For the past five minutes, I’ve tried to write an introductory paragraph that would do some justice to Joe Posnanski’s perfect post-Game 6 piece. He’s hands-down my favorite sportswriter, who was blessed with some insane ability to write eight thousand times more profoundly than anyone else.
But I can’t even begin to do it justice. So I’ll let his own words do the talking:
Freese hit the home run that won the game, hit it to straight away center field, a blast that will make every drink free in St. Louis for the rest of his life. And the 10-year-old in me was still shaking with joy. That 10-year-old always believed in comebacks, always, even after I had seen a thousand of them thwarted and smothered. “Next time,” I have always thought because that’s the wonder of sports. And then came this imperfect game, bloated with mistakes and brain-lock and baffling choices, and then, absurdly, miraculously, it became the most wonderful game I can remember.
He describes Game 6 of the World Series in depth, recounting every lead change, the comical fielding errors, the David Freese walk-off heroics.
His piece was equal parts game recap and reflection on the larger-than-life nature of baseball. It was a confirmation that all the heroics of last night really were significant. What we watched was real.
I took the newspaper out of its plastic wrap this morning and found that last night’s epic game had been relegated to a small headline on the top of the front page. Something like “Freese, Cardinals Force Game 7. Sports, C1.” That’s it? All those high-on-baseball tweets last night (many of which were coming from people who normally tweeted about football or the NBA lockout – that’s how you know it’s big) had been boiled down into a sterile headline.
But then we’re reminded of how awesome it was, thanks to pieces like Posnanski’s.
And thanks to pictures like this, of Freese’s teammates preparing to mob him as he reached home in the bottom of the 11th:
And thanks to baseball fans everywhere – some who just became baseball fans last night – who know tonight’s game can’t come soon enough.
(Bonus: It’s a month old by now, but Posnanski’s piece on Day 162 of the 2011 baseball season was maybe the best thing I’ve read all year. Give it a whirl if you have a few minutes.)