CALGARY – It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon at Confederation Park, where the only thing more spectacular than the sunshine was the stirring scene unfolding on the baseball diamond.

Foothills Little League’s year-end Jamboree celebration was just wrapping up, when the batter staring back at 11-year-old Cohen Snow was his father, Chris.

Three years after an ALS diagnosis that was supposed to kill him years earlier, the Calgary Flames’ assistant GM stepped up to the plate to take a few right-handed cuts, despite having very limited use of his right arm.

A handful of youngsters milled about in the outfield as Cohen offered up a peach that Dad drove high and deep into centre field.

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Cohen jumped up and down with delight while several in the small group of onlookers cheered, impressed by his power.

As the ball clanked off the fence, Chris dropped the bat triumphantly and walked straight out to Cohen where the two reached out to one another for a touching embrace.

Chris punctuated the moment by lifting his boy off the ground as they hugged, while Cohen patted his hero on the back.

Those were the moments Chris Snow kept living for — those tiny exchanges too many of us take for granted.

His affliction, also known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease, had robbed him of his ability to smile, but you knew he was beaming inside.

After all, it was Father’s Day, 2022.

I have watched this touching sequence on my phone and shared it dozens of times as a reminder of just how much Chris squeezed out of every day since his diagnosis in 2019.

No matter what ALS threw at him, he found ways to continue doing what he loved best — being a dad.

Chris Snow passed away Saturday at age 42, a full four years after being told the crippling disease that ravaged his father, two uncles and his cousin would gradually paralyze parts of his body by preventing the brain from communicating with various muscles.

After offering his body to a clinical trial that extended his life, and will ultimately help others, it would surprise no one that after doctors determined he wouldn’t recover from a cardiac arrest episode that damaged his brain Tuesday, he was kept alive so organ donations could be arranged.

“I never saw him down, or complain about anything,” said Flames defenceman Rasmus Andersson, who called Snow a “great person, great family man and a hell of a father.”

“It's something you appreciate,” Andersson said. “You appreciate his fighting. You kind of look at yourself in the mirror sometime when you find yourself complaining, that's for sure.”

The disease, which afflicts fewer than 20,000 in North America, didn’t stop him from continuing the ground-breaking analytics work he did for the Flames, or the daily grind of being the team’s assistant GM.

Even this summer, despite losing most of his ability to speak, he was involved in player contract negotiations, the search for a new coach and GM, as well as the draft.

Yet, he couldn’t dress himself.

"This guy put his heart into working for the team, even when he got diagnosed,” said Flames winger Jonathan Huberdeau.

“Last year, it wasn't going well and he was texting me. Every day he's working for his life, yet he took the time to text me. That shows a lot about the person. He dedicated his life to this team. Sad day for us, and we're there for his family, his kids and his wife as well."

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A sportswriter-turned-analytics guru, Snow was an integral part of the Flames front office since he joined in 2011.

And although his insistence on working throughout his ALS battle impressed his colleagues, his story moved millions around the world.

With the help of his wife Kelsie’s heart-wrenchingly raw writings and podcasts about the disease and the toll it took on their family, the Snows helped raise awareness and millions of dollars through their #TrickShotForSnowy initiative and the SnowyStrong.ca website.

The hockey world mourns the loss of one of the game’s greatest fighters — a man who taught us all plenty about character by facing an unwinnable battle with grace, courage and unflinching positivity.

“Great man,” said Brian Burke, who worked alongside Snow for years as the Flames president of hockey operations.

“Unflagging enthusiasm every day of his life. What a fight he put up. He will be sorely missed. We relied on Snowy a lot. He was truly a pioneer.”

As use of his right arm deteriorated, he learned to throw with his left so he could play catch with Cohen and daughter Willa, not to mention throw the first pitch at a Red Sox game, where fans who stood to welcome him and his family at Fenway Park.

He got Flames trainers to modify a hockey glove that allowed him to keep his right hand on his stick while skating with the family.

Despite battling a disease of endless loss, he continually gained new ways to work and fight on, putting a premium on family time, trips and memories.

Kelsie has been a rock — a pillar for Chris and the kids, who have had a GoFundMe page set up by a friend so all those who want to help, can do so.

Chris’s positivity is shared by Cohen and Willa, who have worn such incredibly brave faces since his diagnosis.

Both little athletes are blessed with tremendous smiles, manners and radiant personalities Chris had every reason to be so proud of.

“I don’t spend any time thinking past today and tomorrow,” Chris told me several years ago in Boston, while waiting for a Flames game to start.

“And today is a pretty good day.”

No regrets, nothing taken for granted, seizing the day and living in the moment — lessons he taught us all.

Swingin’ for the fence, no matter how tough things got.

Chris Snow was a role model for so many reasons

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