Tyler Skaggs was passionate about a lot of things. And he really loved pitching in Southern California.

Skaggs pitched for the Angels but didn’t have the typical homegrown-player tale. The tattoos etched along his right arm included “Santa Monica,” where he grew up on the softball fields; his mother, Debbie, coached at Santa Monica High school. In cursive on his right triceps were the words “City of Angels.” On his right biceps was an unmistakable “LA” logo.

Growing up, he had visions of wearing blue and pitching at Dodger Stadium. He once was a 17-year-old with a loopy curveball, who grew up with a radio soundtrack provided by K-EARTH 101.1 and Power 106 on the radio, as well as Vin Scully’s Dodger broadcasts. He blossomed as a prospect, a tall lefty with an old-school desire to pitch deep into games and the aptitude to adopt new-school methods. He felt snubbed when the Dodgers didn’t take him with the 36th overall pick in the 2009 MLB Draft.

Four picks later, he was an Angel. It was something he grew to love, particularly after getting traded to Arizona in 2010 and back to Anaheim three years later. After struggling through Tommy John surgery and then pitching through injury last year, he was optimistic. He had a date circled on his calendar, a start he planned to petition manager Brad Ausmus to make. He wanted to pitch at Dodger Stadium this month.

Skaggs had been there before, when he allowed one run over five innings as a rookie with Arizona. But he wanted to go back. He wanted to be at Dodger Stadium in an Angels uniform, pitching in the city he loved while wearing the jersey he loved.

“There’s definitely a big grudge there,” he said just yesterday, sounding determined.

Tragically, he won’t get the chance. Skaggs died in his Texas hotel room, at age 27, hours before the Angels were scheduled to face the Rangers on Monday.

The Southlake Police Department said Skaggs was found unresponsive in his hotel room and that no foul play was indicated. Suicide is “not suspected,” an SPD spokesperson said, and an investigation will take place. Monday’s Angels-Rangers game was canceled, and the Angels had already left Globe Life Park in Arlington when the announcement was made.

There will be no joy in playing games without him in the coming days.

“It is with great sorrow that we report Tyler Skaggs passed away earlier today in Texas,” the Angels said in a statement.

“Tyler has, and always will be, an important part of the Angels Family. Our thoughts and prayers are with his wife Carli and his entire family during this devastating time.”

The news is shocking, staggering. Skaggs was 12 days from his 28th birthday, recently married — “It was amazing,” a glowing Skaggs said this spring — and optimistic he could channel that first-round talent and steward the Angels staff back to the postseason.

This is an organization that has already dealt with too much loss. Outfielder Lyman Bostock died in 1978, also at age 27, shot and killed while sitting in a car in Gary, Ind., during the team’s road trip to Chicago. Luis Valbuena died last December in a car crash after playing in a winter league game in his native Venezuela; he was 33. In April 2009, the Angels lost right-hander Nick Adenhart in a car crash hours after his best big-league start. That summer, Tyler Skaggs was the first pitcher the Angels drafted.

Skaggs was stubborn, even through his final start on Saturday against Oakland, when he was miffed and protested being pulled in the fifth inning after allowing two runs on two hits, four walks and striking out five. He was straightforward and honest, as always. He thought he should be better, thought he was just getting to turn things around. That was Tyler.

A memorial formed outside Angel Stadium Monday in memory of Tyler Skaggs. (Leonard Ortiz / MediaNews Group/Orange County Register via Getty Images)

In many ways, he was the same 17-year-old who told then-Angels scouting director Eddie Bane he was crazy for suggesting he change his signature curveball. He did things his way, but always brought along kindness and heart.

That gentle side came out most when he talked of his mother, Debbie. She was, in many ways, his first and last pitching coach. Debbie would text him after each start, to comment on Skaggs’ pitch selection or his mechanics or the location of his curveball. She was the one who helped him fall in love with baseball, who surrounded him with it from the time he could walk.

She also bred Skaggs’ love for music. There was no greater aficionado in the Angels’ clubhouse than Skaggs, who held the honor during spring training of choosing the soundtrack each day. As he took the mound at Angel Stadium, flat-brim hat pulled down, he’d often close his eyes and take a deep breath as the beat from Tupac’s “Hail Mary” echoed throughout the park. Sometimes, he said, he wished they’d play it even louder.

“He needs his music,” Debbie Skaggs said in March. “He’s just had this knack. I have no ear for music. I can’t remember a song, ever. I don’t know any names to any songs, but he just, he’s just a magician with it, I swear. He’s really good.”

He quickly earned the nickname “Swaggy” and developed a reputation for being loud with teammates but quiet unto himself. He touched the lives of others every day, with his roaring wrestling impersonations along with Cam Bedrosian or with his constant prodding of Shohei Ohtani and his interpreter, Ippei Mizuhara, for Ohtani to get his own driver’s license.

He also cared. Deeply. Skaggs cared about his pitching, but most of all about the people he loved, and about his city. When the news of his death broke on Monday afternoon, countless people shared their memories and their sadness. Teammates. Former teammates. Friends. Admirers. People whose lives that he found a way to touch, with a joke, a pitch, a charity event. There will be more tributes on Tuesday and in the coming days.

Our last conversation sticks with me. There was such optimism. It was a typical Tyler Skaggs interaction, with him taking a question and answering it as straightforwardly and honestly as possible. He was just so excited to be back, to prove people wrong again.

Instead, we’re left with a wound that won’t heal, and a name that won’t be forgotten.

(Top photo: Jayne Kamin-Oncea / USA Today)