No Man!

The official attendance was listed at 46,661. Twenty years from now, half a million people will claim they were in attendance. But I was there. In standing room only. In the rain. In the cold. With 46,000 others. Screaming at the top of my lungs.

This game was unlike any other I've been to before. Even before it started, there was a different feeling in the air. We all knew Doc was going to throw zeros, but that was in terms of runs allowed. We figured the Central Division champs, which led the league in hitting, slugging, OPS and virtually every other offensive category, would be able to get one measly hit. We erupted in excitement as he retired lead-off hitter Brandon Phillips to start the game.

"He's perfect so far, 26 to go," I said.

The fans huddled around me laughed. But my friends who attended with me nodded, knowing there was a distinct possibility he could do it. We felt it. The crowd got louder with every out. In the long list of games I've attended, I don't remember the Bank being louder than when the home plate umpire rang up Scott Rolen on a pitch that was a solid 4 inches off the plate. Forty-six thousand people expressed their disdain for Rolen, who argued briefly. Had he been ejected, the ground may have collapsed from everyone jumping up and down.

Not one batter that came to the plate looked comfortable. A first pitch strike to 25 of 28 batters will do that. His fastball had pinpoint precision. His curve ball was a knee-buckler and he threw 10 of the greatest change-ups I've ever seen in the history of baseball. He didn't want to come to the National League because he hated to hit, yet on this historic day, he had more hits than he surrendered.

The ninth inning was unlike anything I've ever experienced in my life. Most professional athletes will preface expressing their joy by saying something to the effect of "Next to the day I married my wife and the day my son was born, this is the greatest day of my life." Well I'm not married. And I don't have any kids. And just being honest, unless that kid comes out tap dancing, last night will be the greatest night of my life. I hugged complete strangers for well beyond what is considered socially acceptable. Nine innings ago we said hello, yet we will remember each other for the rest of our lives.

We climbed onto the railing where those standing place their drinks and food. The woman working as usher immediately instructed us to get down. We ignored her completely. By the time the second out was recorded she had changed her stance to, "just be careful". She understood. When Phillips hit the little tapper in front of the plate, every rally towel plummeted to waist high. The clapping stopped. The cheers fell silent. It was pure torture for all of one and a half seconds. It's like milli-second when you see the squirrel run out in front of the car but you don't have enough time to brake or swerve. Your heart jumps into your throat and it's out of your control at this point.

We had the utmost confidence in Chooch making the play. But it was a difficult one and no one would have blamed him had he been unable to retire Phillips. Instead, Ruiz makes what turns out to be a remarkable play. Dropping to both knees and looping the ball to Howard. Chooch's heart was obviously pounding as well and for him to stay cool and make that throw, when he had to make sure the throw avoided Phillips, who was clearly running inside the baseline, is incredible.

We jumped up and down. We screamed until our voices gave out and then we got hammered. No one left the stadium. It took forty-five minutes for anyone to even move from their seat. The ballpark bar, McFadden's, was electric. Women dancing on the bar, shots being poured everywhere and good times being had by all.

It was the greatest game of the year...and it was only Game 1!