Friday, May 07, 2021

The Perfect Game

This week in baseball we almost witnessed an historic event. Baltimore Orioles pitcher John Means pitched a no-hitter on Wednesday, May 5th. This feat, while impressive, was almost historic because he was one technicality away from a perfect game. 

per·fec·tion - the condition, state, or quality of being free or as free as possible from all flaws or defects.

A perfect game in Major League Baseball is a victory by a pitcher (or combination of pitchers) that lasts a minimum of nine innings with no batter reaching first base. To achieve a perfect game, a team must not allow any opposing player to reach base by any means: no hits, walks, hit batsmen, uncaught third strikes, catcher's or fielder's interference, or fielding errors; in short, "27 up, 27 down" (for a nine-inning game). Over the 150 years of Major League Baseball history, and over 218,500 games, there have only been 23 official perfect games. 

For one game, everything works (at least for the winning team) the way it should, starting with the supreme confidence and control of the pitcher, and his catcher who calls a perfect game, and his teammates who defend their territory without blemish, through nine innings of baseball. 27 outs. Perfection, flawless execution by everyone who was part of that winning effort. An experience that most people can only dream about. Where every decision is correct, there is no second-guessing, no mistakes in the execution, where the universe and humanity align to create a rare moment in time, perfection.

But what happens when you are one mistake from perfection?

Means' no-hitter was almost a perfect game, but a technicality prevented that. In the third inning, Means struck out Mariners left fielder Sam Haggerty, but the ball got away from the catcher for a wild pitch and Haggerty reached first base. Haggerty was then caught stealing. So Means didn't allow a hit, a walk, a hit batsman and no runner reached on an error while he faced the minimum batters possible. But it was not a perfect game. Tough one, huh?

Yet Mean's performance still doesn't reach the pinnacle of the missed-it-by-this-much games in history, that belongs to the "Almost Perfect" game of 2010.

On June 2, 2010, Detroit Tigers pitcher Armando Galarraga nearly became the 21st pitcher, (at that time) in Major League history to throw a perfect game. Facing the Cleveland Indians, Galarraga retired the first 26 batters he faced. His bid for a perfect game was ruined on what should have been the final out, when first base umpire Jim Joyce incorrectly ruled that Indians batter Jason Donald reached first base safely on a ground ball. 

Joyce was tearful and apologetic to Galarraga after the game upon realizing he had made the incorrect call. Galarraga was forgiving and understanding of the mistake. In fact, Galarraga was the most prominent of the many people throughout Major League Baseball who subsequently voiced their support for Joyce. The sportsmanship demonstrated by Galarraga and Joyce earned them both widespread praise for their handling of the incident.

And so I submit for your approval the opinion that this game, the "Almost Perfect" game in 2010, should rank above all the other perfect games in baseball history. For the lessons and sportsmanship displayed that night far surpass the game of baseball and transcended into revealing the greatest virtues that mankind can display. To think more highly of others than yourself is a rarity, and perhaps even rarer on the field of competition. Competition fuels ego, and ego feeds pride and self-importance, and yet two men, at the height of their respective professions, on a night when for 26 outs everyone was perfect, rose above the game, rose above a mistake, and demonstrated for the world a lesson greater than even the achievement of a perfect game.

I would like to advance the idea of renaming that game from the "Almost Perfect" game to "The Perfect Game". For everyone involved on the Tigers team was perfect, but because of the mistake of Jim Joyce, an umpire, that game's historic value was supposed to be lost in time. But the opposite has happened. We remember that game, not for the athletic achievement of perfection, but for an even greater perfection, the act of forgiveness. 

The actions of Armando Galarraga, the grace he displayed, the emotional maturity he lived out in a moment in the spotlight where no would have blamed him for any display of anger and frustration, was extraordinary. It was a moment that transcended sports. It was a moment in which two men acted with perfection after a imperfect decision. That is why that game is still remembered today.

I want to close with these words from Andy Baggot who wrote these words in his column the day after that game.

"One man's immortality was ruined by another man's error last night. But isn't a bigger mistake being made here? Instead of focusing on the whine surrounding the Imperfect Game, I think we should be celebrating an awesome moment of humanity. I think we should stop for a long minute and appreciate what two men — strangers essentially — did in the face of unfathomable anger and disappointment.

After Joyce watched his gaffe on a TV replay, he stood before a group of reporters and took full responsibility. He admitted he cost Galarraga a perfect game. He said he understood all the invectives hurled at him by Tigers manager Jim Leyland, his players and the fans at Comerica Park. He took time to note that Galarraga didn't take part in the verbal assault saying, "I would have been the first person in my face," Joyce said, "and he never said a word to me."

Joyce ultimately left the umpire's dressing room and sought out Galarraga in the Detroit clubhouse. Joyce had tears in his eyes as he apologized. Before Joyce made that journey, Galarraga was told the umpire was distraught over his mistake. "Tell him no problem," Galarraga said. "I can go tell him. I should probably talk to him. It will be better."

To be a Major League umpire requires a certain sense of stubbornness in the face of criticism, but Joyce never let that show.

To be a 28-year-old professional athlete requires a certain level of selfishness, but Galarraga never put that on display.

In one twist of fate, we learned more about Joyce and Galarraga than we would have had the right call been made. We got a look inside their souls. We got a chance to see what they deem important. And we are all better for the experience."