I Can Tell You

Frickin’ ESPN. I knew it was busted when they cut over from the Yankees blowout over the Red Sox, with the graphic saying what cannot -- repeat, CANNOT -- be said: current no-hitter. I turned my head back to the other TV, and then Preston Wilson, a dead pull hitter, pushed a fastball tailing back over the middle into right field. The magic, broken.

I already had about 4 paragraphs written in my head. No joke. That’s how I write, sometimes: a passage materializes, and I simply listen to my writing voice dictating to me and try to memorize the gist of it so I can recreate it later on the page. Now they’re out the window. Almost.

Paragraph 1: “I can tell you exactly where I was when Zambrano threw his no-hitter. Aussies Volleyball Bar near the river in downtown Austin. We arrived in time for the second pitch of the game, pulled up stools at the end of the bar, and ordered burgers and beer. A few innings later, I said what I was willing to say, without going too far: ‘You know, he doesn’t have a walk yet...’” Those words that ESPN used were off limits. Superstition is what it is, and you can believe there's something to it or not, but even if you don't, there are times when you should. A no-hit bid is one of them.

AWL, sitting next to me, joked in the bottom of the 7th, “So, you ready to go?” We weren’t going anywhere, obviously. “I’m still debating whether you’re allowed to take a piss,” I countered, superstition being what it is; and AWL hadn’t left that stool all game.

I had a paragraph ready for that one, too. It was funny.

Maybe it’s not ESPN’s fault. Maybe that was just a signal rather than a cause that the no-hit bid was about to falter. But I’m not lying when I say that I knew it was about to be busted, and then it was a second later. And I was utterly, utterly disappointed.

Longer readers of mine know that one of my dreams is to be at a perfect game. A close pitcher’s duel, where not only the perfect game hangs in the balance, but even the game itself could swing after only a pair batters -- two pitches, even. It’s hard for me to imagine much of a thrill better than that, as a baseball fan. As more than a baseball fan -- this is one of the purest moments there can be.

Seeing as there’s only been 16 perfect games in modern baseball, a no-hitter is something of a more realistic hope. And it’s not like I was at tonight’s game. But a Cub has never pitched a no-hitter in my lifetime, and I would love to settle for watching one on TV. It’s one of those things that’ll define the season several years later -- unless they mount a comeback, of course -- and while I’ll remember these years for dozens of reasons, I wouldn’t mind another.

The perfect game was gone in the 5th, when Zambrano walked Ensberg. I sighed, but the tension wasn’t gone. There was still a chance for a moment.

“I can tell you exactly where I was when Zambrano threw his no-hitter. Austin, Texas. Sitting next to a couple of hockey fans watching the Stanley Cup on the Outdoor Life Network. A bar like Aussie’s draws in ex-pats like us, I suppose; as much as we all come to love Austin, as much as it feels like we belong here more than any other place in the world, there’s always a little part of us that knows there is a place where people have something else in common with us: We’re watching this game, and we know what it means.”

Maybe it would have turned the season around; maybe it wouldn’t have. Maybe it will turn around anyway; maybe it won’t; maybe it already has. I’m tired of looking for signs and trends and momentum. I wanted to let all that go in the moment when Zambrano fought through his exhaustion in the 8th inning, and where his defense stepped up behind him yet again, only to ride that wave of adrenaline through the 9th and into the history books.

In a bad season, which this one may or may not turn out to be, I watch because I’m lucky enough to follow a team with guys who can pull something like this off. It goes to show how tough a no-hitter really is, that Zambrano couldn’t do it even on a night when he hardly wasted a pitch and had top-shelf stuff working. One oddly placed hit rolls through to right field, and just like that it’s ended, short of glory.

There’s a part of me that wants to say, “Even so.” As in, it was still a great performance. Eight shutout innings, one hit, 2 walks, and 8 strikeouts, setting the tone for another important series. At this point, 11 back in the loss column, they’re all important. So this was a big time showing in a big time spot.

But I can’t say that. I’m still disappointed. I wanted the no-hitter as much as I have wanted anything in a Cubs game since Lee got hurt, even more than I wanted Wood to show up big in his first start. This felt like it -- a meaningful achievement in a season that has been tending towards meaningless.

This felt like -- as hyperbolic as it sounds to say it -- this felt like vitality returning to the Cubs baseball season.

So maybe it will be anyway. Maybe the fact that Zambrano took the Cubs on this ride will be enough to remind them that they’re good enough to play at that level. Maybe this little hot streak they’re on will turn into more than a little hot streak after all.

I can tell you where I was.