Rich Hofmann: 'It's just a sad time in the game right now'
WILLIAMSPORT, Md. - The memorial tribute is at the high school field where Nick Adenhart played. It starts with a small bouquet of flowers woven into the chain-link fence near the backstop, and then another, and then a white wooden cross stabbed into the sodden earth. It is how they all start, so bravely, so sadly. It is how the Harry Kalas memorial began Monday outside of Citizens Bank Park.
Adenhart, the 22-year-old pitcher for the Los Angeles Angels, was killed along with two others last week by an alleged drunk driver. A memorial service will be held on Friday inside the school. It must be the biggest meeting place in this small town, a dot on the map near Hagerstown. The ballfield is right outside. The colors of the tribute have begun to run in the cold, spring rain.
Associated Press
A tribute to Los Angeles Angels pitcher Nick Adenhart lines the fence at Williamsport High School's field in Maryland.
There are notes that have been left behind; you squat down to read them and you handle them as if they were decades-old newsprint, so careful not to disturb anything. There are baseballs that have been wedged into the space created where you pull back the fencing from the top rail, baseballs containing sympathetic messages instead of autographs. "You're a true hometown hero," one said.
There is a deflated balloon hanging limply by a string. There is a spent candle, a misshapen lump of wax in a paper bag. A note from a former coach sits on one side. A small teddy bear in a baseball uniform hangs from the fence, wet. On the ground sits a black baseball cap with the logo of a knight on the front. There is a St. Christopher medal pinned to the bill of the cap, St. Christopher being the Catholic patron of the journey.
"It's just a sad time in the game right now," the Phillies' Shane Victorino was saying on Monday afternoon at Nationals Park, several hours after Kalas died in the television booth at the age of 73.
At the time, Victorino didn't even know about the death of Mark Fidrych, a national phenomenon as a kid with the Detroit Tigers, long retired, largely unknown to young people. Adenhart, Fidrych, Kalas; threes, indeed.
"And to have it hit here," Victorino was saying. "It's so close to the family here. It's just sad.''
Victorino said he has been watching the Angels from a distance since their tragedy last week. There have been moments of silence in every ballpark, but it goes beyond that. Victorino said everybody in the sport has been looking at the Angels, trying to imagine what they are feeling. He said he cannot imagine it.
Adenhart and Kalas are different and yet they are the same. One was a player, a part of the fraternity, a kid. The other was a broadcaster, an institution, a man described by a couple of players with the same words that the Phillies' Jimmy Rollins used, "like your grandfather always being around.''
No player would describe it this way, but anyone who has spent any time around players would see it immediately. Harry Kalas, to them, was beloved. Nick Adenhart, to them, was bulletproof. Yet both of them, both members of the same family, are dead.
"I was talking about this with [teammate Greg] Dobbs,'' Rollins was saying on Monday afternoon. He said he was glad they had played the game, even though Kalas had died less than 2 hours before the first pitch. He said it helped somehow.
"You can expect anything,'' Rollins said. "You can expect a kid to get sick. You can expect a dog to run away. You can expect a car to break down. But the last thing you ever expect, period, it doesn't matter how old or young the person is, is death.
"You never expect that. It's very unrealistic, but we never expect to hear that someone you care about has passed on.''
That was in Washington. Ninety minutes northwest is Williamsport. The historical markers say that George Washington once dined here and considered the town as the site of the Federal capital. It is hard to imagine, all of it.
Part of the memorial is a note sheathed in plastic:
RIP Nick
During Nick's Little League days, my son scrimmaged against him at Halfway and played against him at Pony League. He was always kind and respectful. We will miss you very much. You are truly an angel!
Leaning over to read it, squatting down, a car drove by slowly. It was a policeman on patrol; these were school grounds, after all, and classes were in session. Holding the note, so carefully, I looked over my shoulder. The policeman avoided my gaze and drove slowly on. *
Send e-mail to hofmanr@phillynews.com,
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