I Feel Sick

(BOD - Tyra Banks)

Sometimes I really hate being a sports fan.

I don’t even know where to begin on the stories from Wednesday night that left me with a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Let’s start with the Jays debacle from last night. It’s very rare that I hate being right, but I think last night’s game is evidence of the Jays impending freefall. There is no way that giving up 10 runs combined in the last inning of two games won’t rattle a team’s mental state.

They outplayed the Tampa Bay Rays for 25 innings out of 27 and only have a single victory to show for it. Now they have to sit and think about those blown leads while waiting for the big, bad Yankees to stroll into town. Who do they have to play after the Yankees? The Rays for three more.

Toronto could lose eight in a row and I wouldn’t bat an eyelash. That is a terrible feeling as a fan of the team.

Ken Griffey Junior retired yesterday, a shell of his former self. He is really the only power hitter of this era who is beyond reproach when it comes to steroid allegations. It’s sad that Griffey is retiring under such disappointing circumstances. He hasn’t been in the lineup for a week, his average is well below the Mendoza line, and he hasn’t hit a home run yet this season.

Not to mention the weird story that he fell asleep in the clubhouse during a game which was reported by two of his young teammates, but vehemently denied by Griffey and Mariners manager, Don Wakamatsu.

This not the way for one of the greatest players in the game to go out. Hopefully, when the dust has settled, Griffey will be remembered as the fourth greatest home run hitter in major league history, behind Hank Aaron, Babe Ruth and Willie Mays. Also, we should reminisce on what could have been. Without the injuries that plagued his career, Griffey could have ended up with 800 big flies.

The worst part of my night began with a text message from He Who Hits Bombs. It read: “Watch the highlights from the Detroit game. I can’t wait to hear the rant.”

Intrigued, I immediately wanted to see what he was talking about. Here is the clip.

Umpire Jim Joyce ruined Armando Galarraga’s perfect game bid with two outs in the ninth on a blown call. This situation doesn’t even deserve a rant. I wasn’t mad or angry when I saw the travesty (and there isn’t a better word), instead I was just sad and disappointed.

You can hear it in the announcers’ voices as well. Pure shock and disbelief, mixed with anguish. You can’t even be upset with the umpire. He just flat out blew the call and spoiled Galarraga’s chance at history. I guarantee Jim Joyce has not slept all night.

Look at the batter’s reaction after he’s called safe; hands on his head, looking to the sky. He knew he was out. No one wants to break up a perfect game that way, especially with two outs in the ninth.

Galarraga handled the situation with great poise. Just a bewildered smile playing across his face, he was able to bear down and retire the next hitter on five pitches. I would have lost my frigging mind. Actually, I think I would have gone numb, realizing that my chance at immortality was destroyed by human error.

CSzem and I were talking about where this game ends up historically and he had a number of good points, which I’m sure he’ll address in the comments section.

The only explanation I have for such a travesty is the following: Had the runner been called out, that would have been the third perfect game in less than a month, when only 18 had been pitched in the history of the game.

I sincerely believe that the baseball Gods would not allow another perfect game. It’s a mythical accomplishment that would seem somewhat commonplace had a third one been thrown this season. Need proof of my theory?

Watch the replay again. It appears Jim Joyce’s arms were to going to call the batter out, when they inexplicably shoot out to his sides indicating a safe call. Something made Joyce make that call. It was the baseball Gods trying to maintain the aura of a major league perfect game.

How did my night end? The last thing I remember is that jerk Patrick Kane scoring a beautiful breakaway goal to give the Blackhawks a third period lead. I wanted to grab Kane by the mullet and pile drive his stupid face into the ice.

(Luckily Philly came back to win in overtime: Did you really think Rocky Balboa’s hometown would lie down and die in four straight? Of course not. The Flyers will not lose on home ice.)