On emotional night, Angel Stadium mourns franchise icon Garret Anderson

AL EastBlue JaysOriolesRaysRed SoxYankeesAL CentralGuardiansRoyalsTigersTwinsWhite SoxAL WestAngelsAstrosAthleticsMarinersRangersNL EastBravesMarlinsMetsNationalsPhilliesNL CentralBrewersCardinalsCubsPiratesRedsNL WestDiamondbacksDodgersGiantsPadresRockiesScores & ScheduleStandingsPodcastsThe Windup NewsletterFantasyMLB ProspectsMLB OddsMLB PicksPower RankingsFans Speak UpTop ProspectsOn emotional night, Angel Stadium mourns franchise icon Garret AndersonGarret Anderson helped lead the Angels to their only championship in 2002. Jayne Kamin-Oncea / Getty Images Share articleANAHEIM, Calif. — The facial default of Tim Salmon is a smile. As he sat in the Angels’ dugout on Friday afternoon, discussing the tragic death of the man that he’s most closely associated with, that smile still rarely escaped him. In many ways, Garret Anderson and Salmon are the Angels. They played more than a decade together and won the franchise’s lone World Series in 2002. They populate nearly every relevant page of this club’s history books. Talking about his friend, and what made him special, brought and kept that smile on Salmon’s face. But the joys of those memories were interchangeable to the heartbreak of the reality that cast a pall over the ballpark all night. As he described a phone call the two shared just last week, the emptiness caused by Anderson’s loss became evident. The emotions started to overwhelm Salmon. “We talked about life,” said Salmon, his voice starting to quiver. “We really checked in on each other. I sit here today, and I’m like, ‘Alright Lord, thank you for that last blessing. That last opportunity to have a deep, meaningful conversation.” Anderson died on Thursday afternoon from a heart attack. He was 53 years old, and is survived by his wife and three children. An all-time Angels icon, leading the franchise in games played (2,013), hits (2,368) and RBIs (1,292), Anderson was known for being stoic and serious — a tough nut to crack. But “once you were in with him,” said longtime Angels VP of communications Tim Mead, “you were locked in.” Post-retirement, Anderson had worked Angels television broadcasts for years, but wasn’t scheduled to be on-air in 2026. He was a beloved figure among some of the longest-tenured players, who’d forged meaningful relationships. Word spread to current players when their flight landed on Thursday night, following a cross-country trip from New York. Mead, who spent four decades with the Angels and has often been a liaison with the 2002 championship team, said he called dozens of former players and others in the Angels’ orbit. “I’m still in shock,” said Scott Spiezio, a teammate of Anderson’s for four years, including in 2002. Spiezio remembered buying a flashy car off Anderson, and how Anderson playfully bullied the midwesterner into acquiring a better fashion sense. “I’d get on the plane, he’d be like, ‘Spiez, you got on a horse blanket? You’re giving me allergies.’ Before you know it, I’m buying Canali, Hugo Boss and Armani.” Four hours before first pitch, the team’s grounds crew was busy, cutting a massive “GA” into the center field grass. Behind that was a space on the right-center field wall displaying his initials. Clubhouse attendants collected all the Angels jerseys out of the lockers pregame, in the hopes of having the “GA” jersey patch ready to go by first pitch. The video board displayed an image of Anderson during batting practice. Outside the home plate gate, fans brought flowers and notes for a vigil. Some touched their hearts as they walked up to it. His No. 16 jersey was worn by supporters roaming the concourses. “I knew I had it in my closet. I just fumbled through the whole closet,” said lifelong Angels fan and Anaheim native Dale Snooks. “He’s around the same age as my little brother, who passed away a couple years ago from a heart attack. “It’s the same thing. All of a sudden, out of nowhere.” Mike Trout, the man that might someday surpass Anderson’s spot atop many of the team’s leaderboards, said he developed a friendship through chit chats at the ballpark. They hung out outside the field, he said, and Anderson even lent Trout his boat. Manager Kurt Suzuki recalled the days of playing against Anderson, when the catcher first came up with the Oakland A’s in 2007. Anderson was a player that Suzuki looked up to, watching the 2002 World Series as a freshman down the road at Cal State Fullerton. “Just really speechless, I would say,” said Angels right fielder Jo Adell, who had also forged a bond with Anderson, who manned left field for nearly all of his 15 years in Anaheim. “You get used to seeing somebody. The sad part about it is the familiarity of going to the ballpark, knowing you’re going to be around the same faces. Not being able to have that anymore is really kind of disturbing. Anderson isn’t simply a figure of the Angels’ past. He’s not a former great that faded into the background, only to show up once a season to throw out the first pitch. He was a presence, known and beloved by many that came to work on Friday, who had to navigate the emotions of losing a friend and colleague. Broadcasters knew tears might be shed on television or radio. Producers navigated the responsibilities of covering the news, while processing their own grief. Before the game started, the Angels played a video tribute to Anderson, starting with him as a baby-faced 22-year-old wearing the old periwinkle blue uniforms, and ending with him holding the World Series trophy that he helped bring. In the montage, countless clips played against the backdrop of Angel Stadium, in the same spot all those fans, friends and former teammates watched broken-hearted. It was a reminder of how important he was to this place, and just how empty it felt, in that moment, without him there. “He was more than a ballplayer,” Salmon said. “He’s got a tremendous legacy, between the lines, on the field. But I would argue that his legacy has been bigger off the field. “Our world has so many heroes. And heroes always seem to let you down at some point. Garret was impeccable. I like his biggest legacy was who he was as a man.” Spot the pattern. Connect the terms Find the hidden link between sports terms Sam Blum is a staff writer for The Athletic covering Major League Baseball. Before joining The Athletic, he was a sports reporter for the Dallas Morning News. Previously, he covered Auburn for AL.com and the University of Virginia for The Daily Progress in Charlottesville