Bulls recall their ‘Angel in the Outfield’ from historic postseason run
By Joey Johnston
Somewhere during last season's magical run for USF baseball — the American Athletic Conference Tournament title, an NCAA Regional championship and falling just short of the program's first College World Series appearance — Bulls shortstop Matt Ruiz became convinced that the team had a guardian angel.
"We were being pushed along,'' Ruiz said. "Things were happening. I felt like we had a special Angel in the Outfield, you could say. And we knew who she was. She was on our caps.''
Her name was Kelly Carrow. Her mother was a former USF cheerleader. Kelly was outgoing, funny and charming. People were drawn to her welcoming personality. She was loyal to her friends and devoted to her favorite baseball team — the USF Bulls — which she supported with her USF-centric family through regular attendance.
"You knew their faces because they were at our games all the time,'' USF baseball coach Billy Mohl said. "You could always count on their support.''
On Dec. 28, 2020, Kelly Carrow was killed in a single-car accident, not far from her Orlando apartment. She was 26.
Kelly had finished her normal shift at the Marriott Grande Vista, where she worked as a bartender and server, then gone out to celebrate a friend's birthday. She never made it home.
At 4:50 a.m., two police officers knocked on the door of the Carrow family's North Tampa home. Nancy Carrow, Kelly's mother, will be forever grateful that her husband Keith was late for work and still there when the officers arrived to deliver some unthinkable news.
The word spread quickly through a disbelieving community and Kelly's legions of friends. When Mohl heard the news, he was shaken and called to offer his condolences. "In some form, all of us have to face loss at some point,'' said Mohl, who lost his wife in 2013 to a rare form of cervical cancer. "I wanted to give whatever comfort I could.''
Mohl kept thinking. What else can we do?
His idea: What if we put Kelly's initials — KC — on the side of our USF caps as a season-long tribune? First, he ran it by Holden Reinman, USF's director of event management, a close friend of the Carrow family. Mohl wanted the gesture to be appropriate.
"When Billy Mohl called with the idea and asked our permission, it was overwhelming,'' Kelly's mother said. "I told him we'd be honored. I couldn't even imagine them doing that for Kelly. It was thoughtful and meaningful.''
Mohl explained Kelly's story to his players, most of whom never knew her personally. The story hit home — a family devoted to USF athletics, a young woman who derived joy and family bonding from their games. Playing for Kelly's memory was motivation enough.
"I guess it could've stopped there,'' Reinman said. "But it didn't. Our team was up and down all year (24-26 in the regular season). Then things started happening in the postseason, a ball that bounced our way, a comeback, the other team making an error. There were many times when I felt like somebody was watching over us.''
"All along, I felt like we were playing for something bigger than ourselves,'' Bulls pitcher Joseph Sanchez said. "It was an honor to wear those initials.''
Mohl kept posting Kelly's funeral Mass card in the dugout, next to the lineups. She was always there.
"She became a part of us,'' Bulls infielder Nick Gonzalez said. "What happened to her was devastating. Her spirit was alive during our season. It became like a story or a movie. It was amazing.''
The USF Bulls, an average team on paper, suddenly caught fire when it mattered the most. When the Bulls beat UCF to win the AAC Tournament in Clearwater, Kelly's mother was overcome with emotion. She could hardly process all that happened next — an NCAA Regional triumph, USF's first Super Regional appearance and a shot at the College World Series.
It ended with a two-game sweep at the hands of powerful Texas. But the story wouldn't surrender. So many people — people who never knew Kelly — wanted a KC cap. Kelly's memory became intertwined with the rising fortunes of USF baseball. Organically, Mohl's kind KC gesture soared to places no one could have imagined.
"I like it when people still talk about Kelly,'' Kelly's mother said. "I like the way her memory is kept alive. When she is acknowledged, it gives us all some strength and comfort.''
Kelly's funeral was held at the height of COVID-19. The family guessed that 150 people might attend, so the church could plan for social distancing. More than 400 people showed up — and another 250 watched online.
Several co-workers showed up from all of Kelly's jobs — Chick-Fil-A, TGI Friday's, the Marriott Grande Vista. In fact, the Grand Vista named a sandwich for Kelly.
"Kelly was just one of those special people in life,'' Reinman said. "Kind-hearted, sweet, positive, loving, non-judgmental, just rare. And I've never seen a family like this, so close, so together.
"They love USF for better or for worse. They support all of our sports and trust what's going on here. They have unconditional love for USF athletics and they were always happy to be together at the baseball games. They still are happy and excited to be there.''
The Carrow family gathered at their traditional Pinellas County beach condo — a summer tradition for 30 years — to spread Kelly's ashes in that happy place. When USF baseball players got their championship rings, the KC initials were included, of course. The one-year anniversary of Kelly's death — a dreaded date — came and went without incident.
Although the initials won't be on the cap this season, Kelly's Mass card remains in the dugout. Life goes on — always — but memories endure.
Kelly's mother, a woman of great faith, is excited for USF's new season.
"It has never been about why this had to happen … because things happen all the time,'' Kelly's mother said. "I've never really asked why. I'm focused on the happiness and blessings of the 26 years we had with Kelly. A lot of people never have a relationship like that."
"By the grace of God, I'm getting through it. If someone would've told me this could've happened, I might've visualized myself in a ball on the floor. But never once did I not get out of bed. I just knew this is now what my life is. I could choose to be lost. Kelly wouldn't want that. She'd want us to keep going — and we will. But it won't make me miss her any less or love her any less. There's no doubt I'll see her again.''
