Alan Truex: Tyler Skaggs had a drug problem. Who knew?
Updated, Friday, September 6, 2019
LLANO, Texas — When Tyler Skaggs, 27-year-old pitcher for the Los Angeles Angels, was found unresponsive in his hotel room on July 1, the cause of death was a mystery.
A coroner in Southlake, Texas, suburb of Dallas, performed an autopsy, but the results were not disclosed “out of consideration for the family.” The public was told that the results would be released “in the fall.”
Although it does not feel like autumn here in the heart of global warming, the coroner’s report was released last week, and it brought still more agony and confusion to friends and fans of Skaggs. He was determined to have expired from accidental overdose.
He died, fully clothed, on his hotel bed, with no sign of trauma. He had choked on his vomit after consuming a cocktail of three dangerous but legal drugs: fentanyl, oxycodone and ethanol.
Why? We’ll never know for sure, but most likely he was trying to relieve pain. It’s that simple and that complicated.
He turned to fentanyl, the most powerful pain reliever in the world: 50 times stronger than heroin. It’s approved by the Food and Drug Administration as long as it’s prescribed by a medical doctor.
This drug, according to the National Institute of Health, was responsible for the deaths of 28,000 Americans in 2017 – approximately one-third of the total deaths by overdose in this country. Fentanyl ended the life of the singer Prince in 2016.
Oxycodone is another highly effective pain killer, but also highly addictive. And ethanol, the third component of the young lefty’s last supper, is alcohol, which would have contributed to his gastric crisis. He ingested enough to be legally impaired.
So how did Tyler Skaggs become involved in lethal mixology? He was born in an upscale neighborhood, Woodland Hills, in Los Angeles. He graduated from Santa Monica High School. His parents could not imagine him drifting into the nether world of opiates, getting himself caught in the Dark Web.
The family issued a statement: “That is completely out of character for someone who worked so hard to become a Major League Player and had a very promising future in the game he loved so much. We will not rest until we learn the truth about how Tyler came into possession of these narcotics, including who supplied them.”
Most disturbing of all: “It may have involved an employee of the Los Angeles Angels.”
So the Skaggs family hired Houston’s Rusty Hardin to investigate. Houston is a city that’s blessed – or cursed, depending on how you look at it – with an abundance of brilliant lawyers. Hardin is one of the most successful, having obtained favorable verdicts for numerous celebrated athletes such as Rudy Tomjanovich, Scottie Pippen, Wade Boggs and Warren Moon.
Hardin is not Mark Geragos, a blowhard lawyer looking for a few minutes on ESPN to yap about Colin Kaepernick being two weeks away from an NFL contract. Hardin is not a celebrity-sniffing BS-er. He’s 77 but not slowing down all that much. MLB should be worried.
Of course, the Angels’ field manager, Brad Ausmus, and their general manager, Billy Eppler, insist they had no idea Skaggs was dabbling in opioids. Was he an aberration? Or is he more typical of athletes — and non-athletes — of his generation, experimenting with the latest chemicals, ever seeking freedom from pain that can be psychological as well as physical?
Is big-league baseball to blame? Or Big Pharma?
Or greedy doctors getting their kickbacks from Big Pharma?
Where is the FDA? Afraid of too much regulation?
With all our computer technology, can’t America keep track of narcotics prescriptions?
Ausmus is one of baseball’s most intelligent, best-informed managers, a graduate of Dartmouth. But he admitted to being in the dark about this darkest of threats.
“You read about opioids culturally and of course post-surgically for athletes,” he said, “not that I am qualified to recognize the signs.”
Not that Skaggs would have disclosed any health problem he might have had. “He would be the last guy to come to me because he would want to stay in the rotation.”
I knew Ausmus when he played for the Astros and I was baseball beat reporter for the Houston Chronicle. He was a vital part of their nucleus, along with Jeff Bagwell, Craig Biggio and Sean Berry.
Ausmus was not a Killer B with the bat, but he was a terrific catcher. Pitchers trusted him, confided in him. He acquired the nickname of The Sheriff not only because it was difficult to steal a base when he was on patrol. He was respected by everyone on the team and near the team.
I’m confident enough in the character of Brad Ausmus to be sure he would not have ignored opioids if he’d known any of his players were using them.
There’s an inherent problem in this beloved sport: the human body was not designed to throw baseballs 90 times in one day at 80-100 mph.
Big-league pitchers who are truthful will tell you they feel some degree of arm pain from the day spring training begins until the baseball season ends. They use ice packs and whirlpools and who knows what else to relieve the agony.
Almost to a man, big-league pitchers have exceptional fortitude and tenacity. It’s in their DNA to deny they’re hurt and to argue with managers who want to rest them.
Skaggs spent three months on the disabled list in 2017 with a right oblique muscle strain; he had two months on the DL last year with a strained abductor. And no doubt there were other ailments that weren’t publicly discussed. Most pitchers have back trouble. Oxycodone (Rush Limbaugh’s drug of choice) is a popular remedy.
What teammates loved most about Skaggs was the joyfulness he brought to the clubhouse. He was an average pitcher (upside potential curtailed by the procession of injuries), but he lifted everyone’s spirit whenever he was present. That’s why the team wore his number in the wake of his death, and that’s why his fellow pitchers etched “45” into the mound.
As the Angels prepared for that fatal trip to Texas, Skaggs organized an effort to dress for the occasion. The day before he died he posted a photo on Instagram of himself and teammates in cowboy hats and western clothes, happily boarding their plane.
What horrible tragedy ensued, and we’re nowhere near the end of it. Closure? It’s only the beginning.
Addendum: Peter Richmond, one of my favorite writers for many years, rebuked me on Facebook for being “surprised” that a young man from prosperous origins would dive into fentanyl. He insisted that Skaggs’ problem “was not about pain” but that “he was an addict.” In fact, I’m quite aware that this drug is popular with upscale whitefolk, but I was trying to see the tragedy from the perspective of Skaggs’ parents, who were shocked by what happened to their son — just as Peter says he was shocked by the death of his own son from overdose. He surely is correct in saying I would have more understanding of the topic if I had a kid who OD’d. To which I say, never has ignorance been so blissful. But I do come from a long line of alcoholics, which has to count for something. Not enough is known by Peter or myself to assert that Skaggs was an addict or that he was in pain of some kind. Maybe he just wanted a buzz and to drink alone, which is not necessarily a bad thing. In my case, less damage is likely if I drink alone. As for Skaggs, we have a few facts and clues, and my hope is that Rusty Hardin will find out more. Until then, we have speculation.
