BeinPurplenGreen
Freo Football Foci
- Apr 8, 2008
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Not necessarily an NFL or NCAA football related post, and certainly something I probably should have posted elsewhere on BF. I hope you lot will indulge me a little. Apologies in advance for what comes next, feel free to click ignore.
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I don't have heroes anymore - probably haven't since I was about 13 or 14. I guess just I'm too cynical or old and bitter for that. I mostly follow the arts and music, not sports or "current TV culture":
Every so often, maybe once or twice a year, someone passes away who has really had an impact on my thinking, or who I am shocked to suddenly not be able to read/listen/follow any more.
Then there are those who I have never liked, who have been ultra cool for ages, who suddenly fall into disgrace. Rolf, wibble wobble board. Harvey, small peckerstein. Hayne, shame.
Anyway, today one of my long standing favourites passed.
He was only 40. Which makes me feel so, so damn old.
He left a wife and two young boys.
He wasn't into high risk lifestyles, and he was as solid a citizen as you could find.
I have an original jersey of his, and one of my best mates has a foul ball that he caught from Doc's perfect game. We were going to go to Phillies spring training next year in Florida and get it all signed by Doc, and take selfies, and get his pitch grips on slow mo HD ultra high def cam and everything.
Except now we won't.
And I will never see him throw a baseball, or explain pitch grips, or how to throw soft yet effective, ever again.
The worst part of his passing?
His two young boys will never get to see him throw live like I did.
If you are lucky enough to have kids, hug them heaps. And try to watch the great athletes of your generation with your kids whenever you can, even if it is only on TV from a million miles away. [And even if your idea of a great athlete is JaMarcus Russell.]
The best athletes (especially those that are also great people and wonderful family folks) seem to often be taken too soon, and without warning.
Sorry for the diatribe, just in a year when an orange cheeto's views on kneeling have dominated sports, I can't explain why all the really decent people seem to be dropping off without warning.
When you watch this, just remember that he played 16 Major League seasons in a sport where every year is 162 games, plus pre-season, plus playoffs - not 14 or 16 or 18 games like most NFL teams. And he was only 40 when he died.
Most of all, remember this - especially when you bag the next rookie failure - or when you announce the award winner for comeback season of the year:
https://www.sbnation.com/2017/11/7/16620788/roy-halladay-blue-jays-phillies-memory
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I don't have heroes anymore - probably haven't since I was about 13 or 14. I guess just I'm too cynical or old and bitter for that. I mostly follow the arts and music, not sports or "current TV culture":
Every so often, maybe once or twice a year, someone passes away who has really had an impact on my thinking, or who I am shocked to suddenly not be able to read/listen/follow any more.
Then there are those who I have never liked, who have been ultra cool for ages, who suddenly fall into disgrace. Rolf, wibble wobble board. Harvey, small peckerstein. Hayne, shame.
Anyway, today one of my long standing favourites passed.
He was only 40. Which makes me feel so, so damn old.
He left a wife and two young boys.
He wasn't into high risk lifestyles, and he was as solid a citizen as you could find.
I have an original jersey of his, and one of my best mates has a foul ball that he caught from Doc's perfect game. We were going to go to Phillies spring training next year in Florida and get it all signed by Doc, and take selfies, and get his pitch grips on slow mo HD ultra high def cam and everything.
Except now we won't.
And I will never see him throw a baseball, or explain pitch grips, or how to throw soft yet effective, ever again.
The worst part of his passing?
His two young boys will never get to see him throw live like I did.
If you are lucky enough to have kids, hug them heaps. And try to watch the great athletes of your generation with your kids whenever you can, even if it is only on TV from a million miles away. [And even if your idea of a great athlete is JaMarcus Russell.]
The best athletes (especially those that are also great people and wonderful family folks) seem to often be taken too soon, and without warning.
Sorry for the diatribe, just in a year when an orange cheeto's views on kneeling have dominated sports, I can't explain why all the really decent people seem to be dropping off without warning.
When you watch this, just remember that he played 16 Major League seasons in a sport where every year is 162 games, plus pre-season, plus playoffs - not 14 or 16 or 18 games like most NFL teams. And he was only 40 when he died.
Most of all, remember this - especially when you bag the next rookie failure - or when you announce the award winner for comeback season of the year:
One of my favorite baseball pastimes will always be visiting Roy Halladay’s page on Baseball-Reference.
Not because of his Cy Young seasons, in which he greedily consumed innings, bats, and spirits, but because of the outlier season at the beginning. It’s one of baseball’s greatest outlier seasons, and I will never tire of staring at it.
In 2000, Halladay had a 10.64 ERA in 67⅔ innings.
It’s the highest ERA from any pitcher with more than 50 innings in baseball history. He was kicked down to Triple A, and he was awful there, too.
He was 23 and irrevocably broken. He would not be the first or last pitcher to lose his talents like a set of car keys, never to find them again.
Except the next year he was back, and he was awesome. The year after that, he led the American League in innings pitched, and the year after that, he won the first of his two Cy Young Awards. He was rebuilt. He was weaponized. If you want the details of Halladay’s renaissance, you can find them here.
It involves a pitching coach screaming just the right amount, and the development of a cutter in a secret lab.
Mostly, though, I just stare at it for a while, going through what it must have been like to have such promise, to be so used to success, only to stare into a void of uncertainty and doubt like that.
Then I imagine what it was like to bounce back and sustain his magic for as long as he did. There’s a full, complete narrative arc in those simple numbers.
Not because of his Cy Young seasons, in which he greedily consumed innings, bats, and spirits, but because of the outlier season at the beginning. It’s one of baseball’s greatest outlier seasons, and I will never tire of staring at it.
In 2000, Halladay had a 10.64 ERA in 67⅔ innings.
It’s the highest ERA from any pitcher with more than 50 innings in baseball history. He was kicked down to Triple A, and he was awful there, too.
He was 23 and irrevocably broken. He would not be the first or last pitcher to lose his talents like a set of car keys, never to find them again.
Except the next year he was back, and he was awesome. The year after that, he led the American League in innings pitched, and the year after that, he won the first of his two Cy Young Awards. He was rebuilt. He was weaponized. If you want the details of Halladay’s renaissance, you can find them here.
It involves a pitching coach screaming just the right amount, and the development of a cutter in a secret lab.
Mostly, though, I just stare at it for a while, going through what it must have been like to have such promise, to be so used to success, only to stare into a void of uncertainty and doubt like that.
Then I imagine what it was like to bounce back and sustain his magic for as long as he did. There’s a full, complete narrative arc in those simple numbers.
https://www.sbnation.com/2017/11/7/16620788/roy-halladay-blue-jays-phillies-memory
