At the Field of Dreams, a baseball family mourns and remembers
The kids’ game would start at 6 p.m. The field was a 10-minute drive from the old Arlington Stadium. Quite often during the early 1980s, Rangers third baseman Buddy Bell would bolt the park after batting practice and hop in his car. He would be quite a sight in his game jersey and shorts. But if only for a few minutes, he wanted to watch his sons, David and Mike, play ball.
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“You could get in and out, because there was hardly anybody at the ballpark,” said Buddy, a five-time All-Star third baseman. “If I’d get back at 7 for a 7:30 game, I still had plenty of time to put my pants back on and get back out there.”
David vividly recalls his father pulling up in his car and sitting in the outfield, the same way he remembers hearing about his grandfather, four-time All-Star outfielder Gus Bell, showing up at his father’s games and honking his horn whenever Buddy made a good play.
Some four decades later, it’s inconceivable to think of a major leaguer slipping out of his home park 90 minutes before game time to watch his sons play in a youth game. David, who played 12 years in the majors and is now the Reds’ manager, chuckles at the mere thought.
“I didn’t even think it could happen then,” David said. “But he did it.”
Buddy’s message was clear: Nothing is more important than family. In Aug. 2007, he conveyed the same sentiment when, shortly before his 55th birthday, he announced he would step down as Royals manager at the end of the season. Buddy cited his health; he had undergone surgery the previous September to remove a cancerous growth in his throat. He also wanted to return to his native Cincinnati and spend more time with his family, in particular the youngest of his five children, Traci, who was born with Down Syndrome. (Buddy also has another daughter, Kristi, in Edina, Minn.; and another son, Rick, in Cincinnati).
The Bells are an unusual family, one of only five to produce major leaguers in three generations. Yet, as David, 49, prepares to manage the Reds against the Cubs in the Field of Dreams game on Thursday night, they also are a family like any other, coping with the pain of sudden loss.
Mike Bell, the other son whose games Buddy used to sneak out to watch, died of kidney cancer on March 26, 2021. A universally respected and beloved figure in baseball, Mike was entering his second season as Twins bench coach. He was 46.
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“He impacted people he came in contact with more than anyone that I’ve been around in my life, just because of how much he cared about people,” said Angels interim manager Phil Nevin, who became close friends with Mike as the Diamondbacks’ Triple A manager when Mike was the team’s farm director.
The inaugural Field of Dreams game last season evoked strong emotions from many who had seen the film and viewed it as reminder of why they fell in love with the sport. In the film’s climactic scene, actor Kevin Costner asks his late father John, one of the players brought back to life, “Hey dad, you wanna have a catch?” For fathers, sons, mothers and daughters who share similar memories, like the Bells do, the moment strikes a powerful chord.
Mike Bell was an infielder who appeared in 19 major-league games with the Reds in 2000. He had one son, Luke, 22, with his wife, Kelly, and two daughters, Mikayla, 16, and Madeline, 13. Luke, now a pitcher at Xavier University, recalled playing catch with his dad at a small field just steps away from their home in Chandler, Az. Mike also would take Luke to the Diamondbacks’ training complex, Salt River Fields, to practice hitting and throwing.
For many of the Bells, playing baseball comes almost as naturally as taking a walk. The youngest of Buddy’s three sons, Rick, 43, also played professionally, spending 10 years in the minors. Both he and David harbor fond memories of accompanying their father to major-league parks and running around with each other and Mike.
“We grew up like we were living in a Field of Dreams,” David said.
David recently re-watched the film with his wife, Kristi, daughter Brogan, 15, and son, David, 10, who goes by his middle name — and great-grandfather’s name — Gus. David’s biggest takeaway was the same as it was the first time, the purity of the competition between the old-time players who emerged from the cornfields. No distractions. Barely any fans. Just two teams, trying to beat each other. Baseball, and only baseball.
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“There’s so much beauty in that,” David said. “It’s what myself and my brothers were always reminded of. No matter what was happening — things not going well, whatever — it was always about coming back to your love for the game.”
