Rarely does Robert Mueller, director of the FBI, the man in charge of investigating all the country's federal crimes including Tuesday's terrorist attacks, get on national television.

Same goes for Scott McKay of Arlington County, Virginia Fire and Rescue, the man charged with the rescue effort at the Pentagon.

These guys, like all the men and women suddenly thrust onto the world stage in the aftermath of the terrorist attacks in New York and Washington, do their jobs catching criminals and rescuing children each day and return home to their families.

No microphones, no reporters buzzing around their every word like bees.

Barry Bonds rarely goes a day without being on national TV. He hits home runs, runs down an occasional fly ball, saves no children's lives, catches no terrorists and returns to the clubhouse to a glut of national media asking him about that 3-2 fastball in the third inning.

People love Barry Bonds. They think he's a hero because he hits baseballs over fences in ballparks. That's what makes a hero, right? That's why everyone pays attention to him, and splashes his face across every newspaper in America, right?

Barry Bonds is not a hero.

Who are the heroes?

The heroes are the men and women of America, the nameless and faceless people that pull away the guts of the World Trade Center, looking for both the living and the dead. The heroes are the federal agents, staying up all night, following every lead, every tip, every hunch, trying to find out who did this. The heroes are the New York City firemen and police officers that ran up the crumbling twin towers, rescuing terrified civilians, only to have the buildings come down on them, burying their hopes and dreams, but saving the hopes and dreams of others.

The sports world seems so trivial right now. Your favorite team's record doesn't seem to matter when you're frantically dialing family and friends in Manhattan, looking for any sign that they're OK.

Every other week, we focus on sports and athletes. Who's injured? Who's winning? Who's the favorite in the third race?

Now we focus on the true heroes, and the things that should be most important to us. Is my brother still alive under all that rubble? How can I ever thank the Lord that I was late to work that day? Will my family ever feel the same?

If there is any, however small, silver lining to this most horrible of tragedies, it was that America has stopped and appreciated what's most important to them. Families have stopped, and given each other that extra hug that wouldn't have happened last week. The TV that normally doesn't budge off ESPN is stuck on CNN.

Sports are games. And only games.

Sports do not decide life and death, or catch terrorists who have killed 10,000 innocent people. Sports are not at the core of what makes us human beings, living, breathing, people.

The core of us is our caring, caring for our families and friends but also that complete stranger, stuck underneath tons of dusty concrete. The core of us is our feelings that we are part of something bigger, an idea, a way of life. The core of us is that feeling, when you love other people so much, the thought that they could be suddenly taken from you makes you numb and humble before God.

I think we all remembered that this week, and I hope we won't soon forget it.

The views of this column are those of the author and are not necessarily those of The Observer. contact Jeff Baltruzak at Baltruzak.2@nd.edu

The opinions of this column are those of the author and are not necessarily those of The Observer. Contact Jeff Baltruzak at Baltruzak.2@nd.edu

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