The Hammer of God: A Haphazard Tribute

Hello all,

In an earlier post, I alluded to the fact that I do occasionally venture out of the world of humanities and into the world of sports; specifically, the world of the New York Yankees.  This is not a "sports" blog, therefore, it's not my job to do a game-by-game recap, and I don't know enough about trends and statistics to write anything truly insightful about a numbers game.

However, last night, I was watching a game against the Toronto Blue Jays, a game in which the Yankees rallied in the 8th inning for a 7-5 win.  The game in general was rather unremarkable, but for one event: in the 9th inning, Mariano Rivera surrendered a 1-out solo home run to Edwin Encarnacion.   It was the first run of any sort given up by Rivera in nearly two months (since June 12), and the first home run since April 24. 

The fact that Encarnacion's home run was remarkable at all brings me to the meat of this entry.  Rivera has been pitching the 9th inning for the Yankees since 1997, and many call him the best relief pitcher in baseball history.  Statistically, that's a fair assessment: to date, Rivera has recorded 515 regular-season saves and a career ERA of 2.27.   In eight seasons he has recorded an ERA of below 2.00, and on two occasions has saved more than 50 games in a season.  He has saved 34 career postseason games, has four World Series rings to his name and has played on six pennant-winning teams.  In a word, "dominant" describes his career.

There is a difference, however, between dominance and art.  Even in baseball, one can recognize art.  A good player, even a great one or a legendary one, is not necessarily an artist.  I have watched Mariano Rivera pitch since I was a very, very small child, and he has never struck me as anything less than a master craftsman.  He throws, for the most part, one pitch -- a cut-fastball, usually located with impeccable precision.  On the mound, he exudes calm confidence and austerity.  He exhibits none of the snarling, fist-pumping, adrenaline-driven emotional response so often seen by successful pitchers, especially those who make careers out of pitching the 9th inning.  

I feel, when I'm watching Rivera, almost like I've stumbled upon a painter in a studio, as opposed to an athlete in front of 50 thousand spectators.  The game stops - because you know it's almost certainly over, anyway - and you just watch him.  The same pitch... break a bat on the inside corner, freeze the hitter over the outside ... however he wants, wherever he wants, over and over with the same result.  When, like last night, something goes wrong (or, on the rare occasion, something goes terribly wrong and a blown save results), it's not "a part of the game."  It's remarkable.

Perhaps this level of high praise for an athlete means I take it all too seriously... I have been a Yankees fan since I was four years old, and taking it all too seriously is something I'm willing to risk.  And, besides, in the history of any sport, there are very few athletes like Mariano Rivera.  I feel lucky to have seen him play, and to have been able to spend my childhood rooting for him.  "Mo," "Sandman," "The Hammer of God" ... I find him more than worthy of this modest tribute.

In a more concrete sort of news, another New York win today, 4-3 in 11 innings over the Blue Jays.  A 5 1/2 game lead over Boston in the AL East - looks like another trip to the playoffs!  I can't wait.

Until next time,

Ana