When The Game Is Over
Last night, Nick Adenhart, a 22-year old rookie pitcher for the Angels, pitched six scoreless innings in Anaheim with his father watching, succeeding at a game that requires motivation and practice in addition to talent. His career on the grand stage, for money that could help him take care of his family for doing something he loves, was blossoming.
Oakland rallied to win in the late innings, but that would not diminish how proud his father must have felt.
In the early hours of Thursday, a driver ran a stoplight and broad-sided a sports car in which Adenhart was riding. Adenhart and two of his friends died; a fourth remains in critical condition.
What words could possibly express what his parents must have felt on getting that phone call?
There is nothing to say that can do justice to this tragedy.
Life changes so abruptly, predicated on such small details as which street they chose, when they turned the car on, when the game ended and how long Adenhart took to leave the ballpark.
And another example: tonight in the Giants game against the Milwaukee Brewers, the Giants absolutely dominated the Brewers, winning 7-1. But in the top of the ninth, a line drive off the bat of Milwaukee's Mike Cameron caught pitcher Joe Martinez in the head. Martinez is resting comfortably in a hospital tonight, alert and apparently stable. But the subtlest change in the ball's trajectory or how Martinez reacted or where his stride took him, and the results of that line drive could have been much worse.
Are these tragedies or near-tragedies that afflict athletes and other celebrities any more heartbreaking than any of the thousands of other heartbreaks across the world every day? Of course not, but they are a stark and very visible reminder of the fragility of life and the importance of savoring the moments of happiness, companionship, love, joy, beauty, etc.
Tonight I walked home from work in a light drizzle that gave way to a typically-San Franciscan air, not raining but definitely damp. The umbrella I carried was almost yanked out of my hand a couple of times by bites of wind. Work had been long, but I felt light and refreshed by the air; I went into the comforting chaos of Green Apple Books, spent money, walked home, bought a hot drink and cookies.
Inconsequential details compared to the pain suffered by Nick Adenhart's friends, family, and teammates today, but real nonetheless.
Oakland rallied to win in the late innings, but that would not diminish how proud his father must have felt.
In the early hours of Thursday, a driver ran a stoplight and broad-sided a sports car in which Adenhart was riding. Adenhart and two of his friends died; a fourth remains in critical condition.
What words could possibly express what his parents must have felt on getting that phone call?
There is nothing to say that can do justice to this tragedy.
Life changes so abruptly, predicated on such small details as which street they chose, when they turned the car on, when the game ended and how long Adenhart took to leave the ballpark.
And another example: tonight in the Giants game against the Milwaukee Brewers, the Giants absolutely dominated the Brewers, winning 7-1. But in the top of the ninth, a line drive off the bat of Milwaukee's Mike Cameron caught pitcher Joe Martinez in the head. Martinez is resting comfortably in a hospital tonight, alert and apparently stable. But the subtlest change in the ball's trajectory or how Martinez reacted or where his stride took him, and the results of that line drive could have been much worse.
Are these tragedies or near-tragedies that afflict athletes and other celebrities any more heartbreaking than any of the thousands of other heartbreaks across the world every day? Of course not, but they are a stark and very visible reminder of the fragility of life and the importance of savoring the moments of happiness, companionship, love, joy, beauty, etc.
Tonight I walked home from work in a light drizzle that gave way to a typically-San Franciscan air, not raining but definitely damp. The umbrella I carried was almost yanked out of my hand a couple of times by bites of wind. Work had been long, but I felt light and refreshed by the air; I went into the comforting chaos of Green Apple Books, spent money, walked home, bought a hot drink and cookies.
Inconsequential details compared to the pain suffered by Nick Adenhart's friends, family, and teammates today, but real nonetheless.
posted by Devin at 8:42 PM
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