Perfect Imperfection
June 3rd, 2010Baseball is the greatest game God ever allowed man to play. It is a grand nuance of strict rules. It is played best by a gentleman who tolerates a little cheating. It is a game where unwritten rules are equally as important as the written ones. It is an island of celestial perfection in a sea of flawed amiss. It is as simple as running around in more circles then your opponent, yet as complex as reading a breaking ball.
Baseball is a perfect game played by imperfect men. It is also officiated by the mortal. I wish that I could say I am mad about what happened at Comerica Park in downtown Detroit on June 2, 2010. It was an infamous event perpetrated by the virtuous. The honest truth is that anger never entered my mind. The shock choked out every other emotion besides confusion. I kept looking for that one thing that legendary umpire Jim Joyce saw that I did not, I never saw that one thing.
After a full day of digestion, I also believe there was only one human being who could of possibly saw Jason Donald win that race between his foot and the bag and Armando Galarraga’s glove and the baseball. That one man was a well respected official with more than two decades experience in the elite class of his profession. That man was Jim Joyce, but don’t blame him, he was possessed by the baseball gods.
In the previous one hundred-ten years of history since the American League and National League joined forces, there have been only 18 games of perfection. There have been two already this year, how could we possibly have another right now? It may throw off the whole cosmic axis that holds this island of celestial perfection from sinking into that sea of flawed amiss.
It appeared to me that Joyce’s original intent was to call that play as he saw it, as we all saw, but then some force caused him to lift his arms in the air to signal “safe.” The only man in the world with the power to deny reality exercised that power at that moment. A sacrafice had to be made to the gods of baseball, and that sacrafice was the feeling of injustice in the aftermath.
In the end, my anger never came, but content did from the first moments that I saw the smile on Galarraga’s face. If it weren’t for this incident at Comerica Park we may have never known the true character of these two men. It reminds us all of how a professional reacts to adversity, with grace and dignity.
Armando Galarraga is now “My Tiger.”