Padres Celebrate The Warriors Of Pediatric Cancer: An Origin Story

I’ve been a San Diego Padres fan for as long as I can remember. 

From the navy and white to the brown and gold, I’ve cheered, cried and screamed in absolute rage (I’ve perfected this last one) on behalf of “America’s Finest Baseball Team.”

But how exactly did I come to fall so deeply in love with the Friars? Obviously, hometown bias comes into play. It would be sacrilegious if I were to root for any other team. My family would disown me and the locals would chase me out of San Diego with pitchforks and torches — you know how it goes. 

However, my bond with this team goes way beyond that. It runs deep, deeper than each of the grand slams the Pads hit in 2020. It’s something that I’ll cherish forever. 

When I was 2 years old, I was diagnosed with Wilms’ Tumor. When I was four, it came back. I spent a lot of time in and out of the hospital over the course of 20 years, all the while accompanied by the absolute best support system I could ask for: my incredible team of doctors and nurses at Rady Children’s Hospital, and my family. I was scared, but I was never alone, and this experience made me fully understand the importance of human connection. I know, this is getting sappy. 

Enter the San Diego Padres. 

While being treated at San Diego’s very own Children’s Miracle Network Hospital, I was introduced to a fundraising event that they organize each year in May, Celebration of Champions. Essentially, this event honors the lives of children diagnosed with pediatric cancer — both those who survived and those still fighting — and memorializes those who died far too soon in a ceremony recognizing their unyielding strength and bravery. 

It’s easily my favorite day of the year. 

The community that has been built around this event is amazing. The survivors and their families, the families of our angels, and the doctors and nurses from the Rady Children’s Peckham Center for Cancer and Blood Disorders unit all gather on the grass at Embarcadero Park to celebrate life and one another. It is so, so beautiful. 

This very same grass is where my love of baseball flourished. 

Every year, members of the Padres organization attend Celebration of Champions. Trading their jerseys for Celebration T-shirts and wielding a sharpie in favor of a bat, the Friars spend the day with us, autographing shirts and asking the survivors to sign theirs. Throughout the course of the day, the champions will get to run a victory lap around the perimeter of Embarcadero while accompanied by a player or member of the Friars’ staff. One year, I got to run with RHP Trevor Hoffman. Coolest. Day. Ever.

The families, doctors, sponsors, other survivors, and players line the track and cheer you on the whole way through. At the end, you’re given a medal commemorating both the lap and your fight against the disease. 

Growing up watching these people whom I idolized so much dedicate their time to an event as special as Celebration meant so much to me and still does. The connection I’ve formed with the players, announcers and coaching staff is something that goes well beyond the baseball diamond. 

The Padres might not be World Series champs yet, but they are champions in this aspect. 

As I said before, that human connection is an incredible thing. It can get you through so much. It can also open your eyes to the beauty that lies within nearly everything, even a historically losing baseball team. 

I’m so grateful for my family. I’m so grateful for Rady Children’s Hospital. I’m so grateful for Celebration of Champions. I’m so grateful for baseball.

Cover photo courtesy of Reese Savoie/ATNB