One Loss Yields Five Winners

What would Armando Gallaraga be to baseball history without Jim Joyce?  Like a pebble dropped in a lake whose ripples never reach much beyond the moment.

The missed call on Gallaraga's Imperfect Game paints a new portrait of the artist. (Oh, c'mon. How do you work Ulysses or Dubliners into a baseball post?) He's the next Harvey Haddix, or even Don Larsen, whose fame outstrips his accomplishment. Gallaraga and Joyce have entered Baseball Immortality in a way that neither would have had the young Tiger simply earned the early season's third perfect game.

What's more notable to me is the incredible grace of the four people involved. Upon seeing the replay, Joyce admitted his mistake, sought out Gallaraga, apologized, and then relayed his regret to the media. That, my friends, is a man.

The aggrieved himself could be forgiven for being just a little bitter, but he was the opposite, sweet. He didn't just accept the apology, but found no room in his heart for resentment or lamentation. He acknowledged Joyce's remorse and admired his apology.

Up stepped to the plate Detroit's manager, Jim Leyland, who charged out of the dugout and vehemently argued the call on the field. But after the game, Leyland could not have been more gracious, defending Joyce's professionalism and character, and casting a vote of confidence for Major League umps in general.

Finally, despite intense pressure to overturn the result, Bud Selig demonstrated perspective and good judgment by leaving the situation alone. The commish, and probably the others as well, recognized that the sport's annals would treat Gallaraga's feat more sympathetically without intrusion by the Suits. (This is the same balanced approach he applied to Barry Bonds' assault on Hank Aaron's home run record. History will decide for itself who is the all-time home run king.)

Perhaps, all those involved understand (or read!) what I noted in a previous post: that perfect games are stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey with luck. Suppose instead of E-ump, the story had been E-3 on that final ground ball. Good-bye perfect game, and there would be no argument. Suppose Austin Jackson hadn't channeled Willie Mays two batters earlier. One-hitter; zero debate. As the cliche goes, a no-hitter is just a lucky four-hitter.

For some, this episode has incited discussions on reviving replay, or replacing umps with technology, or demanding uniformity among umpires. These debates are all efforts to eliminate luck from the arbitration of in-game results, and they have their merits -- I support more use of replay and higher quality refereeing -- but they afford the illusion that the game is fair. Like life, baseball is a stew of talent, determination and goodly helpings of serendipity. Each game, each season, each career is steeped in this solution to the point where no winner, champion or Hall of Famer should ever forget that but for the Kismet Fairy they would not be where they are.

So to recap: The winners in this whole sad scenario are:

1. Jim Joyce

2. Armando Gallaraga

3. Jim Leyland

4. Bud Selig

5. Armando Gallaraga's legacy.

Oh, and all of baseball fandom. So that's six. Maybe that headline needs to be updated.

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