It was stunning to see the Red Sox and Braves collapse over the past month, then finally crumble last night. We witnessed two of the greatest finishes in history, and the nature of it reminded us again of baseball’s magical power.
It told us again a game and a season are never over until the mathematics dictate it to be true. The winters will be long in Boston – which they are used to by now – and in Atlanta. Both teams seemed like locks a month ago, only to turn around and give it away.
Maybe, there will be a new curse in Boston.
A pennant race is the best baseball has to offer, and heading into September there seemed no suspense, not much to make us curious. But, as it has for generations, the sport inexplicably grabbed us by the scruff of the neck and shook us awake.
It made us scramble in the morning to find the scores, to force us to take a peak at the television in bars and restaurants, to ask a stranger if he knew what happened. I was in a restaurant last night that was pro-Boston. It was raucous early in the evening, but a deathly Buckner-like quiet at closing time.
As ugly as it was in Boston and Atlanta, it was beautiful in St. Petersburg and St. Louis, and magical throughout the rest of the country. They put it all on 13 black and the roulette table smiled back at them with a thrilling and exciting win. It was truly something historic and made us realize nothing should be taken for granted.
Note from Joe D. – None of this amazing night would have happened if baseball had implemented a second wild card like they plan to in 2012.
As I thought about the grand scale, I recalled how earlier in the day Jose Reyes took his place in baseball history for granted. He got his hit, a bunt hit, then decided to pack it in. He figured the odds were in his favor, Ryan Braun wouldn’t catch him and he’d have his own secure spot in history.
He figured right, but didn’t count on how he’d be remembered. For those of us who follow the Mets, he is the franchise’s first batting champion. But, he backed in. One of the great stories in baseball lore is how Ted Williams refused to sit on his average and insisted on playing both games of a doubleheader in 1941, went six-for-eight and finished at .406.
Williams’ .406 is one of baseball’s magical numbers and we’ll forever remember him. But, there’s nothing magical, or special, about Reyes or his .337. He’s somebody history will forget, and fittingly, take for granted.
The Mets finally have a batting champion, but he’s no champ.
