You won't be surprised to hear this from me, a known baseball honk, but there is no more magical game than the game of baseball. Other sports have their moments, certainly: Drew Brees and the Saints winning the Super Bowl after Hurricane Katrina. The Miracle on Ice. Willis Reed. These are great. They're magical. But there's just something about the great game of baseball...it's mystical.
What happened on Friday night in Anaheim was beyond incredible. A combined no hitter on the night when Tyler Skaggs was being honored? Come on! In no other sport does this happen! Stephen Piscotty hitting a homer in his first at bat back after the death of his mother. Dee Gordon's bomb in memory of Jose Fernandez. All moments that brought a tear to my eye.
But none of those came close to the most magical thing I've ever seen on a baseball field. Do you know the name Levar Gary? I'm sure you don't. Levar played (barely) for the Simsbury Little League Indians in 1991, alongside my brother Brent.
To say that baseball wasn't his sport was an understatement. I don't remember him fouling a ball off the entire year. Yet his parents sat in the stands and suffered through the agony of having to watch their son struggle. Watching other parents shake their heads every time he struck out. Watching the other players laugh at his misfortunes.
Fast forward to the championship game. My brother's team, the underdogs against the Red Sox and their imposing pitcher Matt Bubb. This kid threw smoke as a ten year old. We all had that kid in our little league, right? The kid who made your head swim all day knowing you'd have to face him that evening.
Bottom of the 7th inning. Two on, two out, down two and up to the plate steps Levar. Shaking.
Matt Bubb rears back and throws a belt high fastball that Levar Gary knocks out of the park, most likely with his eyes closed. Indians win.
Watching his dad celebrate, tears streaming down his face, is my favorite baseball moment of all time. Magical, indeed.