PITCHING AND GOLF.....

In February of 2009, I had the privilege of playing a round of golf with Red Sox great Luis Tiant. Tiant was the ace of the Red Sox pitching staff during the decade of the 1970s and is, in my opinion, the best pitcher not in the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame. The intent of this post is not to explain that point but I would invite one and all to examine the careers of Tiant next to those of Don Drysdale and "Catfish" Hunter and then try to figure out why El Tiante is not there. But I digress.

Throughout the round, as shocking as this may seem, the conversation centered around two things, baseball and golf. Luis, who is approaching seventy, and sports about a 10 handicap commented how much golf was like pitching. And indeed it is true. When a pitcher is on the mound he must be totally focused on the job at hand and he must approach his stint one pitch at a time. He cannot, must not, be deterred or derailed by what has just transpired. Whether he has just surrendered a 450 foot home run or punched out the number four hitter with the bases loaded. His focus must be on the next pitch and his journey from start to finish must be one pitch at a time.

A round of golf will last for roughly four hours. During that time a golfer is actually in the motion of striking the ball and following through for a period of about 90 seconds. So, a golfer requires three hours, fifty eight minutes and thirty seconds of total focus and concentration for about a minute and a half worth of motion. He too must be totally focused on the task at hand and cannot, must not be deterred or derailed by what has just transpired. Whether he has just rifled a snap hook into the woods or just nailed a six iron from 170 yards to within 8 feet of the hole. His focus must be on the next shot and his journey from start to finish must be one shot at a time.

To reach the level of a major league pitcher or PGA Tour golfer an individual possesses a certain skill level that a minute number of human beings possess. On certain days that skill level merges with mental focus and concentration resulting in a performance of exceptional proportions; Pedro Martinez strikes out 17 batters and throws a one hitter or Tim Lincecum whiffs 15 and gives up four singles, Phil Mickelson shoots a 30 on the back nine of Augusta on his way to a round of 65 or Freddie Couples at 50 years old shoots 67 on Bobby Jones Playground.

When we, who can't do, evaluate the performances of these great competitors we often engage in the discussion of topics such as greatest this or best that. The greatest season a baseball player has ever had or the best performance in a golf tournament. These exercises of pundits and observers are often punctuated with the numbers. For example how could the best pitching performance not be one of the rare occasions in which the pitcher threw a perfect game or the even rarer accomplishment of striking out 20 batters in just nine innings? How could the best golf tournament not be the one in which the the winner simply buried the field with the lowest score of all time?

I submit to you that as stunning, as incredible, as dynamic as those performances may have been they do not qualify in my eyes as "the greatest" I have ever seen. And watching the events at Augusta National last weekend, was a reconfirmation of that concept in my mind. Everywhere you turned for the 2010 Masters there was a tremendous story waiting to unfold. In no particular order there was Lee Westwood, once the 4th ranked player in the world, dropping to the rank of 269th, battling back to number 4 again and knocking on the door for his first major championship. Freddie Couples, the 50 year old 1992 Masters Championship capturing the magic of yesterday and threatening to become the oldest player in history to win a major. And then there was Tiger and Phil. There is always Tiger and Phil but never, ever more juxtaposed then they were this weekend. Tiger, the philandering narcissist living his self created nightmare reemerging after a 145 day hiatus. Phil, the quintessential family man who has spent the past year in support of his wife and mom who both are battling cancer the insidious predator. Both Mrs. Mickelsons were present at a tournament for the first time since their diagnosis' a year ago. The weekend belonged to Phil and his family and rightfully so! He made the shots when he needed them as he stepped into the breech on Sunday to grab the coveted Green Jacket.

As fitting, hard fought and emotional as that was, I came away from the weekend and was once again in awe of Tiger Woods. As we all know Tiger finished fourth this weekend and I was happy that he did not dominate the course or the field. I was rooting for the game of golf this weekend and I felt that the game could best be served by Tiger struggling. Not because his personal life is a train wreck. Not because of his ridiculous transgressions, not because I choose to sit in moral judgement on his rather questionable personal choices. Simply because I know in my heart that the game of golf is simply too difficult to play and NOBODY, not even the great Tiger Woods, should be able to be away from it for 145 days and then dominate the best at one of its finest venues.

That all having been said; what he did was nothing short of phenomenal. His game abandoned him on the weekend. He pulled his tee shots, he popped them up, his chips were long, he three putted from 8 feet and he was never in rhythm. Yet, in spite of it all, through 66 holes, he still had a chance to win. In short he had nothing and through sheer mental toughness, will, determination and heart, he remained a force.

While watching the Masters I thought back to my conversation with Tiant and I began to think back to a similar performance by El Tiante himself. It was game four of the 1975 World Series. The Reds were up two games to one and a Red Sox loss would put them down 3-1 placing their proverbial backs against the proverbial wall. Luis had shutout the Big Red Machine on five hits in Game 1 and the Sox looked to him to even the series.

The Reds jumped in the bottom half of the first inning. Rose led off with a single, Ken Griffey (daddy) doubled him in and was thrown out trying to stretch his double into a three bagger. Joe Morgan walked, went to second on a grounder to short by Tony Perez and scored on a double by Johnny Bench. It was clear right out of the gate that the Tiant of game four was not the Tiant of game one. Or was he? The Red Sox scored five runs in the top of the fourth and the Reds added two in the home half of the same frame. The score at the end of four was Boston 5 Cincinnati 4.

What transpired in the next five innings was the greatest pitching performance I have ever witnessed. Oh, Tiant was not the Tiant of game 1. He did not dominate. In fact in only one of the last five innings (the 7th) did the Reds go down one, two three; and the first out was a scorched line drive by Rose to second base, the third out was a blast to the centerfield fence by Morgan. In the fifth, the Reds had men on second and third when Bench flied to left to end the inning. The sixth ended with Tiant punching out Darrell Chaney with Geronimo on first. Concepcion popped to right to end the eighth with George Foster on first and the game ended when Griffey lined to center and Morgan popped to first, both with runners on first and second. The final score Boston 5 Cincinnati 4.

The box score looks very ordinary. Tiant surrendered four runs on nine hits, he walked four and struck out four. His pitch count for the night reads 155 but there are some who suggest it was about 170. What Luis did that night, with virtually nothing, was even the World Series 2-2 and set the stage for legendary baseball drama that is now woven into the tapestry of baseball history. What he did, he did through sheer mental toughness, will, determination and heart.

So when the the cosmic tumblers kick into place and the symetry of talent and competiveness merge to produce a performance for the ages, sit back, watch and admire them as true works of art. As for me, give me the performance of the athlete who simply refuses to yield, who continues to fight when all that remains is the sheer will to do so; for when he prevails, we all prevail!