The Promised Land: Bruce lights Reds' way

First of all, I don't know how people find the time and energy to keep a blog going. I fear that this experiment is hanging by the thinnest of threads, going by the time it takes me to start on one after an event and the steady dwindling of posts since it all started back in June.

But I can't let the events at Great American Ball Park from a few days ago pass by without mention.

Every now and then, you have the opportunity to attend a game and come away exhausted, saying, "Good Lord ... that one had it all!"

And then you have a game like Tuesday's.

Going into this particular game against the Astros, the Reds needed only a win or a Cardinals loss to clinch the National League Central. But before we get into what happened that night, with Aaron and I in attendance from Section 134, we need to at least acknowledge the intricacies that allowed us to be in the right place at the right time.

From a more direct standpoint, the Cardinals were playing the Pirates the night before, with the Reds idle. If the Pirates beat the Cardinals, the Reds would have clinched that night without even having to play. Since we were planning to go to the game on Tuesday, we obviously wanted to see a clincher, so we had to subtly root for the Cardinals to stay alive one more day.

They did. But that's a very dangerous game to be playing if you're a Reds fan. The only clincher I saw in person was the Marlins clinching a World Series berth in Game 7 of the 2003 NLCS at Wrigley Field ... not something I care to remember, but something I still think about quite a bit to this day. We had the opportunity to see the Red Sox clinch against the Twins when we went to Fenway Park for the first time a few years ago, but they lost. So, I justified our actions by merely being a "fan of the game." Aaron, on the other hand, tested the jinx gods to a somewhat alarming degree being the die-hard Reds fan that he is.

But when you go back throughout the season, you think of the countless tight wins or losses by all the teams involved that, had they gone a different way, would have caused the stars to align differently.

Keeping it Reds-centric, Travis Wood's near perfect game that Cincinnati went on to lose comes to mind, as does Joey Votto's game-tying homer against the Phillies in the bottom of the ninth that nearly brought them all the way back. You remember that Brooks Conrad grand slam that Laynce Nix nearly caught at the wall that erased an eight-run Reds lead. If Cincinnati won any of those, this would not have happened for us.

And those are just off the top of my head ... I also don't think I've had a Tuesday night off work all summer. The infinite amount of scenarios that allowed for us to be at that game and have a chance to see the Reds clinch is mind-boggling.

In other words, everything had to come together perfectly.

Jay Bruce, having no idea what he's going to do a few hours later,
chats with Scott Rolen before the game.

But there we were. And as the Reds were in a tight one early, our attention started to wander to the Pirates/Cardinals scoreboard. With the Reds struggling to get any sort of traction, we were hoping for a little assistance from the Pirates so that we could at least celebrate a clincher in some form that night ... with Aaron even starting a "Let's Go Pirates!" chant when they promptly took an early lead.

Then, there was a singular moment that seemed to set in motion the extraordinary events that followed. With the Astros up, 2-1, in the third, Carlos Lee tattooed a pitch from Edinson Volquez to straightaway center field, a certain two-run shot that would've given Houston a daunting three-run lead.

But just before everyone gave it up for gone, Drew Stubbs began to measure the ball at the wall ... he leaped ... and erased those two runs from the scoreboard with an unbelievable catch over the wall. "That was like a Reds two-run homer," Aaron said.

From then on, there was a buzz the rest of the night ... as if everyone was waiting for the Reds to uncoil and strike -- as they have all season. And when Brandon Phillips tied it up on a grounder in the sixth, it intensified. When the Reds got to the Astros bullpen after being mystified by Wandy Rodriguez all night, you could feel a weight being lifted ... and a sense that it was only a matter of time.

The time was three innings later, marked by the ninth-inning entrance of Aroldis Chapman -- he of the 105-mph fastball. This was our first time seeing him pitch live, and it was pure electricity. He topped out at 101 mph that night -- nearly giving us a shot at a screaming foul ball that bloodied the mouth of a kid a few rows in front of us while we braced ourselves to play the ricochet and attempt to grab the souvenir -- and he seemed to inject the crowd with a B-12 shot, personally shifting the growing momentum completely over to the good side. He retired the Astros 1-2-3, to set the stage for the bottom of the ninth.

Now, if you go back to the Votto post above, Aaron and I tend to have some prophetic powers when we're at these games. All night, when Stubbs made that catch, or when Jay Bruce grounded into a double play with the bases loaded in the sixth inning, for example, we said that it's cool, it keeps the walk-off intact. And before Bruce stepped into the batter's box to lead off the ninth, Aaron took it a step further, saying that Bruce should just hit the first pitch for a walk-off shot to end it.

Well, what happens next is a true story, and since there are no words that exist to describe what happened, please refer to the following video to experience for yourself ... with the help of Marty Brennaman and another Bruce.



CLICK TO WATCH A truly remarkable moment.

