Believing is Art

Few things on this Earth can prove as consistently satisfying as watching Roy Halladay pitch a baseball game. It is like poetry. Terse, spare poetry.

I regret not having been alive to watch Roberto Clemente patrol right at Forbes Field. I regret not being wealthy and living in Seattle and thus being unable to buy M's season tickets to watch Ichiro's greatness unfold over a whole season.

But I can watch Roy (thanks, Sportsnet!) every time he pitches, and that is a beautiful human experience. I admit to perhaps taking his skill and efficiency for granted before this year, but things are different now, and I will never be guilty of that again. Cy Young or not, this is perhaps his best season, and even if Toronto fails to make a run at the Wild Card, I will have enjoyed 2008 for Halladay's performance alone. It is my fondest wish that Halladay should retire a Blue Jay.

Take last night, for example. Even when he got in a jam in the 6th, he was unflappable, and I never doubted he would get the job done.

How incredible is it to have a pitcher who surprises you when he doesn't go the full 9?

And now, if you will excuse me, I must build a shrine to this man.