Nobody's Perfect: Two Men, One Call, and a Game for Baseball History
257
Nobody's Perfect: Two Men, One Call, and a Game for Baseball History
257eBook
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Overview
The perfect game is one of the rarest accomplishments in sports. In nearly four hundred thousand contests in over 130 years, it has happened only twenty times. On June 2, 2010, Armando Galarraga threw baseball’s twenty-first. Except that’s not how it entered the record books. That’s because Jim Joyce, voted the best umpire in the game in 2010 and 2011, missed the call on the final out. But rather than throwing a tantrum, Galarraga simply turned and smiled, went back to the mound, and finished the game. “Nobody’s perfect,” he said later in the locker room.
“You might think everything that could have been said, replayed, and revealed about that night has already been uttered, logged, and exposed. You would, however, be as wrong as the unfortunate Mr. Joyce” (The Detroit News). In Nobody’s Perfect, Galarraga and Joyce come together to tell the personal story of a remarkable game that will live forever in baseball lore, and to trace their fascinating lives in sports. The result is “a masterpiece”, an absorbing insider’s look at two careers in baseball, a tremendous achievement, and an enduring moment of pure grace and sportsmanship (The Huffington Post).
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780802195593 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Grove/Atlantic, Inc. |
| Publication date: | 11/20/2018 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 257 |
| File size: | 3 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
ARMANDO GALARRAGA Caracas
When you grow up playing baseball you never think you will pitch a perfect game. You dream about it, but you never think it will happen. It is such an impossible dream. A part of you might think, Yes, this is something that can happen for me, but there is a much bigger part that will be thinking, No, it is not possible. It is something to think about for motivation, but it cannot be something to think about for real because it is more than real. It is something for history, a goal most players can never reach, but a part of you believes it is a goal you can always reach whenever you start a new game.
This is one of the beautiful things about baseball. Every game is fresh and new. Anything is possible, even a perfect game. If you can get one out as a pitcher then you can get two, and then if you can get two you can get three, all the way through the lineup, all the way to a perfect game. It is in reach and out of reach. It is yes and no. It is possible and not possible. It is all these things, all at once.
I did not always think I would be a pitcher, so in the beginning I was not thinking about perfect games at all. When I was little, I played shortstop and centerfield, so for me the dream was to hit a home run to win a game or to make a great play in the field. I practiced making diving catches, and how I would watch the ball go over the fence if I ever hit a home run. I was not the best player, I was not the best hitter, but I was okay. I was somewhere in the middle. I was a good athlete, but nobody ever told me I could be a professional baseball player. I was tall and skinny and superhyper.
This is what my parents always said about me, that I was so active. I was always busy, busy, busy. Everything about my life was very fast, always moving, and as a boy this was mostly about sports. I did not only play baseball. I also played soccer. My father played soccer at the university, so we were always playing. Even today, my father is playing soccer, and when I was little my friends liked to play soccer, much more than baseball. I do not know why this was so, because all around Venezuela small boys were playing baseball. It was only with my friends that soccer was so important. For baseball, a few of us would play in a league, but soccer was for every day. Soccer was for whenever we wanted, however we wanted. We walked up and down the streets with our soccer ball, looking for games. We would say, "Let's go kick, let's go play." Three-on-three, five-on-five, whatever we could find. We would play until the sun fell from the sky, and even then sometimes we would keep playing.
Baseball was more organized, more formal. We played in a league, not like soccer. There were parents and coaches and umpires, so we could not always be ourselves. There were rules. There was keeping score. We could not just be a group of boys playing. I do not say this to complain or criticize but only to say how it was, only to make a comparison. Sometimes I wonder how I became a baseball player instead of a soccer player because soccer was more joyful. It was more natural. Do not misunderstand, I loved playing baseball, but when I was with my friends kicking the ball we were relaxed, like boys. I loved this, too, only in a different way.
