Shortly after midnight on April 9, 2009, the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim’s franchise was changed forever. Nick Adenhart, the 22 year-old super-prospect, had just pitched his fourth career game, and did so admirably.
After making his first opening day roster, Adenhart was slated to be the third starter in an injury depleted Angel’s rotation. His future was brighter than the 80s and no one knew that better than himself, his teammates and his coaches.
Just hours after the game, a drunk driver ran a red light and killed Adenhart and two of his friends. Tragedy shocked the sports world the following day.
For the Angels, the 2009 season became difficult and unusual. April no longer seemed like their favorite time of year after the dreadful morning phone calls they all received on April 10th.
They longed for normalcy. They waited for their teammate to show up every day at the ballpark, and everyday he was not there.
“We lost a brother," center fielder Torii Hunter said in an ESPN interview two weeks ago. “He was here and then he was gone. None of us had ever been through anything like that. We walked around in a daze, like we were numb.”
Nick Adenhart did everything right. He pitched six shutout innings in his fourth major league start, spoke with reporters, showered and left the ballpark. In an instant, his life, career and dream were gone.
Upon losing a teammate, friend and valued part of the organization, the Angels paid tribute to Adenhart throughout the season. They left his locker un-cleaned in their locker room. They hung his jersey in that locker and even brought a jersey with them on road games. They had a picture of Adenhart placed on their centerfield wall alongside his name and number. They made a shrine outside the home-plate entrance to the stadium. He was everywhere, and that is just how the Angels envisioned things.
The organization went to greats lengths to make sure that Nick Adenhart was included in all parts of their unforgettable season. He was the motivator, the encourager and the Angel in the outfield (literally). Centerfielder Torii Hunter visited his mural on the centerfield wall before every game, his locker left untouched but open for players to visit throughout the season.
Before the season started, the Angels looked like a powerhouse and a major threat to my beloved Boston Red Sox. On April 10th, the day after Adenhart’s death, no one knew where this team was headed. On April 11th, they beat the Red Sox, and I was thankful.
After that game, the team struggled. They were lost and they wore their hearts on their sleeves. It looked like somebody else was going to win the American League West for the first time since 2006 and everyone knew why. Baseball became secondary to what they were experiencing, and it gave their division rivals a leg up.
"It hit all of us all at once," Hunter said. "We realized in a way we never really had before that life was so much more important than baseball and we took that on the field with us, I think. It was rough. We struggled."
But they never gave up. They struggled for a month before coming together and finding ways to win even if they did not have the best team on the field. Baseball became a game of grit, will and desire. It was emotionally draining, but the players found their love of the game.
The 2009 Angels showed the world that you do not need an Albert Pujols or a C.C. Sabathia to succeed.
You need a team, a doorstep collection basket for egos and a damn good manager.
In the middle of May, the Angels realized that they had all of these things and then some. They had Adenhart. They were not dealing with prima donnas like Manny Ramirez or crybabies like Kevin Youkilis.
Manager Mike Scioscia will surely win his second Manager of the Year award for the way he unified a collection of superstars and became their mentor and friend. Along with writing the lineup card, calling for shifts, aligning the infield and outfield and putting in substitutes, Scioscia became the gentleman’s gentleman.
Did he ever make excuses? Not once. Did he want to win? Of course, but he understood that his players were bruised and battered mentally and sometimes physically. He did not take the approach of the Chicago White Sox’s manager Ozzie Guillen and apologize to his fans for how crappy his team was.
Instead, he waited for the right time and talked to his players about how privileged they were to play Major League Baseball. He told them not to forget Adenhart’s competitiveness and desire to win. He told them that Adenhart would want the Angels to give it everything they had for the rest of the season.
More importantly he told them to take a deep breath and play baseball.
“It hurt so much. It was a crushing blow," Hunter said. "But it taught us how much we meant to each other. How much we felt for Nick and how much we felt for each other. There is a closeness with us I've never felt before. We lift each other up. Truly. We have each other's backs. All the way. Every time we step on the field we have a different fire. We're trying to do it all together. We're sad. We're so sad. But there is a fire in us, too."
The Angels are the epitome of team. They are unlike any professional sports team I have ever watched. They have no individuals who place themselves higher than anyone else, and in professional sports that is a huge statement. With everyone on the same page, they rallied for the remainder of the season. Even when players were hurt or they were longing for their teammate, they found it in themselves to win games.
On September 29th, 2009, the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim won their third straight division title. They did so with pride and they celebrated in memory of their lost teammate: They said a prayer for Adenhart in front of his locker, they paraded out to the centerfield wall and gathered around his picture, and they drank to his memory.
While I was not there, I can almost guarantee you that the Angel’s division clinching celebration was emotional. Really emotional. More emotional than those Saturday night celebrations we have when we don’t even win.
I was originally going to write this column about the shock I felt when I saw the images and video clips on ESPN and ESPN.com following the Angels celebration, but I changed my mind.
I was irked when I saw the picture of the team holding Adenhart’s untouched jersey and dousing it with champagne and cheap beer.
It was too ironic. I thought to myself, “Adenhart was killed by a drunk driver, and these idiots are soaking his memory with champagne and beer.”
But it was an emotional tribute, a way to include Adenhart in what the rest of the guys were doing.
While I do not think the media should have published this image, and should have instead left it untouched and only in the team’s memory, I understand why people have been angered.
After reading an ESPN article about their season by Eric Neel, I realized I could not criticize this team for celebrating in that way. Their emotions got away from them, but that is entirely OK. Everything they did on the night of September 29th was in respect and memory of their fallen angel, Nick Adenhart.
The Angels play the Red Sox this week in the American League Division Series. While I will be rooting for my hometown team, I can honestly say that I will not be sad if the Angels eliminate them from the playoffs.
They deserve to win the World Series, and if they do, I will pour one out for Nick Adenhart.
