The Greatest Weekend

Some things just make you happy. The outporing of hyperbole for Brandon Morrow's one-hit, two walk, seventeen strikeout outing makes me happy. Whatever significance can be gleaned, has been. Expert and writer alike have lauded Morrow, and the Blue Jays for that matter, for a beautiful experience. Whether it was the best, or just really good, has been hashed over enough. It's a new day, and the news cycle churns on. All that's left is a weird titillation that makes me wonder if I'm having a stroke or if I am genuinely happy.

The sensation began when I listened to the Rogers Centre chanting JP, over and over again. That's a chant the Toronto faithful assumed had been axed along with the former general manager/foil. But the raga and accompanying buzz were directed at JP Arencibia. His first at-bat was fairy tale. One pitch thrown, one home run hit. As he trotted the bases he couldn't help but smile. The camera panned over Arencibia's mother desperately clawing her way into the aisle to snap a shot of her son rounding the bases. The home run came off a fastball on the inner half, and Arencibia pulled his hands in, in an impression of a professional ball player, and yanked into the left field stands.

His next at bat he chipped a single into right field. Now he had the crowd's adulation. His next at bat he doubled, and now he had their adoration. Instead of hitting the customary triple to complete the cycle, Arencibia plastered a second home run into the right field seats. He slapped it there, a poke thrown out as if second thought, but finished with sinister intention. Now he had the fans melting. Already the debut was legendary, but it had been embraced in a Blue Jays blowout, and the kid had one more chance to round out the cycle.

Then the chant began. He strode to the plate legitimized. For months, Arencibia had been setting Triple-A ball on fire. When Toronto called him up he was hitting .303 with thirty-one home runs with seventy-nine runs batted in. Phenomenal numbers, but with a rider tacked on. Arencibia was in his second year of Triple-A, a sign that his development and skills were not yet major league caliber (and the additional worry that they never may be so). His first run in Las Vegas, Arencibia had been less impressive. A .236 batting average was buttressed by a poor on-base percentage. He still stroked twenty-one home runs, not a small feat, but with Toronto acquiring Travis d'Arnaud as part of the Halladay, it was assumed Arencibia'd be a placeholder.

Medical science thusly intervened. Arencibia had been having trouble with his eyesight, and had been forced to have both operated on. In addition to that he'd had an operation on his kidney (to remove it?). If it hadn't been apparent he'd been battling with his body beforehand, the numbers he began to put up emphatically stated that he'd been hindered, but now was as he would be. On Saturday afternoon he became the first Blue Jay since Junior Felix to hit a home run in his first at bat. He'd also been the first player since 1918 to go four-for-five with two home runs in his major league debut. When he flew out in his final plate appearance, it was a shock.

The applause refused to stop though. And, in something I've never been witness to, a Toronto Blue Jay took a curtain call. Out of the dugout came Arencibia, doffing his cap at the crowd, then he beat a hasty retreat back to the dugout. It was quick, blink and you'd barely catch it, but it happened. My jaw lay on the floor, narrowly missing my completely platonic erection.

Immediately the local media seized the story and ran with it. Such an event rarely happened in Toronto, and it would be the dominant story for the week to come. After all, Brett Wallace had just been dispatched to Houston. He'd been due in the majors a long time, and his passing left little to look forward to this season. In Wallace's place was now a teen-aged centerfielder named Anthony Gose, whose potential had been driving Alex Anthopolous crazy for a while. But Gose was years away from vindicating the move, and Wallace had been the more accepted approach. Arencibia's explosive entrance had everyone raving. Surely it HAD to be the most exciting story of the weekend.

The next afternoon, Brandon Morrow was slated to face Jeff Niemann. It didn't happen. Instead, Tampa was forced to slate Andy Sonnanstine, as Niemann had been placed on the disabled list with shoulder pain. Sonnanstine pitched excellently for the Rays. He gave up only a single run, and that had been aided by Yunel Escobar advancing two bases on a single ground out. Evan Longoria had scooped a Jose Bautista wobbler from the turf, looked at Escobar approaching second, and decided to take the easy out at first. Escobar, seizing on Longoria's decision, refused to stop at second and continued right on to third. Vernon Wells, in his second-greatest contribution to Morrow's performance, promptly flared a single into right to score Escobar. It would be all Toronto needed on Sunday.

