Tag Archives: Roy Halladay

Through three, the MLB playoffs


Is this the end for Rocco?


Here, a collection of random thoughts on the Major League Baseball playoffs for your enjoyment:

• Roy Halladay is a cold, cold dude

In the first playoff start of his career, he threw a no-hitter, needing only 104 pitches over two hours and 34 minutes to destroy the Cincinnati Reds. And the next night, the battled back from a 4-0 deficit for a 7-4 win over flame-throwing Aroldis Chapman and the Reds bullpen, via hit batsmen, walks and errors. Ugly, but effective.

Earlier this season, I waxed poetic on just how good Halladay was. And in this game, it was pretty obvious early that the Reds were done. He had his fastball, his changeup and his curve working to ridiculous extremes. Old friend Orlando Cabrera complained that the umps were giving him the corners; I didn’t see that. I saw Halladay clicking on all cylinders, and when that’s the case, there’s basically no hope. One walk where he nibbled a bit was all that kept him from sending all 27 batters back to the bench unsatisfied. Eight strikeouts, all dominance.

So much for playoff jitters.

I love Dennis Eckersley

I do believe Eck needs his own show. Red Sox fans are spoiled by his presence in studio all season, so it’s nice to see his talents on display for a national audience.

I caught this gem after Halladay’s no-hitter. I hope you did, too:

Matt Winer: “Can you imagine having his control, with his stuff?”

Eckersley: “Yeah, ’cause I did.”

I love Dennis Eckersley.

The Freak, the Giants, and the betrayal of the Atlanta Braves

I feel legitimately guilty here. I promised the mighty Matt Berry that, in lieu of a postseason appearance by the Red Sox, I would root for the Atlanta Braves.

I’m sorry I’ve deserted you, Bobby Cox and Derek Lowe so quickly.

It happened about halfway through Tim Lincecum’s gem in Game 1: 14 strikeouts, one walk, no runs.

And to follow that up, the Giants came out in Game 2 (currently underway) in their orange uniforms, which just makes me think of Jack Clark. And for some reason, I’ve always loved Jack Clark.

I may truly have left my heart in San Francisco. I love that city, I love the Bay, I love their record stores and I think I’ve fallen in love with the Giants this October.

Sorry, Matt.

• Is this the end for Rocco Baldelli?

Rocco Baldelli has always been a favorite of mine. Rhode Island’s native son, I’ve rooted for him since he came up with Tampa Bay in 2003. My former editor referred to him as look like a big dog galloping out in center field, racking up hits and wheeling around the bases.

Of course, injuries and a rare mitochondrial disorder have derailed his career. Just look at the baseball card I posted, his 2008 Topps issue: he looks labored. Every at-bat since that diagnosis has been precious. After signing with the Red Sox last season, he was valuable when he was in the lineup, but injuries kept him from making a meaningful contribution, even in a reserve role.

He signed on as a special assistant with Tampa this season, played his way back onto the team by Sept. 1, and made the postseason roster, serving as Tampa’s designated hitter in Game 1. It made for a nice little comeback story.

But the comeback is over. Baldelli was dropped from the roster with another injury related to his disorder. Willy Aybar took his place, and the Rays are down two games to the Texas Rangers. Whether or not they move on, this might be it for Rocco.

• The Twins, the Twins…

Alex Rodriguez likened a Yankee defeat of the Twins to David beating Goliath. Alex Rodriguez needs to learn to keep his mouth shut, because whenever he opens it, he removes all doubt that he’s a complete and hopeless idiot.

But the bigger point here is that the Twins, a longtime second love of mine as the jersey in my closet will attest, are on the verge of being knocked out by the Yankees again. Even if they were the victim of horrible officiating, this is pretty depressing.

Speaking of the umpires…

What the hell is wrong with the umpires?

Honestly, I never remember them being as bad as they are in the regular season as they’ve been in the playoffs. This is the second year of this. It’s as if their brains power down in October.

Greg Golson’s catch being called a non-catch. Buster Posey called safe in a steal of second when he was clearly out. Hunter Wendelstedt’s seizure-inducing strike zone. Chase Utley likely not actually being hit by Aroldis Chapman. On and on and on…

After his game, Buster Posey mused that it’s a good thing, for him, that baseball doesn’t have instant replay. I love that. I love that Posey, baseball’s newest darling, is already, albeit indirectly, needling Bud Selig, who must be the last man on Earth to believe that baseball doesn’t need more instant replay.

Baseball absolutely needs this. They need to protect themselves, and these umps clearly need someone to save them.

In the meantime, at least these games have been pretty incredible. And we’re only three days deep…

In which I wax poetic on the best pitcher alive, Roy Halladay

Roy Halladay - Topps 2008 no. 230

How happy am I that Doc has taken his reign of terror to the National League? So happy, man. So happy.

For someone who spends as much time face first in the news as I do, I’ve had a rough week.

On Friday night, I was out having a drink when, a bit past midnight (technically Saturday at that point), I learned that Gary Coleman had died the day before. The next day, I went over to my Google News front page, and took a quick glance at which names were popular search terms. When I saw Dennis Hopper, I let out an audible “uh oh.” Sure enough, the great Hopper was no longer with us. And I was bummed.

After a busy Saturday, I woke up Sunday morning to see a new name at the top of the most searched: Roy Halladay. I was praying he hadn’t died, too, thus completing our celebrity death trio. As much as I hated seeing him suit up for the Toronto Blue Jays in the American League East for all those years, he’s a horse. He’s an old school pitcher in the tradition of Nolan Ryan, who throws hard, racks up the innings, strikes guys out and completes games. And his nickname is “Doc.” There is nothing to dislike about Roy Halladay.

Well, fortunately, Halladay is still alive and kicking, and he’s currently tearing up the National League in his first year with the Philadelphia Phillies. Before Saturday night, he had already completed four games with two shutouts, tossed 77 innings and worked his magic to the tune of a 1.99 ERA and a 0.998 WHIP. Just beautiful. He’s an artist on the mound, and he was even nice enough to lose to Tim Wakefield and the Red Sox last week. A true gentleman if there ever was one.

And then, Saturday, he threw a perfect game.

Finally overcoming my news coma, I studied up on his feat. Over a tidy two hours and 13 minutes in whatever they’re calling Joe Robbie Stadium this year, Halladay struck out 11 Florida Marlins and only allowed six balls to leave the infield. He threw 115 pitches, and he worked out of four 3-2 counts.

The poor Marlins never had a chance.

Now, I’m not on board with the idea that the National League is weaker or easier than the American League. But I will give you that an elite pitcher is going to have a much easier time of it facing a pitcher or a below-replacement-level batter every nine turns in the order. Essentially trading David Ortiz and Hideki Matsui for Tim Hudson and John Maine has to be fun.

Predictably, save for his one start against the American League’s Sox, Halladay has been totally dominant. And that is a blast to watch. As a baseball fan, there’s little as fun was watching an elite pitcher toy with Major League hitters over the course of a season. Halladay has at least two more years in Philadelphia to keep doing this, too.

As long as he’s in the other league, I should have no trouble balancing my enjoyment of watching him pitch and looking at his box scores with my own Sox fandom. But besides, this sort of thing goes beyond mere team loyalties. Generally, I root for greatness, and I root for dominance of a legendary scale.

Roy Halladay is greatness and dominance. And on Saturday night, he authored a game that will live on beyond him. He’s immortal now. That’s about as heavy as it gets in baseball.