Life isn’t fair.
It is an age-old maxim that every disgruntled child hears from a parent at some point. The words become ingrained into our minds, and as we grow older we begin to accept them as reality. Life isn’t fair, and it doesn’t play by your rules.
As it turns out, death isn’t fair either.
Yesterday morning, I awoke ready to take on the day, prepared for class and walked toward the door when my roommate emerged with some terrible news.
Nick Adenhart, a 22-year-old rookie pitcher with the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim, had been killed in an early-morning car accident in Fullerton. That this horrifying event had taken place just hours after Adenhart threw six brilliant innings against the Oakland A’s in what was only his fourth major-league start made the news all the more shocking.
I’m not sure why this hit me so hard. Maybe it’s because I’m just one year younger than Adenhart. Maybe it’s because I love baseball, and sat watching the game last night, thinking, “Gosh, he’s going to be good someday.”
Or maybe it’s because I’m merely human, and events like this strike an emotional chord in the deepest parts of my heart. Here was a young man with so much to gain, endless talent and everything in place for his future success, a young man rated as the top prospect in the Angels’ organization by Baseball America. A young man who was expected to hold his own for a championship-contending team in the rough-and-tumble American League.
All of that is gone now, swept away with the carelessness of one driver who didn’t stop soon enough.
Reports stated that a red minivan missed a red light, careening into the silver Mitsubishi and killing two of the car’s occupants. A third, Adenhart, was pronounced dead at the UC Irvine Medical Center while undergoing surgery.
The driver of the minivan attempted to flee the scene on foot only to be captured shortly afterward and arrested on suspicion of felony hit-and-run.
Just like that, a career was cut short. Just like that, all promise was extinguished. And just like that, a promising life, indeed three promising lives, were lost.
And that is the reality of human life. We often hear that such things are fragile, not to be taken for granted. We are taught to live each day as if it were our last one on Earth. Rarely do we truly heed the warning, and yet too often we are reminded of the arbitrary nature of life and death. People live, and people die. It’s something that happens every day. But we are never more aware of the shock and finality of life and death as when someone we know, or someone we have heard of, is affected.
Too often we hear athletes talk about each game as a war, as a matter of life and death, as the be-all and end-all. How wrong they are. Too often we hear stories of athletes who are selfish, who want more money, who are starved for attention, cocky in front of the microphones and boisterous on the field. How petty they look now.
Now we are confronted with the story of the sudden passing of one of baseball’s best and brightest prospects, a man who showed flashes of promise and brilliance in his all-too-brief major-league career.
Nick Adenhart should serve as a reminder to the rest of us that we should appreciate the things we have and the people we love while we still have them. We should grasp onto every aspiration we have and fulfill it to the fullest as soon as possible. We should appreciate those who help us, forgive those who hurt us and acknowledge each coming day as another opportunity for greatness.
Nick Adenhart won’t have another day, and that is truly a shame.