Fallen Leafs

Finally Home

#13

Is this the Blue & White disease you’re talking about, Brian Burke?

The only pitcher in baseball who probably needs a perfect game the least, merely just cements his Hall of Fame status. Roy Halladay’s 27 up, 27 down was essentially just a matter of time. In a way, my excitement never sustained a crescendo of epic proportions because of the inevitability. I have seen Roy Halladay pitch brilliantly countless number of times as a member of the Toronto Blue Jays. Sooner or later, Halladay was going to achieve perfection because I have seen it before.

Sure, the boxscore only officially confirms Roy Halladay’s immortality on May 29, 2010. But Halladay’s perfect game simply became the summation of his brilliance the Blue Jays witnessed every five days (sometimes four days when we were lucky). Sports writer extraordinaire Joe Posnanski once again captures exactly why Doc Halladay’s bout with history was a mere formality. 

It was a thing of beauty — a perfect reduction of the Roy Halladay pitching genius. He was working the alleys, daring hitters, imposing his will. Other pitchers look at Halladay as a freak of nature — nobody else can throw that heavy, cutting fastball on the corner time after time after time. Nobody else has the same knack for making hitters bats feel hollow.

While there are twinges of disappointment that Roy Halladay never achieved official perfection with the Blue Jays, Halladay’s lore will always remain. The fun with baseball is the constant flood of memories that fill your brain with every moment. Roy Halladay’s dominant Saturday night of pitching reminded me of an undefined time sitting under the bright sun in the ‘Dome, maybe drinking a cold beverage, and watching another helpless batter swing and miss on a cut fastball.

All the while silently remarking to myself, “Roy, thanks for another perfect game.”