Normally, you don’t pull guys in inning two. If it’s just an opportunity out of 162, you can say, “Okay, you and I won’t win today, but throw on and work through this.” You can admit that today is not your day. In spring, you might think “possibly it’s still our month”, though fall a long way down and it will sink in that this campaign is probably not yours. You might find out which squad is probably going to win. And, probably, it will win.
This rationalizing is not okay in a playoff, though. You can’t say “not today, but how about Friday?” You must think that any day is, possibly, yours.
This is what Cincinnati did, saying, “You guys want to win this, point, but our guys do also.” 2010 is not, so far, anybody in particular’s; in a month, you could say “oh, this or that squad won”, but as of now you don’t know who will win.
But still, pundits want to slap summarizing tags on 2010. “It’s for mound guys! It’s for youth!” On such an important night, though, anybody up to bat blocks all that out. You can’t win it all in your NLDS’s first night, but you can hold your own, ignoring past triumphs from your rival. You should try to.
So Halladay’s win is particularly amazing.
His skin was half-blank-and-oozing, half-in-cap-bill’s-shadow. It was a quick win, not far into a triad of digits for pitch count. Which is good–you don’t want to say “oh, it’s going to go this way, it is 2010 you know” in a bad or good mood at such an assumption. Don’t go for a brilliant night just for a brilliant night; go for a win, and find glory too.
A month or so will still occur. But now, I too am (slowly) inching towards that claim that 2010 is truly outlandish.