What Roy Halladay Meant To Philadelphia

PHILADELPHIA, PA — Seven years, one month, and one day before he died, the man known as Doc stepped onto a baseball diamond in south Philadelphia before 46,411 screaming men, women, and children. He dug his red cleats into the golden soil. He looked about the golden October afternoon. He turned a clean white ball over in his hand. His hat brim was pulled down low over his eyes and his face bore no expression at all.

What happened over the next two hours and thirty-four minutes was nothing short of the apotheosis of Roy Doc Halladay, a tale of mythic scale: Game 1 of the 2010 National Division Series against the Cincinnati Reds. 104 pitches. 79 strikes. 28 batters. 27 outs. One walk. Eight strikeouts. Dozens of weakly hit ground balls that came off the bat sounding hollow, dead. As if the hitters were swinging with wiffle ball bats. To an outside observer who had never witnessed a game of baseball, surely it would have seemed as if the opposing team were somehow handicapped. That this was a matchup between two vastly disparate talents, an exhibition maybe. But it was not: it was a war between elite world class athletes and a god.

And as Carlos Ruiz threw down the line to Ryan Howard for the final out of only the second no-hitter in postseason history, the entire city was invested with an unparalleled sense of inertia and invincibility. Perhaps never before had a Philadelphia team seemed so unbeatable. But more than that, it was one of those rare transcendent moments in sports, when it suddenly became clear to even the most casual of fans that Halladay had temporarily suspended reality and defied the prevailing entropy of both life and athletics. The way he stoically dominated the diamond on that afternoon, on that stage, in the most chaotic of arenas, seemed impossible. It was an act of immortality which elevated an entire city along with him.

But as the death of Doc, just 40, in a plane crash Tuesday afternoon made all too plain, human life and all its attendant glories are a temporary construction. So too with glory: the Phillies would, of course, lose to the San Francisco Giants in the next round of the playoffs. They were not invincible. Halladay had another year and a half or so of greatness under his belt before his shoulder gave way, and he ultimately announced his retirement in December of 2013.

Unlike Don Larsen, the only other person to throw a postseason no-hitter when he threw a perfect game in the 1956 World Series, Halladay was the greatest pitcher on the planet for a number of years before his defining feat. He threw his own regular season perfect game - the 20th in history - on May 29, 2010, just a little more than four months before his playoff performance. He won Cy Young Awards in both the American League and National League, one of only six pitchers to ever do so. Over parts of 15 seasons, the first 11 of which he spent with the Toronto Blue Jays before coming to Philadelphia, Halladay won 203 games, threw 2,117 strikeouts, and held an elite earned run average of 3.38.

Halladay bore a class in his personal life which was a perfect reflection of his grace on the diamond. Like one of his understated, ruthlessly efficient cut fastballs, Halladay was devoted to quiet charity work. He launched an initiative called "Doc's Box for Kids," which helped out economically disadvantaged children who were suffering from various illnesses. He advocated for community programs that benefited children and helped improve baseball fields used by children in the city. All of it he did in a behind the scenes manner, out of the spotlight, without a hint of the showmanship that has become so rampant in the on and off field lives of countless modern sports icons. As one 2006 MLB.com story about his nomination for the Roberto Clemente award notes: "Help is what Roy Halladay has given. Attention isn't what he's wanted to receive in return."

The Clemente award is given to a player who "exemplifies the game of baseball, sportsmanship, and community involvement," and Halladay was nominated numerous times throughout his career. Clemente, a Hall of Famer, was himself killed in a plane crash in 1972 while delivering supplies to Nicaragua after an earthquake had ravaged the region.

Though Halladay is gone and the Phillies are no longer on top of the world, the legacy of Doc as a consummate professional and human being is evident in the tributes which poured in following his death.

"Roy was one of the greatest pitchers I ever caught and an even better person and friend," former Phillies catcher Carlos Ruiz said in a statement. "I wanted to win more for him than myself. I will miss him very much. My thoughts and prayers are with his family and loved ones and all those, like me, who truly admired him."

"Roy Halladay will be severely missed," Tampa Bay Rays star pitcher Chris Archer said on Twitter. "Had the chance to pick his brain one time. I'm grateful to have come across such a humble man. My heart goes out to his beautiful family."

"In shock over the terrible news about Roy Halladay, a pitcher I grew up admiring and rooting for. Praying for his family and friends," Los Angeles Angels star and South Jersey native Mike Trout added.

"To the world, Roy was one of the best pitchers in baseball, but to me, he was an inspiration, a great mentor, teammate, and most importantly, a friend," former Phillies teammate and All Star hurler Cole Hamels said. "His preparation and work ethic will be forever ingrained in me. Roy was a man of few words, but he lit up when his boys were around. His family and this game were everything to him and there will never be a day in my own life that I won't miss him."

When that fateful no-hitter in October was over, the team rushed the mound. Chooch leapt into Doc's arms. Howard held his mitt with the final out high into the early autumn air, a baseball benediction, as he ran to join them. And Halladay, whose face had remained stoically chiseled in stone, calm and in utter control, for nearly three hours, suddenly broke out an uncharacteristic on-field grin of raw joy. It's a grin that will reverberate through history: the night Doc smiled.

Halladay is survived by his wife Brandy and two sons, Ryan and Braden.

Watch Also: The Sports World Mourns Roy Halladay On Twitter

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