Mike had that love. He also showed unusual empathy for others, stemming, perhaps in part, from the frustrations he experienced during his playing days. Mike was destined to become a manager, a general manager, seemingly anything he wanted to be in the sport.
“It’s been hard the last year or so. It seems like every day you get a little bit of a gut punch,” Buddy said. “But then you go through the rest of your day and you realize how blessed and how lucky you are as a father, all the memories you have.
“Baseball is such an imperfect game. But it’s weird because there are so many perfect memories of it. It’s so vivid, the memories of playing catch with your sons.”
Rick Bell, Mike and David’s little brother, is now a financial advisor in Cincinnati, working from home. Mike’s Twins jersey, signed by the entire team, hangs in his basement office. So does a replica of a plaque the Twins hung in their clubhouse at Target Field honoring Mike, inscribed with a message he sent manager Rocco Baldelli in spring 2021. Mike was quite ill at the time, his condition worsening.
“I miss everyone so much,” Mike wrote. “It’s not necessarily the game I miss — it’s the people. It’s working together and doing it all together. The ups, the downs, even the masks and protocols. The game is about my teammates. I just want all our teammates to truly care about each other and embrace the incredible year that is before us. It won’t all be smooth sailing, but that is what brings us together, and I cannot wait for the beauty of the year to unfold.”
Rick starts his workday by staring at the jersey and plaque. The display is difficult for him to look at, difficult to talk about. But he said it brings him peace, knowing Mike is in a better place. It also grounds him. “Keeping things in perspective, thinking about what is truly important, trying not to get caught up in things that aren’t as meaningful,” Rick said.
Mike’s lasting impact extends well beyond his family. Another memorial to Mike hangs in the Twins’ dugout. The team recently staged an event at Target Field, organized with help from Mike’s sister Kristi, 42, for GiGi’s Playhouse, a network of Down Syndrome Achievement Centers. Because of the youngest of the Bells, Traci, 37, the organization carries particular meaning to the family. Shortly after Mike’s death, the Twins donated $10,000 to GiGi’s Playhouse in his memory.
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“It’s things like this that keep him front and center for me so he doesn’t fade,” said Twins president of baseball operations Derek Falvey. “Honestly his passing hit me harder and has stayed with me more than maybe anything I’ve experienced in this game. He was just a really good man and someone I wish we all had more time with.”
Falvey, 39, recalls the Twins clinching the AL Central title on the final day of the pandemic-shortened 2020 season, Mike’s only year with the club. The Twins were playing David’s Reds, who had clinched a wild card the previous day. After the game, Mike and David embraced, celebrating their respective postseason berths. “It was one of those big-brother, little-brother pride moments that could have happened on a Little League field,” Falvey said.
The Twins’ playoff run in 2020 ended quickly, with the Astros sweeping them in the best-of-three wild card round. Twins officials gathered in the coaches’ room after the team’s elimination, drinking beer and reflecting upon their journey. Mike did not want to take off his uniform pants, saying the moment he did, the season truly would be over.
It turned out to be the last time Falvey and others with the Twins sat with Mike in that setting. And it left Falvey with an important lesson.
“Appreciate where your feet are,” Falvey said. “Mike did that day.”
Nevin, 51, first met Mike while playing for his father with the Tigers in 1996-97, but at that point they knew each other only in passing. Their actual friendship did not begin until after the Tigers fired Nevin as their Triple-A manager on Aug. 31, 2013. The first call Nevin received was from Mike, who served as the Diamondbacks’ farm director from 2011 to 2019. The two hit it off, and Mike hired Nevin to manage the Diamondbacks’ Triple-A club.
“We instantly became best friends,” Nevin said.
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Mike even became close with Nevin’s sons, Tyler, a third baseman with the Orioles, and Kyle, a minor-league outfielder and first baseman with the Dodgers. Tyler, the 38th pick by the Rockies in 2015, suffered a severe hamstring injury the spring after he was drafted, and spent the entire summer rehabilitating at the Salt River complex, which the Rockies share with the Diamondbacks. Mike occasionally would walk over to the Rockies’ side to record videos of Tyler swinging. Unbeknownst to Phil, he also would make time for Tyler in other ways, taking him to lunch or dinner.
