More News Columnists

• Bill Slakey: As Trib closes, many questions remain unasked
• Phill Casaus: Don't cry for us, Albuquerque; it was worth it
• Joline Gutierrez Krueger: My Wall of Fame holds memories of people, stories that have mattered

MOST RECENT TRIB STORIES

• ABQTrib.com to remain available
  08:48 a.m., February 25, 2008
• Congressman is indicted
  08:37 a.m., February 23, 2008
• Series of attacks target Green Zone
  08:36 a.m., February 23, 2008
• Iran is defying U.N., agency says
  08:35 a.m., February 23, 2008
• Waterboarding approval probed
  08:34 a.m., February 23, 2008

TRIB IN THE BLOGOSPHERE*

• Ty Murray Invitational thrills fans in Albuquerque
• Is Rome Burning?
• Ominous Skies
• The Road to Invalidation
• Albuquerque company participates in “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition”

*Note: The Tribune does not create and is not responsible for the blogosphere's headlines and stories. These links to blogs talking about ABQTrib.com are automatically generated. Use them at your own risk.

STORY TOOLS

• E-mail story
• Comments
• iPod friendly
• Printer friendly

SHARE THIS STORY [?]

It's almost spring in Albuquerque, and the tawny grass of Highland High School's ancient baseball field is slowly being freckled with green.

More than anything, this is Ryan Vigil's time of year: filled with the ping of an aluminum bat meeting a ball; the scrape of cleats against a dugout floor; the cloud of dust that comes with a nice slide into second base.

It's all perfect, perfect, perfect, except for one thing.

Vigil can't be here to enjoy it.

Which means it's up to his friends on the Highland baseball team to revel in the game — or rather, to live it — for him.

And that's what they'll try to do in this, a season that went wrong before it ever started.

Vigil, 17, was the Highland baseball standout who was killed in a shooting not far from his Northeast Heights home in October. For obvious reasons, memories of that terrible afternoon are sensitive in the Highland dugout — though the disbelief about Vigil's death has been replaced by the tug of wistful remembrance.

"Now that we're starting to get things going, kids are starting to focus on baseball, even though he's not here with us," says Highland's young baseball coach, Anthony Lovato. "But, still, it's pretty tough."

It would have been numbing, anyway: Death by violence leaves deep, difficult ripples even if the victim isn't well-known or well-liked.

But this was Ryan Vigil: a student leader at Highland whose circle of friends didn't end at the doors to the dreaded "dungeon" — the subterranean workout room where Highland baseball players prepare for the season.

No, Vigil was one of those guys who made a difference in the hallways, in the classroom, around his neighborhood. All that showed on the day of his funeral, when a crowd estimated in the thousands gathered to say goodbye.

"It just breaks your heart," says Highland Principal Nikki Dennis.

And maybe there's no mending that. But for the others, the kids in blue uniforms who will play the game, life does go on.

It's only preseason in the Hornets' baseball program, still three weeks from a season opener at Santa Fe Capital and six weeks from a planned memorial for Vigil before the Hornets' game against Sandia.

But the sound you here is laughing, as one of Vigil's teammates and childhood buds, Shane Dedig, tells a harmless but gross story about the two of them at a concert.

"We laughed forever," Dedig says with a smile.

Forever's gone now, and what's left is the day-to-day: the knowledge that nothing Vigil's teammates do can bring their friend back.

Lovato says he and his coaches and team have dealt with that reality over the winter by staying close, staying in touch, always watching out for one another. In the weeks after Vigil's death, they were almost inseparable as they tried to make sense of it all.

"You can only tell kids so much," notes Lovato, "and eventually, I think time will just heal what happened with Ryan and our situation. There were days when kids didn't feel like coming to school, days I didn't feel like coming to work. And time . . . time is just going to help us."

The sport of baseball, depending more on cool precision than raw emotion, is not a rah-rah game. And the improving Hornets, coming off a 12-14 season in 2007, seem careful to make certain the memory of Ryan Vigil is not a cartoon.

Yes, they wear rubbery wristbands with Vigil's name and number (16). They know that the memorial game, at which they'll unveil a permanent plaque and stone in his honor, will be emotional. They know that every inning, every practice, will include a thought about the teammate who's not here for his favorite time of year.

That's fitting. That's moving. And yet, that's incomplete.

There's still one thing missing.

Shane Dedig pauses for a moment as he ponders this question: How do you honor — really honor — a Ryan Vigil?

"I think you just win," Dedig answers in a dugout gone quiet. "That's what Ryan would have wanted. We can do it. We can definitely win a lot of games this season."

It's a forever kind of goal. But a good one.