To put it in perspective, Bruce is only the fifth player in Major League history to hit a playoff-clinching home run, joining Bobby Thomson, Hank Aaron, Alfonso Soriano and Steve Finley. To accomplish this, he had to overcome a tough night in which he had been 0-for-3 with two strikeouts and the crucial double play. He had to face Tim Byrdak, who does not give up homers to left-handed hitters.

But he was waiting for a fastball.

He got one.

And, buoyed by Stubbs' catch, Volquez's gritty start, Chapman's heat and clutch contributions from the players -- like Phillips, like Scott Rolen, like Arthur Rhodes -- who have gotten them to this point, the Reds quenched their 15-year playoff thirst with their 22nd final at-bat win on Bruce's 22nd homer of the season.

In other words, everything came together perfectly.

Strap on the feedbags, it's Dime-A-Dog Night!

View from our seats: Huntington Park at dusk

Dime-a-Dog Night 2009 photo gallery

Mom, Dad and I got in a second annual Columbus Clippers Dime-A-Dog Night extravaganza last night at Huntington Park. If you're wondering, the answer is yes... 10 cents per hot dog does indeed bring out the comical gluttony in Midwestern folk. We all choked down five of those puppies, until Dad -- thinking only of others, who were trying not to waste their box of hot dogs -- offered his services and made it a cool six on the evening.

Simply stunning ...

It's always a great time, especially on a perfect summer night as last night was. To cap it off, the Clippers belted a pair of dingers and walked off on an infield single, edging the Toledo Mud Hens, 4-3.

Columbus Clippers, ring your bell!

Dime-a-Dog Night: 50 cents doesn't buy what it used to.

Fill up the trough, it's feedin' time!

C'mon, folks... Please eat your first five before ordering more.

A view from the cheap seats

Downtown Columbus upon our exit.

Already missing Lou Piniella

"It's a good day to remember, and also, it's a good day to forget." -- Lou Piniella

I think every Cubs fan has shared that sentiment more than a handful of times on any given day during any given season, so to hear it from an emotional, albeit laughing, Lou Piniella as he gave his final press conference today after Chicago's 16-5 loss to Atlanta, felt sadly appropriate.

What doesn't feel appropriate is the way Piniella is leaving after spending a half-century in baseball, and as abruptly as his spectacular career ended today, I didn't want Lou to pass into history without saying a few words ... OK, more than a few.

It's been a rough year for Piniella. Watching the offseason's high expectations fizzle into a team that hasn't been above .500 all season is tough enough. But his good friend, George Steinbrenner, passed away, he's had to take a leave from the Cubs to attend his uncle's funeral just a few weeks ago, and another to be with his 90-year-old mother, whose health is failing.

It's to be with his mother that Piniella has chosen to step down today, rather than at the end of the season as he announced last month, and to keep from being a distraction to the Cubs.

"Rather than continue to go home and come back, it's not fair to the team and it's not fair to the players," he said. "The best thing is to step down and go home and take care of my mother."

On the surface, today felt good, it felt right. After all, it was a beautiful, high-sky summer day at Wrigley Field, perfect for a swan song -- "I noticed things around the park I hadn't noticed before," said Piniella. "I wasn't daydreaming, but I was very cognizant of the things around here."

And there was Braves manager Bobby Cox in the opposing dugout. He's retiring after this season and a legendary career, too. Cox has 2,485 wins in 29 years as a manager, while Piniella finished with 1,835 wins in 23. So it was a classic scene when both iconic skippers brought out the lineup cards before the game, an event that was already set up to honor Cox's final game at Wrigley, but became twice as nostalgic after Piniella's pregame announcement.

And there were the fans, cheering the scene between Piniella and Cox that caused the Cubs skipper to momentarily break down as he doffed his cap to the crowd. There was the ovation the crowd gave Piniella after he made a pitching change in the seventh inning. And there was Piniella's final press conference -- "This is the final final," he said -- during which he broke down with genuine emotion, but interjected classic Sweet Lou humor along with the passion that had defined his career and now fittingly closed it.

But underneath it all, things felt unsettling. Cox is riding a wave of success and will likely be headed to the postseason in his final year before retirement, all the while enjoying a memorable farewell tour that has been full of tributes, honors and well-wishes at every stop. Even here, at Wrigley, the right-field Miller Lite billboard paid tribute to Cox with a “BRAVO BOBBY! CHEERS TO 29 YEARS!” shout out.

But where is Lou's farewell tour? Where are the tributes and accolades for one of baseball's most memorable characters and a skipper who won three Manager of the Year Awards, a pennant and a World Series title? Most recently, as Cubs.com's Carrie Muskat has noted nicely, he's the first Cubs manager in a century to lead the team to consecutive postseason appearances -- helping to "raise the bar here for the entire organization," as general manager Jim Hendry said -- and has been in uniform since his first season as a player in 1962.

