Throughout its long, storied history, this blog has ever only had one writer. I have jealously guarded the pen, never once yielding it to another soul. The time has come to break with this longstanding tradition and briefly step aside for another scribe. My decision to hand the pen to someone else is partly based on the fact that my arm is still recovering, making typing a little difficult. It is also partly based on finding another man whose talents deserve to be recognized and appreciated by an astute readership. I discovered this gem among the many reports on the events that surrounded the breaking of my arm. The author labors under the moniker J.T. Fitzpen and is a nascent talent in the sports writing world. You will see that he does have a strong tendency towards dramatic sensationalism, but I am sure that this will be overcome with time. I am sure that the reader will forgive the few sins of a writer who is still in his authorial infancy and appreciate the clarity and precision of detail that he presents. Here, then, is his article.
Over a decade after he had shocked the baseball world by walking away from the game he loved in order to engage in what he considered to be "more important pursuits," T.J. Thigpen quietly walked back on to the diamond. No one at Taipei Riverside Park who watched his tall, graceful, languid form climb slowly up the mound last Sunday would have ever guessed he had been gone so long. Numerous comments were bandied about the press boxes concerning how good Thigpen still looked in a uniform. These comments were followed by laughter at the idea that he would look any other way; not just because he always looked good in anything, but because he was back where we were used to seeing him. It was as if the Mona Lisa had been absent for a long period and was now being restored to its place. He was at home.
Thigpen went through the same pre-game warm up routine that had prepared him for so many outstanding performances in his younger days. Between warm up tosses he would restructure the mound to fit it to his liking. After the throw went down to second, he went to the rosin bag, turned his back to the plate, nodded to each of the men in the field, and spent a few moments gazing out over the wall in center. When Thigpen turned back to the plate he wore a calm, almost drowsy, expression that belied the importance of the game, both for his own career and for the team itself.
That expression would stay with him throughout the game. He remained placid after his first pitch blistered the outside corner, bringing a roar from the crowd. Two pitches later he froze the batter with a nasty slider, giving Thigpen his first strikeout in over ten years. The most emotion this elicited was a couple of quick blinks and another trip to the rosin bag.
Thigpen sailed through the first three inning, showing no signs of rust. He later said that his arm felt fine throughout.
"I was expecting it to start getting a little stiff since it had been so long since I had done any serious throwing," he said, "but it wasn't giving me any problems. I certainly didn't see it coming."
What he didn't see coming did come, however, on a 0-2 count with no outs in the fourth. In the middle of Thigpen's smooth, familiar motion a loud snap, much like a thunder clap, reverberated through the stadium. A close observer might have noticed a brief line of confusion crease Thigpen's brow. This vanished instantly, though, and he resumed his usual calm demeanor as he held conference with his catcher and pitching coach.
"For just a second I didn't know what happened, but I realized pretty quickly that I had sustained a spiral fracture of my humerus about a third of the way up from the elbow."
This didn't seem to bother him that much, however.
"I was just about to call the catcher out to let him know that the velocity on my pitches was most likely going to decrease slightly, and that I might not be able to place the ball with the pinpoint accuracy to which he had become accustomed."
The catcher did not need to be summoned. He was already on his way out to the mound.
"I immediately knew some was wrong," the catcher said. "I had called for a fastball outside, but this one just caught the inside corner. It was almost a ball, and I sprinted out to see what was wrong."
It turned out that the sight that greeted him there was a little unsettling.
"His arm dangling at an unnatural angle. It was kind of gross to be honest."
What followed was the only thing that seemed to rattle Thigpen in the slightest. He was told he could not continue pitching with a broken arm.
"I didn't think it was that big a deal," told the press. "It was just a broken arm. It was not as if it was a potentially lethal injury. I could tell it was a pretty clean break, too, so I didn't think anyone would mind me finishing the game.
However, the rule book stood in his way. According to the official Taipei Baseball Association rule book, a player with a serious injury must leave the game. Section III, Article 2, paragraph 1 states:
In the case of the having of very bad luck in the body of a player, the unlucky man must depart the game and look for attention for health. Unluckiness in body include ripping of ligaments, blinding of eyes, cracking of bone, or death. Game officials has response to produce water and any others necessary for comfort and wellbeing of unlucky man.
This still didn't stop Thigpen from protesting.
"It was right there in black and white, I guess," he admitted. "I just couldn't help arguing a little. I understood their position, but I wanted to play. They were very nice to me, and kept trying to give me water."
In the end he did win a little a small victory against the rule book. He was allowed to finish out the inning while waiting on the ambulance to arrive.
"I asked them if they would let me at least pitch until the medical people got there. I promised to throw left handed if it made them feel better."
It turned out that Thigpen's left arm is faster than Taipei's ambulances. He set down the next two batters in quick succession and had to wait ten minutes for the ambulance to arrive. This, however, was fine with Thigpen since he didn't want to leave the game anyway.
"I thought they would at least let me stay and watch the game out. I was going to take the bus to the hospital later, but they threw the rule book at me again."
This time it was Section III, Article 2, paragraph 2:
For unlucky man must be production of quick medical car. Quick medical car have to scurry him to hospital to restoration for him of lost happiness.
With the arrival of the quick medical car, Thigpen left baseball once again. And once again the baseball world was left wondering if this was the end. Had baseball's brightest star, long hidden by the clouds of devotion to other causes, finally burned itself out here in Taipei? Had this Hector met his Achilles? Had we just watched Bowie finally succumb in the Alamo?
These questions stand unanswered right now. Maybe Thigpen won't return. Maybe he will rise again like the phoenix from the ashes of his latest defeat. Maybe like a boxer bludgeoned by the fist of fate and nearly counted out by the course crowd around him, he will summon from a rich reservoir of resolve the power to punch back. Maybe, just maybe, he will come back home one more time.
As I said at the beginning, this is a slightly over sensationalized report. As you can see, however, Fitzpen has a way of grasping and presenting the salient points of a game. I have heard that Fitzpen himself has been unlucky in body. Something about an injured arm too, which makes the story even more impressive if he typed it with a hurt arm. Maybe he called upon a rich reservoir of resolve. Maybe he summoned the sustaining strength that comes from a passionate pursuit of principles and purpose. Maybe I should take the pen back now.
