John Anczarski and his three friends --four college kids -- decided to give back by fighting back against breast cancer, the only way they knew how -- on their bikes, riding across country?
Will it make the Sports Business Journal? Will that make it matter? If I write about it on The Huffington Post, will that make it matter?
What matters to me is four boys set out to make their summer break matter to somebody other than themselves. But on a rural New Mexico road an automobile driver wasn't paying attention, drove off the road and hit John Anczarski. The last thing John Anczarski was able to donate were his organs. Then his family took him off life support. Now John Anczarski is dead. The ride is over.
If you've gotten this far with me, can you readjust your focus, just for the moment, and realize how much John Anczarski matters?
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