Jeremy Schaap and Blake Grudzien
May 8, 2025, 08:45 AM ET
ON APRIL 26, at home against Dartmouth, Cornell senior CJ Kirst scored the 225th goal of his career, moving into first place all time in Division I men's lacrosse. And he's not done yet.
Kirst leads top-seeded Cornell (14-1, 8-0 Ivy) into the NCAA tournament in search of the Big Red's first national title since 1977.
He is the prohibitive favorite to win the Tewaaraton Award, given to the most outstanding college lacrosse player. He was a finalist as a sophomore. And he was a semifinalist last year.
Simply put, Kirst is one of the greatest players ever. But it's his selflessness that endears him to his teammates and coaches. He clearly feels most comfortable not as a man apart, but as part of a team. Which makes perfect sense because Kirst has always been surrounded by a team.
CHUCK MEYERS' GARAGE in Bernardsville, New Jersey, is both man cave and shrine.
In addition to all the typical garage tools and detritus, there's a high-def big screen TV. Naturally. And the keg, of course. But then there are all the helmets. Two dozen of them. Game-worn, as the collectors say. But who wears them? Not Derek Jeter or Phil Simms or Jalen Hurts, not Francisco Lindor or Joe Namath or Martin Brodeur. Not any of the football, baseball or hockey heroes with fans all over this region.
No, these are lacrosse helmets -- which are sleeker than football, baseball and hockey ones. More space-aged. And who wore these helmets? Five brothers who grew up just down the street. The brothers Kirst -- Connor, Colin, Cole, CJ and Caden -- and if you pay attention to lacrosse, you know exactly who they are.
There is also a framed photograph on the back wall of the garage -- a few inches below just about the only non-lacrosse item on display, which happens to be a Georgia football helmet (Chuck's daughter is a Bulldog). The photo is a portrait of a red-headed middle-aged man. His name is Kyle Kirst. And this place, this garage, is all about his legacy. His sons.
KYLE KIRST GREW up on Long Island and came to New Jersey in the mid-1980s to play goalie at Rutgers. After graduation, he went into coaching -- and he did it well. Cornell coach Connor Buczek describes him as "a legend in New Jersey lacrosse." Kirst was a longtime assistant at Summit High School. He also coached at Hanover Park, Princeton and West Morris high schools. He coached boys and girls. He coached varsity and junior varsity. But it was clear that nothing gave him more pleasure than coaching his five sons.
Connor Kirst is the oldest. Born in 1997. The following year, Colin came along. Two years after that, Cole. Then, in 2002, CJ. And finally, in 2005, Caden.
Five C's. Five boys raised with lacrosse sticks in their hands. Steeped in the sport.
In 2015, Connor had just graduated from high school and was heading to Villanova to play. His brothers were still in high school, middle school and elementary school.
On June 9, 2015, Kyle fell asleep on the couch in the family living room and never woke up. He died of a heart attack at 47 years old.
Michelle Kirst had met Kyle at Rutgers. They had been together for almost 30 years. In an instant, he was gone. And now, on her own, she had five boys to parent, with four still at home. To feed and clothe and shelter. To transport to practices and games. To support emotionally. To guide.
A decade later, Michelle says that period after Kyle's death is a blur to her.
"I am just indebted to my friends and family who helped," she says.
Colin, the second oldest, says, "It was definitely a nightmare."
When he is asked what it was like for his mother, Colin has no words and can only shake his head.
For CJ, the second youngest, his father's death is too painful to dwell upon. Instead, he and Michelle and his brothers focus on the way their community lifted them up.
"I have a lot of family who aren't really blood-related who have showed support all the way 'til today. And I couldn't have gotten through life to this moment without them," CJ says. "So I owe them a lot."
There was Chuck and Heather Meyers, Chris and Beth Trebus, and Tim and Jeannine Farrell, among others. They all helped, pitched in, doing the things Kyle wasn't there to do.
And when the boys went off to college -- at Villanova, Lehigh, Syracuse, Rutgers and Cornell --they would gather in the Meyers' garage to watch their games. On game days, the garage transformed into Chuck's Pub. That's what they still call it.
Somehow, some way, Michelle did it -- with an assist from her friends and neighbors and family. The five C's all made it to Division I. Now, Connor and Colin and Cole are all professionals, as CJ is breaking records at Cornell. Meanwhile, Caden is just getting started, a goalie at Rutgers, like his dad and Colin.
But Michelle's greatest achievement isn't their individual or collective success in the game of lacrosse. Instead, it is the way the boys she and Kyle created love each other. Even when they are competing against each other, which has happened when the stakes were at their highest.
"They're the best leaders [I've] ever been around," CJ says. "They're my best friends. They're some of the best people that I've seen."
What makes CJ so special? To describe him, Buczek, the Cornell coach, uses words such as tough, humble and compassionate.
"And, realistically," Buczek says, "when your hardest worker is your best player, it sets the standard."
A FEW MONTHS ago, over winter break, CJ and Michelle were driving together, and they started talking about CJ's journey, all that he has been through, all that he has achieved. And then Michelle said something that has stuck with CJ.
"She told me that my dad would be really proud of me," he says. "And, you know, I haven't really had a conversation that deep with her regarding my dad and the way I've been playing. So, to hear that from her ... meant a lot. And, you know, obviously, we were tearing up a bit just thinking about it."
Ten years later, 10 years after Kyle's death, there is still the void. But he lives on in his boys. The brothers Kirst. The five C's.
"Every single time [I] pick up a stick," CJ says, "I think of my father."
