COMMENTARY

Getting no-hit leaves Royals feeling empty

BOSTON | There are not many places in the world that are quieter than the losing clubhouse after a no-hitter. Everyone speaks in whispers. Televisions are dark. The stereo is mute. Kansas City’s Billy Butler, the 22-year-old kid from Florida who loves nothing more than talking and swinging bats at incoming fastballs, shakes his head.

“He didn’t make any mistakes,” he murmurs.

And to the next question: “He didn’t make any mistakes,” he murmurs again.

He is Jon Lester of the Boston Red Sox, who on a cold and windy Monday night against the Royals became the first left-hander in more than 50 years to throw a no-hitter at Fenway Park. He also became the first pitcher to no-hit the Royals since 1973, when Nolan Ryan was young and threw 100 mph. He also sparked tears of joy through Fenway Park because just 19 months ago, Jon Lester was checked out by doctors because of some sharp back pain, and he was told that he had lymphoma. They told him it was treatable. They could not tell him that he would ever be a Major League pitcher again.

“God willing … we beat it, we got it under control, we’ll start thinking about baseball, back to pitching,” he told reporters then. “Until we do that, we’ve got a long road ahead.”

From there — from a fight for his life — to here, Monday, raw night, packed stadium, harsh wind, everyone’s hearts in their throats. He threw 130 pitches, the last his fastest of the night, maybe the fastest of his life, a 96-mph fastball, high and away and rising. Kansas City’s Alberto Callaspo waved the bat helplessly.

That’s when the loudest sound that 37,000 or so people can make detonated, a World Series-clinching sound, a Secretariat thundering down the stretch sound, a birdie putt to win the Masters sound. Catcher Jason Varitek charged the mound to jump on Lester. Red Sox players rushed in from all directions. Fans all over the park unfolded their cell phones and called someone — anyone — to say they were here. They are still here. Outside the losing clubhouse, a half hour after the last pitch, they’re still talking into cell phones, still hugging and laughing and asking each other, “Can you believe it?”

Inside here, the Royals’ clubhouse, it is quieter than a bank vault. It’s a strange feeling to get no-hit. On one hand, it’s just one loss, as meaningful and meaningless as the 70, 80 or 90 losses the Royals will pile up this year. This is the way some of the players try to look at things. It’s just another game. It’s just another loss. It’s just …

“No, I didn’t say anything to them,” Royals manager Trey Hillman says. “They don’t need me to say anything. They don’t need me to tell them what happened. That would be like an insult to their intelligence. … We’ll get them tomorrow.”

On the other hand, of course, it’s not another loss. No. There have been 214 no-hitters thrown in the major leagues since 1900, just about two per season. They have been thrown by the greatest names and nicknames in the history of this great game — Hubbell, Noodles, Big Train, Feller, Koufax, Seaver, Ryan, Unit, Pedro. They have been thrown by names lost to history — Koob, Shoun, Kralick, Halicki, Bosio.

And no matter who threw the no-hitter, everyone involved — every person in the stands, every player on both teams, every reporter writing stories — remembers the moment forever. That’s not just another loss. That’s something closer to history. Royals second baseman Mark Grudzielanek has been playing in the major leagues for 14 years. Monday was his 1,720th game. He had never been a part of a no-hitter before. What’s there to say?

Next page >

To reach Joe Posnanski, call 816-234-4361 or send e-mail to jposnanski@kcstar.com. For previous columns, go to KansasCity.com.