I certainly have nothing against Cox, because he deserves this sendoff, this feeling of closure. But Lou does, too, and it's hard to be stuck with the memory of his final exit from a baseball field being a quick tip of the cap to Cox, and then subtly disappearing into the tunnel to the clubhouse after an ignominious defeat.

I guess I've always had a soft spot for Piniella. After all, we go way back. Mom and Dad like to tell me I sat right behind Lou in right field during the 1976 World Series at Riverfront Stadium -- I was five months from being born, but still. And we loved him here in Ohio, when he led the Reds to their World Series title in 1990.

So when he came to manage the Cubs, I remember thinking how fitting that was, and what a perfect sendoff this could be for the guy -- leading this team to its first World Series title in, we all know how long. That was the way I felt Piniella would and should go out, drenched in champagne and doffing his cap to the crowd as the toast of Chicago and the baseball world with a big Lou grin, not tears.

Instead, it was a more fitting Cubs-like send off ... You see, Piniella's final season also began with a 16-5 loss to the Braves. To bookend his final chapter with this ugly symmetry, not being able to leave on his own terms and going through an emotionally tough time in his personal life is not the way any baseball fan would have liked to see him walk off into the sunset.

So having felt a little gloomy all day, I'm going to feel sad about this for a while. And I think baseball will as well, because the game needs the old-school guys like Piniella, like Cox, who bring us a glimpse and a feel for a different era, keeping us connected to the game's rich past.

I hope he stays involved with baseball in some capacity, I'd like to see him in the broadcast booth again. But soon I'm going to start looking forward to the day when he takes, what I believe to be, his rightful place in Cooperstown.

He'll deliver his induction speech in classic Sweet Lou style. It will be genuine, it will be passionate, it will be funny and, as Terence Mann says, it will remind us of all that once was good, and it could be again.

Review: We Believe

It's been a miserable season for the Chicago Cubs, and it was a struggle to put in "We Believe" at this point of the season. But as it played out, I thought what better time to renew the optimism?

Directed by John Scheinfeld, the documentary surrounds the 2008 Cubs as they play in their 100th season without having won a World Series.

I love how the film starts, with the neighborhoods of Chicago waking up, intercut with shots of Wrigley Field in the morning -- newspaper deliverymen, a lone jogger along Lake Michigan, restaurants preparing breakfast and people commuting to work -- and then it all coming together for Opening Day. Metaphors galore!

The film isn't a single-layered story about the Cubs and their overemotional fans. Scheinfeld weaves together a rich history of the city of Chicago, the Cubs' history, the 2008 season, stories of fans and capsules of players, creating the backdrop for the unique setting in which the Cubs play.

In doing so, there are moments where some of the stories about Chicago and the Cubs are rehashed versions that we already know, and sometimes it feels as if the film is all over the place, trying to cram all the story angles in. But, for me, it's the heart of the movie that prevails here.

I hope people who are not fans of the team don't see this film as simply a marketing ploy or a Chamber of Commerce video for the city, because that's not the case. Scheinfeld said he did not set out to do a film about the Cubs, but about the relationship between a city and its team, which I think any fan of baseball can relate to.

There are a handful of Cubs greats that share their insight, but since it isn't a history of the Cubs, not every notable figure is featured, like Harry Caray for instance -- although Ryan Dempster's strong impression of Harry saying, "How can he be Puerto Rican and lose the ball in the sun, I just don't get it!" is hysterical.

But while Scheinfeld utilizes this global notion of a fan base identifying with its team, this film obviously has a distinct Chicago flavor. As celebrities, city officials, members of the team and the average fan discuss the Cubs and their long history, there are scenes and reflections of taking the train to Wrigley, waiting in line on the streets in a cold rain for the gates to open on Opening Day, skipping school/work to go to the game, and feeling 1930's Chicago by walking the neighborhood around the park that fully capture the feeling of living there -- and, for me, provide quite a dose of nostalgia.

There were some pretty big moments in that National League-best 97-win season the Cubs had, and I remember feeling that they had to be destined to do it that year.

Wrigley rejoices after the May 2008 comeback against the Rockies.

The film touches on Carlos Zambrano's no-hitter, the seven players they sent to the All-Star Game and, one I can personally relate to, the incredible late-game comeback the Cubs made against the Rockies in May. Down 9-1 early, they scored six runs in the seventh inning, capped by Mark DeRosa's go-ahead home run that won it. I was at that game with a group of friends, including my pal Burke (check out his film blog here), who was visiting Wrigley for the first time. After the sheer mania died down and people finally started for the exits after lingering to celebrate, I looked at him and said, "Well, that's the best I could do for your first Cubs game ..."

That game, that season was yet another representation of the highest of highs and the lowest of lows that Cubs fans seemingly go through on a yearly basis, and this documentary captures this feeling. One minute they seem destined to finally do it, and the next minute they are systematically swept in the NLDS for a second consecutive year.

