Allen: "That's where the player in you comes out and you forget about being an announcer. That's one of those 'get out of your seat' moments and I remember it like yesterday, jumping out of my seat and screaming and Mario looking over at me — because usually you don't do that, I mean he's trying to make a call and then all of a sudden, I'm screaming, 'Oh, Jackson!
Avila: "After that catch, I'm thinking it's gonna happen, you know? Because at that point, there's some real magic there, and it's gonna happen. Donald: "When Jackson made that catch, I specifically remember thinking, 'This is going to come down to me at the end. Donald was playing in his 15th major league game. He was hitting. Galarraga had held Donald hitless in two Triple-A starts that season.
Donald noticed the scoreboard in the fourth or fifth inning. Coming off the field after the bottom of the eighth, he heard hecklers. When he returned to the field, he could barely hear himself think.
Donald: "Some fans were above the dugout, they knew — obviously they knew what was going on — and they're like, 'You got no chance! And as I was in the hole, standing on the steps, I was completely calm, and then when I walked out on deck, it felt like there was , people there and things sped up considerably. The enormity of what was on the line started to maybe hit me. With Donald on deck, Indians catcher Mike Redmond hit the fourth pitch he saw on the ground to shortstop.
Santiago: "I was really, really focused, not paying attention to anything else, just catch the ball and make the out. Donald: "When the second out was made and I went walking up to the plate It was kind of a surreal experience, thinking that this is going to come down to me here. He was going to break it up any way he could, Donald told himself.
Be aggressive. Fight your butt off. And typically the rhythm of the play is, if you can get even with a pitcher or a step ahead of them, you're going to beat it. Armando Galarraga, Tigers right-hander: "I know I've said this a million times but this is so fresh for me because I'm always going to remember that play — that play was kind of like in slow motion.
When Jason Donald hit the ball, he really didn't hit it that hard. Miguel catch the ball and throw to me and everything is going in slow motion. Donald: "Running down the line, I felt like I was in a race against him. And not even a race to the bag — a race to just try to get even with him.
If I can get one step ahead, when we did get to the finish line or the bag, I would be safe. And obviously, that did not happen. Joyce started umpiring in and spent 11 seasons in the minor leagues. That season was his 22nd in the majors. Galarraga: "My first reaction I was like, more so, 'How?
When Jim called safe is when I start doubting myself. I'm walking back to my mound to get the last out, Miguel starts to talk to Jim Joyce back and forth, back and forth, discuss with him why he call safe and I had no focus at that point anymore. Donald: "I'll never forget, when he got to the bag that step and a half before me as I was literally like about to touch the bag, I went 'ugh,' and I remember thinking, 'Dang it,' and then I hit the bag.
And then as I'm taking that next step through the bag, Jim Joyce is right in front of me. And when his arm went safe, I think I was the most shocked person in the stadium. It kind of took the breath out of me, like, 'Oh my gosh. Santiago: "Yeah, I thought since the beginning it was out. It was close, but I think Miggy make a good throw and I saw Galarraga beating the runner to the base, so I was kind of shocked the same way everybody was.
I was in shock, like, 'What? You really called that safe? But I was like everybody was, I was in shock. Avila: "Well, just naturally, when the ball was hit, I was running toward first base in foul territory to back up the play and so, to be honest with you, from my angle, I couldn't really tell, because I was kind of behind it. Leyland: "I could tell from the dugout that Galarraga beat him there, but I didn't know if maybe he was calling that Galarraga's foot wasn't on the base, I couldn't really tell that.
But he definitely had the ball in plenty of time, I could tell that from the dugout. Knapp: " Carlos Guillen is going into the four-hole to get the ball and Miguel is way off the base and he snags it. And after he catches the ball, the only thing that I'm thinking is, 'Is Galarraga over there? I bet there had to be five or six players that were over the rail on the field when the call was made. I think if you looked at the base runner, he's like, 'Wow, I can't believe he just called me safe.
Donald: "Sandy Alomar Jr. He's like, 'I can't believe this. Alomar: "He looked at me, he kind of gives me this face, like, 'Holy cow. But I didn't want to say it loud enough, because I don't want Jimmy to hear me, and I say, 'Oh, man, you were out.
You were out. And we were standing there, and I look at Donald and he looks at me and goes, 'Holy crap. Cabrera, an outstanding defender who came up in the minor leagues as a third baseman, ranged far to his right. He was quick to the ball, backhanded it, quick on the release, made the play. But Guillen was behind him and ready, leaving many to wonder: What if Cabrera had let Guillen make an easier play? Galarraga: "I got this question before about Carlos Guillen should get that ground ball.
I think should Carlos Guillen get the ground ball then actually the runner will be safe. The ground ball was not really fast.
And Miguel, at this point, I think Miguel makes the right decision because this ground ball is between second base and first base. The way it was out was because Miguel really went fast to throw the ball and execute really well. Alomar: "That play was very, very difficult play for Cabrera to make. So I thought that if the second baseman — because the ball was far to his right — if a second baseman would have caught that ball, that would have been a much easier call.
As Joyce signaled safe, Galarraga raised his arms in celebration. Galarraga: "You know when it's out or when it's safe. You know it, you just know that feeling because you practice all the time in spring training and in the games that happen.
I see all these guys celebrate. And I was like, maybe I no touch the base? Maybe I missed the base? I don't run that hard? But when he called safe, I was doubting myself. Alomar: "I didn't second-guess it at all, he was just completely out.
