The Baseball Gods Must Be Crazy

Gee, I wish I had the literary skills of Roger Angell, sportswriter emeritus for the New Yorker. Only his graceful prose would be commensurate with the high lyrical tragedy that befell two baseball personages whose lives intersected dramatically in Detroit last night.

The incident has become well-known and soon to be an indelible part of baseball lore. Armando Galaragga, a journeyman pitcher struggling to retain his position on the staff of the Detroit Tigers, put together a masterful game (albeit against the horrendous Indians), and went into the 9th inning with 24 consecutive outs.

The 25th out itself was worthy of any highlight reel MLB-TV can compile in the next decade. Center fielder Austin Jackson runs wildly after a long ball headed toward the fence, then makes an astounding grab over his shoulder. In itself it was one of the two or three greatest catches I've ever seen, as close as possible to approximating Willie Mays' famous 1954 World Series play robbing Vic Wertz. The situation magnified its significance, although this was a regular-season game whose outcome was not in doubt. It also, spookily, mirrored a similar perfect-game-saving catch by DeWayne Wise at the same juncture in Mark Buehrle's gem of 2009.

So it appeared a fait accompli after another ground out, and a then a final grounder fielded to his right by Miguel Cabrera and thrown to Galaragga covering. But then umpire Jim Joyce had the weirdest of brain farts and called the runner safe. Why this happened is uncertain. My Rotisserie buddy "Kevin" opined that Joyce was trying too hard not to be sentimental and bent over backward not to give Galaragga a break. Who knows? It was a moment now simultaneously lost forever and captured forever.

It was one of the worst calls I've ever seen, especially given the situation. It compared to Don Denkinger's blown call that lost the World Series for the Cardinals in 1985. It was one of the cruelest moments I've seen in a game, worse than my previous least favorite, the end of Mike Mussina's perfect game bid in 2001 on a flair by Carl Everett with two out in the ninth. But at least that was a real hit.

The practical significance of this event was negligible. Armando still got his shutout, the Tigers won, the Indians lost. The only persons truly affected were Galaragga, who lost his placement--perhaps--in the record books; and Jim Joyce, who will have to bear the infamy of this professional lapse for the rest of his career. Also, the many baseball aficionados fascinated by the preponderance of special pitching performances this season. Had Joyce made the correct call this would have been the third perfect game in a period of a month, a statistical peculiarity that says nothing but that there is a randomness to all events.

And it makes Jackson's amazing catch part of the tragedy. After all, that should have been a hit, and then there would have been no controversy. But controversy abounds now. The Michigan governor issued a ridiculous edict proclaiming the game a Perfect Game. Commissioner Bud Selig has been besieged with demands to overrule Joyce, which won't be happening, but also to reconsider broader instant replay rules, which may.

If there's anything salvageable about this miscarriage of justice, this proof that baseball, like life, just isn't fair, it's the gentlemanly reactions of the two participants. Galaragga was understated, acknowledging with deep irony that "nobody is perfect," and Joyce, to his credit, quickly admitted that he blew the call and apologized tearfully to Galaragga. And when has an umpire ever apologized to a player?

So Galaragga will never get that perfect game, like Roy Halladay and Dallas Braden did earlier this season, but his near-miss will be remembered a lot longer, like Harvey Haddix's unbelievable 12 perfect innings that ended in a 13th-inning loss to the Braves in 1959. And I would not be surprised to see him on the talk-show circuit, for what that's worth.

But as much as I'd like to see Galaragga get his due, there is something hyperbolic about a perfect game that makes it so rare. It requires perfection not just from the pitcher but from every fielder. The slightest bobble could turn such a masterpiece into a less spectacular no-hitter. Now it appears that even the umpires must be flawless.

So, although it's a game, baseball can serve up cruelty as well as any institution. The Cards should have won in 1985. The Yanks should have won in 2001. And beyond the boundaries of the game, where life intervenes, there is much more profound tragedy. Nick Adenhart pitches a shutout for the Angels in front of his father and is killed three hours later by a drunken driver. Roberto Clemente hops a rescue plane to Nicaragua and dies for his efforts, his body never recovered. Donnie Moore gives up a poorly-timed home run and shoots himself a year later. Thurman Munson, Darryl Kile, Cory Lidle, Lyman Bostock, Ken Caminiti, Ray Chapman, etc.

But then there is the odd case of Enrique Wilson, a Yankee reserve in 2001, who was going to stay in New York for the World Series victory parade that never came. So he flew home early to the Dominican Republic. Had the Yankees had that parade, he would have been aboard a plane that crashed in Jamaica Bay with no survivors.

You just never know.