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West Chester reeling over death of defensive lineman Boylan

WEST CHESTER'S football team opens its season Sept. 3 at Bentley (Waltham, Mass.). The Golden Rams, who went 7-4 last season, have been picked to repeat as East Division champs in the Pennsylvania State Athletic Conference. Which means this should be an exciting time, as they get ready to embark on a journey that could bring them more good things.

WEST CHESTER'S football team opens its season Sept. 3 at Bentley (Waltham, Mass.). The Golden Rams, who went 7-4 last season, have been picked to repeat as East Division champs in the Pennsylvania State Athletic Conference. Which means this should be an exciting time, as they get ready to embark on a journey that could bring them more good things.

Instead, it has turned into a painfully conflicted time for a group of college student-athletes who suddenly have to deal with a tragedy that seems totally incomprehensible.

On Aug. 13, the Rams attended the funeral of redshirt sophomore Sean Boylan, a defensive lineman from Archbishop Ryan. While there isn't an official cause of death, sources indicated he took his life just days before the start of training camp.

Nobody can tell them how to grieve, or for how long. The same goes for their head coach, Bill Zwaan, who's been involved with the game for some 4 1/2 decades going back to his playing days at Archbishop Carroll High and Delaware. He's struggling with the magnitude of it just like his players, the guys he's supposed to be there for. There's no handbook for how to react, or how to go on, whether there happens to be a season right in front of you or not.

"You'll never have the answers to any of it," said Zwaan, who has made it to the Division II playoffs seven times, including two runs to the semifinals, since taking over the program in 2003. "It's not going to go away."

Because some things are impossible to prepare for.

"You talk about raw emotion," Zwaan - who at times still had difficulty getting some of the words out without having his voice crack - recounted. "I'm looking around the church at all these really great kids, who are truly hurt. And I'm looking at each one of them thinking, 'Geez, if this had happened to any one of them our team would be (responding) the same way.' They're all so precious. That's when it really hit me. I started thinking about all the great kids I've had. Even the knuckleheads. Truthfully, they're all my sons in a way. That's the way I look at it. For that four- or five-year period I'm their second dad. I realize how lucky I've been. And I lost my mind . . .

"They were sobbing uncontrollably. It caught me off guard. You want to do something. I had some tough moments myself. I knew that would happen. As a coach you say, 'I can't let the kids see me, because that'll get them going.' But I couldn't help it. They were inconsolable. That was tough. I just stood there with them, in case they needed me.

"I lost my dad when I was 19. I was the oldest child. So I had to hold it together, be strong for my mom and my brothers and sisters. It wasn't until months later that it caught me completely by surprise. I don't know what touched it off, but I broke down and started crying. That's what I felt like at the church. The whole time, you're trying to make sure everybody's OK. When I walked out I was like, 'Wow.' I couldn't stop myself."

Boylan was by most accounts a quiet person. But by all accounts a happy one. None of those who were closest to him on the squad saw any signs that he was troubled in any way, which is often the case. He is survived by his parents (his father is a retired Philadelphia police officer), a sister and three brothers. He was the second-youngest. The boys all played football.

His teammates were, of course, his extended family. He lived with four of them in an off-campus apartment. Three are part of the same class. The other is a second-year freshman. They knew Boylan best. And they agree he's always going to be a big part of them.

"Sean wouldn't want us to give up, to stop living our lives," said Shane Kraynik, an offensive lineman from Pennridge. "We're just fighting through it right now. Obviously it's on our minds all the time. I personally haven't reconciled it yet . . . It's going to be on our minds for a while."

As he spoke, a tear or two ran down his cheek. All of them, still noticeably shaken, understandably had a distant gaze in their eyes.

"I think of the fun times we had, the good memories," said Connor Walsh, another lineman from Garnet Valley. "That lifts me up a little bit, gets me off the ground. I remember this big wind coming through the window (in the locker room), and even though I'm not a big believer in that stuff, I definitely think it could have been him just letting us know he's with us."

Added Mike Class, a running back from Pennridge with whom Boylan might have been tightest: "When I found out, I was speechless. I just broke down. I'm going to be heartbroken for a long time. Everywhere you go, there's little pieces of him you'll see. Walking past his locker is the hardest part. Then you go home and there's even more things that remind you of him.

"Football's a game, and we love it. We want to win. We came here to contribute. But you're talking about one of your closest friends. You're looking at a life."

Boylan's memory is going to be honored in different ways. One teammate is making bracelets. There's talk of having T-shirts printed. His No. 54 is going to go on the helmets and/or jerseys. His locker has become almost a shrine. Especially prominent are stuffed bears, after his sister Mary Kate related in the eulogy that she lovingly called him her "Seanie Bear."

Nobody knows what kind of impact this will have on the Rams. Not that that's the concern. But, as Kraynik said, the world doesn't stop spinning. Even if it feels like it did.

"In a terrible situation, at least we can deal with it together," said senior captain Doug Gilbert. "It's easy to forget that the guy you're playing next to is somebody's brother, somebody's son, etc. When you heard everyone talking about him at the funeral, it really hit home. It's not going to be a quick fix. It's going to take some talking and working things out."

Said fellow captain Ralph Reeves: "We're trying to lean on each other. So many things run through your head, like 'Could I have seen something or done something to prevent this?' It blows you away. You can't think like that. That will drive you crazy. It's more important just remembering the kind of kid he was, and what he meant to us."

For the most part, Zwaan has been letting his staff handle the football stuff. He has tried to concentrate on everything else, whatever that might entail. There is no other way. You learn as you proceed, and hope that maybe it's somehow enough. To at least get through one more day. And even then there's a part of you that can never be the same.

"One of my players' parents called me to make sure I would check on his son," said Zwaan, who lost a player, Cardinal Dougherty's Mike Staub, in 2002 at Widener following a year-long battle with leukemia. "He was worried about him. Another texted me to say that this was the third suicide of a teammate their son had been through. It just really strikes you.

"There's no right or wrong. I wanted them to make sure they didn't feel like there was any fault on their part, because there is none. The kids he would have graduated with in three years, they're going to carry this with them the whole time. I'm already thinking about that. Everybody's sort of trying to move forward, but . . . I think of the family, and what this must be like for them. I can't get that out of my mind.

"We're keeping the lines of communication open. I'm letting the kids handle a lot. You can't force anything. I've got calls from a lot of guys in the coaching fraternity. One of them said, 'This is going to really affect your season.' I had not even thought about that. We're going to have to handle it. So far we have. But there's going to be a trigger. I don't know what it's going to be. Maybe the first home game (Sept. 10 against Slippery Rock). That's when the kids may feel it, you know. I'm just going to try and pay attention to it.

"There's no question in my mind that the kids are thinking about him and want to do well for him. But again, I don't know what it's going to be (like)."

How can he? How can anyone? The only hope is that tomorrow can somehow be a little better.

@mikekerndn