I can't say that I knew Kevin Mallehan long or well — I only met him for the first time last summer when he, myself and several of our fellow Cubs Fantasy Camp friends converged upon Minneapolis to catch a Twins game, and I spent another 48 hours or so with him at this year’s camp. But I feel lucky that our paths did cross, however briefly. Even at first glance, it was impossible to miss his positive outlook on life, or his seemingly bottomless capacity for warmth and kindness… or the fact that everyone who knew him seemed to utterly adore him.
My immediate impression of Kevin was that of a man with a smile on his face, a twinkle in his blue eyes, and pure, unfiltered joy in his heart. It just felt good being around him. He and I didn’t have much common ground in terms of our backgrounds, religious perspectives or lines of work, but we immediately bonded over our love of baseball, and of life itself. (He was also a very vocal and enthusiastic supporter of my writing, which I really appreciated.)
We last spoke via email a few weeks ago, shortly after the operation to remove his brain tumor. It sounded like he had a difficult road ahead of him, due to the fact that there was still cancer elsewhere in his body, but I also wouldn’t have bet against him being back on the ball field with us in January 2013. Alas, he passed away suddenly on Tuesday night, possibly from a blood clot related to his illness. He was only 59.
It’s hard to believe that, just two months ago, Kevin and I were in the dugout of Hohokam Stadium, joking around about donning the "tools of ignorance" during the “Big Game” (aka, campers versus former major leaguers) at the end of Cubs camp. Playing catcher was a new thing for me, and I was nervous about catching live pitching for the first time that day; but Kevin loved to catch, and he was more than happy to offer me instruction and encouragement. He was radiantly happy in that moment, wearing his Cubs uniform and his catchers’ gear, and that's how I'll always remember him.
From one catcher to another, Kevin, I wish you a peaceful journey to the next life. From what I can tell, you lived this one impressively well.
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