By Columnist
They came for a parade. They came by the million. They came downtown under the winter sun, wearing their Chiefs gear and their Kansas City pride.
Parents brought their kids. Kids brought their parents. Some drank. Some cheered. Some just sat on their dad’s shoulders and screamed for Patrick Mahomes, Travis Kelce, Chris Jones and the rest.
These are the best kinds of parades. Most are built on somber remembrance or holiday tradition. Not these municipal championship ones. They bubble up out of pent-up exhilaration and the need to take to the streets. They are as much about honoring the fans and the city as any of the players.
It says Kansas City in the box score and so this was for Kansas City, for another shared Super Bowl championship, for another shared title, for another shared celebration like this; Valentine’s Day with everyone dancing on the sidewalks.
And then, just like that, it became a day of shared horror and shared tragedy and shared terror.
It became a reminder of what none of us in this country need to be reminded — this stuff, these insidious, senseless mass shootings — can happen anytime, anywhere.
In a Buffalo grocery store, a Denver movie theater, a Texas elementary school, a Vegas country music concert, a Maine bowling alley and, yes, even here on a day of nearly unrivaled civic togetherness in KCMO.
Just after 2 p.m. local, just moments after Mahomes, et. al. addressed the adoring masses, police say shots rang out on the west side of Union Station, the city’s iconic train station and backdrop. One dead. Twenty-one wounded. Seven with life-threatening injuries. Three detained.
As many as nine of the victims were children, Kansas City Police Chief Stacey Graves said.
Nine. Children. Nine.
Nine. Kids who just wanted to see their heroes. Nine.
“Right now we do not have a motive,” Graves said.
There will be none that make sense. There can be none that make sense.