So Sad

Death leaves a family and a team in pieces
By Bernie Miklasz
POST-DISPATCH SPORTS COLUMNIST
04/29/2007

Sports Columnist Bernie Miklasz
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It seems so strange now. The timing, the coincidence, and the rapid heart beat caused by fear of the unimaginable, the unspeakable.

Cardinals relief pitcher Josh Hancock was late arriving to Busch Stadium in advance of Thursday’s noon game against the Reds, and teammates kept looking at the clock, especially the closer, Jason Isringhausen. Izzy felt the anxiety rush through his veins, taking him back to that horrible day in Chicago, when Cardinal red turned to funeral black.
It was June 22, 2002, and pitcher Darryl Kile never showed up for a scheduled day game at Wrigley Field. Kile had died in his sleep, and the Cardinals would never see him again.

So now when a teammate is running behind schedule, the dread sets in. Isringhausen watches the clock, starts making calls, and prays it isn’t Kile all over again. So when the jovial, laid-back Hancock finally appeared in the clubhouse Thursday, Isringhausen exhaled.

"His phone is a piece of junk, that’s the problem," Isringhausen said Thursday. "His phone always shuts off. Everybody was trying to reach him. That’s why it’s so different here, because of what happened with Darryl. So everybody worries. We finally got a hold of Hancock and he said he was on his way. We were all a little nervous. We don’t care if you’re late. We just want to know that you’re OK."


It would be a stretch to call the episode a premonition, or a forewarning, but it is haunting just the same. Because April 29, 2007 and June 22, 2002 are the same day now, at least in Cardinals history: game postponed due to death.

It’s happened again. A Cardinal dying too young, too soon, in a shocking tragedy that reopened old emotional wounds that never healed completely.

Hancock was only 29 early Sunday morning when his Ford Explorer slammed into the back of a tow truck, and many hours later the Cardinals were trying to cope, trying to get ready to leave for Monday night’s game in Milwaukee.

General manager Walt Jocketty was on the verge of tears Sunday afternoon when he briefly addressed the media. Manager Tony La Russa spoke next and had the shaken look of a man who knew this pain before. He had conquered it before, but now it was invading his soul again.

"This is brutal to go through if it happens in your family," La Russa said. "If it happens where you still have to perform … what this team is going to have to go through, whatever you can do, I ask for your help."


La Russa was the one who called Josh Hancock’s father to deliver the worst possible news. Dean Hancock lives in Tupelo, Miss., the birthplace of Elvis Presley. In early September 2002, he’d received a much happier call. Josh was being called up from the minors by the Boston Red Sox, and soon would make his major-league debut.

"Somebody back home made reference to the fact that this is the biggest news to hit Tupelo, since Elvis," Josh Hancock joked to reporters in Boston after joining the Red Sox.

In 2006, Dean Hancock, a Cardinals fan, was probably more thrilled than anyone when his boy dressed in the birds on the bat uniform and helped the franchise win its 10th World Series. Later this week, all of the Cardinals will make the pilgrimage to Tupelo to help Dean Hancock bury his son.

It’s just a sad story all the away around, especially for the Hancocks. For the Cardinals to be rocked by death twice in five years is cruel and unusual, and you wonder if they can summon the strength and focus to band together as brothers. The response to adversity in 2002 was incredible. A team that lost its leader in Kile had to use 14 different starting pitchers, and somehow won 97 games.

In terms of pure leadership, it was La Russa’s finest hour as a manager. But this is a different team, with a younger pitching staff, and as a matter of fairness, the Cardinals shouldn’t be judged based on what the 2002 group did. Only three current Cardinals were on the team when Kile died: Isringhausen, Jim Edmonds and Albert Pujols. At least the 2007 Cardinals have a touchstone in La Russa.

"This will really be a challenge for Tony, but he will help them," Cardinals chairman Bill DeWitt said. "You couldn’t ask for anybody better to do it. Tony is a great leader, and he has such strong character. He understands human emotions. And sadly, he has experience in dealing with this.

"But this is a challenge that will test the best of men."


By late Sunday morning, La Russa had already shifted into the role of grief counselor, calling a team meeting, and encouraging Hancock’s teammates to share their stories, and some laughter, over their departed buddy.

And that was Hancock: everyone’s pal. He was a fun-loving, overgrown kid with an easy smile and a common-man touch. He was a son of the South, a NASCAR fan, a prankster, and damned proud to be a Cardinal.

Hancock made friends wherever he went and truly enjoyed hanging out with fans. There was nothing spoiled or pretentious about him. He never big-timed anyone; he just rolled with the crowd. Hancock was single, and didn’t have family here, so he became an adopted son of Cardinal Nation. Hancock lived in St. Louis year-round and was known to pop up just about anywhere.

After bouncing around several organizations, this free bird finally found a team and a home to call his own. It was the best time of Hancock’s life, and it’s all gone. A wreck on the highway left a team and a family in pieces.