Josh Beckett pitched a shutout game last night against the Atlanta Braves, and it felt like the fastest most uneventful baseball game I have ever attended. Ellsbury, my favorite hottie of the moment, made a kickass catch, sliding into the green monster – and that was really the play of the game, although we did get to see a thrilling double play at the end (with Beckett catching the ball on the bounce from the plate) – but other than that, not a hell of a lot happened. We got to see Youkilis throw a little hissy fit about some ump’s call (surprise surprise), he stood and stared off into space, exuding annoyance and passive-aggressive huffing and puffing, and it was hysterical. We got to watch Josh Beckett do his little OCD step-step through the white lines on the first base line – so delicate!! What’ll happen, Josh, if you don’t do your little ritual? Will the world fall off its axis? I love that he does that, and that he does it in as macho a manner as possible. “Look. I’m a tough sonofabitch but I must tiptoe delicately with both my feet in between the white lines, or I will totally lose my concentration and fuck you for making fun of it. I deliver, don’t I?”
No huge hits – a couple doubles – no homers, nothing exciting really.
Because of a massive car pileup on 95 we missed almost two innings. We didn’t miss much. The game was over by, what, 9:30?
That’s what happens when you have good pitching. Nothing happens. It’s actually quite amazing.
Quiet, yes, but along the way you start to realize: “Hm. This is a pretty awesome game.” BECAUSE it is quiet.
Derek Lowe, back on the mound at Fenway for the first time since 2004, was in fine form – and it was strangely emotional to ‘see’ him again. I’ve missed that big lanky emotional rosy-cheeked headcase with the huge swinging-to-the-side leg. He pitched a good game, and kept it just as quiet as Beckett did – it was a battle of the pitchers, most definitely. He had been interviewed the day before about what it would be like to be back at Fenway, and what did he expect from the fans. His answer was along the lines of, “I am sure they will be polite, welcome me back and all that – but after that, they’ll treat me like any other pitcher on any opposing team. That’s to be expected.”
Not quite, D. Lowe.
When he left the mound for the last time in the bottom of the 7th, Fenway Park stood, as one, and gave him an ovation. It was pretty amazing. An opposing team’s pitcher. Well, well, we remember.
The best part of all was the stoic little tip of the hat he did to the crowd.
It was classy.
We love D. Lowe!
At one point we thought we saw Papelbon warming up in the bullpen. Hmmm. All quiet on the Fenway front. Then we thought it was Okajima. But by the 9th, there was no more action in the bullpen. Nobody warming up. Beckett still on the mound, still dominant, pitch count still very low.
He finished the game. It was his first complete game of the season.
Guess that little tip-toe dance you do along the first baseline pays off, huh tough guy?
We were home by 11 p.m. What the hell.
A shutout is a quiet kind of a game. There isn’t much action and there isn’t much that is actually visible. Important to keep in mind, though, that “l’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.”
Baseball is, as always, an apt metaphor for almost anything.
I haven’t a blue’s clue about baseball, tbh, but I love the aesthetics of it. I can pinpoint the exact day (the exact hour of the exact day, in fact) when I stopped caring about organised sporting events, but baseball still holds a tiny bit of fascination for me. The way the stadiums are constructed, those cute little uniforms, the whole “a sunny day eating a hotdog” aspect – I love it! I guess because its so alien to me.
I friggin’ love the absurdity of sports superstitions. Patrick Roy used to refuse to skate over the blue line in hockey rinks, so whenever he had to pass one between periods, he would jump over it. He looked really, really retarded.
I LOVE a pitching duel… and, like you said, it makes the game SO much shorter.
What a lovely game to attend! Did you happen to check out the bar under the bleachers? No great shakes as a bar, but definitely a new view of Fenway!
Dan – we did not get to go down there – definitely next time! It was a great game. We had been nervous it would be rained out – but not a drop fell. It was a lovely cool night.
Emily – I love the superstitions, too. I have certain OCD tendencies but alas they haven’t gotten ME to the level of success that Josh Beckett has achieved. I was at a game in 2007, I believe, when he pitched – and I was sooo glad to see he still did his little show-horse tiptoe through the first base line. I love continuity.