In America, people say baseball is the national game. In Venezuela, this is true as well, even though we played so much soccer. Everybody in Venezuela knows about baseball and takes special pride in Venezuelan players who have played in the United States, in the major leagues. They are like national heroes, these players. We have our own players, our own teams, our own professional league: Liga Venezolana de Béisbol Profesional. In Caracas, the big team is Leones del Caracas, the Caracas Lions. This was the team I always cheered for. They are like the Yankees of Venezuela. They are always winning. We looked up to the Leones players and copied their batting styles or their pitching motions, trying to be like them so we could get noticed and play professional baseball, too.
From the small village where I was born, Cumana, there have been many players to make it to the major leagues, but they are not very famous outside Venezuela. From Caracas, where we moved when I was still a small boy, there have been a great many more, and some of them are very famous all over the world. One of the most famous is Andrés Galarraga, and I heard many things about him when I was growing up because we had the same family name. We are not related but I felt a special connection to him, even though I also felt a special connection to all of the players who were born in Caracas. Henry Blanco, Freddy Garcia, Magglio Ordonez, Omar Vizquel ... so many great players, almost too many to mention.
I cheered for other players, too. Ken Griffey Jr. was probably my very favorite. I would stand in front of a mirror for many hours, trying to make my swing look like his swing. I tried to throw like him, run like him, catch like him ... I wanted to do everything with the grace of Ken Griffey Jr. We all copied him. You could watch one of our games and almost every player would stand like Griffey in the batter's box, straight and tall, flapping his arms while he waited for the pitch.
It is a funny thing that Ken Griffey Jr. was my favorite player when I was little, because the day of my perfect, perfect game — June 2, 2010 — was also the day he retired. It is like our two careers are connected to each other, like I am coming when he is going. The year before, I pitched my best game of the season against Seattle. I allowed only one hit and one run in seven innings. I pitched to Griffey three times and each time I was able to get him out: fly ball, pop fly, line drive. Two times, he hit the ball hard, but it did not matter. It would not have even mattered if he got a base hit, or a home run, because he was the great Ken Griffey Jr. Usually, when I am pitching, I am very good at concentrating, but that time I was not so good. I looked at Griffey making the same motions with his bat that I used to make when I was a small boy and I kept thinking, Hey, I am pitching to Ken Griffey Jr.!
I do not think I would have minded so much if I gave him a home run.
Some of my earliest memories playing baseball were with my father. His name is Jose, but everybody calls him Pepe. He worked as a manager in a big factory that made croissants. How he got this job, I never really understood, because at the university he studied marine biology. He worked with microscopes. For a time he could only find work as a teacher, but he did not want to be a teacher, so as a young man he took this job in the croissant factory. I do not think he even knew about croissants, but it was a respectable job, so this was what he did. The money was good and he had an important place in the company. I always liked this job because my father brought home fresh croissants, and also because he had time for me and sports. He believed very much in sports and physical activity. He believed it was a good and valuable thing for a boy in Caracas to play sports. If you were running around playing sports, your body would be healthy and you would not have time to get into trouble. You would be forced to make good, positive choices.
I have an older sister, Bethzalie, and we all called her Bethza. She was not very athletic, but my father made a special effort with me and sports. With my sister, he encouraged her to do other things. With me, the encouragement was for sports. He bought me my first glove, a Tamanaco glove. In Venezuela, Tamanaco is a big company for sports equipment, like Rawlings in the United States, so I was very happy to have my Tamanaco glove. It was like a prize. I would go outside with my father for a catch and feel like a professional baseball player with my fine new glove.
My arms were very long and this was good for throwing. For as far back as I can remember, I threw the ball hard. I was not so very strong but this did not matter when it came to throwing. My father taught me to throw the ball from the top, up high, with a snap of my wrist. Always down, down, down, from a high release point, like twelve o'clock on a watch. Even when I was little, I could see that this motion was very good for throwing. It gave me an advantage at shortstop because my throws to first base were strong and accurate. From the outfield, too, I could make a long throw to the catcher for a play at home plate. The other players knew to be careful when they were running against my arm. I do not know how my father understood about such things, because he was mostly a soccer player, but when you are an athlete you can see things in one sport even though you are accustomed to playing another. Anyway, it was good advice. Even today, when I am a professional pitcher, I can hear my father's voice telling me to throw the ball from the highest place.
