Max Gilpin is dead.

It is most sad. That his parents are distraught, still grieving and hoping that somebody, anybody might provide an answer that will offer succor is totally understandable.

Why and how he actually died on that football field will never be answered. There are a few probabilities and many more possibilities. Making such determinations is not an exact science.

Thus it is very difficult to determine whether the death was due to simple negligence or criminal negligence or merely an accident?

The current brouhaha concerns the school system’s self serving report on the situation. I mean, really, what could anybody reasonably expect? That they’d bring in McNulty and the crack investigative squad from “The Wire” to find some definitive and exact determination?

It was never going to happen.

Young Max Gilpin — with the permission of his parents — bought into the football culture. Machismo reigns. Suck it up and go. Don’t be a wuss. No pain, no gain. Etc, etc. Unfortunately he paid the ultimate price.

Think about it. Kids in questionable shape exercising vigorously in 90+ degree heat wearing the heavy armor of the game. It’s astonishing to me that there aren’t more tragedies. I played high school football for one season. In an era when the misguided norm was to give us salt tablets, for heaven’s sake. It was a usual Louisville August that pre-season. Very hot. Abysmally humid. So we practiced at 6:00 in the morning to avoid the heat. What a simple idea to avoid some of the pitfalls of the weather.

PRP isn’t the only high school that chooses to practice in the heat of the day. Why?

Jason Stinson is charged criminally for Max Gilpin’s death. A jury will decide if he’s guilty or not. The public will, or already has, rendered its own verdict. Some say it’s a crime. Some say he’s a scapegoat.

How many high school, college and pro coaches on the same day Gilpin died issued similar challenges to their charges as Stinson is alleged to have to his? It is the nature of this game.

So this agonizing situation continues. The school system understandably went CYA. Which doesn’t excuse it, of course. Max Gilpin’s parents remain distraught. We pundits line up on one side or another. Resolution remains elusive.

Still, overweight kids are this very day jogging the track at Fairdale and Ballard and St. X, dreaming of being the next OL or DL star with a NFL career on the distant horizon. Or, at least a chance for a scholly to UK or, maybe even ‘Bama. Or, at the very least, a second look from the cheerleader, the cute one second from the right.

American football is a brutal endeavor. Stuff is going to happen. Even, say it ain’t so, death. No matter what we do to try to avoid it.

It’s the nature of the beast.

– Seedy K

Okay, okay, okay . . . so I forgot to put up the “Out to Lunch” sign. My bad.

To all those who inquired where I was and why I hadn’t weighed in on the draft, the death of Mr. October — oops, nevermind, Reggie Jackson didn’t just pass; it’s Michael Jackson who dove too deeply into the medicine cabinet — the US of A’s come from ahead loss to Brazil and various & sundry other sports shenanigans, thanks for your concern.

The truth: I was in Chicago for a wedding with no tickets to the Cubs/ White Sox crosstown smackdown. I bought a Trib every morning but before I could get past the Jacko stuff to the sports page, my crew was on the road for another Original House of Pancakes breakfast feast. And, no, I actually went without my laptop, and closed my eyes when walking by an internet cafe.

But here’s the big battle of next couple of years: Mayor Richard Daley vs. The International Olympic Committee. It’s gonna be a beaut. It’s a pick em bet on the board, but those Daley’s don’t lose a lot. Did Pop cover in ‘68 during the Dems convention? You betcha. Shoulda taken the over on that one.

So, I’m gonna digest the papers. Catch up on all the news. Read my emails. Garner an opinion and get back to ya.

Now I gotta unpack.

– Seedy K