Corey Clark

Democrat senior writer

Jimbo Fisher didn’t hesitate for a second. Neither did his former star quarterback.

When Florida Gov. Rick Scott asked the FSU football coach if he and Jameis Winston would be willing to go to an Orlando hospital to visit survivors from the Pulse nightclub shooting, their responses were immediate: Absolutely.

“The governor called me and asked if I could get a hold of Jameis,” Fisher said. “And he asked if I wanted to come, too. I said I’d be honored. And I called Jameis and of course he jumped on it right away.”

So on Wednesday morning Fisher flew down to Orlando from Tallahassee while Winston drove up from Tampa. And they went inside the halls of the Orlando Regional Medical Center to visit with as many of the patients as they could.

“We just wanted them to know that people cared,” Fisher told me afterwards. “And hopefully we can stop that from ever happening in America again.”

Read more: Fisher, Winston make visit Orlando hospital

That’s doubtful, of course. If history has taught us anything it’s that it will happen again. And again. And again.

Don’t worry. This isn’t a column about gun politics. I’m a sports columnist. I know my place, and it’s certainly not in the middle of that debate. But the grim reality is that the Orlando shooting won’t be the last one our country has to deal with. We all know that.

When these mass shootings happen, the responses on social media are almost always the same: “Thoughts and prayers for (insert city’s name here).” And on Twitter a hashtag is started with the city’s name followed by the word “strong.” Then, after a moment of mourning for our fellow Americans, our lives move on.

Rinse. Repeat.

Yes, we’re heartbroken. And yes, we’re angry. But we’re also insulated in a sense. We don’t experience the horror of a mass shooting first-hand. We don’t feel the pain up close. We don’t see the devastation.

Orlando shooting: “I escaped by minutes”

On Wednesday afternoon, Fisher and Winston did. As they went from hospital room to hospital room.

“It was amazing,” Fisher said. “The courage they showed. In a situation like that....”

Fisher’s voice trailed off for a moment.

“I just,” he said. “I just wanted them to know that people cared. They were doing what normal people do. They were out. Having fun. Living life. And just how quickly that can be taken away. And it had nothing to do with you. You were just enjoying yourself.

“... And what’s funny. We were there to uplift their spirits but they ended up uplifting ours. With their demeanor, with their body language. With how they were talking.”

Fisher said some of the survivors he met were Florida State fans and knew who he was. But that all of them, even the ones that aren’t necessarily sports fans, recognized his former QB.

“Oh yeah, they all knew Jameis,” Fisher said. “And he was interacting with all of them. Genuinely interacting with them. And it really is amazing. People have no idea about the kind of human being he is. How genuine and caring a person he is.

“He’s just out of this world. And he lit up every room when he walked in it. ... I just can’t say enough great things about him.”

Two millionaires walking into a hospital room doesn’t come close to taking the pain away. And it certainly doesn’t erase the horror of that night for the injured victims. We all know this.

But small gestures count. Trying to spread a little joy — to people that so desperately need it — counts. Trying to show them that they aren’t alone truly does mean something.

Those poor souls in those hospital beds saw such unimaginable terror, such inhumanity, that even just a touch of humanity can go a long way.

“Just to show we care,” Fisher said. “It was the least we could do.”