From the Ashes

"You play to win the game." It's as simple as that. Former NFL head coach Herm Edwards nailed it. No respectable athlete, coach or fan wants to actually lose the game, no matter what. Win in the preseason. Win in the regular season. Better win in the post-season. Win as much as possible.

A loss can be accepted, but never enjoyed. There is no such thing as a good loss.

Winning can cure ailments. It can soothe bad memories. The best medicine for people can often be prescribed in the form of a victory in the field of play.

Think back to the fall of 2001. The United States of America was bullied and bleeding. New York City hosted to the largest mass murder, courtesy of bloodthirsty terrorists with box cutters and radical religious beliefs. That same city played host to another historic event just days later, and only city blocks away – the mythic Cathedral of Baseball. Yankee Stadium welcomed back baseball's most important games.

More than that though, Yankee Stadium welcomed the bruised, the battered, the mourning and the grieving. It honored the heroes, it cried for the fallen and celebrated the survivors. Yankee Stadium welcomed the American president, leader of the free world, to throw out the first pitch. It welcomed the patriotism that was seeping out of every single attendee. It welcomed the waving American flags, the NYPD and NYFD hats and shirts, and it welcomed the healing. Out of tragedy, the recovery was to begin.

December 2003 dealt Brett Favre, then quarterback of the Green Bay Packers, the most painful blow he had experienced, on or off the gridiron. His father, "Big" Irv Favre, had died of a massive heart attack, the day before Brett was to play the Oakland Raiders on Monday Night Football's primetime stage.

Favre still played that game, despite the loss of his best friend, his role model and his father. Favre led his team in a miraculous showing of raw human emotion while quarterbacking a masterpiece. That game was his opus. To Favre, that game was the equivalent of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel to. He threw for 399 yards and racked up four touchdowns. The therapy provided from that game helped to soothe the hurt and the loss.

New Orleans' healing from the apocalyptic destruction of Hurricane Katrina looks to have been reinvigorated by their recent Super Bowl win.

The list goes on and on.

But what happens when the tragedy happens in the sport being played on the international level, being viewed by an estimated four billion people?

The small, former Soviet satellite nation of Georgia is mourning. It was not a cataclysmic disaster. Nor was it an act of war or terrorism. It was practice. It was an accident. Simply put, it was a series of events that resulted in the death of one of the world's most elite athletes. It was the death of a kid, a child, a 21-year-old boy. Nodar Kumaritashvili was luging, entering the final turn of the sliding track in Whistler, British Columbia, when he lost control and crashed.

He was tossed like a rag doll; the footage is disgusting, unerving. He was exceeding 90 mph at the moment of contact, thrust into unconsciousness and eventual death. Kumaritashvili was doing what he loved; he died in his moment of passion.

The Georgian Winter Olympic team has decided to stay and compete, in honor of their fallen comrade, and the Opening Ceremonies were dedicated to him.

It won't bring back Kumaritashvili, nor will it heal the wounds felt by his death, but the Georgian Olympic team has gained a fan in me. Their tragedy will be healed by their competition; their tears will be dried by the same act that seems to have stolen their brother, teammate and countryman.

What better triumph can come from their tragedy? I hope you witness the healing.

Sports allow the phoenix to rise from the ashes. May the Olympics provide the medicine to heal the pain felt by the international sporting community, and the Georgian people.

Winning is closure.

Get it. Got it. Good.