When you work in the media, sometimes you get numb.

The Associated Press wires spit out stories all day. You sit at your desk and a trade will pop on the screen. You go to work. An urgent will pop on the screen: "obit-buck." You click on it to learn that the legendary announcer Jack Buck has passed. You go to work.

I was sad about Jack Buck. Growing up a Cubs fan, but also a Midwesterner, you had to admire him. However, when I saw the urgent on his passing, my thoughts went to, "Reaction, we need to find people to speak about Jack Buck." It's the nature of the job.

Today, an urgent wire came over: "Brown-Yale canceled." I clicked on it to find out, "Friday night's men's basketball game between Brown and Yale was postponed because of a fatal highway accident. The wreck killed three Yale students and seriously injured two others." I took note of this mostly because I live in New Haven, home of Yale University, but also because I thought it might be athletes involved, since the game was canceled.

Then another thing came across my screen, an e-mail from a good friend who went to Yale. He and I know each other well and I had met many of his friends during the time we both lived in town.

"Hey man, may be in New Haven this weekend. Kyle Burnat was killed last night. Give me a call. Best, Robert."

I didn't go to work, I wanted to throw my computer through the window.

Kyle was a sophomore at Yale, from College Park, Ga. He was a pitcher on the baseball team. That's what it will say in tomorrow's paper, probably will make the stats page in yours, maybe in the news and notes. You need to know more.

I met Kyle about a year and a half ago at a group dinner that Robert brought me to. I met Kyle and about eight or 10 others that night. It was hard to keep names straight and I started calling Kyle, "Ritchie Cunningham," as in Happy Days. We were having a lot of laughs. I called him Ritchie because he was quiet, had on a '50s-style plaid shirt, khakis and had with a sharp part in his hair. He didn't say much that night, mostly just laughed at the banter, but when he injected something, it was really funny.

Over the next year and a half, I saw and hung out with Kyle many times, whether at a local joint, in the weight room or at a minor league baseball game. He even came up to ESPN to visit and take a tour. He was all wide-eyed at the things I sometimes take for granted.

Whenever we met up, he always wanted to hear about the sports stories we covered and places we went. He rarely talked about himself. I would always ask how the team looked and his game was coming along for baseball season. He never bragged about being good enough to play college baseball, something most of us would love to be able to do. Hell, he didn't brag about being intelligent enough to get into a tough place like Yale, which he could have.

He was just a fun, polite and positive guy, in his low-key way. He was the kind of person who made any occasion better. He was the kind of guy you made sure was going to be in on whatever you were doing. He would laugh till his whole face got red. I'll remember that till I'm an old man.

I wasn't as close to Kyle as his Yale teammates, fraternity brothers and other classmates were. They must be in agony right now. When I think of his family getting the news, I truly feel sick to my stomach.

I'm not too sure why I wrote this. It may be more for me than you. I do know two things: I wish you could have met this kid and I know I'm sad that I won't get to see him again.

Now I know what numb is.

Paul Pabst is a producer on the Dan Patrick radio show on ESPN radio.