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Still on their minds

Team grew closer after toughest loss

Nick Adenhart’s locker remains intact in the Angels clubhouse. He died in April. Nick Adenhart’s locker remains intact in the Angels clubhouse. He died in April. (Chris Carlson/Associated Press
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By Adam Kilgore
Globe Staff / October 7, 2009

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ANAHEIM, Calif. - On his way out of the Angels clubhouse April 4, Bobby Wilson stopped to say goodbye to one of his teammates. Wilson, a 26-year-old catcher, had been sent back to Triple A, a victim of the spring’s final cut. He spotted Nick Adenhart, his roommate for the past two months, his friend for the past three years, sitting on the couch.

“Hey, man,’’ Wilson said. “Good luck to you. I love you.’’

Adenhart said the same thing back to him.

“I’ll see you soon,’’ Wilson said.

They never spoke again. Three days later, on the night he made the fourth start of his career, Adenhart was killed in an auto accident by a drunk driver. He was 22. The Angels dedicated their season to Adenhart. They kept his locker intact at Angel Stadium and gave him a locker on the road. Reliever Kevin Jepsen hangs Adenhart’s jersey in the dugout before every game.

When the Angels clinched the American League West, they ran as a group to the picture of Adenhart on the center-field fence. Every player tapped the wall. They went back into their dugout and doused Adenhart’s jersey with champagne.

“We wanted to celebrate,’’ center fielder Torii Hunter said. “And we wanted him with us.’’

Adenhart inspired the Angels, and there were happy moments like the night they clinched. They became a closer team. Including Adenhart in their season comforted his family. The team’s reaction to a tragedy was noble. But Adenhart’s role in the Angels season is not a story to feel good about, and it never will be.

Wilson played with Adenhart for two seasons and lived with him for several months. No one on the Angels knows him better. He knows Adenhart’s family suffered worse than he. He still has not come to grips with Adenhart’s death, and he may never.

“It’s been tough,’’ Wilson said. “I haven’t gotten over it. It’s a cold feeling, you know? During the year in Triple A, I couldn’t get up really for anything. I didn’t really care that much about anything. That consumed so much of my life at that point. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over it, being 26 and having to put one of my friends in the ground.’’

At Triple A Salt Lake City, sleep was hard for Wilson. Some nights, it never came. He spoke with his family and his fiancée, Laurie. He talked on the phone with Duane and Janet, Adenhart’s parents, and Henry, Nick’s younger brother, two or three times every week. That helped.

In mid-July, the Angels called up Wilson. He arrived at Angel Stadium and walked down the tunnel to the clubhouse. Wilson walked straight to Adenhart’s locker, dropped to one knee, and stared ahead.

“I don’t know why,’’ Wilson said. “It still doesn’t seem real. It still seems like a make-believe story. It doesn’t seem real to me.

“He just had that aura about him. Whenever he was in the room, you always wanted to hear what he had to say. He’s always joking around, always having a good time, always smiling, always laughing. Guys like that, they’re tough to find.’’

Adenhart remains a part of the Angels. His locker remains almost as he left it. Three pairs of spikes, a pair of sneakers, and a pair of flip-flops line the bottom. A couple hats sit on the top shelf. There is a duffel bag folded in thirds, the “A’’ logo on the end showing.

Gone is the hat his mother took, the one he wore on the night he pitched his final game. A hat proclaiming the Angels “Division Champions’’ rests on the top shelf. A bottle of Korbel sits in the back.

Joe Saunders uses the locker next to Adenhart’s.

“I get a reminder every day of what I’m thankful for,’’ he said. “I don’t think it ever wears on us, thinking about Nick. It inspires us.’’

Saunders sometimes thinks about why winning the title would mean more this season: The Angels could present Duane and Janet Adenhart with a World Series ring.

“That would be the most special thing I’ve ever been a part of,’’ Saunders said. “Our goal is to do this for him.’’

A makeshift memorial outside the front entrance of Angel Stadium was built the day after Adenhart’s death. It remains today, about 20 feet in diameter, a pile of portraits, baseballs, caps, helmets, a rally monkey, and a signed shirt from the Anaheim Fire Department. A children’s drawing has, “You are my favorite player. I miss you,’’ written across it.

Most of the hats have lost their bright red color, faded white from the Southern California sun. One of the brims had scrawled on it, in crude writing, “Happy Birthday Nick Adenhart.’’ He would have turned 23 in August.

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