Through one of those odd, quirky occurrences that can happen only around the ballpark, one week ago, I sat next to Preston Gomez in the Phoenix Municipal Stadium press box.
The Athletics were hosting the Los Angeles Angels and Gomez, the baseball lifer and one-time manager of the Chicago Cubs, San Diego Padres and Houston Astros, now is a special assistant to Angels general manager Tony Reagins. I don't know why he wound up in the front row of the press box that day -- other than it was crowded and he probably took the last chair -- but, just before first pitch, as I plopped down in front of my laptop, he turned, stuck out his hand, smiled and said, "Hi, I'm Preston."
I had never met him before, and this courtly and genteel gesture struck me immediately as one inherent in his generation that, sadly, has been lost on ours.
It was one of the nicest moments of my spring, and a chill ran right through me Wednesday when I heard Gomez, 84, had been hit by a pickup truck at a gas station while driving home from spring training and is in critical condition.
It never gets old in this business, having the privilege of meeting so many baseball old-timers. And the not knowing when and where keeps you on your toes and can turn what otherwise would be a mundane day interesting.
The classic Gomez story, of course, came in 1970, when he was managing the Padres and he sent a pinch-hitter to the plate for pitcher Clay Kirby in the eighth inning with the Padres trailing the New York Mets 1-0. The kicker: Kirby was pitching a no-hitter at the time.
I briefly thought of asking Gomez about it last week in that press box, but I didn't. I figured he'd probably explained it 1,000 times -- he was simply trying to win a game, and in this old-school guy's eyes, the individual took a back seat to the team -- and besides, I was buried in work. I had a column to write, preview stories to work on ... you know. No matter what job we have, sometimes we keep our head down plowing through it and either don't have the time or don't take the time to enjoy the small moments.
After introducing himself, he was very careful to make sure to get my name, going so far as to read it on my media credential to make sure he had it correctly. We exchanged pleasantries -- what a beautiful day it was, how great the spring always is --then I went back to writing and he went back to scouting.
About midway through the game, someone fouled a pitch up toward us that landed in the stands about five or six rows beneath the press box and we exchanged smiles.
"You've got me covered, right, Preston?" I kidded. "Someone scorches a ball into the press box toward this computer, I'm going to let you catch it."
He laughed, eyes twinkling, and said he didn't know whether he could move so fast anymore.
Not long after, my friend Pedro Gomez, the ESPN broadcaster whom I've known since we covered high school sports together in the 1980s, came by to visit with Preston. They're both Cuban, and they chattered away in Spanish for awhile, and once they got back to English, Pedro asked whether I knew he and Preston shared the same name.
Turns out, Preston's given name is Pedro. I quickly told ESPN Pedro that maybe they shared the same name, but it was obvious which Pedro Gomez got the better end of the looks. And it wasn't the TV star.
We all laughed again, and it was real easy to see why Preston Gomez not only remains a respected baseball man, but beloved in the Angels organization. What a gentle, kind and knowledgeable man.
I'm back home writing now, finishing up that 2008 season preview stuff. And while I am, I can't get my mind off of the sudden and horrible twist of fate, Preston now laying in that hospital bed fighting for his life.
What a treasure that afternoon last week was, and how quickly things change.
Here's a prayer for Preston's full recovery, and for the rest of us to have the wisdom to recognize those moments when life hands you a gift, and to take advantage of them.