ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½

Several times this week, I found myself reflecting upon the inning I witnessed Boston Red Sox outfielder Jarren Duran unravel in the middle of a Major League Baseball game at Kauffman Stadium.

Why so reflective more than two years later?

Well, Duran recently revealed that he attempted to end his life that same year.

That inning started with a fly ball to center field in the seventh inning that Duran hopelessly lost in the August sun. The ball dropped. The runner ended up on third base with a “triple.� Then another ball hit to center field. Duran made a play on that one, but it caromed off his glove for another triple. Then Duran made a diving catch on the third consecutive ball hit to center. The runner on third base tagged up and scored on the play.

A pitching change took place right after the sacrifice fly. During that break in the game, Duran got into an angry exchange with spectators in the stands. His then teammate Tommy Pham stepped in to keep Duran from escalating the verbal confrontation any further. Duran later told Boston-base reporters that fans had thrown bottle caps at him.

The memory of that inning and Duran’s actions already stood out in my mind, but it took on a drastically different tenor and ignited a bevy of thoughts in the wake of Duran’s revelation.

Duran, 28, during the Netflix documentary series “The Clubhouse: A Year With the Red Sox.�

As much as I’d like to offer a uniquely poignant sentiment, my mind comes back to one simple basic statement: I’m glad he’s still alive.

I didn’t speak with Duran that day in Kansas City. We’ve never met. I don’t claim to know his heart, his character or his personality. I’m not proclaiming him an angel. He made a rather high-profile lapse in judgement and decorum last season, after he responded to a heckler with a homophobic slur.

But I’m glad, first of all, that his loved ones weren’t left tortured by a tragic loss of a young life. That they weren’t left with what I can only assume would’ve been a volatile cocktail of emotions and the knowledge Duran had been suffering immensely.

I’m glad that Duran, an American League All-Star last season, told reporters in Boston this week that he , an advocate for people seeking and getting the help they need. He hopes his voice helps save others. Him sharing his story has reportedly resonated and prompted an increase in individuals reaching out to various suicide prevention channels.

“I just want people to feel like they have somebody to talk to,� Duran said during his session with reporters in Boston.

I’m also glad that Duran provides a face and a story on that old Tony La Russa refrain “men, not machines.� Whatever hangups we may have about athletes or the perceptions of fame and fortune that we might attach to the profession, Duran serves as a reminder that they’re all people.

“I think it’s still tough to talk about because people look at us like we’re super humans, and they can say whatever they want to us and it’s not going to affect us,� . “They don’t really realize that we are humans at the end of the day. I mean, fans are still going to be fans. They’re still going to chirp us.�

It’s not just the fans that hopefully gain a greater perspective or understanding.

Perhaps more importantly, I’m glad that young athletes and those surrounding them have an example of how vital it to have some semblance of balance, an outlet or an escape from the pressures and expectations of performing.

Duran became so overwhelmed by his struggles on the baseball field that he said he sat in a room with a rifle. The only reason he’s still around to tell his story is either chance or a malfunction or divine intervention — take your pick.

While Duran hopes others won’t forget that they’re not alone, those surrounding those young athletes (parents, coaches, teammates, counselors, agents, colleges, professional organizations) can look at Duran as a reminder that “development� isn’t just a buzzword associated with fancy metrics, statistics or physical traits.

Developing or shaping an athlete also includes molding a fully-functional person, capable of navigating success and failure — with help, if needed.

At least that should be included in development. Particularly in a sport where an organization plays such an oversized role in the life of a young man’s formative years, there’s a responsibility to a profound impact on and off the field.

It’s heartening that Duran will still get the chance to pass on many lessons and speak into the lives of others.

It’s also a shame if everyone associated with athletics can’t take something — a reminder, a lesson, a renewed perspective — from the fact Duran almost wasn’t around to share those lessons.