By the end of the 7th inning, it was clear to everyone that Gavin Floyd was pitching a no-hitter. A no-hitter with a run, no less.
At the top of the ninth, he took the mound to a standing ovation. And stood there, alone, throwing pitches.
See, earlier that day, I had wanted to go to my first ball game of this season. So, I emailed the usual suspects and lo and behold raver comes up with these awesome free tickets. Providence, you know. It was utterly beautiful at the park. The sky cleared up - the breeze - the game. After months in the darkness of Chicago's coldest winter, I felt as if I had lungs to breathe.
And suddenly this good, nay pretty great night, was about to enter legendary status. I could witness a no-hitter.
The human mind is a funny thing. Well, mine is. I stood there, clapping and hollering, and wishing, wishing more than anything I have wished for, that Gavin would get this no-hitter. I wanted it for him. I wanted it because if it happened, it would be a sign. A clear indication that the impossibilities amassed on my shoulders could dissipate. Hope, right.
That moment, at the top of the ninth, with one out - that was a great moment. That's what sports can do for you - give you air for your lungs.
Awesome. Brings back fond memories of attending this game at the old Comiskey. There's absolutely nothing like seeing a Yankee pitcher throw a no-hitter on the road -- and lose 4-0.
Cool. This is what makes baseball great, really. Magical moments. I've never gotten to see anything even close to a no-hitter live. But that's OK: hope is alive.
Just so I don't leave the wrong impression, Gavin Floyd's no-hitter was over by the second at-bat.
We were a mile away when buehrle wrapped up his no-hitter, unfortunately we didn't get to go to that game because we overdid the one-hitter. Laziness doesn't get the job done, but at least you get to watch.