But I had a different angle, right in front of the bag. Jimmy was behind the bag and as Galarraga was coming, he kind of occupied a little bit of a space for his view as he was running toward the base.
So I think that's a confusion that he had. Joyce, a major-league umpire since and considered then and now to be among the best, if not the best, at his craft, had made the call — and with little hesitation.
And throughout the ballpark, hands hit heads. On the field, Cabrera's hands were on his head, and Donald's hands were on his head. In the executive's box, Dombrowski's hands were on his head.
In the dugout, Brennan Boesch's hands were on his head. The replays pretty quickly showed he was out. Everyone was stunned, including Galarraga, who had the most amazing reaction. He didn't swear, he didn't say a word in fact.
He simply smiled — perhaps the only one in the ballpark who did. Manager Jim Leyland took the slow stroll out to first base, and had a very brief conversation with Joyce, with few words said by either man. At that time, Leyland and the players hadn't seen the replay, so few in the ballpark, outside of the broadcast crew, knew what had happened. Meanwhile, Galarraga went back to work. There was business to finish, not that he was overly focused. So much in a fog, he continued to pitch out of the windup, allowing Donald to take second base, then third, before Trevor Crowe grounded out to third base to finally end it.
By now, they had seen replay, and several Tigers players let Joyce hear it with a series of profanities, Gerald Laird and Jeremy Bonderman among them, before Leyland interjected and had his heated say. Joyce stood there and took all of it, every last word. He simply accepted a hug and some whispered words from Avila, before finishing the hand-shake line, trying to take solace in what would be the first of two complete games he would throw in his six-year major-league career, and his only shutout.
I just told him I was proud of him, a great game, and that he did it. Joyce worked his way back to the umpires' locker room and Jim Schmakel, the Tigers' longtime clubhouse manager, already had a TV there, and the replay cued up ready to go. He told Joyce — "in a very respectful way," Joyce recalled — he could hit the button whenever he wanted, and Joyce wasted no time.
It took one viewing to confirm what so many already knew. Not anymore. A storm was coming — and a savior. While Galarraga was still smiling during his post-game interview with FSD's Trevor Thompson, even after Thompson told him the call was blown, Joyce was an emotional wreck in the umpires' clubhouse.
All the while, dozens of reporters — only a small segment had been assigned to cover a rather-benign weeknight game; others descended in the late innings as bosses in the later innings started frantically ordering backup — were gathering outside. MLB protocols called for one media member, or a designated "pool reporter," to ask questions of umpires when pertinent. The crew chief, Derryl Cousins, told the reporters as much.
Cousins complied, and Joyce proceeded to spill his guts — and uttered the now-famous line: "I kicked the sh-- out of it. And I took a perfect game away from that kid who worked his a-- off all night. That was the first step in the healing process. Joyce, now 64, didn't hide. He spoke from the heart, spoke with remorse — he freaking spoke, the main point here. As a team, they quickly gathered in the locker room to watch replays on a big-screen TV, and all of them stood, in stunned silence.
There was anger still, to be sure, but then Galarraga finally made his way into the locker room for another round of press, this time with the entire media contingent. And his demeanor hadn't changed, even after he saw the replays with his own eyes. First, Leyland went to visit Joyce.
The story has been told that Leyland brought Joyce a beer and a cigarette, but that didn't really happen. Leyland said, "Let's have a beer and a cigarette. Then Dombrowski, too. That's when Joyce asked Dombrowski if he could speak with Galarraga. Joyce, to this day, doesn't remember how long he sat in his locker room after the game. The rest of the umpiring crew, including Marvin Hudson and Jim Wolf, were showered and dressed and ready to get on with their night, and waiting for Joyce — but he told them to go ahead.
Eventually, Joyce was ready to go home, or back to Toledo, where his mom lived, and where he stayed when he did games in Detroit. Schmakel offered to drive him home, and Joyce said no. Schmakel offered a second time, but Joyce said no.
The Tigers did have security escort Joyce to his car, and he made the minute drive south on Interstate He also had a brief call with longtime umpire Joe West, who also asked if he was OK; the answer hadn't changed. He arrived back in Toledo and walked through his mom's door just as the evening news was coming on.
His mom, then in her 80s and battling early signs of dementia, didn't grasp what had happened, so Joyce explained and they watched the news. Joyce never went to bed. He tried to lay down, but that futile effort lasted about barely a half-hour. He eventually paced the dining and living rooms into the wee hours, smoking every Winston Light in sight.
Meanwhile, a little more than a hour north, in Royal Oak, Galarraga finally was back home, and quite exhausted. He frequently was seen at Royal Oak bars and restaurants, but not that night.
The ninth starts with a first-pitch fly out. Four pitches later, Joyce makes the call at first base on a weak grounder to shortstop. One more to go. Joyce knows he's ready. Twenty-three years' experience brings such confidence that Joyce treats each pitch as routine, but the refrain -- "just don't be the one to miss the call" -- runs through his mind, too.
Just like that, Indians shortstop Jason Donald -- the final out -- is running down the first-base line like a scared deer. Joyce is thrown by how fast he is running -- in Joyce's mind, players don't run all that hard on a groundout to end a game.
Even so, if it's close, Joyce thinks, the runner will probably be out. Joyce moves slightly to his right and zones in on the bag. