Rod Carew - Rod Carew: One Tough Out: Fighting Off Lifes Curveballs

To HoneyR.C. To AviBleu, all our lovePaPa & GramGram, 2020

To Lori, Zac, Jake & JoshJ.A.

A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives.

Jackie Robinson

Part I

Part II

Part III

My toes were tapping as I stood in the parking lot of Angel Stadium. My buddy Manny Rodriguez and his Carlos Santana cover band were wrapping up a great show when Manny caught my eye. He smiled and pointed to a spot on the stage. He wanted me to join him.

Hed never made such a ridiculous request. He knows Im not comfortable being the center of attentionand Im certainly no singer. But something about this performance, on this night, in this setting, inspired me to samba toward him. Along the way, someone handed me a pair of black maracas. I shook them and the crowd whooped and hollered. Once Manny got to the chorus, I leaned into the microphone and sang the only words I knew.

Oye como va!

Loosely translated, the line means, Hey, hows it going? Had someone asked me that question at that momentaround 8:00

pm

on Saturday, September 19, 2015I wouldve smiled and shaken those maracas in celebration of how great my life was going.

Thirty years since my last at-bat, I remain strongly connected to the game. I go to spring training every March as an alumni coach for the Twins and to Cooperstown every summer for the annual reunion of us Hall of Famers. I have other duties with the Twins and with the Angels, keeping me involved with both teams I played for during my 19 years in the majors. With only a few weeks left in this season, both of my teams were in the thick of the playoff race. Regardless of who won the World Series, October would be memorable for my wife, Rhonda, and me. We were headed to Italy with two dear friends. Takeoff was set for a few weeks after my 70th birthday. Best of all, I didnt look or feel 70.

I weighed 190 pounds, only a few more than my final season in the majors. I remained in shape the old-fashioned way, by keeping active and eating plenty of fruits and vegetables. I didnt smoke and rarely drank alcohol. My only vices had been chewing tobacco and devouring deep bowls of ice cream. Five months earlier, a physical confirmed my good health. Well, there was one red flag. My cholesterol was a little high. The doctor prescribed Lipitor. I took it for a few months and didnt feel any different. I stopped taking the pills and still couldnt tell a difference.

My joy also came from the reason we were at the ballpark. This was the after-party for the Light The Night Walk, the annual fundraiser for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Its one of several groups Ive supported since my daughter Michelle died of leukemia in 1996 at the tender age of 18. As event co-chairman, I was thrilled by the turnout and by how much fun everyone was having. I also was still riding high from the success of another event near and dear to my heart, the Rod Carew Childrens Cancer Golf Classic. The 20th annual tournament was held three weeks earlier. We pushed the all-time amount of money raised for the Pediatric Cancer Research Foundation to almost $4 million.

After my turn on stage with Manny and the boys, Rhonda and I headed home. I decided to get up at 6:00

am

on Sunday and head to Cresta Verde Golf Course in Corona. Its about a 45-minute drive but worth the trek because, at that hour, Id pretty much have the place to myself. I could drop two or three balls per hole if I wanted and still be done in time for a late breakfast with Rhonda.

* * *

The college kid working the front desk of the pro shop didnt think twice when I signed in as my pal Jim Duran. I like using aliases to avoid anyone seeing my name on the sheet and catching up to me so they can tell their friends they played golf with Rod Carew. I rarely warm up at the driving range or putting green; I go straight to the first tee. So when the kid gave me a cart key, I hopped in and drove about 30 yards to the shade of a spruce tree overlooking the holea 500-yard par5 that plays downhill to the right. I pulled out my driver and a fresh sleeve of balls from my golf tournament. I dropped two balls into my pocket, kept one in my hand, and headed to the tee box.

Im right-handed in everything I do except for hitting baseballs and golf balls. Im nowhere near as successful hitting golf balls as I was hitting baseballs, but Im not bad, either. I usually start strong, and, sure enough, my opening tee shot was a beauty. It soared high and straight, right down the middle, coming to rest on a perfect spot in the fairway. Those other two balls could stay in my pocket.

Walking the few steps back to the cart, I felt a strange sensation in my chest. It was both tight and burning, like acid reflux with a grip. As I shoved my driver into my bag, I realized my hands were clammy. I instantly remembered a recent conversation with my buddy Chris Ferraro. Hed been playing craps in Las Vegas when his chest tightened and his hands turned clammy; he was having a heart attack. He only lived through it because he asked for help right away. He was telling everyone he could that if they felt anything weird in their chest, dont mess aroundget help right away. So thats what I had to do. I threw the cart in reverse and rolled back uphill.

I staggered into the pro shop, dropped a hand on the desk, and told the kid to call 911. While he dialed, the gal at the snack bar, Gina Besheer, came to my side. She saw that my lips were white and my breathing was more like huffing and puffing. Gina called her husband, a paramedic. He told her to squeeze my fingertips and release, pushing out the blood and watching to see what happened next. If color returned quickly, that was a good thing. It meant blood was flowing properly. If the fingertips remained white, that meant blood wasnt circulating properlythat I was probably having a heart attack. My fingertips remained white.

Through coaching from her husband, Gina eased me out of the chair and placed me on my back on the floor. She propped up my feet on the seat Id been sitting on. She also found a rag to sop up all the sweat on my forehead.

I asked Gina to call Rhonda. As Gina finished explaining where I was and what was happening, Rhonda heard the siren of a Corona Fire Department ambulance pulling into the parking lot.

* * *

My blood pressure was so low that paramedics knew I was in shock. The first heart exam they did showed an irregular heartbeat. Next came a more thorough electrocardiogram, or EKG, the machine that draws squiggly lines representing the hearts electric activity.

Tombstones, one paramedic whispered to another. The term has a double meaning. First, it describes the pattern on the screen. The second interpretation is as ominous as it seems. I was having a massive heart attack, the kind so lethal its dubbed the widowmaker.

Blood wasnt getting to a large part of my heart. Time lost is heart muscle lost, and there was no telling how much healthy muscle I had left. It was like the wick of a candle burning down, only with no idea how much wick remained. As the paramedics loaded me into the ambulance, they feared I wouldnt survive the 14-mile drive to Riverside Community Hospital.

At Riverside, a team was waiting for us in the emergency room. They turned me over to another crew in the catheterization lab. Doctors put a tube in a vein near my groin and snaked it into my heart. When they began inserting the stents that would clear the blockages, there was a problem.