Extra Point
By Mike Fitzgerald
Friday, April 19, 1996
Rod Carew is in the Hall of Fame, one of the best hitters in baseball history. His swing was so smooth and fluid - he made hitting like pool, lining the ball at all angles into the outfield.
He was an outstanding all-around player, yet very quiet and inconspicuous. Unlike so many of today's professional athletes, he let his performance do the talking.
Swatting a pitch on the outside corner into the gap between the third baseman and shortstop to win the game was enough for him. It didn't need any trash talking or fist waving as exclamation points. His batting average reflected the daily contribution he was making to the team - and it showed the results of his work and dedication while away from the spotlight.
After retiring, he became one of the best hitting instructors in baseball. This seems to follow logic, a great hitter becoming a great coach, but that isn't always true. Many outstanding players struggled as coaches or managers.
I covered the California Angels on occasion and Carew was a kind and patient man. He was highly respected by everyone in both leagues, from the front office people to the batboys.
On Wednesday, Carew's 18-year-old daughter, Michelle, died after a truly courageous fight with leukemia. She had 14 operations and the chemotherapy left her body blistered and raw.
Rod Carew went against his quiet nature and issued a nationwide appeal for a bone-marrow donor last November. It drew 70,000 responses, but none matched.
Throughout the horrible ordeal, Michelle not only fought off death several times, but kept her family and friends upbeat during their visits to the Children's Hospital of Orange County, just a long throw away from Anaheim Stadium.
And a hospital spokesman said the donor response will surely save the lives of other cancer patients in the future.
She received a fetal umbilical cord blood transplant as a last-ditch effort to rebuild her immune system, but her ravaged body finally gave out.
WE never expect someone healthy to suddenly have a life-threatening illness. When it happens to a child or teenager, we are shocked that much more. Why? What possible good can come from someone suffering and dying at an age when she should be nervous about a first date, not another horrifying and painful operation or therapy.
Michelle Carew was doing school work on a home computer last September when she collapsed. Ironically, her father carried her to bed, praying that she was just overly tired. Then came the diagnosis and eight months later she was dead.
Her battle moved the nation. Many sent her knitted or painted snowflakes after her father said she had never seen it snow. And so many thousands of strangers were tested to see if they could be donors. It showed that we are still a country of compassion.
And there are other lessons: Hitting a golf ball over a water hazard is not courageous. Neither is blocking a lineman or struggling across a finish line.
Real courage is fighting for your life, going against the odds when it would have been so easy to give up and avoid the suffering, both physical and emotional.
For some foolish reason, we sometimes think that children and teenagers are too young to be courageous. Michelle Carew - and hospitals full of wonderful young people around the world - tell us otherwise.
And there is this: Love your children every second of every day. Cherish each moment together. Don't let anything get in the way, because nothing in this world is more important.
Nothing.
God bless you Michelle Carew. May you reach out and touch the snowflakes of heaven.