A ball signed by Don Larsen, who pitched a perfect game during the 1956 World Series.
In the history of professional baseball, which spans 165 years, only 19 perfect games have been recorded, with the 19th being pitched May 9, 2010, by an Oakland Athletics left-hander named Dallas Braden – an unlikely candidate to accomplish one of sports’ most difficult feats.
Selected in the 1,383rd round in the baseball draft in 2004 and never considered amongst the top Major League prospects (supposedly lacking the tools to be a consistent winner in the “bigs”), Braden beat the Tampa Bay Rays 4 to 0…27 batters up, 27 batters down. And life as he knows it will never be the same.
Pitching a perfect game is cosmic. All the stars must align to make it happen – and while it’s happening, you are oblivious to what’s going on around you.
A ball signed by Randy Johnson, who pitched a perfect game in 2004
A ball signed by Randy Johnson, who pitched a perfect game in 2004
Defense, that oft underrated part of the game, of course, has to be perfect. Balls hit hard, normally going for base hits, must die in the gloves of well-positioned fielders. Pitchers must hit their “spots” and umpires – always ready to “call them as they see them” – must see them where they’re thrown. And all this luck must last for nine innings. These events have come together only 19 times in baseball history.
In a very small way, I share some of this excitement.
On a hot July afternoon in 1948, a fourteen-year-old right-hander, nicknamed “Baffling Bobby Hellman” by a Des Moines sportswriter, tossed a six-inning perfect game in Optimist League competition (Optimist League games were limited to 6 innings and played by boys 12 to 14 years old). Given outstanding support, I fanned nine hitters…18 batters up, 18 batters down.
Ours was a team loaded with talent – future high school and college stars were in the lineup with our record for the summer of 14 wins and one loss, a testimony to the championship caliber of our players.
The ball that clinched Baffling Bobby Hellman’s perfect game
That win capped a magical summer – we silenced the soda fountain crowd when we walked in. Bragging rights in the universe as we knew it, were all ours. After a summer like that, you assumed everyone in the crowd was a scout sent out to offer you a contract…you were king of the hill – at least for the summer – and as luck would have it, for several summers to come.
