As sports fans, we all have our bucket list items.
I’ve been to Augusta National three times. I’ve been to multiple Stanley Cup championship games and even saw the trophy hoisted in 2004.
I’ve been to an NBA Finals game, Game One of the Orlando Magic-Houston Rockets series. (Yes, the one where Nick Anderson missed four consecutive free throws). I’ve also seen both Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant play live.
I’ve been to the World Series, Game Five of the 1991 World Series between the Atlanta Braves and Minnesota Twins.
Despite my lengthy list of crossed out to-do items, one thing I have NOT done is see a pitcher throw a no-hitter. I have this friend, however, who has.
My dear friend, Sean Mo, recently moved back to his hometown, the chili capital of the nation. Still missing the camaraderie of his favorite Irish Pub, he recently shot me a photo, along with a text saying he wished we “would have kept this fucking guy in Tampa.”
I was busy at that moment slinging drinks for the partygoers of suburban Ybor City. At first glance, my mind immediately raced to the recently departed Randy Arozarena. Sean had included a photo of players congregating on the pitcher’s mound. While fiery, Arozarena is not the kind of guy to initiate bench-clearing fisticuffs.
I gave it more thought. Arozarena wasn’t traded to Cincinnati. He was sent to Seattle and the Reds were playing San Francisco that evening.
No, Sean was talking about Blake Snell, yet another along a line of salary cap casualties the Rays have had to endure once Snell’s value exceeded what the Rays could afford. That’s a lengthy list we’ll get to another time as I’m trying not to upset myself.
On Friday evening, August 2, San Francisco Giant ace (and former Ray) Blake Snell threw a no-hitter against the Cincinnati Reds… and my friend was in the stands to watch it live. He has graciously agreed to talk about his experience.
Good to hear from you, buddy. Miss you much and thanks for agreeing to submit yourself to the tortures of this Q&A.
What was the crowd like that evening and how did the tensions build as the game progressed? At what point did you look at the box score and realize that Snell was knee-deep in Major League history? No hitters aren’t exactly the most uncommon thing in sports, but they don’t grow on trees. The Giants haven’t thrown one since 2015 and the Reds haven’t been no-hit since 2019. We’ve only had three no-hitters this year which means you’re one of the fortunate few.
While it must suck seeing your home team being no-hit, at least you can say you were there for a part of history. Tell us about the night.
Sean Mo: Chris, thanks for reaching out, it’s an honor to be on such a first-rate publication… second rate… third… let’s just say you are holding back your rating so you can qualify for the next Olympics.
What can I say about that fateful night in Cincinnati, Ohio? Firstly, the night began with an ominous start. What was set for a 7:10 first pitch was clearly going to be postponed by storms. Luckily for the wife and I, we live three blocks from the stadium so we could wait out the dark clouds from the comfort of our apartment.
Around 8:10, we found our seats for what ended up being the new start time. Quickly we looked around and noticed that this was not going to be a normal day at the ballpark. No, this day was clearly different as was evident from the flood of tye-dyed jerseys in the stands. Soon the horror set in as I realized that we had arrived on Grateful Dead night.
The first inning went smoothly enough as the game got Trucking an hour behind schedule. I think Jerry Garcia would have been proud to see the utter lack of concern this game showed for starting any action. Around the third batter of the game Andrew Abbott gave up a hit to one of the many nameless players which litter the lineup. I turned to Becky, and with a joke she is all too used to hearing I said, “well there goes the no-hitter.” Little did I know how prophetic that joke would become.
The game sludged on for a few more innings with both teams demonstrating the era of three outcome at bats with the Reds really focusing on two of them and the Giants demonstrating the HR part of the equation between bouts of futility. Around the 5th inning, with the crowd about as active as a Dead head three hits into the brown tabs on the floor of a Haight-Ashbury flat, I started realizing that Blake Snell was really bringing some Fire on the Mountain. In another joke which has gotten too much play, I wrote my Reds fans friends a text “you know if this Snell kid keeps pitching like this people might start talking about him”.
It was at this time the fans started the wave in the stands, an act I normally respond to with disdain but in this scenario… well, I still reacted in kind. Instead of pouting like a child, I decided to be a man and exit the stands for a beer run. I will admit that I missed all the 6th inning as I sought out the one stand which had that glorious wheat ale made by local 50W Brewing called Doom Petal (if anyone from 50W is reading feel free to reach out to me. I am not looking for any sponsorship, I just want to know why in the hell you would be frequenting this particular stop on the internet). At this point like Rose, I figured I would Ramble on back to my seat as I debated telling the wife that the stadium 2-beer-per-order maximum meant she was to do without. Would two beers numb me enough for the outcome I was imagining? I did deliver one of those cans to the Brown-Eyed Woman in the seat next to me after all… man, was my wife pissed when she saw that.
As the 8th inning began, I looked at the pitch count of the guy on the mound and started thinking He Gone. It was becoming evident that my fears of my team being no-hit were not only more likely, but the worst thing ever may come true. That’s right, I may be seeing my team on the losing side of a fucking team combined no-hitter, is there a worse “achievement” in sports? Saying you saw an amazing feat of athletic abilities from Casey Jones is one thing but if it’s all of Uncle John’s Band doing the same task… I digress.
With all rambling aside, we have now arrived at the 9th inning. After an amazing play by Elly De La Cruz in the 8th I cannot share here since I lack the requisite expressed written permission of MLB and its affiliates, I started to be filled with hope for the end of the hitless streak. How many times have baseball fans seen an incredible play in the outfield turn around and manifest itself into a kind of momentum for the batter when he comes up in the next frame?
Oh, glory be that the bottom of the inning would feature that very same EDLC hitting 3rd against a depleted Blake Snell! The first two batters stepped up to the plate and went down with the effectiveness of Jerry Garcia flipping the bird to a stranger with his right hand. Up came the matchup everyone had been waiting for. Most of the fans in this great baseball city knew exactly what was at stake when strength met strength for the final out of the inning, the 2-time Cy Young winner against the phenom who will be still wowing fans when the pitcher’s bust is being placed on its pedestal in the upper part of this state. Everyone came to their feet to witness either a once in a lifetime experience or a chance for their hero to play spoiler. Even the Deadheads, after being filled in of the goings on rose to their feet and stared glassy eyed at the field happy to be part of the momentous occasion, that being the legislation of Marijuana in the state a few weeks back… and also, the baseball game. The phones were out as EDLC flew out to Right/Center and the San Franscisco players mobbed the field. Oddly enough, after the out the fans didn’t really stick around. This was Fireworks Friday after all and the best spots would be taken if the crowd didn’t move soon. We, like the others, made our way to the area behind the plate to enjoy the show.
As the fireworks wowed the fans to… you guessed it even more fucking Grateful Dead music I was reminded that just down the street Luke Combs was playing a show at Paycor (Paul Brown) Stadium, and I realized that my night could have been much worse than being no hit to the soundtrack of the Grateful Dead. Suddenly I was reminded of the quote by Yogi Berra, “Even a bad day at the ballpark is better than a good day at some shitty pop country concert” … or something like that. Suddenly, the Touch of Gray subsided, and I was happy to witness history.
SportsChump: Somewhere, the LSD-soaked ghost of Dock Ellis is singing “What a long, strange trip it’s been.” Thanks for sharing the “experience,” Sean Mo. Shout at ya’ soon and please tell Nick Lodolo to pick up the Cy Young pace.
Glad for Blake. Bummed for the Reds.