Lance Cummard, a once-familiar figure on the diamond for Mesa High School, has been reported to have died in an accident that also involved a close friend.
Friends and former teammates are mourning the loss and remembering Cummard for his laid-back humor, his on-field presence wearing No. 13, and the family he leaves behind, a wife and daughter, Ellie.
Friends say the deaths were linked to the same reported accident; that detail remains unconfirmed by official sources, but is how the community first learned the news.
In the days since, tributes and short, stunned messages have flowed through social feeds, capturing how Cummard lived and how many he touched.
“Hey, Lance! I hope you and Troy are running the floor up there just like Garnett and Marbury. You’ll be missed. Thanks for your friendship,” wrote longtime friend Mike Garlock, a message that set the tone for dozens of similar replies.
Garlock’s blend of grief and a small, sports-flavored joke, comparing the departed to NBA legends Kevin Garnett and Stephon Marbury, summed up the affection and the way friends were coping: sorrow threaded with the kind of humor Lance would have appreciated.
Others kept their messages short and plain. Kasey Garlock Turner called them a “dream team in heaven.”
Judy Johnson Abney wrote simply that “both very loved by so many,” and Bill Loski added, “They are great men who we miss very much.”
David Solorzano’s reaction, “For reals!” echoed the disbelief many felt, a raw and immediate response that needed no polish.
Mesa Remembers!
Small details have given friends a way to remember Lance more vividly. He was known around the team for wearing No. 13, a number that drew lighthearted ribbing.
One exchange captured that warmth: David asked, “What’s up with that hat? Where is #13 ?” Lance’s own reply, shared by friends, shrugged at the teasing: “I wasn’t enlightened yet on the greatness of #13 and don’t think I had a choice.”
The banter continued with David quoting rapper E-40, “everybody got choices”, a line that landed as both a joke and a nod to the decisions that shape a life.
Those small moments matter. They move a person from a headline into memory: the player who slid into home plate, the teammate who laughed off a bad call, the husband and father who leaves a quiet hole in a small circle of people who depended on him.
Friends who saw Lance outside the field remember him for that mix of competitive fire and casual charm — a player who wore No. 13 not as superstition but as part of his personality.
The reported accident has left questions. Community members are waiting for confirmation from authorities and for any details that can explain what happened.
For now, people close to Cummard are filling that silence with stories, recollections, and the kind of quick, unscripted condolences that show how immediate and personal this loss feels.
To his wife and to Ellie, the public messages have mixed grief with gratitude for the life Lance led.
Friends’ notes, short and plain, are meant to be small comforts: reminders that he mattered, that he was known and valued. In times like this, those tiny assurances can feel large.
If there is comfort to be found, it is in the steady stream of people remembering Lance not for how he died but for how he lived.
He is a high-school baseball player who left an impression, a friend who could make teammates laugh, and a family man who will now be remembered by those who loved him most.
Officials have not yet released a full report on the accident. As details emerge, they should be handled carefully and respectfully; for now, the community’s response, the messages, the jokes, the stunned “for reals” replies, is enough to show the small, steady impact Lance had on the people around him.
Friends asking for privacy and space are common after a sudden loss. For anyone who knew Lance personally, the best immediate support will come from simple, practical acts.
Being present for his wife and daughter, sharing memories, and offering help where it’s needed. Those are the things that last longer than any headline.
