A Perfect Night Off

Since the Astros had the night off, I decided to make a stop at Costco on my way home. Dropped close to 500 bucks without even buying junk food. That's a lot of INGREDIENTS. Driving back from Virginia in pouring rain, I heard on the radio that White Sox pitcher Mark Buerhle had a perfect game, and I knew that baseball would be in my evening plans after all. I mentioned yesterday my ongoing greedy wish for the game to remember, every time one of my Astros favorites takes the mound. In the meantime, it's nice to share in someone else's joy - especially when the outcome doesn't affect our post-season opportunities.

So I got home, put away the supersized bottles of olives and the 80-pack of Keurig pods, the two month supply of terlit paper, and a whole lot of other stuff we couldn't possibly live without. Poured myself a glass of Yarden (Golan Heights, Israel) Sauv Blanc, and fired up the mlb.tv. I went straight to the top of the ninth, to hear the story from the perspective of the Chicago announcers.

Right off the bat (so to speak) Gabe Kapler, batting first for the doomed (Devil) Rays, whomps a long fly ball that appeared to end the quest for perfection. Of course, I already knew the outcome, so I wasn't as shocked as the broadcasters that DeWayne Wise leapt up against the wall and caught what was certainly a home run. That the bit of a bobble before he secured it and held it aloft like a torch -- real nice touch. I especially liked the replays, showing Buerhle's face when the ball was caught. The Chicago broadcasters were, of course, doing everything they could NOT to mention that there was a perfect game on the line: "Under the circumstances..." Let's not jinx it. The next batter came within a ball of walking, before striking out swinging. Crowd goes wild. Then the final batter hits a little grounder to end the game. The White Sox broadcaster was extremely eloquent: "Yes, Yes, Yes, YES, YES, YES!!!, YESSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Mark Buerhle's teammates then piled on, thumping him on and about his noggin with glee.

I'm a big fan of the ritual head bashing that male athletes engage in when they are extremely happy. My own two sons are an architect and a lawyer, respectively - fields in which IQ points are cherished. But among the sporting types of males, this ritual of celebration, in which the honoree sacrifices up to 2 percent of his IQ points for the communal gratification of his colleagues, is a critical bonding custom. So they all ran up and banged their fists on his head. (There were a few surreptitious butt-pats too, an imitation of pseudo-homo-eroticism, given that professional baseball is a sport in which there is not even one actual homosexual player. Yeah, right.) From the post-game interview, it was hard to tell whether Buehrle was actually suffering from the early symptoms of a concussion or if he was just overcome with emotion. It did not help that the woman that interviewed him kept asking extremely blond questions: But tell me again (for the fourth time), how did it FEEL? Good, real good, duh.

At this inanity, I bailed from the Chicago celebrations, and moved on to watch it all over again, this time from the Rays' TV broadcast. (I am SO glad I upgraded my mlb.tv subscription to Premium.) The Rays' sportscasters, of course, had no problem with using the "P" word - they were HOPING to jinx it. It's fun to hear how the other guys report on a big event. Their team is being wiped out and they aren't having fun. But still, it's really hard not to get caught up in the beauty of what's happening. A perfect game! It's insane that anyone could do that.

The best part of the story for me, of course, is the center fielder, DeWayne Wise. A guy who's spent his 10 years in the majors mostly playing in the minors. A guy who spent the whole game on the bench, until the ninth inning, when he got put in center field as a defensive replacement. And then his ridiculous leaping catch, and that heart-attack bobble, turns out to be the only thing between a Perfect Game and a Perfect Shame.

In the baseball novel that I've been writing in my head for the past 5 years, there is a game kind of like this. Joe Dove is on the mound in the ninth inning with two down, facing his 27th batter, who hits a long fly ball. His catcher Adam Marsh suddenly collapses, blood seeping out from his mitt, and Dove rushes to the plate... There is a reason that the catcher's hand is bleeding and a reason that Dove doesn't even look to see the fate of that fly ball. But you'll have to wait until I am not spending my life working late nights in the proposal tank to find out. And maybe I'll let you vote on my website to decide whether or not the ball is caught - the outcome isn't really critical to the story. The catcher is, however.

In other baseball news today, the Cards are licking their wounds by coming to Washington to take it out against the Nats. In the seventh, the Cards lead 4-1, and the game (already a makeup) is delayed due to the scattered thundershowers that are peppering the area. (At my house in Maryland, it's not raining, but there's a ton of lightning to the south.) Although the Nats did win a pair from the Mets this week, I have to assume that the Cards won't have much trouble against them. Happily, the Cards are off to Philly tomorrow, to take on more formidable competition. Let's hope the Mets stay the course, as they're on their way to Houston.

One more baseball tidbit: I've become so high tech. Last night I downloaded MLB At Bat onto the iPod Touch that was a free giveaway with my new computer. After 26 years as a software engineer, I hate to sound like a complete Luddite, but ... WOW. Lying in bed watching a live baseball game on an electronic toy is so Dick Tracy. I think I'll go lie on the couch and watch that ninth inning in Chicago again.