Why did thousands assemble for a candle light vigil for John Lennon?
Why did thousands more lay flowers and post cards at Buckingham Palace for Lady Diana?
When a famous Hollywood actor or actress passes away, so we lay parting gifts on their Hollywood walk-of-fame star?

We didn't know them. Not really. We feel like we do sometimes, as we watch them in the roles that made them famous. But we did not know them on a personal level. They are not our family members, our friends or even our business associates. So when a celebrity passes on, why do we weep? Why do we mourn?

Is it because of the movies that they acted in, or the songs they wrote or sang? Is it for the home runs they hit or the games they won? Could be. But It's actually more simple than that. Much more simple.

The answer is that these things, these celebrities, become a part of who we are. These are the things that tap into the very core of our emotions. They make us laugh during comedies. They make our hearts race during thrillers. They make us cry during dramas. The songs find a way to get the exact moment, the exact emotion that we want to feel. That we need to feel.

The sports teams, athletes and coaches, they represent who we are. They give us memories, reasons to celebrate. The games often unite us. It's been written about in movies. City Slickers and Field of Dreams both touch on baseball, and how it unites father and son. That baseball is the only thing that could even do it.

When Bill Walsh passed away on Monday, I was taken back. It was not a surprise. He was battling leukemia. Truth be told, he is in a better place now that he is no longer suffering. He wasn't my father or my friend. I never met the man. So why do I weep for him?

The answer is still the simplistic explanation that I referred to earlier. The San Francisco 49ers are part of who I am. It is a part of who I used to be. And Bill Walsh was the San Francisco 49ers.

Bill Walsh is the days of my childhood friends. He was the Sunday afternoons watching football with my grandpa. He was the scratching my dog's head as he laid his head on my leg while I enjoyed a game during a winter day. He was my friend and I chanting Super, Super Bowl! Bowl! as we celebrated the 49ers third trip to the big dance. He was our bragging rights and our dominance and our legacy. Some of those things I didn't even knew what they meant at the time.

Legacy aside, the 49ers and Bill Walsh were a huge part of my childhood. They were some of the best parts of that era. We can talk about the impact that he left on the team and on the sport as a whole. We can talk about his efforts to promote diversity and his efforts to get more black head coaches into the game. We can talk about the west-coast offense, and the army of coaches that went on to be successful because of him. Not even to talk about the very long list of football players that owe their careers to him.

But what means the most to me was a cold, winter day, back when I was about 12 or 13 or 14 or so, watching a 49ers game with Bill Walsh at the helm. My dog's head is on my leg as I'm scratching him behind the ear. Those are the moments that make me mourn the loss of one of football's greatest minds.