Today, I died three weeks shy of my 33rd birthday. My death was not accidental. In fact, you could argue that I was executed. I wasn't one of Jehovah's Witnesses but I was present at many of their District Conventions. I've hung out with Funchback many a times and we've taken in some sports together. I've even been present for many Conventions with Funchback.
I was a big guy, too. And, people either loved me or hated me. I thought I was good. I've given many people everlasting memories. However, I've disappointed many people, too. People who liked me will argue that I was comfortable to be with, that I had many levels to me, that I was well-rounded, and that I offered cold beer on the hottest days (except, of course, at the Conventions). Those who hated me will argue that I was very hot under the collar, that I offered lousy food, that my ice cold beer was watered down, that I had too many rats and too many cats.
I tried my best to be all things to all people but now a group of people decided that I was beyond repair; that I couldn't be rehabilitated. So, they decded my fate. They delivered my death-blow at 7:00 AM EST on March 21, 2004.
I was gone in 60 seconds.
Who am I? (Better yet, who WAS I?)