The initial awareness of the news seemingly went in one ear and out the other. Another night of senseless violence in Williamsport resulted in the shooting of two teenagers, apparently unrelated incidents, leaving one victim dead and another hospitalized. Our society has entered a dark world where repeated similar occurrences, whether local or national, begin to be treated as commonplace events.

It wasn’t until a few days later, when a friend asked me about the basketball player we lost in the shooting. I didn’t know what he was referencing in such a personal way until learning that the young man shot in the middle of the street, fifteen-year-old Brailyn Johnson, had been a member of my life for a few short weeks.

The opportunity to coach has been an enjoyable and fulfilling experience for the past five decades. Far beyond the wins and losses have been the memories, ups & downs, and friendships forged with so many folks. During those years, personal tragedies have faced some I’ve coached, and in one instance, a young life was lost. But never has one been gunned down in the middle of the street.

At this writing, the only thing I know about the incident is what has been reported through the media. Why it happened and what role, if any, Johnson played leading to his demise are yet to be reported.

What I do know is that Brailyn Johnson was a member of my last season’s South Williamsport eighth-grade basketball team for a very short time.

With less than three weeks remaining in the season, our athletic director talked with me about a new player desiring to play on the team. My initial reaction was that it was too late in the season for that. The AD then related that the player was 6’3”. Suddenly, my reasoning began to change!

The next day, a meeting was held with the AD, Johnson, and his case worker. Rules and expectations were explained, and paperwork was completed for him to join the team. A day later, at Johnson’s first practice, three things were immediately apparent: he was tall, athletic, and had much to learn about the game.

Bringing him up to speed to prepare to play in a game was going to be a monumental task. But every time he dunked the ball, his presence was evident. After a few practices trying to learn our plays, he told me, “Coach, I like to play basketball, but I only know street ball.”

At that point, I knew the learning curve was going to be a steep one. He did get some minutes in the next two games, shooting 1-5 from the floor and gathering eighteen rebounds. After that second game, he asked if he could get additional coaching outside of the normal practice routine.

His eagerness to learn was evident, and an individual practice session was set aside for him. Joined by an assistant coach, Johnson went through a productive workout of shooting, big man moves, rebounding, and defense. Through it all, he was hardworking and polite, with responses of ‘yes, sir,’ accompanying workout explanations.

We were impressed and looked forward to his continued improvement in our remaining three games. Problem was, we never saw him again. His counselor relayed a problem had developed. Story ended. Tragically, nine months later so did his life.

Totally unrelated, as I was contemplating writing this column, news came across the TV screen that Marshawn Kneeland, a 24-year-old defensive end for the Dallas Cowboys, had died, resulting from a self-inflicted gunshot wound while fleeing police after a traffic violation. The death came just three days after Kneeland had scored a touchdown in a Monday Night NFL game.

Sports are supposed to be fun, but at an increasing rate, some who play the game are being defeated by demons haunting them off the field of play.

To those who coach, support, or know young athletes that come into our lives, for however brief the time, be ever vigilant about what may be going on in their lives. Even the smallest kindness may be enough to avoid future tragedies.