BY TODD DYBAS / SEATTLESPORTSONLINE.COM

It's been a year of loss in Seattle sports. From the Sonics' departure to the incapable Mariners, Washington football team and Seahawks, Seattle sports life has been dismal.

The multitude of on-the-field losses and their impact can be debated. Off the field, the Seattle sports world had a clear, tangible loss when "Tuba Man," Ed McMichael, 53, died from injuries suffered in a street assault.

McMichael was walking home near a bus stop on Mercer St. in Seattle on Oct. 25 when five teens attacked; kicking and beating in an attempt to rob him. A police officer drove up to the scene to find McMichael in the fetal position trying to protect himself. McMichael was treated at Harborview Medical Center, then sent home. He died in his apartment at the Vermont Inn nine days later.

Bald, bearded and bespectacled, the Tuba Man was part of the local sports scenery. He would play his tuba outside of the Kingdome, Qwest Field, KeyArena and Safeco Field. He was a sports day staple, sitting under a funny hat, often of Dr. Seuss stylings, playing songs ranging from Ozzie's "Iron Man" to "Itsy Bitsy Spider" on his tuba.

Wednesday night at the WAMU Theater, 1,500 showed up for a memorial service swiftly put together by the Seahawks, Mariners and local media.

The attendees signed a No. 12 Seahawks jersey put out at a back table, a remembrance soon to be raised at Qwest Field according to Seahawks President Tod Leiweke. The seats were full, occupied by the homeless and the hierarchy, silly hats and instrument cases.

It was another reminder of the value of sports, a concept often derided. In the end, of course, it's only football or only baseball, but that's not the point here.

It's the unity. The actual merging of people outside of a Facebook's friend finder; bonds that stretch from the hometown to other sides of the country.

Tuba Man was a common bond. He made people feel good about themselves. No other way to explain those in attendance.

He favored the saying, "Thumbs up." He went to work every day doing what he loved -- meeting people and playing his tuba -- a claim few of us can match.

He remembered names and faces, no trivial matter these instantaneous days of hi then goodbye.

At the same time, his death is a reminder there is still much to improve upon. As is too often the case, it took the despicable to unify.

He was 53, beaten to death by five teenagers according to police. That's a problem.

Just inside the door of the memorial, propaganda stating the Tuba Man's death was part of "the hidden campaign of murder against white people" was being handed out. To distribute such a message inside a memorial takes a staggering level of insensitivity. Though, I suppose, you don't arrive at those views if you were sensitive to begin with.

But at least there was an assembling. Those in the theater enjoyed a video tribute, eloquent words from the Seattle P-I's Art Thiel, admiration from KOMO's Ken Schram.

Mariners President Chuck Armstrong was applauded when he stepped up to speak, a reaction he said he hadn't been the recipient of for months. Armstrong explained he'd known McMichael since 1983, but it was a peripheral relationship mainly consisting of the Tuba Man assuring Armstrong the Mariners would win that day. Armstrong's son, 27, viewed Tuba Man as a friend, someone he knew his whole life.

Armstrong asked his son to prepare remarks about the Tuba Man. His son obliged, and Armstrong read them for the crowd. He had a hard time finishing, becoming tearful and losing his speaking command like anyone does when overwhelmed by emotion.

The standing ovation for Tuba Man's brother, Kelsey, was the golden cap to the evening. He talked of his brother's eccentricity, and how he liked everyone. Kelsey talked about being in the University Village the other day when he was approached by a woman he did not know, but knew him. "If you ever destroy those hats, I will personally run you out of town," she told him.

Kelsey McMichael and the rest of Ed's family encouraged the Tuba Man to audition for a big-time orchestra. Ed wouldn't, choosing not to leave Seattle.

In the end, he didn't get to choose. He's now a song gone silent. Another Seattle sports loss.

Todd Dybas is the editor of Seattle Sports Online. He can be reached via e-mail at tdybas@seattlesportsonline.com