But in the face of that, the film closes on that perpetual note of loyalty and optimism -- with the perfection of Bruce Springsteen's "Land of Hope and Dreams" playing in the background -- as Cubs fans (again) renew their hope for the future, mirroring the sense of a new dawn that this film opened with.

Past meets present: Chris Sabo returns

Weekend photo gallery

Let me make one thing crystal clear here before we go any further. I am a Cubs fan -- for better or for worse, mostly worse -- lest you get the wrong idea from all the Reds data that has been posted as this blog has started out.

Marty Brennaman prepares to introduce Chris Sabo and Pedro Borbon

THAT BEING SAID, it's been cool to be back in Reds country where I grew up, and I have to admit it's good to see them playing so well -- since the Cubs apparently aren't going to challenge them. And I really got a kick out of this past weekend, during which the organization celebrated the 1990 World Series title.

Starting with Randy Myers and Norm Charlton -- two-thirds of the Nasty Boys -- along with Chris Sabo spending an entertaining few minutes during the series-opening television broadcast, to Sabo's Reds Hall of Fame induction, it's been a nostalgic weekend of reminiscing.

We went to the Reds-Rockies game on a stormy Saturday night to claim our coveted Sabo bobbleheads -- make no mistake, this promotion was marked on our calendar for weeks -- and watch as he, along with Pedro Borbon, were inducted. It was great to see "Spuds" again after all these years (even though he beat out Mark Grace for Rookie of the Year in 1988 -- we don't hold grudges here), his family and the buzz he created throughout the packed Great American Ball Park.

And his Sabo-esque speech certainly did not disappoint. The video I have from the game seems to be a bit large to run here, but MLB.com encapsulated the ceremony. I'll see about uploading the entire video later. Meantime, you'll have to settle for a brief clip of Sabo's ceremonial first pitch -- an "I don't want to be out here any longer than I absolutely have to" toss:

But capping the night was a brush with fate. Aaron was a huge Sabo fan growing up -- I was a big Paul O'Neill guy, and with the two being pals, we had a good time with it back then. There's an excellent article in the Cincinnati Enquirer, by the way, written by John Erardi this weekend, that sheds a little light on those two -- The Odd Couple -- during their Reds days.

Where's Chris Sabo?

So it felt a little more than coincidental to notice that Sabo made his way over toward where we were sitting and watched part of the game with some folks he knew, just a section away. As fans started to realize he was there, he started to get mobbed with autograph and photo requests while he was watching the game. It was a tantalizing opportunity to be that close and not drop by, and I played the devil on Aaron's shoulder to an extent, prompting him to go over -- "He's right there, man.. your childhood hero ... you can't be this close and not try and meet him..."

In other words, probably being a needling prick.

But Aaron wasn't biting. He didn't want to bother him while he was trying to watch the game, and he was content with the night as it was.

Later, Aaron got up to take a trip to the men's room, and lil' Sierra decided she would go with -- a key development. Because that prompted them to go to a family bathroom nearer to our section. To be honest, it crossed my mind to give Aaron my camera "just in case," but before I could, they were already gone and up the stairs.

And it is here that fate intervened.

Sure enough, whilst standing in line for the family loo, Mr. Sabo happened to be walking by, giving Aaron his golden opportunity after all to shake hands, say a few quick words, and settle for an admittedly grainy cell phone shot as Sabo waved and moved on.

It was a brief, but genuine, moment. He declared his night made, accompanied by the Reds' 8-1 victory, and didn't have to selfishly join the throngs of folks who were clamoring for the guy's attention to make it happen.

In other words: Just be cool and relax in situations like these. Because if it's meant to be ... it'll be.

Wood you believe it?!

Astonishing game in Philadelphia tonight.

The Cincinnati Reds' Travis Wood, making his third Major League start, carried a perfect game into the ninth inning before it was broken up by a double by the Phillies' Carlos Ruiz -- who was just activated from the disabled list earlier in the day.

The problem for Wood, and the Reds, was that he was dueling Roy Halladay -- who threw a perfecto of his own earlier this season -- and the game was scoreless. It became a battle of the bullpens as the game went into the 11th, where Ruiz hit another double and scored the winning run on Jimmy Rollins' single. It was the third consecutive walk-off loss the Phillies dealt the Reds in the first three games of this four-game series.

The game was spectacular to watch, albeit excruciating for Reds fans, and it prompted a most intriguing National League-style scenario in the eighth inning.

The Reds, believe it or not, are in a pennant race, leading their division by two games -- and every win is monumental. But with the score tied at zero and Wood working on his perfect game, Miguel Cairo led off the eighth with a double and was bunted over to third. Halladay then struck out Ryan Hanigan, giving the Reds two outs -- and whose spot was up next? Wood.

