Piermario Morosini: Italian Footballer's Death a Tragic Reminder of Uncertainty

The shocking death of Livorno midfielder Piermario Morosini by cardiac arrest during a Serie B match against Pescara on Saturday has left the football world with as many disturbing questions as unsettling answers.

The biggest one being, could more have been done?

And with that, who was responsible for the traffic police car that blocked the entrance to the stadium, delaying the ambulance's arrival on the pitch? Where was the emergency defibrillator? Why wasn't there a full-time cardiologist available, and not just a fan in the stands who happened to be trained in such procedures?

Morosini's collapse comes all too soon after Fabrice Muamba's brush with death during an FA Cup quarterfinal match between Bolton Wanderers and Tottenham Hotspur exactly four weeks prior.

Muamba's survival, of course, stands in all-too-stark contrast to Morosini's fate, but so does the greater discussion that's since followed. Muamba's case shone a bright light on the heart screening processes used by English clubs and, more specifically, how they ought to be more stringent.

No such questions have been raised about the Italian system because it's widely considered one of the best in the world: a sparkling example of medical precaution in which the nation has taken much pride since its institution following the death of Perugia's Renato Curi in 1977.

We won't know for some time exactly what caused Morosini's death until a full autopsy has been conducted. In the meantime, we're left with little more than a jarring sense of doubt about how secure any athlete's well-being truly is or can be.

If Morosini had a heart condition, how was it not revealed by the multiple screenings he underwent each year? If he didn't have a condition—and this was simply a "freak" incident—then what could anyone have done?

And which of those possibilities is more ominous? Both stem from the same result, though they imply different external consequences. In the former case, there is at least some culprit at which angry fingers may reasonably be pointed—a world-class screening system that still needs tweaks.

In the latter, though, there is nowhere and nothing on which to place blame, other than the very uncertainty that comes with putting one's body—however immaculately conditioned and prepared—through the paces of rigorous physical competition.

It becomes a matter of mortality rather than procedure, of something unpredictable and well beyond control than anything within anyone's grasp.

That's what makes this particular tragedy so impactful beyond the realm of sport. It's a sad reminder of the frailty of life, and how it can be snatched away at any given moment for no good reason.

And that, maybe, there's nothing that can be done to prevent that from happening.

If someone in peak physical condition—entering the prime of his athletic career, whose heart is so frequently monitored and maintained as a matter of profession—can succumb to the forces of nature without notice, what's to stop the same from happening to anyone else, athlete or otherwise?

These are all challenging questions to be sure, ones that most aren't likely used to facing from such a joyous form of entertainment.

Even when similar examples are still so fresh in the world's collective sporting conscience.

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