On a wall that sees nearly infinite sun facing Townsends Inlet hangs a picture of my father and his three sons celebrating the epic no-hitter Roy Halladay threw on October 6, 2010.
One hundred and seventy-seven days after just the second no-no in MLB playoff history, I was covering my first game on the beat with “Doc” once again on the hill.
I’m grinding for an upstart website called Philly Sports Daily and somewhat rightfully placed in the far corner of the press box with the Delco Times and other assorted fringe media members.
I’m following the game on Brooks Baseball, confident I’m the only guy in this packed press box going full nerd. Doc’s sinker topped out at 93.8 MPH with an absurd vertical break.
What startled me was Halladay’s somewhat newfound reliance on the cutter. I was hired by this emergent media company to flex my nerdom via analysis, so the fact that 51 of his 101 of his pitches were cutters intrigued me given his previous assortment of pitch types.
Waiting around for baseball players to shower isn’t so different than waiting for anyone to shower – checking your phone and tapping your feet. Halladay came out and talked to the huddled media crew for his requisite stretch of four or five questions from the two reporters he recognized and then filtered over to his locker where he had a toy helicopter that his son was already playing with.
We were over talking with Jimmy Rollins after a notable two-hit performance and I feel a sting in my calf. It was the ‘copter that Halladay’s son was manning hitting my leg. I try to pick it up and a media employee for the team is already en route, so I just tip my “all good” expression with my fat Irish face to Halladay at his locker and he raises his hand. Continue Reading