JCK-at-large SITE

I cringe when I think of being a “Closer.”  This is not an easy assignment.  Especially with ‘everything’ on the line.  You wish “The Closer” nothing but well.

As it turned out, fate was especially cruel on this, the night after Hallowe’en, spooks and goblins in the air, game seven of the World Series.  There he stood on the mound with two batters left to retire.  Two more outs, and we win the game.

And not just any game.  Two batters to go … to win the World Series!  Why does life unfold that way?  I guess if you choose to be “The Closer” you leave yourself open to such extremities. You could’ve chosen to play left field, say.  But you opted to take up the mantle of the game-saver.  I say Bravo to all the Closers out there, heroes among men.

It could have been worse, I suppose.  He could have been facing Betts and Freeman for the final two outs, two big hitters at the heart of the Dodger lineup with Hall of Fame credentials — and a history of game-breaking home runs.

As it was, all our Closer had to do was dispense with the bottom end of the line up, the “rump end” so to speak, guys who were not exactly household names.  Names like Miguel Rojas.

Call it nerves — or ‘noives’ as they say on The Rock.  Who wouldn’t have some jitters in front of 47,000 delirious Toronto fans? Ready to break the sound barrier on the final out? Millions more tuning in across the continent? 

Then there were control issues.  If there’s one thing a Closer needs it’s control.  Our Closer started Rojas off with a pitch well over his head!  That brought Captain Kirk, the catcher, charging for the pitcher’s mound.  It was time for a heart-to-heart chat.  Kirk was acting like the captain of a sinking ship.

Then again, it might just have been the grip.  Gripping a slider is different from gripping a breaking ball.  Or the great two-seam fastball. Each grip will vary between either seam orientation or index finger usage. The differences between two or three of the pitches are seam position.  Our Closer had them all in his arsenal, but on this occasion was having trouble getting the right grip. And getting his best pitches within the strike zone.

All except for one pitch, that is.  That pitch he gripped perfectly well and grooved a strike right over the heart of plate.  Waist high.  Unfortunately Miguel was waiting for it like a member of a congolese militia, lurking in the batter’s box, armed and loaded with his AK47.

One crack of the bat, one wicked home run swing — good bye World Series!  The watching world collapsed in disbelief.  A great deflation swept over the stunned crowd. Something had punctured. The bell had tolled.  All was lost.

In the end, it’s the story of The Closer who couldn’t close.  Like the guy in a beautiful romance who can’t find a ring and pop the question.  Closing the deal is everything.  Or Felix, the pompous Roman governor, who couldn’t respond to a life-changing opportunity and opted for the “more convenient season” which never came. Closing the deal is everything!  So much is at stake!  A lifetime of very special company.  A very exclusive ring.  It all hangs in the balance.

Decisive moments!  In the words of Shakespeare’s Brutus: 

“There is a tide in the affairs of men
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
(Julius Caesar IV.4).

But of course we know that the bard is much too severe here.  We know that all our great, courageous Closers can come back stronger.  We know they can get a better grip.   

We know that a bright new season awaits.