When Nearly Perfect is Truly Perfect: It’s More Important To Be a Mentsch: Armando Galarraga

When Nearly Perfect is  Truly Perfect: It's More Important To Be a Mentsch: Armando Galarraga

Erev Rosh HaShanah First Night – September 8^th, 2010

Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

 

An oft repeated phrase is: "Only God is perfect." But in baseball, humans can be too. My cognizance of "The Perfect Game" was the one most often rerun on television, namely that of Don Larsen of the New York Yankees against the Brooklyn Dodgers on October 8^th, 1956, where, at the end, Yogi Berra jumps into his arms. Of the 'holy grail' of all sports, this is probably the most difficult to attain. The formal definition is that of a nine inning game where twenty-seven batters go up to hit, and none of them – none of them get on base. Twenty-seven up and twenty-seven down. The pitcher doesn't walk a batter. The fielders don't make any errors. The fielders sometimes have to make spectacular fielding plays. They will help by catching any and all pop-ups in foul territory. Twenty-seven up and twenty-seven down. Having played a little baseball in my youth, as a batter, as a pitcher and as a fielder, this is based on skill, on the assists of the team, and on luck. In less than a matter of inches can perfection be attained or perfection denied. It also depends on the eyesight of the umpires. In baseball, humans can be perfect.

 

There are only twenty men who have pitched perfect games. As per Wikipedia, more men have been to the moon. No one has ever pitched more than one. The first occurred on June 12, 1880 by Lee Richmond of the Worcester Ruby Legs against the Cleveland Blues, winning 1 – 0.  Some of the names will be instantly familiar to baseball aficionados: Cy Young, Jim Bunning, Sandy Koufax, Catfish Hunter, Kenny Rogers, David Wells, David Cone, Randy Johnson, Mark Buehrle and Roy Halladay. Many of the other names would never be remembered nor recognized. Some are in the Hall of Fame and some will probably be so honored at a later date. The perfect game, dependent on others, on skill and on luck is the 'holy grail' of sports. I don't know how many major league ball games have been played since 1880, but twenty is an infinitesimal percentage.  In these rare instances, humans can be perfect.

 

Not since 1880, when the first perfect game was pitched on June 12^th and the second, five days later on June 17th had two perfect games been pitched in the same year. One hundred and twenty years later this occurs on May 9^th, 2010 and May 29^th, 2010, twenty days apart. No one can explain this phenomenon. But there really should be twenty-one perfect games in the record book with the last one on June 2^nd, 2010 with only four days intervening.  Therein lays the tale and the moral of this story.

 

For reasons known only to God, I have watched on television several parts of perfect games and saw the end of Roy Halladay of the Philadelphia Phillies on May 29^th. But on June 2^nd, 2010 I was watching Armando Galarraga, of the Detroit Tigers, a pitcher of whom I had never heard before, pitching against the Cleveland Indians. These are two teams going nowhere this season. For twenty-six batters, Galarraga was perfect. It did require several phenomenal plays by his fielders, especially in the ninth inning. Nine times before in history pitchers arrived at this moment, batter number twenty-seven. I recognize some of them from the modern era: Billy Pierce, Milt Pappas, Milt Wilcox (also of Detroit), Dave Stieb, and Mike Mussina. Nine times they all failed. The batter either was hit by a pitch walked or got a hit. Perfection was lost. There are many superstitions held by baseball players during no-hit and perfect games: what you say to the pitcher, or not; where you sit in the dugout; and, walking over and not touching the white lines. Even the crowd's reactions are different. The twenty-seventh batter was Jason Donald. He hit the 83^rd pitch of the game towards the second baseman. Galarraga ran to first to field the throw. The throw got there first with Galarraga's foot on the bag. And the umpire, Jim Joyce called him safe. From every angle, professional and amateur, Donald was out. Jim Joyce called him safe. It was close but he was clearly and indisputably out. It was a perfect game. It was not to be a perfect game.

 

I don't know about you, but as I watched the events unfold I was muttering to the television, "look at the replay," "ask the other umpires," "reverse the call." If I was a screamer, I would have been screaming. This was more than "he was robbed!" Maybe once in a lifetime can you even dream this! It is impossible to describe the emotions of that moment going through everyone in the stadium and everyone watching on television.

How would you have reacted if you were Armando Galarraga?    Physically? With rage?

How would you have acted if you were Jim Joyce, otherwise known as an outstanding umpire?

 

While neither men are Jewish, their behavior reflected the essential teachings of these days. Both of them were mentches. Neither of them, not Detroit's manager nor the players behaved with anger, nor bad language, or ill will. I can see the smile of resignation on Galarraga's face as he looked in disbelief, and then turned to the mound to go finish the game. Even the fans realized that the man had just made a mistake. And he had to live with it. It couldn't be undone. It couldn't be erased. He was human. He made an error. And because of it, the pitcher lost a perfect game. Here was a 28 year old journeyman with a 20-18 won/lost record, unknown to most, who would have had his name enshrined with the legends of the game to be recorded for all time. And it was gone. The umpire acted humility and regret, charatah. He admitted that he had sinned, chatah. Even without asking, the pitcher bestowed mechilah, forgiveness to him. I have replayed the YouTube recording of the interview after the game. Galarraga was entitled to be embittered, even angered. Joyce had umpired a long time. He should have called this one correctly. And yet, Galarraga was explaining that Joyce was human and he just made a mistake, and he forgave him. Sports do not usually exemplify such menshlichkeit. And when Jim Joyce said: "I just cost that kid a perfect game. I thought he beat the throw. I was convinced he beat the throw, until I saw the replay." Then he admitted his error. Teshuvah, repentance, begins with recognition, hakarah, of wrong doing, proceeds through the stages to regret, charatah, for having done it, and the asking for and receiving forgiveness, mechilah and selichah by the one wronged. This process doesn't change history. What was done is done. Yet it enables a cleansing of the soul and the rapprochement between two individuals. It mitigates pain and encourages healing of soul and heart.  This process makes a whole out broken parts. At the beginning of each baseball game, a representative of each team brings out the line-up cards to home plate and meets there with the home plate umpire. The umpires rotate their positions each game, home, first base, middle infield and third. The next day, Jim Joyce rotated to home plate and the Detroit manager Jim Leyland sent  Armando Galarraga to home plate. Remember what I said about the perfect game being the Holy Grail. Here were the two men facing each other, one the person who earned it and deserved it, and the other the denier, depriving the former of fame and fortune and a place in Cooperstown, baseball heaven and nirvana rolled into one.  I urge you to privately and silently consider that if anyone of us was put in this position, to face the person who so sorely hurt us and can only offer after-the-fact words, how you would have behaved. What you would have said or done. On June 3^rd pitcher Armanda Galarraga embraced umpire Jim Joyce at home plate. It was a most remarkable scene. There was true kaparrah, atonement, true mechilah and selichah.

 

I don't know if Galarraga will ever even come close to what he did on June 2^nd. I hope he does it. That would be divine justice. And even if he remains an otherwise unknown 500 pitcher, he will never be forgotten, he will be a true hero of sports because of his menchlichkeit, his humanity, and unbeknownst to him, his implementation of core Jewish values of this season. My hat goes off to Jim Joyce for his conduct and his humanity.  They are both heroes that labored in relative obscurity. Now the spot light shines on them both. That night, nearly perfect was truly perfect.

 

I wish them a Shanah Tovah, a good year. Thanks for the lessons. See you at the game.

 

Shanah Tovah.