I wanted to mention this sooner, but I’ve been searching for the right words. I still haven’t found them, and I may never find them, but I have to say something.
As you probably know by now, former Padre third baseman Ken Caminiti died of an apparent heart attack Sunday, at age 41. The first thought that came into my head when I heard the news was: what a waste. It is sad beyond words that anyone should die so young. Yeah, I know it happens every day and why should we make a big fuss about Caminiti just because he was a baseball player?
A few things come to mind. First is the impact Caminiti had on San Diego and the Padres. He played here for just four seasons, but in that time, he reined in three Gold Gloves, two All-Star appearances, and an MVP award. He also was the proverbial heart and soul of the 1996 and 1998 playoff teams. Three times in their history have the Padres made the playoffs. Twice Cammy was the cornerstone.
For whatever personal demons he may have had (and by all accounts, there were plenty), Caminiti always came to play. The guy was, to employ an overused but appropriate term, a gamer. And the Friars enjoyed great success in his tenure here. It was his teams that restored a sense of pride in the Padres and ultimately led the citizens of San Diego to vote for the construction of Petco Park.
Former GM Randy Smith, who orchestrated the deal that brought Caminiti from the Astros (ironically, he isn’t the first player acquired by the Padres in that trade who left us too soon; shortstop Andujar Cedeno lost his life in an October 2000 automobile crash), said this of the 1996 NL MVP: “Saying he turned around the franchise might be mild. Saving the franchise might be a little strong.”
The point is, if you were in San Diego in the mid- to late-’90s, you knew who Caminiti was. And you knew that because of him, and guys like Andy Ashby, Steve Finley, and of course Tony Gwynn, it was okay to be a Padres fan. Gone were Tom Warner and his 1993 fire sale, replaced by John Moores and a new sense of optimism, the likes of which hadn’t been seen in over a decade. Like it or not, Caminiti was a hero.
This brings me to my second Caminiti anecdote, a little more personal. I never met the guy, but I very well could have. One random Tuesday night in the fall of 1996 our company softball team was playing at a park in University City. For whatever reason, I couldn’t make it that night. But I remember coming to work the next day and being told of an unexpected spectator at the game who had come to watch a friend of his play. After the friend’s game finished, this spectator hung around to watch the next game, our game.
After our game, some guys on the team recognized the spectator as Caminiti and struck up a conversation with him. And they chatted for maybe a half hour, about baseball and life in general. I may have messed up some of the details, seeing as I wasn’t there, but the general point is that this professional baseball player found time to hang out and chat with guys from our company softball team that he didn’t even know. Eight years later, thinking back on it, I’m still completely blown away by that. And I’m sorry I missed a chance to talk to the guy. At the very least I would’ve liked to say a simple thank you.
So, still searching for the right words. Can’t find ‘em; these will have to do instead: My deepest condolences to the Caminiti family for their loss. My genuine thanks to Cammy for the joy he brought this Padre fan and the respect he helped restore to the organization. And my sincere hope that some good, in some way, will come of this. Maybe somewhere down the line, some kid will be able to look at Caminiti’s struggles and learn from them.
Our heroes are all made of the same flesh and bones as the rest of us. They are every bit as fallible, and every bit as human. When they die too soon, their mark is left on all whose lives they touched, in whatever way. It’s not that Caminiti’s death is any more special than Joe Blow’s, it’s that it impacts, rightly or wrongly, so many more people. Maybe there are other lessons at work here as well. Remembering to cherish those who are close to you while you have the opportunity seems like a good one.
I could go on in this vein for several more paragraphs I’m sure, but the point is made. There is no graceful way to end this. RIP, Ken Caminiti. You will be missed.
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