The three Nevins wear different uniforms but the same tribute to Mike, black wristbands with the initials “MB” in white.
“I loved my dad. I knew my dad loved me. We just never verbalized the words,” Phil said. “Mike Bell was the first buddy of mine that ever used the words, ‘I love you,’ as a friend. And it was not weird.
“I started telling my dad that every time we would talk on the phone. And we still to this day say it to each other.”
Mike’s next step in baseball seemed inevitable. Like his father and brother before him, he would become a major-league manager.
After the 2018 season, he interviewed for the Orioles managing job that went to Brandon Hyde and the Rangers job that went to Chris Woodward. After the 2019 season, he interviewed for the Mets job that went to Carlos Beltrán and the Pirates’ job that went to Derek Shelton, then finally left the Diamondbacks to replace Shelton as the Twins’ bench coach.
“He didn’t have to change a thing. He was so natural, the ultimate manager-leader, just by being who he was,” David said. “People were everything to him. And that’s what this job is.”
Those close to Mike say his defining quality was his compassion. Some trace it to the anxiety he experienced as a player. Mike developed the yips with his throws, hindering his career. But his struggles left him with a greater understanding of the mental-health difficulties some players endure.
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Early in his playing career, Mike appeared on a path to success. He was the Rangers’ first-round pick in 1993, selected 30th overall out of Cincinnati’s Archbishop Moeller H.S. He met Kelly while he was at Moeller. They married in ‘95. He reached Triple A two years later. But after the Rangers traded Dean Palmer to the Royals that July, they promoted Fernando Tatis Sr. straight from Double A to the majors, jumping him over Mike.
“Obviously, they made a good choice with Tatis. He didn’t disappoint,” Kelly said. “But I think Mike was always kind of like, ‘Why did I just get skipped over?’ It kind of put him in a bad way. And things were already going on before that. He was in the Single A All-Star Game (in 1994). He made, like, four errors in the game. That was hard for him to get over.”
Still, Mike persevered through 13 professional seasons. He fought through three major surgeries, one on each hand, another on his left forearm. He finally reached the majors with his hometown Reds in 2000, then spent five more seasons at Triple A before finally retiring in 2005.
It was never easy.
“I went through a lot of ups and downs as a player, from anxiety to depression to different things,” Mike told MLB.com in 2020. “I was playing in an era when it wasn’t always a cool thing to need help. I didn’t care, though, and I leaned on a lot of different people I had around me. I was very open with coaches and players about what I went through. I knew I needed help at different times in my career and life.”
Mike believed his troubles increased his father’s awareness of mental-health issues and made him more sensitive as a manager. Buddy, in turn, believes Mike’s experiences made him more open, helped him grow into a successful leader. “He realized that he could just talk to people about the things he had to go through,” Buddy said. “He had no qualms about putting himself out there.”
Even Mike’s son, Luke, noticed his father’s evolution.
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“When he got older and more mature, he was like, super vulnerable,” Luke said. “A lot of people view that as weak. It made him really personable. He’d talk to anybody about anything. He was really sensitive to other peoples’ feelings and needs.”
At Mike’s funeral, Luke told a story about a day his father received an alarming phone call from a Diamondbacks minor leaguer. A group of players had gone tubing on the Salt River, only to lose track of one of their teammates.
Mike feared the worst. Mindful of his responsibilities as farm director, he thought about calling the missing player’s parents. Kelly stopped him, thinking such a call would only create panic. “Everything is probably fine,” she said. “Let’s make sure.”
So, in the middle of the night, Mike and Kelly gathered their kids, who at the time were still quite young, and set out on a search mission. The Bells were at a gas station, filling up their car, when one of the players called Mike with good news. The missing teammate had just walked into their apartment. Everything was fine.
