Angel’s death stirs memories of other athletes gone too soon

By Ron Kantowski

Tuesday, April 14, 2009 | 2 a.m.

Every time a ballplayer dies way before his time, I think of Ken Hubbs, the former Chicago Cubs Rookie of the Year who perished in a light-plane crash in 1964 when he was just 22 years old and I was just 7. Until then I thought death was something that happened only to grandpas and baby frogs, because I had seen a baby frog die when I was 5.

I also think of Mike Sharperson.

The last baseball game Mike Sharperson ever played was for the Las Vegas Stars. It was on May 25, 1996. I don’t remember how many hits Sharpie, which is what his teammates called him, had that night. I do remember that he was recalled by the San Diego Padres at the end of the game. At 34, he was going back to The Show. It had been a wonderful day.

A couple of hours later, he was gone.

Mike Sharperson lost control of his sport utility vehicle on a rain-slicked Interstate 15 at the I-215 off-ramp. He was not wearing a seat belt and was ejected through the moon roof of his Explorer. Investigating officers found Sharpie’s old Dodgers equipment bag in the front seat.

I was sitting on my couch, getting ready to watch the Indianapolis 500, when I heard the news. Guys get killed in race cars all the time, I remember thinking. But that’s different. That’s an occupational risk. Baseball players are supposed to pull hamstrings and groin muscles and go on the 15-day disabled list now and again.

They are not supposed to get killed on their way back to the big leagues.

Or in light-plane crashes.

Or on their way home after throwing six shutout innings against the A’s, which is what 22-year-old Nick Adenhart of the Angels did Wednesday night before the sports car in which he and his friends were riding was struck by an alleged drunken driver, killing three of them, including the young right-hander who recently had been labeled the top prospect in the Los Angeles organization.

Don Logan said he also thought of Sharperson when he heard news of the Adenhart tragedy. How could he not? A couple of hours before Sharpie failed to negotiate that interchange, the Stars’ general manager was part of a small group that had treated Sharperson to a congratulatory beer at the Hard Rock. (Police said alcohol was not a factor in the accident.)

Sharpie was the first to leave, Logan said. He was next. Had he known his way around Las Vegas, Logan said, Sharperson could have taken surface streets back to his Green Valley condominium.

That’s what happens when fate intervenes. You think of so many detours around it, but you can’t avoid it. Then you wind up shaking your head and searching for comforting words.

It has been almost 13 years since that night, but the thought of it numbs Logan. He still hasn’t found the comforting words.

“That’s tough. That was a bad deal with Sharpie,” he said Monday.

Thirty-six hours after Sharperson died, the Stars had to play a doubleheader. They had to pull a distraught Rob Deer out of the bathroom so he could play the outfield. The first play of the game was a foul popup outside of third base. Sharperson’s position. Paul Russo caught it. Or so the box score says. Nobody wanted a putout. Nobody wanted an assist. Nobody wanted that damn black patch on his uniform.

The Stars didn’t wear the black patches on their sleeves. They wore them right above their hearts. That’s where they kept Sharperson all season. Near their hearts. They won the Pacific Coast League’s second-half championship that year. They won it for Sharpie.

According to the Las Vegas 51s’ media guide, 772 players have worn a Stars or 51s jersey since the franchise formed in 1983. Only one has a double asterisk beside his name. Only one, Mike Sharperson, has had his jersey retired. No bonus baby, no former major league superstar on his way down, no nephew of the team owner will wear No. 15 again.

But the games will go on. For a while, there will be reminders: an empty seat on the bench, an undisturbed locker, a neatly pressed jersey on a hanger. Then there will be a brushback pitch and the benches will empty and cooler heads will prevail. There will be magic numbers and somebody will get a hit with ducks on the pond and then grown men will jump up and down and spray champagne on each other.

Then it will be football season.

Then a lot of us will forget.

We’ll forget Ken Hubbs.

We’ll forget Mike Sharperson.

And yes, we’ll forget, Nick Adenhart.

And then the next time a ballplayer dies way before his time, we’ll remember them all over again.