Medical examiner confirms Seau's death was a suicide

Fans have turned the outside of Junior Seau's California home into a memorial shrine. (Getty Images)

SAN DIEGO -- Those who knew and loved Junior Seau say they didn't see this coming.

"This is not anything I thought he would ever do," former San Diego Chargers safety Miles McPherson said.

Like many of Seau's friends, McPherson was still trying to comprehend the death of the former star NFL linebacker the day after his body was found inside his home in suburban Oceanside with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the chest. The San Diego County medical examiner ruled the death a suicide on Thursday.

"Junior is a warrior. He played 20 years in the NFL as a linebacker. You have to be a warrior. Warriors conquer problems they face and they run at them," McPherson said Thursday.

McPherson, now the pastor at the Rock Church in San Diego, said that's why Seau's death is so puzzling.

Seau's ex-wife, Gina, told The Associated Press that while Seau sustained concussions during his playing career, she had no idea if they somehow contributed to his death.

McPherson also said he didn't know if concussions would have contributed to the death of Seau, who was known for his ferocious tackles followed by celebratory fist pumps.

"There is no football player -- maybe a punter -- that has not had multiple concussions, I would guess," McPherson said.

Longtime Chargers chaplain Shawn Mitchell said he wasn't aware of any major issues that would lead Seau to take his life, including any difficulties making the transition from the playing field to retirement. Seau played his first 13 seasons with the Chargers before moving on to the Miami Dolphins and then the New England Patriots.

He helped lead San Diego to its only Super Bowl, after the 1994 season; was voted to a Chargers-record 12 straight Pro Bowls; and was a six-time All-Pro selection.

Mitchell said many players struggle once they leave the game.

"Junior was quite the opposite," said Mitchell, the pastor at New Venture Christian Fellowship in Oceanside. "Junior was one of the few guys with face recognition and first-name recognition across the nation. I'm almost amazed when people say he was torn up and missing the limelight. Golly, for a guy not in the league, the guy was doing contracts and he had a series on TV. He was such an icon and he had three cities, San Diego, New England and Miami, which loved the guy. I haven't seen in Junior what I see in hundreds of players, and that is a sense of great loss."

For a time, Seau hosted a reality show called "Sports Jobs with Junior Seau." He also continued to run his restaurant in Mission Valley, which has been open since the mid-1990s.

"Again, I'm not trying to paint a picture of everything being rosy. Junior, just like us, had feet of clay. There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary and I don't think he missed totally being out of game," Mitchell said.

In October 2010, Seau survived a 100-foot plunge down a seaside cliff in his SUV, hours after he was arrested for investigation of domestic violence at the Oceanside home he shared with his girlfriend. The woman had told authorities that Seau assaulted her during an argument.

There was no evidence of drugs or alcohol involved in the crash and Seau told authorities he fell asleep while driving. He sustained minor injuries.

McPherson said the only issue he was aware of was "the normal struggling with retirement issues, but nothing I thought would ever come to this."

McPherson painted a picture of what it could be like for a player of Seau's caliber once his playing career ended.

"When you grow up an athlete and you live in a world that praises you all the time as you go from high school to college, college to the pros, the decibel volume, the number of people, the frequency of praise that comes your way, increases," said McPherson, who was with the Chargers from 1982-85. "By the time you get to play 20 years in the NFL, in 12 consecutive Pro Bowls, and all that comes with that, you're living in fantasyland.

"All that one day stops. But your body, mind and heart are conditioned to such a high level of excitement, adrenaline rush, challenge, and then you're like taken off the drug, cold turkey. A lot of guys, women as well, celebrities, who live in a bubble, have a hard time living with normal life. Unless they can emotionally and spiritually handle the letdown and transition to something that will satisfy them, even though it will never bring the adrenaline rush their career did, they're somewhat at a loss."

McPherson knew the 43-year-old Seau was busy in his post-playing days. "I also know he was a very charismatic guy and the limelight that shone on him was very bright. Even though he was busy, it could never match what he had."

Seau was described as upbeat and invincible.

A few weeks ago, a smiling Seau was videotaped playing a ukuelele and singing while attending the spring game at Southern California, where he starred before being drafted by the Chargers in 1990.

Mitchell said that friends of Seau's who were at his charity golf tournament a month ago said his "spirits were great."

During emotional remarks to reporters on Wednesday, Seau's mother, Luisa, said her son gave no indication of a problem when she spoke to him by phone earlier this week.

"He's joking to me, he called me a 'homegirl,"' she said.

Seau purchased his Oceanside home for $3.2 million in August 2005, near the peak of the housing boom in San Diego. Sharon Ferguson, assistant division chief in the San Diego County assessor's office, said there were no liens against his property.

If Seau was having trouble with something, he didn't let anyone know. Police said no suicide note was found.

Mitchell and McPherson wish Seau had reached out to somebody.

"I'm sorry to say, Superman is dead. All of us can appear to be super, but all of us need to reach out and find support when we're hurting," Mitchell said. "This super person, this wonderful human being, this extraordinary athlete and man, if someone so invincible like Junior could end his life this way, it should be a message to all of us all going through hurt and travails, that we all need each other. If somebody's hurting, please talk to somebody. Get help."