Here is an extremely rare situation, and an agonizing decision for a manager to make. You have to win this game, and yet you just can't pinch-hit for a pitcher who is throwing a perfect game. So what do you do? Well, Dusty Baker did what every manager in baseball would and should do. You let the kid hit, so he can stay in the game.

But by doing that, is that as good as admitting that the opportunity to throw a perfect game is more important than winning the game? Letting your pitcher hit instead of bringing in a pinch-hitter, who has a better chance of getting that run home? I don't know. It's such a razor-thin line you have to run there, and I'd hate to have to be in that position.

And how poetic it would have been had Wood calmly stepped into the box and helped his own cause with a sharp RBI single back up the middle, giving the Reds the lead and clearing his path to history ...

Instead, he struck out to end the threat, and what would prove to be the Reds' hope of winning the game -- whether they'll look back on this game as October nears remains to be seen. But Baker gave solid rationale for the decision he had to make afterward.

"It was a little tough when he has a perfect game," he said. "You have to give the kid an opportunity to get that because how many times in your life are you going to have that opportunity? At the same time, we had to reward his performance. There were two outs in the inning, if there was one out, then you have a decision to make. Plus, he's a pretty good hitter."

Well said, and nobody to blame in this. The Reds' bats were facing a guy who's as stingy as they come and just weren't able to break through for the rookie. And, sadly, Wood will always be left to wonder what may have happened had the Reds faced a different pitcher on this night.

Until, perhaps, his next bid.

Say it ain't so, Joe!

View from our seats: Joey Votto follows through on his game-tying three-run homer.

Nobody will ever figure out baseball ... and if I ever, even subtley, allude to the fact that I have, thump me on the ol' skull, will you please?

Not sure where this one is going to go, but let me start by asking a question: When you're watching a baseball game in which a team is facing a seemingly insurmountable deficit yet comes all the way back to tie in dramatic fashion, is it just me, or does it seem to be that the rallying team goes on to lose anyway?

Maybe it's a recent phenomenon, maybe it's always been this way, maybe it's an illusion and completely untrue, maybe it's having watched too many Cubs games, but it feels like more often than not, a team that rallies from behind in thrilling fashion and ties it up -- but is not able to take the lead -- late, still goes on to lose either in the ninth inning or in extras.

I have no stats to confirm or refute this and, probably more accurately, I'm too lazy to do any research involved, but I was front and center for a case in point last night involving the Cincinnati Reds at Great American Ball Park.

Forget the fact that this year's Reds team had won 24 games in come-from-behind fashion going into last night's game against the Philadelphia Phillies, 13 of which have been in their last at-bat. The Reds were down by five runs early, but chipped away to pull within three runs when the ninth inning rolled around.

After two quick outs, and the next three batters being the top of the lineup in Brandon Phillips, Orlando Cabrera and Joey Votto, this was the basic premise of a conversation Aaron and I had just before Phillips stepped in:

Aaron: Just get on, Phillips.. somehow... get two on for Votto..
Jeremy: Yeah, if Phillips gets on that's huge, b/c no way Cabrera goes 0-for-5
Aaron: And Votto will tie it up with a three-run homer.. I want it to be a no-doubter...
Jeremy: Man, that would be... humongous...
Aaron: This place would be nuts
Jeremy: I can't even imagine.. And then watch them lose in extras... it always seems like that happens when a team comes back to tie.. they just lose anyway..

I don't actually think either of us thought that was how it would go down -- but Phillips drew a walk and Cabrera promptly singled to bring up Votto, who, sure enough, could bring the Reds all the way back yet again from the verge of defeat with one swing.

And after a coaches visit to the mound, Phillies closer Brad Lidge battled Votto to a 1-1 count, before Votto crushed Aaron's "no-doubter" to the Cool Zone in right-center field to tie this baby up.

Aaron rejoices with Reds fans after Joey Votto's homer.

Now, if you could have heard how loud the place was -- the fans, the fireworks, The Brennamans -- feel the electricity, see the curtain call and all the players at the top step of the dugout, and trying to compute the improbability of everything falling into place that perfectly -- with 2 outs -- you'd have to logically think that the Reds would have to go on and win that game... the surge of momentum has to be almost tangible, and blowing that kind of lead on the road would have to be crippling for the Phillies.

Or maybe by assuming that, you drastically underestimate the resiliency and professionalism of a big league team -- this superhuman ability to respond at any time, under any sort of duress, to recapture what was rightfully yours and finish what you started.

Well, the latter was certainly the case again last night, because in the very next inning, the Phillies put up a three-spot to inexplicably waste the theatrics from a half-inning before, lending even more credence to the aforementioned theory.

But before Aaron and I, in our pomposity, had a chance to think we had it all figured out, the baseball gods threw their own curveball at us to turn this theory completely on its ear.

Yes, the Phillies went on to win this game by bouncing back with three runs in the 10th inning, but they scored those three runs off Arthur Rhodes -- the man who entered the game with a Major League single-season-record 33-game scoreless streak, (which he shared with two pitchers, so one more scoreless appearance would have given him sole possession of the record) including 30 consecutive scoreless innings.

