I once learned of a retired man who had been plotting to kill Steve Jobs. One day his son casually informed him that Jobs was terminally-ill. The man sulked and walked into bed.
"Why did he want to kill Steve Jobs? How did he not know that he was already going to die? Wasn't he like researching him the whole time?"
"He didn't really want to kill him."
"Then why do all that work? What the hell was on all those papers?"
I learned of his story and I understood. I disagreed, but it made sense why he wanted to kill, if not Jobs the biological creature, the effects of this dying carbon organism.
The man was a phone-man. He operated public phones, back before everyone had a smart-phone in their pocket, back before every household had its phone. Back when a large building such as a hotel might have a single phone, and a single person would occupy it, relaying messages. Back then you would wait up to eight minutes while the phone-man fetched who you were trying to contact.
I won't say his name. You can google it yourself. But the man died several months after that day he sulked into bed, even before Jobs' own death.