Since the day of my birth there have been sixty-eight no-hitters thrown in the big leagues (eight of which were perfect games). Since I became a hardened baseball fan in 1987, there have been twenty no-hitters in the American League. I came late to the National League – 1991 and the upstart Braves – but sixteen no-hitters have occurred since my conversion to the superior game. (Yes, I truly believe the Designated Hitter is evil incarnate.) In total, there have been thirty-six opportunities for me to watch a no-hitter.
And I’ve missed each and every opportunity.
To be fair, the MLB Extra Innings package is a relatively new product so maybe two dozen of those opportunities were beyond my reach. (And catching the last three outs on ESPN hardly counts because the beauty of a no-hitter is watching it gradually unfold. Heck, Brewer fans were predicting the no-hitter early in Tuesday’s game. It’s like a slow-motion train wreck. Read the Brewerfan site’s game thread and appreciate their mounting dread.)
So that leaves me with maybe a dozen genuine opportunities to watch a no-hitter over the last twenty years. Not great odds but as a diehard fan one would think I could manage to catch a game sometime, right?
Last Thursday seemed like my day. My wife had a dentist appointment so I left work early to watch our daughter. As luck would have it, the Red Sox had a day game in Oakland (3:30 EST start). My opponent in fantasy baseball had the Oakland pitcher (Joe Blanton) while my team was sporting two men in red stockings (J.D. Drew and Dustin Pedroia) so I had a rooting interest in the game. My daughter was napping so daddy settled in for a leisurely weekday afternoon of baseball.
Curt Schilling began working his magic in the bottom of the first inning and continued for eight more glorious innings over the course of two hours and ten minutes. An error in the fifth inning by Julio Lugo sullied any chance at a perfect game, but the no-hitter was intact with two outs in the ninth. I had watched Schilling do the seemingly impossible by dominating Game Six of the 2004 ALCS over the Pinstripe Empire on a bum hoof. Now I was witnessing him throw a possible no-hitter.
Unfortunately, Lugo’s gaffe not only erased a perfect game, it meant leadoff hitter Shannon Stewart would get a fourth crack at Schilling with two outs in the ninth. With a simple shake-off, the no-hitter was gone and the game was little more than a 1-0 pitcher’s duel. (Do you think Varitek felt a little like Crash Davis when Schill shook him off? I think he may have been tempted to say, “Shannon, here comes the deuce. And when you speak of me, speak well.â€)
One more opportunity had gone by the wayside.
As some of you know, I attend a fair amount of Tiger games. The family has had access to season ticket packages in one form or another going back to Tiger Stadium. One rule I’ve abided by is not attending games on Tuesdays. I’ve other commitments that take precedence over baseball on Tuesdays. Outside of updates on my Blackberry, I’m on a baseball hiatus one evening of the week.
(This cost me the chance to witness a perfect game back in 2004 when Randy Johnson of the Diamondbacks – the first time – faced twenty-seven Braves and sent them all packing. If memory serves me right, it was a nationally televised game. The Braves had been a favorite NL team until my recent conversion to the Padres… for fantasy baseball purposes, of course. Tuesday obligations torpedoed another no-hitter.)
Interesting tidbit: During my league’s fantasy draft last year, with the second-from-last pick, my brother and I proudly selected Justin Verlander of the Detroit Tigers. We followed it up with Curtis Granderson prompting the league’s commissioner to ask, “Who are these guys?†Though he was yet to win Rookie of the Year and the recognition that came with it, we were firmly in the Justin Verlander camp. We recognized the potential.
Fast-forward fifteen months and you’ve got the ingredients for a perfect storm. It had been twenty-three years since Jack Morris threw the last Tigers no-hitter. It had been fifty-five years since a Tiger threw a no-hitter at home (Virgil Trucks, 1952). (I’m intentionally ignoring Nolan Ryan’s 1973 no-hitter against the Tigs.) The Tigers were due. The free-swinging and recently offensively-challenged Milwaukee Brewers were in town. The Bengal bullpen had been ailing so the onus was on a starting pitcher to takeover a game and give the pen some much-needed extra rest. We already knew all about Verlander’s moxie and his filthy stuff. Most importantly, I’ve got season tickets.
But it was Tuesday.
Nine innings. Twelve Ks. Three BBs. No hits.
No hits.
Not one.
Thirty batters faced and not a single, double, triple or dinger to be had.
And I missed it.
I’m sure I’ll eventually witness a no-hitter. They happen just often enough for someone like me to scour the cable channels and find it once a season or so. But this one might sting for a little while just because of the proximity. It was there to be had.
But it was a Tuesday.
I’m sure this game will take on prominence (at least locally) akin to Wilt Chamberlain’s 100-point performance. Where little more than 4000 spectators attended the historic game in Hersheypark Arena back in ’62, announced attendance for Tuesday’s game was 33,555. Slap on a few decades to cloud the memory and the amount of people in the stands will have mushroom tenfold.
I’ll always know I wasn’t at Comerica Park or in front of my television at home because I’ll never be able to forget where I was when Justin Verlander tossed his first no-hitter. I could have been. But I wasn’t.
Though it was my hiatus, baseball and historic games don’t take days off.
Not even Tuesdays.
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Well since I am the only one that responds to this, and maybe the illusive Larry, I will add another 2 cents worth. I for one had the kids in bed early, had a newly stocked fridge of beer, and the wife was at a work function. Sooooo, the couch beckoned and the game was on. An awesome one at that. It is not often that I get to see a No-no so I will cherish it. It is not often either, that I could get a word up on my wife who knows much more than I ever will in the sport.