In other words, no F-ing way...

And just to make sure we didn't have any more misgivings about our grasp on this sport, consider another conversation Aaron and I had that night. This one involved Jay Bruce and included such words as "frustrating," "disappointing" and "hasn't lived up to expectations for being so highly touted."

The following day, Mr. Bruce hit a go-ahead two-run homer in the eighth inning to give the Reds their Major League-leading 25th come-from-behind win and 14th in their last at-bat ... along with the series win over the Phillies.

Maybe it was the fact that his homer gave them the lead rather than merely drawing them even that ultimately deflated the Phillies ... then again, who knows?

What I do know, is that I know nothing. Nobody ... nobody has figured this game out in over a century, and for that I'm glad. Because every instance like this ensures that this game will remain a mystery for that much longer.

Fancy seeing you here!

Well, my Chicago Cubs started the baseball day with an ugly scene this afternoon, but who ever thought we could count on Edwin Jackson and the Arizona Diamondbacks to close it with such flourish?

Working in the baseball business, at least from the standpoint that my job entails, it's become somewhat of a Pavlovian response to dread the possibility of a no-hitter or perfect game unfolding on your watch ... mainly b/c we're apparently all lazy asses and don't want to do a little extra work. But in the seven years I've been in the biz -- and despite numerous close calls that had my sorry ass cheering, sometimes silently, sometimes not, each time one was broken up -- I had yet to be assigned to a game that ultimately turned into a no-hitter.

Edwin Jackson celebrates his no-hitter. (AP)

Until tonight.

And even though Mr. Jackson hadn't allowed a hit through five innings against the Tampa Bay Rays, he had given up seven walks, so I have to admit, a no-hitter wasn't really on my radar.

But as the game went on, and the Rays continued to put up zeroes in the "H" column, I became more intrigued than panicked to see if this guy could finish this thing out. He did ... throwing a whopping 149 pitches -- the most ever thrown in a no-hitter -- and walking eight batters, hitting one and allowing one to reach on an error.

That's called doing it the hard way.

But what intrigued me the most about this particular gritty no-no -- the fourth one this season, for that matter -- was that I had some interaction on a personal level with Jackson in the past. In my very limited capacity as a professional writer, I filled in one day in 2007 to cover the Rays, who were playing the Chicago White Sox at U.S. Cellular Field.

The starting pitcher for those Rays that day, the very same team that was held hitless tonight? Edwin Jackson.

Edwin Jackson reacts after giving
up three straight homers. (AP)

What I remember about that afternoon was a young, inexperienced pitcher, who held the Sox scoreless and scattered five singles over six impressive innings, cruising toward a sure victory. That is, until the seventh inning, when -- Bing-Bang-Boom! -- Jackson served up three consecutive homers that chased him from the game and led to an agonizing defeat.

Afterward, going down to the clubhouse to get quotes for the game story was like walking on eggshells. I, along with a couple other reporters, talked to Rays manager Joe Maddon in his office right away, and fairly extensively, to get his thoughts, and then moved out to the clubhouse common area to talk to the players.

Obviously, a quote had to come from Jackson, who was quietly dressing in front of his locker with his back turned. The three of us tried to stay back a bit, giving him space and waiting until he was ready, which really had to have been a funny scene. Neither of us really said anything to each other, but kind of shared a couple of glances and half smiles, revealing the awkwardness of the situation ... looking around and acting as if we weren't waiting specifically for him to be finished, making small talk with other forlorn players milling about, and mainly not wanting to have to make the guy talk about what happened, but needing to get the quote nonetheless.

Eventually, Jackson appeared ready, finished putting some things in his locker, slipped a chain over his head, took a deep breath and slowly turned around to face the music. As he was doing this, the three of us slowly had inched our way nonchalantly toward his locker, so that we were standing there when he turned around.

Now, following this type of loss, any pitcher has every right to be surly and defensive and short with his answers. But Jackson faced each of us directly, looked us in the eye, and answered every question we asked. We kept it brief and tactful and after we got what we needed, I shook his hand, wished him "best of luck, man" and walked up to finish the story.

And what a long trip it's been for Jackson since that day. He was traded to the Detroit Tigers and then to the D-backs, battling injuries and inconsistency, but always having that brute strength and determination that seemed to offset some of his shortcomings.

Tonight, he threw a no-hitter against his former team, and it's cool to look back on that game, and remember how depressed he felt, not knowing what was going to be in store for him three seasons down the line.

Equally cool, is Maddon -- one of my favorite managers in the game -- who had Jackson's back during that tough game in 2007, reflecting on his former player who got the best of him tonight: "He's a horse and a great athlete," Maddon said. "He's a great kid and he deserved to do that tonight. Hat's off to him, he's a wonderful man."

