Witnessing History
Witnessing History: No Runs, No Hits, No Errors, No Better Ending
WASHINGTON - A season’s final home game tends to be a valedictory affair - fan appreciation, kid appreciation, even player appreciation as a team’s stars are pulled to an friendly ovation. Sunday’s matchup against the Miami Marlins started off on a similar note. By the fourth inning, stars Bryce Harper, Anthony Rendon, and Adam LaRoche had given way to journeymen and newcomers like Kevin Frandsen, Tyler Moore, and Nate Schierholz. Manager Matt Williams was giving the youngsters (or, from the perspective of Rendon and Harper, the oldsters) one last chance at playing on a big league field before the 25-man roster would prepare for playoff ball and the rest of the team would head home to, in the immortal words of Rogers Hornsby, stare out the window and wait for spring.
An Ian Desmond home run had the home side up one in a game with no postseason implications, and one by one, each of the team’s recognizable stars were pulled out to be replaced and receive a warm recognition for their work to bring the Nationals their second division title in three seasons. But Williams’ plan to pull starter Jordan Zimmermann after four or five solid innings of work hit a hiccup. The right-hander out of Auburndale, Wisconsin, was breezing through a Marlins lineup that was missing slugger Giancarlo Stanton, and those who follow the ancient code of baseball know that you simply cannot, with very rare exceptions, take a pitcher out when he hasn’t allowed a hit. Looming playoff series or no, Williams was going to let his big horse ride - not the team’s most well-known starter (Stephen Strasburg), or highest paid (Gio Gonzalez), or most veteran (Doug Fister), but perhaps his most dependable.
Zimmermann, a 28-year-old whose only professional baseball service had been in the Nationals’ organization, had made his major league debut in 2009 as the team sought to build its post-Montreal Expos identity, and had grown with the club, becoming one of its most solid and steady pitchers and racking up two consecutive All-Star Game nominations. It’s not uncommon for pitchers to achieve a couple of 1-2-3 innings the first time through the lineup. In the fifth inning, two hard-hit balls went as sharp line outs to defensive substitutions at first and third base, and when Zimmermann allowed his first baserunner of the day on a full-count walk, an appreciative murmur went through the crowd. The perfect game was gone, and the solid contact indicated a potential Miami rally was just around the corner. A third sharp line drive, this time right at defensive replacement Danny Espinosa at short, but a quick snag ended the threat and Zimmermann had five in the books without a hit allowed. Three batters later, he took a weak groundball to first base unassisted to close out the sixth inning, and the Marlins still hadn’t gotten a hit. What had been an interesting start now seemed like a potentially historic one. The last no-hitter in the long and discontinuous saga of baseball in Washington, D.C., had been thrown at old Griffith Stadium on August 8, 1931 by Bobby Burke of the American League’s Senators. 83 years - 30,367 days - later, the 35,085 present at the $700 million playground on the Potomac started to sit up a little straighter, to breathe a little more cautiously.
Zimmermann continued to efficiently mow down all comers. Of the 104 pitches he threw on the day, 79 found the strike zone. He struck out three Marlins in the top of the seventh, and missed a chance at a fourth when he picked off Garrett Jones, who had reached on a third-strike passed-ball, to end the inning. By the start of the 8th inning, everyone knew - every call of ‘ball’ or ‘strike’ became fodder for vocal second-guessing or support, and when Zimmermann racked up his tenth strikeout of the day to put down the side in order, a euphoric roar spilled out of the stadium and onto South Capital Street. History was close. They could taste it. In the dugout, manager Matt Williams knew he couldn’t take out Zimmermann with two n’s, but he could take out his final everyday starter, Ryan Zimmerman, with one n, the face of the franchise who had been playing a gimpy left field as he continued recovering from a hamstring injury.
In came Steven Souza, a 25-year-old rookie from Everett, Wash., who had appeared in a handful of games for the Nationals, mainly as a pinch-hitter. 1-2-3 went the Nationals in the bottom of the eighth, so Zimmermann promptly came back out of the dugout with three zeros on the R / H / E columns of the stadium’s scoreboards and Brantley Gilbert’s “Hell on Wheels,” the same song played before each of his starts, blaring through the sound system. Everyone was on their feet. Light-hitting shortstop Adeiny Hechavarria grounded to second - one out. A roar. Jarryd Saltalamacchia, pinch-hitting in the pitcher’s spot, took an 0-1 fastball to deep center field, but it settled into the glove of defensive replacement Michael Taylor - two out. Another roar, this one anxious and desperate and exultant - only one batter to go. In stepped Christian Yelich, batting .284 on the year, who had started off the game with a tough ten-pitch at bat against Zimmermann. The first pitch was a called strike, followed by two balls, setting up a 2-1 pitch as people held up iPhones, iPads, anything to capture history being made. Then - a pitch over the plate, a swing, and a long drive towards the bullpen in left.
When the story is told to future generations, the crack of the bat will silence the stadium. You’ll be able to hear a pin drop as the sphere flies out to left-center, desperately chased by a rookie who just came into the game five minutes earlier. In reality, the noise of the crowd was a rumble of cheers tailing into groans, whistles turning into “oh no”s and “come on”s - and then, as Souza turned his back to the plate, dived to the full extent of his 6-foot-4-inch frame, and somehow, miraculously, came down with the ball in the webbing of his glove - exploding in perhaps the second-most delirious moment since the national pastime returned to the District. Souza, running at a dead sprint towards the visitor’s bullpen in left, had taking a flying leap with his back to home plate and the ball over his right shoulder. It was timed perfectly. Zimmermann, arms thrust in the air in celebration - and disbelief. His teammates streaming from the dugout, starting a mob scene at the pitchers mound before jumping and dancing their way to the outfield grass. In the stands, pandemonium. On the big screen, as hard as it was to comprehend or believe: “NO-HITTER!”
As fans streamed out into the Navy Yard neighborhood, the playoffs were still days away; the division championship banner long since secured. There was nothing else to do but bask in the implausibility of a picture-perfect afternoon of pitching brilliance capped by a catch that - no matter how many times you watch the replay - still seems unbelievable. For a town that waited 83 years between no-hitters, Zimmermann’s two hours of dominance made the wait nearly seem worth it. And with a leaping dive in left field, a day that had been intended as mere appreciation was transformed from memorable into magical.]]>
