Note – The Penalty Box is a column that appears each Wednesday. The author’s views don’t necessarily reflect those of the Times-Union.
I get accused a lot of being sappy. There are even some who would say my life story would make a better movie on Lifetime than an ESPN 30 for 30. It’s probably more true than not. But I would like to use my space this week to be sappy about a guy who we lost Monday – “Mr. Padre” Tony Gwynn. Gwynn, in 20 seasons of Major League Baseball (all in San Diego), accumulated 3,141 hits with a career batting average of .338. I could give you a thousand more stats to back up his on-the-field greatness, but let me stick with two: 1. He never struck out more than 40 times in one season, and 2. He hit .400 lifetime against Greg Maddux. And for all that he was on the field, he was so much more off of it. His philanthropic work in San Diego is that of a legend, and he always found time to sign autographs and share tips with young players about hitting. Gwynn was a great baseball player, but he was an even greater person. In discussing his death Monday night, sarcasm king Keith Olbermann of ESPN fought back the tears in remembering a moment with Gwynn when he was nursing a sore hamstring. Olbermann asked him if that little black box next to him was a ‘stim’ machine to help speed up the healing process. Gwynn laughed out loud and told him that it was his mini cd player, and encouraged him not to worry … that it would be OK. Most of us are not OK today with the passing of this giant personality of the game of baseball. See, Gwynn taught young hitters how to hit, but in his passing Monday at the age of 54 he taught us something else – something about living. Gwynn died of cancer in his salivary glands. It may never be proven to be the cause officially but many feel quite sure that his death was brought on by the smokeless tobacco he used for the entirety of his big-league career. Gwynn admitted that he used more than a can a day between his cheek and gum. He also admitted that he had a hard time coping with the daily stress of the majors. Baseball is trying to phase out the presence of ‘chew’ in its rank and file, and the players union is working together with them on that. But for one of the best hitters ever, and one of the best people ever, it’s too late. It’s a warning to all of us. The little things we do add up over time. That extra puff, that last beer with the guys, taking the last donut off the counter at work – it may not seem like much at the time but it is something. Gwynn loved to hit, and he was good at it. Gwynn loved dealing with people, and he was good at it. But he died Monday at 54 … hopefully he taught us something even in that.