“It ended well and we didn’t have to do anything,” Luke said. “But just the fact my dad was willing to go, drive 45 minutes and look for a guy in the middle of the night who he likely wasn’t going to find, that was a pretty impressive, caring act to me.
“He’d do a lot for people he cared about. It was not just about our family.”
Buddy Bell, 70, calls his kids just about every day, always worried that he might skip one of them. That’s when it hits him: “God, I miss Mike.”
“I can’t tell you how many times I would call him and ask him what I should do next,” Buddy said. “I’m a bit different than Dave and Mike. I’m a little more edgy, a little more cranky, a little more impatient. Mike was always able to calm me down.”
David, too, misses the counsel of his brother, who was two years younger. They had reached similar points in their lives and careers in recent years, grown even closer. “I don’t know if he knew how much I counted on him, relied on him,” David said.
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Luke, the family’s only pitcher, was the Diamondbacks’ 34th-round pick out of high school in 2019. He chose to go to college instead, spending one year at Grand Canyon University and Chandler Gilbert Community College before landing at Xavier, the alma mater of his mother, three aunts and an uncle. He remembers calling Mike every day after arriving at Xavier in the fall of 2020, frustrated he was not pitching well. “Being able to talk to him, talk through some of those things, is definitely what I miss the most,” Luke said.
Luke, like his father, thinks not only of himself. He mentions how difficult the loss of Mike must be for his youngest sister, Madeline, who only got to spend 12 years with her father. Both Mikayla, a junior in high school, and Madeline, an eighth grader, play volleyball and continue to live with Kelly in Arizona.
Kelly this year became the varsity girls’ tennis coach at Seton Catholic, Luke’s and Mikayla’s high school, after the job opened and Mikayla volunteered, “My mom will do it!” Just the other day, Kelly stopped by the home of Mike’s mom, Gloria, and his sister Traci, to help arrange for them to watch Reds games on TV instead of their iPad.
“I think we’re doing well,” Kelly said. “Good and bad, maybe one thing baseball set you up for is lots of travel and independence and alone time. In a weird way, maybe that has helped us all transition.”
In Cincinnati, Luke is surrounded by family members. He occasionally will go to lunch with his grandpa Buddy and uncles David and Rick. His great-grandmother, Joyce, whom he describes as “super sharp” at 91, also lives in the area. On Sunday night, he celebrated his 22nd birthday dinner with relatives on his mother’s side — his grandparents, Marty and Jeannie Naumann; and his uncle Todd and aunt Leah and their five children.
Entering his senior year, Luke said he feels no pressure to make the Bells a four-generation major-league family. Growing up, his parents’ only requirement was that he participate in at least one extra-curricular activity. Mike would tell him that for all he cared, it could be math club.
David, because of his busy schedule with the Reds, mostly watches Luke’s games on live streams, though he did attend one in Surprise, Az., last February, while waiting for the start spring training. Rick, also living in Cincinnati, will occasionally attend Xavier home games with his family. He chokes up talking about how difficult it is watching Luke, knowing Mike can’t be present.
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The “gut punch” Buddy describes is unavoidable, something family members experience every day when they think of Mike. “But then I run into my baseball friends, my family, my grade-school buddies, and I realize how blessed I am,” Buddy said. “Actually, losing Mike made me more aware of that. It really did. I take absolutely nothing for granted anymore. Nothing. I think I did that in the past.”
David said he draws comfort talking to people who knew Mike. The conversations sometimes leave him emotional, but serve as a reminder that his brother continues to make an impact, even after his death. At other times when David is alone, thoughts of Mike will come to him randomly, particularly in certain powerful moments.
The Field of Dreams game, an event built on nostalgia, is likely to be one of those moments.
“I’m sure Mike’s going to be on my mind. He’s always on my mind,” David said.
“Of course he will be there.”
(Top image: Wes McCabe / The Athletic; Photos: Quinn Harris, David Berding, Hy Peskin, Focus on Sport / Getty Images; Brynn Anderson / AP Photo)
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