Soon I heard people saying I had a very strong arm. It was not just my father or my friends saying this. It was not just the other players, knowing to be careful. It was other people, too. I only cared that they were saying something positive about how I played, that is all. In Caracas, and throughout Venezuela, there are many, many baseball people watching the games. Some of these people are the friends and family of the young players, but some are just baseball people, looking for the next famous big leaguer. They are not always scouts, working for major league teams. Sometimes they are just people who know baseball, men who like to be around the game, who take special pride in watching young players develop. None of these baseball men ever said anything about how I hit, or how I played in the field, because those things were just okay — they were nothing special, and so there was nothing to say. But now I started to think maybe my arm could be something special. One man who talked about me in this way was a coach named Henrique Riquezes. He knew a lot about baseball. He had an academy in Caracas where he trained young players. It was more like a little school than an academy. There were a lot of kids playing there, but the facilities were very basic, very simple. Henrique himself was nice, and professional, but his field was not so nice, not so professional. There was dirt where there should have been grass, and there were holes on the mound, but it did not matter so much because Henrique was a good teacher. He was very patient, very knowledgeable. He understood the game and what you needed to do to become a good player.
One day, when I was fifteen years old, Henrique told my father I could be a pitcher. He said this with great enthusiasm and invited me to join his academy. Up until this time, I had never really thought I could be a professional baseball player. It was something to dream about, like a perfect game, but it was not a realistic dream. There were so many players who were stronger, more talented, better trained. But now that a baseball man like Henrique Riquezes thought I could be a pitcher, I wanted very much to go to this academy, so my father made the arrangements. It did not cost any money. The agreement was that if I signed a professional contract we would give Henrique a certain amount. This was the agreement he had with all of his players. By now, Henrique has had about twenty of his students sign with a major league team. I am still the only one to make it to the major leagues, but back then no one had even been signed to a professional contract. Henrique was just starting out. We were taking a chance on him, the same way he was taking a chance on me.
My father and I, we did not care about such things. My mother, she cared only that it would not interfere with school. Her name is Maria, but everybody calls her Maritza. Pepe and Maritza, that is how my parents are known in our community. She was a chemistry teacher, so education was very important to her. I was not such a good student, but this did not matter. I could not play baseball in this academy if it interfered in any way with my education. This was her determination and I would have to go along with it.
I was very happy when I learned that I could go to baseball school and to regular school, both at the same time. Henrique's academy was near my house, so I would go there for practice each morning. I did not have to be in school until two o'clock. All of the kids my age went to school in the afternoon. It was a small school, and there was not enough room for all the students, so the younger kids would go to school in the morning and the older kids would go in the afternoon. This was very convenient because it allowed me to go to the baseball academy in the mornings. I would walk to the field and do my work there, and receive instruction from Henrique, and then I would go home and shower and continue to school.
It was a tiring routine, but this did not bother me because I was superhyper. I had a lot of energy, so for me this was agood schedule. Pitching at the academy gave me an ambition. Before, I was just playing, having fun. I was going to school. I do not think I gave a serious thought to what I would do after school, what kind of job I would like to have. I had never thought that I could have a job playing baseball. And now here I was, working every day with a baseball man who was telling me that I could maybe get signed by a professional team, if I worked hard and listened to what he had to say. This became my most important goal.
I was at the academy only a few weeks when I heard about a tryout. Some of the players were talking about it and making plans to go, so I asked Henrique if I could try out, too. I did not know how to do this. I did not know if you could just show up or if you had to register. I did not know if you could go without an invitation. I did not know anything.
But Henrique did not think this was such a good idea. I had only been pitching for a short time. He said, "It is too soon, Armando."
