RIP Trey Mooney, Aggie

May His Memory Be a Blessing

I was at the College World Series when I looked down at my phone and saw that Trey Mooney, an old college buddy, had died after a long, grueling fight against Leukemia.

Trey and I ran in the same circles during my misspent youth. I misspent it far more than him, to be fair. He became a grown-up sooner than me (I think nearly everyone did), marrying his lovely bride, Shauna, over a decade ago and becoming a father to Trevor and Connor.

Although Trey and I weren’t very close, we shared the whiskey bottle many times. I knew him from one of my dear friends, Mike, so we became close through association. More importantly, we were both Aggies. Trey bled maroon and white, which, if you haven’t been paying attention over the last decade, hasn’t been a fun experience.

But he always supported and rooted for the Aggies. Always. This was our last exchange the day before A&M’s first game in the College World Series.

Less than nine days later, he died.

But in those nine days, he was alive through some thrilling games, including A&M’s miraculous game one victory over Florida, which I attended, and a run to the championship series.

He didn’t quite get the National Championship, but he was alive through A&M’s most successful baseball season in our lifetimes. That’s really incredible. Sometimes, winning isn’t all that matters. Sometimes, playing the game is what matters the most.

The Aggies fought last night, just like Trey did. They clawed back from a 6-1 deficit, closing the gap to 6-5 in the 9th inning. It was quite a fight. The Ags didn’t give up, folks. That’s something we rarely do, even through horrible seasons. We fight.

I’ve been consumed with winning my entire adult life. Winning the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Winning that next promotion. Winning. That’s all I ever wanted. That’s what I measured everything by—results.

But, often, you don’t win. Yet it’s that fight for victory that defines you. How many times can you get up and fight again? Can you endure? Can you persevere? Trey fought for many years, and that’s a testament to his faith, family, and friends who supported him through his last few years of life.

He was taken far too soon, but I’m forever grateful for the hazy memories and talks until dawn, proudly proclaiming, “Wait until next year.”

May his memory be a blessing.

Gig ‘Em