The Mets satisfied a 50-year drought last Friday night when Johan Santana, once their star and now their folk hero, threw the franchise's first no-hitter, against the St. Louis Cardinals. The next morning, fans were calling WFAN congratulating themselves for finally reaching reaching this milestone -- the San Diego Padres are now the only team without a no-hitter -- and the Times had more stories about the game than the news pages do about Syria's civil war on one of its busier days.
But no-hitters are a funny thing: They're so clean and wondrous yet the ultimate fluke; it just can't be predicted when they might happen. There are plenty of great pitchers who have them and some who you thought would always have a chance at throwing one with each start -- Justin Verlander circa 2011, Pedro Martinez circa 1999, Nolan Ryan circa 1973-1985, Sandy Koufax circa 1963. But then neither Verlander nor Martinez threw one in those years and plenty of unsuccessful pitchers have thrown them too (see Philip Humber, once a Mets flop who had one for the White Sox earlier this season). On the other hand, they still feel great. Santana's was like an early birthday present for my father, who turned 60 today and has been a Mets for all of the team's 50 years. He called me at 10 that night after the game finished, very excited. To think, a game where everything went according to plan, where each batter came to the plate and didn't have a hit. 0, 0, 0. How refreshing.
The funny thing about Santana's no-hitter is how jagged its edges were. There was Santana's shoulder, which is only a year from major surgery that forced him to sit out all of last year. Everyone, most especially manager Terry Collins, was very worried that Santana threw too many pitches to reach the end, though it was a promising sign when he raised his arm above his head the next day to give a high-five. There was reliever Ramon Ramirez, who injured his hamstring running to the mound to celebrate. There was the fan in the Gary Carter jersey and jean shorts who rushed the field in celebration and was arrested. The Mets pitchers the next two days also threw superbly (if not perfectly). But then, the team lost last night when Jordany Valdespin (who?) committed two painful errors at shortstop in the bottom of the 12th as Elvin Ramirez (double who? but not Ramon) pitched, thwarting them from entering first place, and they lost again today.
One way that baseball mirrors life is its length. Even when wonderful things happen, they recede. There are no hot streaks that can be ridden all the way, as in football or other sports' playoffs. Peaks happen and slumps happen, so it's best to stay level.
Update: Thanks to the new version of Blogger, where I've learned how to insert photos midway through a post, instead of only at the usual top.
But no-hitters are a funny thing: They're so clean and wondrous yet the ultimate fluke; it just can't be predicted when they might happen. There are plenty of great pitchers who have them and some who you thought would always have a chance at throwing one with each start -- Justin Verlander circa 2011, Pedro Martinez circa 1999, Nolan Ryan circa 1973-1985, Sandy Koufax circa 1963. But then neither Verlander nor Martinez threw one in those years and plenty of unsuccessful pitchers have thrown them too (see Philip Humber, once a Mets flop who had one for the White Sox earlier this season). On the other hand, they still feel great. Santana's was like an early birthday present for my father, who turned 60 today and has been a Mets for all of the team's 50 years. He called me at 10 that night after the game finished, very excited. To think, a game where everything went according to plan, where each batter came to the plate and didn't have a hit. 0, 0, 0. How refreshing.
The funny thing about Santana's no-hitter is how jagged its edges were. There was Santana's shoulder, which is only a year from major surgery that forced him to sit out all of last year. Everyone, most especially manager Terry Collins, was very worried that Santana threw too many pitches to reach the end, though it was a promising sign when he raised his arm above his head the next day to give a high-five. There was reliever Ramon Ramirez, who injured his hamstring running to the mound to celebrate. There was the fan in the Gary Carter jersey and jean shorts who rushed the field in celebration and was arrested. The Mets pitchers the next two days also threw superbly (if not perfectly). But then, the team lost last night when Jordany Valdespin (who?) committed two painful errors at shortstop in the bottom of the 12th as Elvin Ramirez (double who? but not Ramon) pitched, thwarting them from entering first place, and they lost again today.
One way that baseball mirrors life is its length. Even when wonderful things happen, they recede. There are no hot streaks that can be ridden all the way, as in football or other sports' playoffs. Peaks happen and slumps happen, so it's best to stay level.
Update: Thanks to the new version of Blogger, where I've learned how to insert photos midway through a post, instead of only at the usual top.
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