Perfection

This should be a post about improbable perfection. When a decidedly mediocre pitcher, toiling in AAA a mere month ago, managed to string together 27 consecutive outs. We would revel in the magic of the moment, and how he managed to accomplish the feat, and how happy he must be, and where we were when it happened. Instead, while many stand on the soapbox and preach for change and call for Jim Joyce's head, the umpire who robbed Armando Galarraga of baseball immortality, I learned a little last night that made me remember why I love and appreciate sports so much.

Baseball can be a difficult sport to appreciate. It is just such a damn difficult sport, where a so-called successful hitter really does not succeed seven times out of ten. It is perhaps one of the most imperfect sports, a history rife with steroids and segregation. It is such a subtle sport – one hanging curveball can swing the outcome of an entire game. And most of all, it is a human sport. There are no clocks. Strike zones are arbitrary.

Perfection is so hard to achieve. 27 up, 27 down. No hits, no walks, no errors, no hit batsmen. Even the pitcher, who gets credit for his perfection, relies on his teammates for roughly 2/3 of the outs. In a game so often muddled by improbable events, there is such a clean beauty to perfection. And rightfully so. In almost 200,000 games played in major league history, there have been just 20 perfect games, somehow including two in the past four weeks. There are just so many places where perfection can go wrong that it takes a little bit of skill, a lot of luck, and yes, sometimes human factors to obtain it.

Perfect games are lost in the 3rd inning. They're lost in the 6th inning. They're lost in the 8th inning. Sometimes, rarely, they're lost in the 9th inning. Each time, we wonder "What if?" What if the umpire widened the zone a little bit for the 4th inning walk? What if the outfielder hustled for the ball in the 3rd that he would've chased down in the 8th? Usually, the "what if" game is illegitimate. The whole game plays out differently. But... what if the umpire didn't botch the call at 1st base with two outs in the 9th inning?

Sadly, unfortunately, Jim Joyce did blow that call at first base with two outs in the 9th inning of a perfect game. And while talking heads, bloggers, and analysts rip Joyce and jump on the opportunity to extol the virtues of instant replay, the truth is that it is sad. It is sad that in a game so driven by history and numbers, Armando Galarraga's name will not go into the books as the 21st pitcher to throw a perfect game. It is sad that a respected umpire, who has made the correct call so many times in a 22-year career, made a one-time blunder that will outweigh his largely successful career. It is sad, until you consider the bigger picture.

"Sports do not build character. They reveal it." - Coach John Wooden

I am reminded of Coach Wooden's (our thoughts and prayers are with Coach right now) famous saying. In that split second, when he knew Joyce made the wrong call, and his unbridled, uncensored emotions percolated, Armando Galarraga revealed his true character. And it was down-to-earth modesty and humanity. No ego. Galarraga could have put up a stink, and no one, I mean NO ONE, would have faulted him for it. He could've stomped his feet, thrown his cap, spat flecks of spittle, and no one would've blamed him. Maybe most of us would've done that. Maybe most of us DID do that, in our living rooms, when we saw that. But he didn't.

No, he smiled. Not even the sarcastic "You have got to be effing kidding me" smile (okay, maybe it was a little sarcastic), but the "Really? Well, I guess that's it then" smile. And after the game, it was more of the same. Fans phoned death threats and analysts berated the quality of umpiring. Some called it an absolute travesty. Yet Galarraga, robbed of what will likely be the greatest highlight of his professional career, did not take the bait. He continued to smile, albeit sadly, as if to say "well, that's life."

"Nobody's perfect."- Armando Galarraga

Oh, the irony in that statement. You see, on Tuesday night, Armando Galarraga was perfect. He faced 28 batters, and he and his teammates magically, improbably, earned 28 outs. But additionally, and in my opinion, more importantly, Galarraga handled his imperfect game perfectly. In an environment rife with me-first prima donnas outraged at perceived injustices and chest pounding successes, he handled it with such humility and grace that made it okay to idolize an athlete again.

We live in a sports world that sensationalizes, cares more about ripping down than building up. Everything is overexaggerated. Best ever, worst ever, all-time. LeBron = king, Kobe = amazing, Ben = bad, Tiger = adulturer. So why can't we appreciate a story like this? When a pitcher accomplishes great feats athletically, and shows even more impressive grace personally. When an umpire butchers a call, but swallows his pride, apologizes, and truly, truly feels sorry. When a crusty manager, obligated to argue, argues, but knows how badly the umpire feels and admits what we all already know: it is what it is.

I'm not trying to make Galarraga out to be a saint. Maybe he has done imperfect things in his past. All of us have. But I will say this: he has perspective. When Galarraga said "nobody's perfect," he reminded us that baseball is just a sport. It is just a game. But like the rest of life, nobody is perfect.

When I was younger, I used to have so much trouble picking a favorite sport. When it was Fall, I'd say it was football. When it was Spring, I'd say basketball. And when it was Summer, I'd say baseball. Eventually, I settled on baseball. The numbers, the history, the lore of the game all attract me in an unparalleled way. I am a numbers geek. Baseball is king.

But screw the numbers. Screw history. I honestly don't care whether or not Selig retroactively overturns the call. Last night, I realized that it doesn't matter which sport is my favorite. What I love, and what will get me every single time, are those little moments in sport that show humanity. For a passionate sports fan like myself, I often revel in those moments when you truly feel those emotions. Usually that translates the desire to win, accomplish, amaze. But it doesn't always have to be that way. Sometimes, the other gestures, the less glamorous ones -- forgiveness, humility, grace -- are the ones that make you realize that sports, while still just a game, really do reflect life.

Over and over again, I try to put myself in Armando Galarraga's shoes. Would I have kicked dirt on the base? Shoved my paw in his face? Screamed and yelled, pleading my case? I don't know what I would have done. But I do know that I would be proud to do what Galarraga did: forgive and smile.