Addiction proved too tough for even Caminiti to overcome

My wife and I were watching the news when it came across the ticker. We read it at the same time: Former N.L. MVP Ken Caminiti ... Right then, I turned to my wife and said, "died." I didn't need to read any further.

If Cammy's name was on the bottom line of FOX News at 9 a.m., you knew the news wasn't going to be good.

As it hit me, I thought, "We didn't need to hear this." We had hoped he would hit bottom before this happened. Now we know this man's torment, albeit a torment he brought on himself, will go on no longer.

Ken Caminiti the player has been well-documented. I played with him for the Astros in 1993 and '94. Cammy was a man's man. He played hurt. He played hard. He cared. He was a good teammate. You could look at the way he went about his business on the field and say, "lf I want to play a long time, this man is a pretty good blueprint to follow."

One year when we both were with the Astros, he bruised his left shoulder diving for a ball. Twenty-five minutes before taking the field, you'd see Cammy sitting in his locker getting dressed. He couldn't raise his left arm without feeling pain.

I can remember pitching when Cammy would make a diving play to his left. When this happened, we pitchers knew to give him time to put his shoulder back in place. We'd walk around the mound, grab the rosin bag or whatever and then look over at third. He'd give us the OK, and we'd get back on the mound.

When putting on his uniform, he'd have to throw his jersey over his left shoulder and pick up his left arm with his right arm to put it through the sleeve. We knew he was in pain, but as young, impressionable players, we thought that was just the way it was if you played every day. Cammy wasn't coming out. He had fought too hard to become a starter, and he wasn't going to let the pain take him out of the lineup. I think everyone who ever was his teammate admired him for his toughness and grit. He shaped the way I thought about pain.

We also knew at some depth or another about his dark side. This is the part that hurts the most to think about. Most people will remember him for his drug addiction and his admission that he had used steroids during the 1996 season, his MVP year with the Padres. Cammy was no saint, but he was no demon-possessed drug fiend, either. He was an addict.

Couple an addiction with an obsessive-compulsive personality, and you have the possibility of a train wreck. Cammy tried to get help. He had teammates rooming with him on the road just to hang out and try to help him. He was in rehab a few times. He was hurting. He knew the cost, but the addiction was stronger than he was. And I know none of us can relate unless we've been there.

After he was traded to San Diego, we faced each other a few times--he was 2-for-4 off me, by the way. Then I ran into him when he was back in Houston. He was clean and sober and trying. He was hurt again but playing third every day. I asked him what he was doing, taking extra ground balls with a bad shoulder. He told me he was trying to find an arm slot that would allow him to make the throw to first base without pain.

That was Cammy. I'm a better player because I played alongside Cammy. He showed me how to be there when your team needs you.

I'm a better person, too, because now I understand that addiction is a disease. Cammy gave away everything he cared about, and this guy was about as mentally tough as they come.

Cammy had a disease. He was sick. lf he could have fixed it, he would have.

E-mail Todd Jones, a reliever for the Phillies, at tjones@sportingnews.com

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