Nationals 9 – Braves 2; CJ: 2-4
I often hear announcers say, ‘That’s the prettiest sight in baseball’ during broadcasts. Common reasons for this expression are a well-turned double play, an amazing diving catch, the barehanded pick-up and throw for an out, or the towering homerun. I once heard an announcer say he thought a triple was. I thought that was an interesting choice, given they’re so rare.
Of course, it’s just a buzz phrase, a way to fill time, but it got me thinking what I might consider the prettiest sight in baseball. I decided, well, first off, that I wouldn’t say any of those things. I would say, after a lot of thought and considering all the options, that there is nothing prettier in baseball than a well thrown curve ball. The kind where the bottom just drops out. The kind where it’ there, then it’s not.
Now, before I proceed, I must warn you I’m going to get a little sappy and poetic, but it’s the truth to me. The best part is the fluidity of movement that comes with a good curveball. The soft line it draws. It doesn’t jerk to the right or left like a slider or cut fastball. It doesn’t “screw” around. It doesn’t overpower like a fastball, the ultimate display of sheer, brute force in baseball. It just curves. It isn’t slight when it’s good, but it’s sweeping. Not sharp. There’s a softness to a good curve.
The funny part to me is that the beginning and the end of a curve, the pitcher’s motion and the batters reaction, aren’t that pretty. They’re quite violent or awkward. Some people might argue with me, but I don’t find the pitcher’s motion to be that graceful. I don’t discount it for being a display of force. The movements of, say, a fighter jet can be quite graceful. But it’s jerky and… compartmentalized, and the transition between each “compartment” is not fluid. They don’t seem to be part of the same motion. The step from front to side, the planting of the back foot followed by the front being shot forward .The arm motion whipping around with a quick, snapping feel to it, followed by, often times, what looks like a pitcher’s follow through sending him falling off the mound.
But once the ball is released, a ballet dance begins between the ball and the air. (Seriously!) Some might say the ball cuts through the air, but I disagree because cutting would imply the ball is somehow trying to separate itself from the air around it. Free itself from this substance that is impeding its movement. But it’s much more of an interaction with the two entities working together. A curve ball is nothing without the air around it. The ball moves with the air, allowing itself to be pushed and turned and manipulated so that it can achieve its ultimate purpose, and that jerky movement of the pitcher is meant solely to begin the manipulation of the air. After all, the pressure placed on the ball at the optimal points of a pitchers delivery influences the way the ball moves with the air. Therefore, the air inhabiting that space between the pitcher’s mound and the batter’s box at that particular moment becomes relevant. Important. Noticed. A symbiotic relationship, for that fraction of a second, is created. The two meet and move with another, turning, spinning, co-existing. As a fan, you see it, enjoying the back and forth, and then suddenly, yet not alarmingly, the ball drops, as if its dance partner has just vanished. (I warned you this would get sappy!)
It is a thing of beauty to see that giant arch, and the end solidifies the beauty, even if, like I said, that portion is not particularly attractive. The hitter often swings and misses wildly, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing (to steal an amazing line). He looks off balance and clueless, as he is completely fooled. For whatever reason, hitters can’t seem to lay off it. Perhaps because, when it comes at them, it’s up in the zone, so they swing with his all his strength, only to see the catcher snag it inches about the ground. Or if a batter doesn’t swing at a good curveball, he often jerks back as his knees buckle and his eyes fill with fear as the ball sails towards him, ready to hit him. But it doesn’t. It lands innocently in the catcher’s glove. That reaction, however ugly, makes the pitch that much lovelier to me. It brings a smile to my face. Who can help but laugh at a fool? Of, the other common reaction, the deer-in-headlights, statue look. The hitter freezes, unable to move, as if to say, ‘I have no chance here, so I’ll just stand here and wait for the next one.’
And this entire scene lasts only a second, an unbelievably small portion of time in which to perform an entire ballet, but it’s done hundreds of times a day during the season. Some much better than others, of course. And the result of an ugly curve, the one that refuses to dance or does so poorly, is often quite cringe worthy. But if it’s done right, that big, sweeping curve has got to be the prettiest sight in baseball.
grossknowledge 