What a killer week for baseball. Unfortunately that's a literal statement.

First Nick Adenhart, a promising young pitcher for the Angels and local boy-doing-good  in my parts. Hit the kids around here especially hard. Not to mention us parents.

Then, Harry Kalas, one of the great voices of sports not just baseball. Didn't realize from my cool seats next to the Nats dugout yesterday that it happened in the broadcast booth (underwhich I normally sit) and almost canceled Opening Day. Another sign that we're nearing the end of the an era in baseball -- the great voices and broadcasters of the sport. (Sorry, Joe Buck, you're not even close yet.)

Then, last night, perhaps the most devastating for Dusty -- the loss of Mark "The Bird" Fydrich. The Adenhart loss had me in tears because his tragedy was just too close to home and too close in age to my boys and the elite kids I manage. He was a hero to them, and to all of us, along with Joe Saunders another local boy pitching great for the Angels.

But The Bird -- purveyor of one of the most magical seasons in baseball and in my childhood. Living in Lansing, Michigan, as I did during that wonderful 1977 season -- you did not miss a Tigers game when Fidrych was pitching. You just did not. It was sacrilege. So much so, it was the only time my Dad kinda-sort-almost-let-us miss Mass -- because The Bird was on the mound. (Left the house late. Sat in the parking lot listening even longer. Came into Mass late. Left early. As good as it got with Pops.)

Some of you are too young -- but you literally had to live through that year and see it all unfold before your eyes and within your heart. He captured an entire state and beyond. And he broke a collective heart when he was hurt and couldn't pitch anymore. The Year of the Bird was just one of those rare moments God blesses you with, but lets slip away, to help you appreciate life just a little bit more.

I can guarantee you -- there the two biggest heartbreaks in Michigan are when The Bird had to retire due to his arm injury and when Magic Johnson got HIV/AIDS. It's because those same two guys have still brought that state its two most magical seasons in sports history. Yes, the Pistons and Tigers and Wings have won titles since then. But none of those feats carried the magic of the Bird and Magic era (which was roughly the same era, since Magic first became a star in high school, where he earned his nickname.) OK, the 84 Tigers came close, but the blowout in the World Series took some edge off it.

A sad, sad, sad week for baseball. Let these men and their families find peace. And let's hope the tragedy is now behind us -- and we can get through the rest of the season safely. Be careful out there.