So here's to Edwin Jackson! Congratulations on joining the prestigious no-hit club ... it wasn't the prettiest thing you'll ever see, but nobody can take it away from you.

And, maybe to a lesser and more selfish extent, it certainly washed the sour taste out of my mouth from today's forgettable opening act.

After the storm

Jim Joyce receives the lineup card from Armando Galarraga. (AP)

It was a good day to be a baseball fan.

What we began to see as last night gave way to this morning, flourished this afternoon when umpire Jim Joyce, mere hours after blowing a call that would've given Detroit Tigers pitcher Armando Galarraga a perfect game, took the field again to take his place behind home plate. A visibly emotional Joyce, wiping away tears, professionally and courageously led his crew onto the field in front of 28,000-plus Tigers fans, who were so irate when last they met. But, today, Joyce was greeted by an element of forgiving applause and even some supportive cheers that seemed to prevail over the inevitable smattering of boos.

And there was much more.

Tigers manager Jim Leyland, who conveyed his respect for Joyce last night, went even further today in arranging for Galarraga to deliver the lineup card to Joyce at home plate, giving the two another opportunity to bury the hatchet and put sportsmanship and class ahead of any lingering animosity.

Galarraga's teammates, who had to be physically restrained in their anger toward Joyce after last night's game, had nothing but well-wishes, compassion, understanding, respect and pats on the back for the umpire, who was overwhelmed by the amount of support he has received.

Armando Galarraga is presented with a new Corvette. (AP)

And certainly not to be forgotten, Galarraga was feted in fine fashion, receiving a Corvette from General Motors before the game and a proclamation from the governor of Michigan, who formally considered Galarraga's feat a perfect game, as far as the office is concerned.

After all, he's the only pitcher in history to throw a 28-out perfect game, when you think about it.

And isn't that really the central issue here, when it's all boiled down? History is history, whether it officially records a perfect game, as it has 20 times in the past, or recognizes an even more unique feat such as Galarraga's last night.

When you throw a perfect game, sure, you're in a unique class of pitchers who have that story to tell, who will forever be associated with greatness. But in Galarraga's case, consider everything that has happened to him in the last 24 hours. He technically threw a perfect game, and got an historic "28th out" to boot ... he initiated some of the finest sportsmanship I've ever witnessed, forever linking himself to a man who understood the magnitude of his mistake and owned up to it courageously and nobly, inspiring everyone who even remotely followed this story ... He brought to the world stage compassion, respect, sympathy and basic human decency among players, coaches, fans, media and even those who don't even follow baseball ... He received a sports car and a government edict, which joined everyone else in recognizing the fact that he did throw a perfect game... and he cemented himself a place in baseball history that is his and his alone, something no other player can ever, or likely will ever, share.

Not bad for a young pitcher, who was believed to be so tragically wronged in the immediate aftermath of Joyce's blown call heard 'round the world.

As this has developed, it's become clear to me that it's simply the term "perfect game" and our fixation on that baseball rarity that has blown this whole thing into the stratosphere. But isn't it really all about having a unique story to tell, a unique experience, a unique achievement that you can be proud of and reaching a point of distinction matched by few, if any? Isn't that what life is all about for all of us who don't play baseball? What establishing a legacy is about as we go through our own lives? Would you rather be able to say you've thrown a perfect game -- something 20 other pitchers can say -- or being able to say what Galarraga can say as you look back over your life?

I think we've gotten so literal and bound by technicalities and labels and terms and feats and statistics that it causes us to sometimes lose sight of the things that are truly great and truly worth remembering.

I'm certainly not taking anything away from a perfect game ... after all, every time I see a perfecto going into the fifth inning, I start to tingle a bit and wonder, "Can he do it?" It adds such an element of excitement to a game, where you hang on every pitch and the intrigue grows and grows, until the ninth inning becomes so electric you can barely stand it. And, oh how heartbreaking it is to climb that high, to come so close to something so remarkable and not be able to touch it. Its prestige is rivaled by nothing in baseball as far as personal achievements go, and it's because of this allure, so steeped in tradition, that this incident became such a significant chapter in baseball's history.

But knowing all that and knowing that the next time I see a perfect game in progress I'll most assuredly get that same thrill, that same high off the possibility of history, I can't help but think that what happened here today will be remembered, appreciated and treasured significantly longer and more intimately than it may have had Galarraga simply recorded only 27 outs.

'Nobody is perfect'

I apparently created this blog a few years ago as one of those instances where I have the urge or a whim to do something, and then I lose interest. In this case, it's been sitting there and forgotten for years, but recently I've thought more and more about starting one up -- for what specific reason, I'm not exactly sure. I don't feel comfortable sharing every thought or feeling I have, I'm a pretty private person and I always kind of found this blog idea to be simply a method of garnering more attention than anyone really needs.

