Sunday, August 8, 2010

Fault and Fracture

It wasn't long ago that I seemed to have an impressive ability to walk my way into near-no hitters. I'd wander around Deadtown Nowhere for a while, come home, and find some guy making the minimum facing the minimum through 5 or 6 innings. Of course there's no connection and jinxes and stuff aren't real, but then again....

Yesterday afternoon I'm mere steps from returning to Canada after a weekend in Pittsburgh doing all manner of #Heist-ey activities (more on that belowlater). After Wilner's interview with a disconcertingly accented Aaron Cibia, the game was on! Morrow mows down the Rays through the first few innings, I make a brief stop, all is well.

With a spouse suffering from inevitable baseball fatigue, the game went off for a while until she dozed off. Back to Jerry and Alan, I am shocked by what I hear. "Did he just say Brandon Morrow has 13 strikeouts???" Not only that but he hasn't allowed a hit? Zounds!

Morrow keeps rolling but so does my fine German automobile. Overmanagin' Joe Maddon drags his feet and screws around, trying to disrupt the Morrow express. Right about this time I realize I'm going to reach my destination before Morrow reaches destiny. I feel sick. I slow down as subtly as possible. Making the turn onto rural sideroad X as the top of 9 starts, I think I might be okay. Zobrist walks. Sickness once again.

We pull into the baby sitting in-laws place and there, after her first weekend at somebody else's place, is my kid. All cute and little and fun sponging. Oh shit, this is really going to happen. The kid's mom dives from the moving vehicle, desperate to smush the punim of her spawn. I dawdle in the driver's seat, opening the windows while leaving the radio up loud. The child chases into the house, Crawford lines out.

I'm defeated. I'm getting justified death eyes from a patient wife. The Kid cries out for me to come in, the very understanding grandparents —who disrupted their very busy lives for a weekend so I could drink Yuengling and shout my phone number at Troy Tulowitzki— eye me warily - this is it. I turn off the car, head inside to grab my offspring; confident in the knowledge that my actions have no impact on Brandon Morrow's slider.

Ten seconds later, my pocket vibrates. I grab the phone, hoping for the best. I don't finish reading the text before my daughter grabs the phone from my hands. The best is a relative thing.

AP Photo via Daylife.


  1. great post! i think all of us who were listening/watching had the same type of feelings...better to have not seen it play out, as if in slow-motion...the angst, anticipation and awe...morrow is all kinds of awesome, no-no or not.

  2. Pretty neato recognition from's daily roundup:

    Of all the memorable pitching performances on the diamond this season, it could be Brandon Morrow's 17-strikeout gem in a 1-0 win over the Rays that shines the most.

    That's not from a Toronto sportswriter -- that's a non-Jays-specific, American media outlet saying that Brandon Morrow's gem on Sunday was (arguably) more impressive than any of the 3 no-hitters and 3 (err... 2) perfect games that have already been thrown this season. And I completely agree.

  3. The following is pathetic and true:

    I walked into the house as the game began, fresh from a few hours of yardwork in 40 degree humidexed heat. Told myself I'd have a shower to wash away the layers of sweat. Watched Morrow dominate. Thought to myself, lemme just sit here for a few minutes and watch....and became so wrapped up in the affair I was too scared to move.

    And so I sat in my own filth for the entire 9 innings. Talk about a depressing shower.

  4. Mmmmm, Yuengling!

    I discovered that beer when I was in Philly for our 'Home Games'.

  5. Wow - what a roller coaster ride that was. The way Morrow was dealing, I truly thought he had that no-hitter in the bag. It always sucks when an excuse-me hit is the one that breaks up the no-hitter.


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