I had a Saturday feature article written and ready about the timeline of all the Red Sox drama this season, but I’d finished it before the end of last night’s game, our first against the San Francisco Giants and our first facing Rafael Devers in another uniform. And then the bottom of the 9th came. Aroldis Chapman was tasked with closing out the game. The Sox had a 7-5 lead and, with Chapman pitching, it looked like it’d be easy enough to hold, given how good Chapman has been.
He struck out the leadoff batter, Heliot Ramos, on five pitches. Rafael Devers was next. The bases were empty for his at-bat. A home run would’ve spoken volumes, but wouldn’t have changed the lead in the Giants’s favor. Devers was 0-4 on the day, but there was a true possibility that he’d do some kind of damage off of Chapman. After all, he hit a home run off of Chapman all the way back in 2017, when Chapman faced Devers as a Yankee closer. Lest we forget this beautiful moment:
So. Devers vs. Chapman, again. It was an outstanding hitter versus an outstanding pitcher. If Devers hit a home run, it wouldn’t change the game all that much, but it would change the emotion in the ballpark, in the clubhouses, within Devers and Chapman themselves. Devers wanted to finally get a hit and, likely, some sort of redemption against his former ball club. Chapman wanted to stay lights out. I’m sure his pride was part of this too.
But the two players put pride aside. And then, at the same time, they gave each other a nod. A nod to say, “Let’s do this.” A nod that disregarded the drama of the past week, that acknowledged the two had been teammates. It was two men of fantastic baseball prestige, each with their own World Series ring, ready to give it their all.
In other sports, gameplay is moving too quickly for a moment like that to happen during a game, but baseball gives you those pauses. Baseball allows for a moment like that to happen. As you play baseball and you have those moments of inaction, it forces you to really think, and subsequently forces you to feel.
Chapman proceeded to strike Devers out on five pitches, four of which were strikes; he got him swinging on a 101.8 mph fastball. Devers, with that face we all know so well when he strikes out, headed back to the dugout. Chapman had won this time. But both of them had put effort into this moment.
It made me emotional rewatching the full at-bat and seeing the nods. In one silent second, they put the game they love so dearly first. It was respect, it was dignity, it was honor, it was baseball. That one second captures the beauty of this sport we all know and love, because Chapman and Devers know it and love it too. All the negative was put aside for the love of the game. And sometimes, even though I’m not a pro-player, I have to remind myself to do the same.
