Close to Perfection

Recently a baseball scout relative of mine and I were discussing what the perfectly pitched baseball game would be. A pitcher gets credit for pitching a perfect game if nobody on the opposing team reaches base. But we took it a step further. We agreed that it would be 27 pitches where every batter hit the first pitch and as a result, an out was recorded. He wanted 27 flyballs, but as a former infielder, I preferred 27 groundballs. Either way, the goal of a perfect 27 pitch game is unattainable. At some point, batters will begin to let pitches go by and not swing. Yet twenty pitchers in Major League history have been credited with hurling perfect games. The word “perfect” in this case is a statistic, not an adjective. An absolute perfect game is unattainable, and a perfect pitcher or person does not exist on this planet. I’m curious to know how many people remember the name Armando Gallaraga. He’s the young big league pitcher who, on June 2, barely missed becoming the twenty-first pitcher in history to toss a perfect game. And it would have been a “perfect” game if veteran umpire Jim Joyce had made the proper out call at first base on what would have been the last out of the game. But Joyce blew it. And after watching the replay after the game, he knew it. Instead of running for cover by claiming he’s human or saying something about how he did the best he could, the man admitted his mistake. He was devastated and apologetic. He didn’t blame his seventh grade gym teacher. He didn’t blame the liberal media or the military industrial complex. He didn’t blame sugar-sweetened cereals or fast food. He took it like a man. An imperfect man. And Gallaraga was just as impressive. He grinned when the call was made. He brought the pre-game lineup card out to Joyce at home plate the next day to demonstrate his respect. Umpires and referees- imperfect human beings- miss calls and make mistakes. And I gotta believe most of the time they don’t blow calls on purpose. Yet people throw stuff at them, call their mothers bad names, and make jokes about how there won’t be any baseball games in Heaven because no umpires will be there to officiate. But alas there is hope. The aforementioned near-perfect game incident occurred in Detroit, the same city that inexplicably nearly burned itself to the ground while “celebrating” after its baseball team won the World Series in 1984. Perhaps these thoughts were going through Jim Joyce’s mind as he walked out to home plate to umpire the day after his infamous blown call. With trembling hands and tears in his eyes, Joyce accepted the lineup card from Gallaraga. And when Joyce’s name was announced, the crowd cheered. Yes, cheered, not jeered. They cheered because a man was humble enough to admit his mistake. They cheered because they respected his heartfelt apology. And they cheered because their young pitching star provided them a positive example of how people should treat others who confess their mistakes and sincerely ask for forgiveness. Two men shaking hands and making their peace with each other. An entire city willing to forgive. A sport rooted in tradition and respect. For those few moments at least, perfection.