One of the things that impresses me about Posnanski is that he captures what I love about sports, even when he's writing about something as boring as baseball (which he does way too much)
Last week, the Royals were involved in the losing end of a no-hitter. Here's a portion of the column Posnanski wrote following the game.
There are not many places in the world that are quieter than the losing clubhouse after a no-hitter. Everyone speaks in whispers. Televisions are dark. The stereo is mute. Kansas City’s Billy Butler, the 22-year-old kid from Florida who loves nothing more than talking and swinging bats at incoming fastballs, shakes his head.The following is from his blog about the no-hitter.
“He didn’t make any mistakes,” he murmurs.
And to the next question: “He didn’t make any mistakes,” he murmurs again.
He is Jon Lester of the Boston Red Sox, who on a cold and windy Monday night against the Royals became the first left-hander in more than 50 years to throw a no-hitter at Fenway Park. He also became the first pitcher to no-hit the Royals since 1973, when Nolan Ryan was young and threw 100 mph. He also sparked tears of joy through Fenway Park because just 19 months ago, Jon Lester was checked out by doctors because of some sharp back pain, and he was told that he had lymphoma. They told him it was treatable. They could not tell him that he would ever be a Major League pitcher again.
“God willing … we beat it, we got it under control, we’ll start thinking about baseball, back to pitching,” he told reporters then. “Until we do that, we’ve got a long road ahead.”
From there — from a fight for his life — to here, Monday, raw night, packed stadium, harsh wind, everyone’s hearts in their throats. He threw 130 pitches, the last his fastest of the night, maybe the fastest of his life, a 96-mph fastball, high and away and rising. Kansas City’s Alberto Callaspo waved the bat helplessly.
That’s when the loudest sound that 37,000 or so people can make detonated, a World Series-clinching sound, a Secretariat thundering down the stretch sound, a birdie putt to win the Masters sound. Catcher Jason Varitek charged the mound to jump on Lester. Red Sox players rushed in from all directions. Fans all over the park unfolded their cell phones and called someone — anyone — to say they were here. They are still here. Outside the losing clubhouse, a half hour after the last pitch, they’re still talking into cell phones, still hugging and laughing and asking each other, “Can you believe it?”
One of the best parts about being a sports fan is that moment before the moment when you know something remarkable is about to happen. This feeling comes over you. It’s not something that you can easily explain, but you sense that someone is about to hit a home run, or you feel a game-winning touchdown drive is going to happen, or sense that this rush will lead to a spectacular goal, or you know even before the ball leaves the players’ hands that it will swish through.
I’m not talking here about the logical side of the brain at work — that’s different. Sure, a pitcher gets what appears to be the third out of the inning, a fielder drops the ball, you see the pitcher stomping around, you watch him mope his way to a 3-1 count against Papi or Albert or Thomenator, and yeah, it’s not hard to predict what very well might come next. You are a Cleveland Browns or Kansas City Chiefs fan or Denver Broncos fan or, well, really anyone, and John Elway gets the ball with the game on the line in the final minutes, yeah, that’s not not a hard prediction either.
No, here I’m talking about sensing something that isn’t logical, isn’t easily accessible, something that comes from a deeper place, that reservoir of all your feelings as a sports fan...
...And as I left Fenway Park, I thought again about that feeling I had, that feeling you get sometimes as a sports fan, that feeling that “Hey, I’m going to see something unforgettable.” Truth is, most of the time, the feeling dies inside you because unforgettable things don’t happen very often. Here’s the great thing, though. Sometimes, they do.
Lester's story is one of those inspiring things you come across in the sports world. Cancer survivor surrounded by doubts that he could ever play again who accomplishes something extraordinarily rare. In one simple game, you have the elements of good drama; interesting characters, conflict, internal and external obstacles, joy, and a resolution.
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