I love the O’Malley’s and baseball.
Even if I hated the Red Sox (typing this as I sit next to Kerry wearing my amazing Fenway sweatshirt), I would love them because of your family’s total devotion to them and the game of baseball.
The classy nature of BoSox fans has really impressed me this year, between how gentle they’ve been with Ortiz and the Derek Lowe sendoff.
Very good to see.
Course… its a little easier to be classy when you’ve won in the last century. ::sigh::
It’s hard to resist making fun of Josh somehow, isn’t it? You just want to pierce that bubble of machismo, it’s so over-the-top and ridiculous sometimes. And yet it’s how he is the brilliant, ruthless creature that he is.
I love your photo of his walk off the field – the lights are blown out and so it’s kind of abstract, but it captures the swagger perfectly.
Beth – I love his pitch, too. I loved your post about it.
Other things that are so potentially funny about him but you never really feel like laughing:
— the crazy knock-knees he’s got going on – makes him look like a kid who plays the trombone in 5th grade
— the bubble butt
— the fact that he flat out does not look like an athlete
But holy shit!!!
//like a kid who plays the trombone in 5th grade// LOL!!
Whenever I see him off the field, that George Clooney line to Catherine Zeta-Jones pops into my head – “You…fascinate me.” With that overtone of accusation – you’re not entirely happy about it. But he does.
Like, have you ever noticed how insistently *rhythmic* he is? Always chewing something, always at a slow pace, always in perfect time, never speeding or slowing even a little bit. But you get the sense he’s not even trying. His control over every muscle of his body is just *that* preternatural.
About not looking like an athlete – he doesn’t in a baseball uniform on TV (I’m convinced nobody looks good in a baseball uniform, after seeing Jonathan Papelbon in sliding shorts was such a revelation). But have you ever seen him up close? Even going down to the front row while he’s warming up on the field? He is HUGE. 6’5″, 220 – that’s roughly the same size as Tom Brady. His hands have been described by Tito, aptly, as “monstrous.” Add to that the way he bristles on game days, puffs out his chest, draws himself up to his full height at all times…he looks like an athlete then.
Anyway. I could clearly talk about Josh Beckett all day. I never get tired of it. Seriously. Ask Sam. :)
I hope to get to see Wakefield pitch in person one of these days (guess I ought not to be dawdling, huh?). It’s funny, because the way I usually evaluate pitchers is what Bill James once more or less called the Sparky Anderson method: “Lemme hear your fastball,” but I also have a soft spot for knuckleballers (Wilbur Wood, the brothers Niekro, Tom Candiotti, and “rough, tough, Charlie Hough”).
Terry Francona had a great line about baseball players not seeming athletic… the stat-geek nickname for Kevin Youkilis is “The Greek God of Walks” for his excellent batting eye. Francona, hearing this, replied: “I’ve seen him in the shower. Youk isn’t the Greek god of anything.”
I gotta get to a ballgame this summer. I’ll see if I can’t grab tix to Johan Santana at Citi Field, it will minimize my chances of having to watch the Met bullpen.
PS – funny you mention knucklers, Ken. Once on vacation I got to see one of Hough’s final major league starts, Cincinnati at Florida. Poor guy gave up a homer to Kevin Mitchell in the top of the second, bounced into a double play with the bases loaded in the home second, and then Mitchell got him again in the fourth – this ball may have landed in the Gulf of Mexico if it hadn’t been stopped by the large banners that used to run around the top deck of Joe Robbie Stadium.
He also had a great quote – “I could always throw more fastballs, if I didn’t enjoy being a major league pitcher.” Heh. Funny how baseball gives more than its share of great quotes: about the game, by players, by fans.
Man, Kevin Mitchell. There’s a blast (you should pardon the pun) from the past.
Ref: Youkilis, absolutely. See also: Kruk, John (one each). He — one of the finer pure hitters of his generation — reportedly once replied to a fan heckling him about his weight, “Lady, I’m not an athlete, I’m a ballplayer.”