Posted on July 25, 2007 08:49 PM
Much has been made of the tragic death of Tulsa Drillers hitting coach Mike Coolbaugh Sunday night at Dickey-Stephens Park. I can tell you, from being there and seeing with my own eyes, it still gives me chills today.
I've sat down several times and tried to write about it, but for some reason I still can't set the scene like I did in an email I wrote to a cousin late Sunday night when everything was fresh on my mind...
Baseball stadiums are sanctuaries in this country. Cathedrals where families and revelers -- like myself -- go to get away and have a good time. A place to smile, take in the sights and smells and sounds of America's past time. I never thought I would see anyone lose their life here.
I remember when I was much younger at a 4th of July game at the old Busch Stadium in St. Louis. I saw an old man suffer from heat exhaustion in the crowd and this nurse quickly maneuvered through two sections to help him. I was too young to really remember exactly what was going on, but I swear I remember exactly how it happened. I think he ended up being OK once he got water and some cool air, but clearly it scared the shit out of some people; at least it did one little kid.
I wonder if the events of Sunday night will have the same effect on me and I'm sure they will more so. It's not as if I've never seen death. I was the first person on the scene after someone was thrown out of a car in a bad accident on 430, and while that had a sobering effect on me -- I've never really told many people about that -- that wasn't on a baseball field. I know death is evident on the roadways. You see it on the news and in papers almost every day.
This was different. It was almost chaotic. For some reason, I felt guilty that night.
Anyways, here is part of the email I sent to my cousin. He's a big baseball fan like myself and I was sending him an email to plan some things for this week anyways, but I had to lay it all out for him.
Date: Mon, 23 Jan 2007 01:08:25 -0600
From: kmatt6@gmail.com
To: *****@************
Subject: You aren't going to believe this
As you know, I've been going to ball games my entire life but I have never seen anything like I saw earlier tonight. It was all surreal. From the eerie skies and daylight to the unusually cool summer breeze to the ambulance lights flashing as it left the park.
There were two distinctive sounds I remember hearing. The first one came from the ball hitting the bat of switch hitting DH Tino Sanchez. He was batting lefty and roped a hard line drive to the right side. First base coach Mike Coolbaugh really had no time to react. He turned his head slightly and raised his hand towards his face. This is when I heard the second sound.
It knocked him unconscious.
The first base runner leapt over to check on his coach, then jumped up flailing his arms in desperation.
Coolbaugh laid seemingly lifeless as CPR was performed on the field and IED's were used numerous times. The batter, Sanchez walked up to first base, removed his helmet and took a knee next to his teammate. His eyes welled up as another coach kneeled down and convinced him that it would be best if he walk back to the dugout to join his teammates.
Eventually an ambulance pulled on to the field and paramedics and staff carefully put him on a stretcher. A team employee who was nearby later told me he had regained a light pulse and was breathing when they loaded him in the ambulance, but still unconscious.
As they loaded him in the ambulance, the crowd which had gathered over to the first base side of the park -- partly because of the incident but also because kids were lining up in the concourse to run the bases after this final inning came to a close -- awkwardly applauded. It felt odd to clap because everything looked so bad but I guess it was an applause that endorsed hope. Hope that Mike Coolbaugh was going to be OK.
An older man with a straw hat and a ponytail -- who had clearly had a few too many beers -- loudly and pessimistically questioned why the crowd was clapping. There was a sudden heated exchange between him and a guy just below the rail he was leaning against. An officer quickly leaped in to the crowd, climbed the rail and grabbed the first man and took him upstairs to the concourse.
Almost everyone in the small section just in front of where this man was quickly followed. One even sprinted up the stairs. Clearly, the first man had struck a nerve or two. I didn't see it, but one of the dudes I was sitting with the whole game said there was almost a brawl in the concourse, before police promptly carried the ponytailed man out of the stadium.
The ambulance pulled away but the crowd was still considerably unsettled. No one really moved; the only noise was the quiet, confused and fearful conversation between fans.
The umpires met at home plate with each manager and quickly decided to suspend the game. An announcement was made and fans were told to keep Mike Coolbaugh and his family in their thoughts and prayers.
The crowd exited the stadium tonight slower than they ever have before. No kids were going to run the bases tonight. Everyone was silent.
Meanwhile, the ambulance sped to a nearby hospital.
I just found out that Mike Coolbaugh stopped breathing as they pulled in.
He was pronounced dead at 9:47.