JUNE 7 v THE WILSON TOBS

To Error is Divine

Aspiring to be a bona fide baseball writer, I have these days been reluctantly relinquishing the solipsistic pleasures of a private field of dreams, the better to  cultivate at the Cap an empirical interest in fielding—pitching and batting still being skills beyond my comprehension. So, after bearing witness on June 7 to a 10 – 6 Blowfish loss, I thought a lot about a bad throw by short stop Sean Sullivan, which occurred during a third-inning meltdown when the winning Tobs of Wilson collected half their runs. 

First, a little background. Before their Fish-fry in the third, the Wilson visitors had scored one run and one run only, that in the opening inning. With the bases loaded and zero outs, a Tobs batter grounded a runner home. That ball sped its way to Sean Sullivan, who caught it and threw it well enough to second-man Larry Perry, who in turn threw it well enough to first-man Jesse Barbaro, who unambiguously caught the ball to complete the double play.

Two innings later, with the bases again all occupied, though this time with one out, Sullivan again fielded a Tobs grounder and again forced the out at second. But this time Perry’s throw for a double play was off the mark, and the Tobs runners from second and third burned home.

The next Tobs hitter sent another grounder to Sullivan, who collected it smoothly, and made the play at first. His throw was smack-accurate but the ball failed to nest in the palm of Barbaro’s low-held glove. It popped out and rolled across the ground. Runners were now on first and second, and though two outs were in the bag the hopes of Fish fans took a hard hit when the next Tobs batter safely chipped a shot into short right field.  

Sullivan, covering second, took the throw back in, and, with Barbaro, caught the Tobs chip-shotter in a run-down, taking a tiny step or two in his direction, ball in hand, as if to make the tag. But, as the Tobs lead runner passed third to make a claim on home, Sullivan turned abruptly, to reorder his priorities. His throw to the plate, fast and furious, came in wild over the upraised glove of catcher Sid Fallaw and runs four and five for the Tobs came home, with the now unhassled chip-shot hitter pausing for refreshment at third, then slipping in for number six, when the next Tobs batter bashed a harsh grounder almost past Larry Perry, who managed to stop the ball but not to make a throw. During the next at bat, this runner, attempting to take a second base, was pegged out in a nice throw from the plate by Fallaw, and the chaos was brought to a close.       

I have said in this space that baseball at the Cap is for me a certain kind of beholding, first of a tranquilizing field of green, and then of each game as it unfolds, in both slow and frantic motion. This certainly was true when I carried to each game a big bag of books that had nothing to do with baseball, and read in them, and thought thoughts about them, and watched the game as well. But these days, as a diligent monitor of the field, I seem compelled to compose action narratives that convey occasional sensations as if they were continuous.

And the action here reported has upon its recollection left some agitating questions. Must I condemn the home team for making errors, or grieve, or even regret, their commission? Should fans take umbrage—ever, over errors? I find myself on this point a fatalistic commentator. Errors happen. Moreover, I must report that Sean Sullivan’s wild throw in that terrible inning against the Tobs was for me a thrilling disappointment. I could never root against the Fish but that thrilling disappointment includes another feeling I am also obliged to confess, schadenfreude, pleasure in the misfortune of others, which leads to a feeling yet worse than that, a lurking desire, in the absence of the mercy rule, to see the whole show blow up in a sad but somehow comical profusion of runs.

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3.25 Copyright (C) 2007 Alain Georgette / Copyright (C) 2006 Frantisek Hliva. All rights reserved."

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