Brandon Morrow had been on the cusp all season. Within him was raw power, his arm a tantalizing weapon that had sustained him in the big leagues. It's seductive velocity had made Morrow every pitching coaches favorite project. If only he'd have some control, they wondered. In Toronto though, Morrow had been experimenting with delivery and arm speed. Instead of rifling pitch after pitch as hard as possible, he'd been keying down his fastball and focusing on location. Morrow could still hit 97-98 on the gun, but he was more likely to go 92-94, except for strikes. He and Jose Molina had formed a perfect battery, a unique union that had kept Morrow in games longer.

For this game, the duo remained united despite Arencibia's outlandish excellence the day before. Molina would start, Arencibia would sit, and everyone would have to patiently await the rookie's next showing. The game began, and it all went white.

Sixteen had been struck out, and two walked, including the man now on first, when Evan Longoria arrived at the plate. He hadn't a hit the entire game. No one on Tampa Bay had. A single baserunner had made it to first without being walked, on a Lyle Overbay error. Morrow had kept the batters luckless as his own perogative, the two walks gifts from the gods. The hurler turned untouchable had thrown over a hundred and thirty pitches, a season and career high, stifling any attempt by Tampa to prevent the approaching series sweep.

When the end came, it was hauntingly avoidable. Longoria saw the fastball and flicked his bat out to do...something with it. The ball ricocheted from the bat towards the gap between Aaron Hill at second, and Lyle Overbay, holding the walked man on first. Hill raced to his left, the knowledge of what that ball meant definitely present in his mind. Morrow whipped himself around, jaw agape, watching his game be decided in the hands of another. Hill dives, and knocks it down. He's traveled far outside of reasonable range for a second basemen, he's in the outfield. The ball trickles out of the glove and wanders away from Hill. He rushes to his feet, grabs the ball and goes to throw to first. Longoria's nearly there though. Instead, the second basemen holds the ball and stares down the runner on second, halting him there.

No one's watching that anymore though. All eyes are transfixed on the scoreboard, awaiting the decision. It's a possibility that Hill's play could be ruled an error, but it's not. The hideous scar flashes onto the box score. The Tampa Bay Rays have their first hit of the game.

Morrow accepts the hit with another strikeout, firing a fastball past a footnote on his victory. He finishes with seventeen K's and one of the greatest wins in the history of modern baseball.

In the aftermath of the game, everyone rushes to quantify what Morrow's performance means. It's the greatest in Blue Jays history! Second greatest! The best in major league history! You're crazy! But what the fans know and feel is that they've witnessed something special. Finishing the game at 137 pitches puts Morrow's future in jeopardy; the murky nature of pitcher's health exacerbated by modern experts feelings on pitch counts. That doesn't matter though. For a day, and probably year, he's above reproach. What Morrow brought forth was something that you felt you could reach out and touch, just to make sure that you were cheering for a team that could do things. Even if it was just a single game in a season that has many, this one changes the feel of the entire season. There's a hallmark.

Lost in the shuffle is Vernon Wells. The overpaid, under appreciated, renewed centerfielder, pulled off a spectacular catch in the top of the sixth, crashing into the wall in order to preserve Morrow's then no-hitter. Wells dislocated a toe and was forced to sit the rest of the game out, but for someone so harangued and hovered over by fans, he'd been the linchpin in Morrow's day.

In two days, it almost felt like rebirth. No one has ever been born twice, I assume, so you can't know the feeling. But this feels like a change in the weather. Two performances by future staples of the lineup shook impartial observers out of their stupor and forced them to admit their team could play. And, it will draw the people to the ballpark, because there's players there. That's why both Morrow and Arencibia's near perfections were so fitting. Fans aren't being given a free preview, they'll have to pay for the entire show. The twin showstoppers are the worm on the hook, the bait.

And, even crazier to think about, the Blue Jays are now eight games behind the Tampa Bay Rays in the wild card race. The forbidden topic of conversation, playoffs?, is almost a reality. Contention could be had, but it will take more superhuman acts, like those of Arencibia and Morrow, to pull it off.