But there are times like tonight when I understand them, where I get that people have that need to vent and share a few thoughts from time to time. Because as I'm sitting here in my apartment, on my couch and watching the surprising Reds take on the Cardinals, while an ominous line of severe thunderstorms rumbles through, there was a development in baseball that has proven to be one of those instances that I just can't shake, and probably won't for a while.

Jim Joyce's fateful call at first. (Getty)

The Detroit Tigers' Armando Galarraga was one out away from a perfect game. Facing the Cleveland Indians' Jason Donald, the 27th and what would have been his final batter, Galarraga induced a ground ball to first baseman Miguel Cabrera. He went wide to field the ball and threw to Galarraga, who covered first, for what the cameras showed to be the final out by at least a step and a historic night for Galarraga, the Tigers, their fans and for Major League Baseball, which would have seen a Major League-record third perfect game this season ... and the third in 23 days for that matter.

Except first-base umpire Jim Joyce ruled the runner safe. Perfection denied. The baseball world stunned. A single, glorious moment in a pitcher's career, one that has only come around for 20 Major League hurlers, purely and simply stolen away by a fleeting millisecond of human error.

Now, as awful as I feel for Galarraga, it's equally painful that Joyce was just a guy going out tonight to do his job, a job he's done and done well for 23 years, and having no idea of the magnitude in which his life will change in just one hour and 44 minutes after first pitch. As the minutes grew into hours -- which will inevitably grow into days, weeks and years for Joyce -- articles, news segments, sound bytes and headlines have seized on this story, thrusting the spotlight of disgrace (A Wikipedia hacker snidely provided a death date for Joyce following the incident: June 2, 2010) onto a man who made a split-second mistake and will not only suffer the immediate anguish of regret at costing this kid the most prestigious accomplishment a pitcher can achieve, but a lifetime of carrying this with him, day in and day out.

Jim Joyce faces the Tigers' wrath (AP)

As I flip through the channels and browse the Internet that are now becoming saturated with this whole fiasco, and watching that final play ad nauseam, to see Joyce stand his ground, looking utterly alone, as he faces an irate team barking and pointing and hurling insults at him after the game, I can't stop thinking about this guy and what he's going through tonight, how he's dealing with the persistent barrage of his own thoughts of failure ... how he'll wake up tomorrow morning and maybe for a blissful second forget this had even happened, until the inevitable black wave of realization washes over him, ruling out any hope that it was all a bad dream.

Well, the Reds, meanwhile, went on to lose to the Cardinals and relinquish sole possession of first place, and as I chatted with my brother -- who is as big of a Reds fan as anyone I know -- about tonight's imperfect game, I think he encapsulated the whole overshadowing effect this incident has had by saying that he felt worse about Jim Joyce and Armando Galarraga than he did about the Reds' loss.

But as this whole ugly scene developed, I strangely started to become inspired by the admirable side of human nature that began to emerge. Joyce made no excuses after he looked at the replay, not only admitting he was wrong but flat out stating that "I just cost that kid a perfect game." He apologized to Galarraga in person, not hiding the emotion he felt over it, and he went into the Tigers clubhouse to apologize to the team.

Think of the courage that took to do.

And as all the announcers, analysts, reporters, columnists and fans rained unceasing blows upon Joyce for the blunder, really the only person that had every right to do so stayed silent. Galarraga only smiled in surprise -- or shock -- at the call, and afterward bore Joyce no ill will, saying he understands that "nobody is perfect" and even offering consolation for the umpire, who cost him not only a career-defining moment, but what can be considered a life-defining moment at that. Galarraga simply stated that he knows it was a perfect game, and knowing that is enough for him.

To that I say, Amen.

Baseball has always been a celebration of imperfection -- where a player who fails 70 percent of the time is a great player -- and it has widely been proclaimed a microcosm of life. Well, life is not perfect. And if our love of baseball and the beauty we find in it is rooted in the human element that can influence a game's outcome -- and without making a case for instant replay, an inevitable cry of debate that will increase exponentially because of this situation -- we have to be able to find a way, as difficult as it is, to understand that things like this can happen. Because it's a shame that a game that brings so much joy to people, can also ruin the lives of those who love it so much yet were unfortunate enough to screw up on its grand stage.

It's going to take some serious life perspective on Joyce's part to deal with this, there's no question. But I'm reminded of Don Denkinger, whose infamous blown call in the 1985 World Series defined his career, and instead of running and hiding from it, he's faced it head-on, has learned to live with it and, in a TV interview I saw a while back, has even hung a framed photo of his blown call in his house as a reminder that none of us are perfect ... and sadly, but fittingly, neither is baseball.

From what I saw of Jim Joyce tonight, he has that ability to move on from this, to frame this unfortunate chapter of his life within the context of life's imperfections and to be able to pick himself up, dust himself off and continue a well-respected career.

And equally important, we all need to learn to live with it, forgive and move on as well.

After all, Armando Galarraga already has.