Further autopsy details, including results of toxicology tests, will be released in a final investigative report, which may take up to 90 days to complete.

The medical examiner's office said it was awaiting a decision by the family on whether to turn over Seau's brain to unidentified outside researchers for study.

Boston University's Center for the Study of Traumatic Encephalopathy has analyzed the brains of dozens of former athletes, including that of former Chicago player Dave Duerson, who shot himself in the chest last year.

While saying it was saddened by Seau's death, center officials would not say if they have reached out to the Seau family or would be interested in studying his brain.

Duerson's family has filed a wrongful death suit against the NFL, claiming the league didn't do enough to prevent or treat concussions that severely damaged Duerson's brain before he died in in February 2011.

Former Atlanta Falcons safety Ray Easterling, who had joined in a concussion-related lawsuit against the league - one of dozens filed in the last year - shot himself last month at age 62. His wife has said he suffered from depression and dementia after taking years of hits.

Seau is not known to have been a plaintiff in the concussion litigation.

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Death of mover-and-shaker Mackey touched with irony

He was all about irony was John Mackey, a big man with a booming but even voice of reason, a Hall of Fame tight end whose career created so many brilliant recollections for others, but exploits he could barely recall himself over the past decade.

So it's somewhat ironic that, on the day when Mackey passed away from the frontal temporal dementia that ravaged his memory for 10 years, a prominent element of the ongoing collective bargaining negotiations is the matter of improved benefits for the players who built the game into the preeminent force of the present. For all of his tremendous exploits on the field, a resume that earned him a niche in Canton in 1992, Mackey should be perhaps most celebrated for the notable leadership that he exhibited in improving the lot of players off the field as well.

The first president of the NFLPA, serving in a relatively thankless undertaking in the post-merger NFL created by once-warring leagues, Mackey seemed to understand early on that football was only a fleeting part of what defined a man. What defined John Mackey, a man this columnist only met once, were not only touchdowns but also touchstones.

And a sense that, while players were often regarded in a less than flattering light during much of his career, the pursuits of professional athletes were dignified and honest ones.

Several people on Thursday mentioned that Mackey was probably delayed from his Hall of Fame inclusion because of his union activities and his proactive stance. But Mackey, only the second pure tight end enshrined, never publicly complained about the perceived slight.

In a conversation last season with Atlanta Falcons tight end Tony Gonzalez -- the career leader in receptions at his position and a man who will someday join Mackey in Canton -- Gonzalez cited Mackey as "the man who created the position."

But he was so much more than just a player.

At 224 pounds, Mackey, a bullish runner after the catch, was viewed as gargantuan. Nearly 40 years after his last appearance, the game and position have advanced so much that Mackey these days might be a possession-type wide receiver. Still, he remains a giant.

Mackey was the NFLPA president at a time when the players didn't earn nearly the salaries they do now -- one of his several obituaries on Thursday pointed out that his total career pay was probably less than a long-snapper makes in one season now -- but also didn't enjoy many basic rights. There's an old story, repeated by Mackey on several occasions, that before the union, the equipment man would come into the locker room and advise players they could change T-shirts. The punch-line: The quarterback could change with the wide receiver, the guard could change with the tackle, and so on.

John Mackey, a Hall of Fame tight end, was the first president of the NFLPA. (AP) OK, so things probably weren't quite that bad. No matter. Mackey made things a lot better. As the "88 Plan," named in his honor and a tribute to a uniform number he wore throughout his career, emphasized, his efforts hardly stopped with his retirement after the 1972 season.

The "88 Plan," the result of a poignant letter from Mackey's wife, Sylvia, to then-NFL commissioner Paul Tagliabue toward the end of his tenure, and a cause championed by Roger Goodell, pays $88,000 yearly toward the care of players who have suffered dementia or similar illnesses if they are in an assisted facility and $50,000 if care is done at home. In a league where it appears that the NFL and NFLPA bicker over the financial contribution that should be made to retired players, and who should foot the bill, the "88 Plan" is a celebrated agreement.

The plight of Mackey might not be solely responsible for the conversation devoted these days to head injuries, and their catastrophic ramifications, but it was critical.

Of all the touchdowns Mackey tallied in his career, arguably the most memorable was the 75-yard score in Super Bowl V, when the ball deflected off Colts wide receiver Eddie Hinton and Dallas defensive back Mel Renfro. It was, truth be told, a fluke. But if the touchdown was a matter of luck, Mackey didn't have a lot of good fortune after it, particularly in his football afterlife.

That said, generations of NFL players were lucky to have had Mackey come before them, fighting the good and honorable fight.

Modern players regularly make reference to "standing on the shoulders" of those who preceded them in the game. Fortunately for them, Mackey had shoulders that were broad enough to carry the load.

Because of their various dementia-related maladies, the men who should probably thank Mackey the most -- in one final irony -- might not be able to do it. So here's hoping that, at some point in the collective bargaining discussions, the various participants from both sides took a few moments Thursday to recognize his contributions.

Len Pasquarelli is a Senior NFL Writer for The Sports Xchange.

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