I said, "What does it matter? It is just for fun, to see how I can do."
He said, "No, it is not for fun. It is more serious than that. When the scouts see you, you have to be the best. If they do not like what they see the first time they see you, they will not look at you when you come back the next time, when you are ready."
I told my father about this tryout and he agreed with Henrique. He did not say that I was not ready, because I was his son and he thought I was a strong pitcher, but he believed it was a good idea to make a positive first impression. He believed we should follow Henrique. He said, "It is early, Armando. You have just started to practice. You are still learning."
And so I waited. For many weeks, I waited. The whole time I was waiting, I was working very hard. I did not mind the hard work because it had to do with baseball, and because it brought me closer to my goal. For me, this was better than school, more exciting, because it was preparing me for something I loved. Every morning, Henrique had a plan for me. He had a special plan for each of his players. Every plan started with running. At first I could not understand why I was running so much. Laps, sprints, all kinds of running. It was only later that I understood why running was so important: because to be a good pitcher you must be strong in your legs. Some days, after my running, Henrique had me work a bullpen session, practicing my breaking ball, my changeup, my fast ball. Before I started working with Henrique, I could not throw so many different pitches. I could only throw fast or slow. I did not know how to throw a curve ball, but Henrique taught me. I could not always throw it with very good control, but I was surprised at how much my ball could move. On other days, I worked on my fielding or my hitting.
We also played games. We did not always have enough players for two full teams, so Henrique had us playing different situations. If it was not our turn to pitch, we would be the base runners. Henrique would announce the situation — runner on first, two outs; bases loaded, nobody out — and then we would play. For pitchers, it was a way for us to rest our arms but still learn about everything that could happen on a baseball field. For the hitters and position players, it was also good practice.
I was making progress. I was not the best pitcher in Henrique's academy, and I was not the worst. I was in the middle. Every day I was learning something new. Every day I was looking forward to seeing my friends at the academy. Even the running I did not mind so much after a while. I would run with the other pitchers and we would talk about what it would be like to be professional baseball players. Together, we had something to dream about.
Finally, Henrique told me about another tryout. This one was for the Atlanta Braves, at their academy in Caracas. At that time, almost all of the major league teams had an academy in Venezuela. They were looking to sign a lot of players, so there was always a tryout marked on Henrique's calendar. He still did not think I was ready, but he now thought I was good enough to try. I could not believe how nice it was, this stadium where they had the tryout. It was not like the field at Henrique's academy. There was grass where there should be grass. There was dirt where there should be dirt and lines on the field where there should be lines on the field. It was like a palace for baseball. The only thing I had to complain about was that there were so many people, so many players. I did not think anyone would notice me. The other pitchers were all throwing the ball much harder than I could throw. They were bigger, stronger. I was only fifteen years old, and even though I was very tall I was also very skinny. These other players looked like men, and I just looked like a very tall, very skinny boy.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Nobody's Perfect"
by .
Copyright © 2011 Armando Galarraga, Jim Joyce, and Daniel Paisner.
Excerpted by permission of Grove Atlantic, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
SETUP,
PROLOGUE,
ARMANDO GALARRAGA My Blessings,
JIM JOYCE Tossing, Turning,
ONE,
ARMANDO GALARRAGA Caracas,
JIM JOYCE Toledo,
PREGAME,
ARMANDO GALARRAGA Rinoceronte,
JIM JOYCE Heading Home,
TWO,
ARMANDO GALARRAGA Tommyjohn,
JIM JOYCE Fly-Away Arms,
GAME,
ARMANDO GALARRAGA Like a Video Game,
JIM JOYCE Business as Usual,
THREE,
ARMANDO GALARRAGA Up and Down,
JIM JOYCE Catch/No-Catch,
THE CALL,
ARMANDO GALARRAGA I Can Only Smile,
JIM JOYCE Explosion,
POSTGAME,
ARMANDO GALARRAGA Big Belly,
JIM JOYCE Safe at Home,
APPENDIX,
Box Score,