Waiting for Zumaya's return

I recall a time last season where I was sitting in a ballpark, the Detroit Tigers were in town, and I was enjoying a great ballgame which the Angels happened to be winning. The fans in Anaheim are very supportive of their ballclub, but there isn't quite the East Coast fervor that is well known in Boston and New York. Porbably because Southern California is simply too laid back to really care considerably about much outside of the beach and beautiful weather.

But I remember sitting in my seat, not really caring that much about the outcome of the ball game, but caring deeply about the outcome of the next two innings. It was the sixth inning and the Tigers were trailing by a few runs, enough to where Joel Zumaya would not be used in the ballgame. One of the main reasons I happened to be so excited about the Tigers was because of the opportunity to see one of the games rising star pitchers.

So here I am, waiting and hoping for Detroit to string together some hits and make this crowd squirm just a little bit as they pull closer on the scoreboard. I will absolutely not leave this ballpark without seeing Zumaya on that mound. Sure enough, the Tigers bring it to within one run by the eigth inning, and I am almost positive they need to bring in their guy to give them a shot in the ninth.

The bullpen gate opened while the home team jogged into the dugout to get ready for the bottom half of the inning, and I did not see a player enter the field. I did not see a man burst out of the bullpen. I saw a mass of terror straggle onto the outfield grass before even thinking about starting into a jog. This was a beast, its bones and flesh marked with venom and its dagger sketched with flames. The dagger was the right arm of Joel Zumaya, and the rest of the man completed the vivid package. There was something particular that stuck with me as Zumaya entered the field.

I pay to attention to the slightest things, and I simply got a different feeling when this guy came in to take the ball. It was almost as if Zumaya knew, before he had even thrown a pitch, that he was the best man on the field and he was going to take his time to make sure his execution of sorts when according to his liking. His entrance had a sick and twisted part as he finally reached the infield and stepped up on the mound, gently bending over to pick the baseball off of the dirt, and looking at his catcher with a convincing nod that signified his readiness.

It is the epitome of simple pleasure, but it was a brief two minutes that I enjoyed just as much as any other part of the ballgame. There is an infectious attitude that comes with dominance, one that is subliminally portrayed. You know, this is typically the part of the game where you get up to go to the bathroom, down a hotdog, or pick up another beer. No sir, not for me. Not on this night anyways. I knew the talent at hand and was aware of the fact that greatness does not come along every game. When you have an opportunity to assimilate a superior image, you must take it.

I watch Zumaya throw those warm-up tosses, exclusively out of the stretch, and am simply in awe of how much power he is able to generate with his legs. His leg drive is easily seen as the gunpowder in this explosive, and the baseball reflects that. Zumaya pumps triple digit fastballs past three hitters in the inning, his focus not wavering in the least. This was not an extraordinary event by any stretch of the imagination, but nevertheless it didn't fail to stick in my mind.

There is something in us, an innate ability, that allows us to sense a magnificent aura and latch onto it. That is what sports allows the fans to do, and that is why we never fail to come back to games. We watch sports and follow sports because of the emotions involved. It is always entertainment, but the pinnacle of sports is when the fans feel like they are in the presence of a higher being or event. I am not relating this random summer night to Joe Carter's walkoff homerun by any means. I certainly don't put a 12 pitch outing in July on the same scale as the Red Sox World Series clinching victory in 2004. But it bothers me that we tend to undervalue great athletes, certainly not on purpose, until the final couple years of their careers if that.

It is hard to take a step back from the story that is unfolding and really ask yourself if what your are witnessing is real. The great players make it seem so easy that you almost subconsciously take their abilities for granted until they are gone, leaving you debating your buddies how great Player X was in his prime. From the feeling i got while watching Joel Zumaya dominate the mound like few can, I come to the conclusion that this guy can be one of the greatest relief pitchers we have ever seen.

The freak accident that has derailed the 2008 season for Zumaya is horrible and is a burden that GM Dave Dombrowski would undeniably prefer to be with out. The Tigers should not be hurting by any means as they have assembled one of, if not the most, feared lineups in all of baseball. They will put up a plethora of runs, and their pitchers will have much room to work with. So while the summer nights at Comerica Park will indeed be exhilarating, I hope I am not the only one who is pulling desparately for Zumaya to make a full recovery, and cannot wait until he is back in that Tigers regalia. There is a piece of me that is missing without that fireball swagger steaming onto the field.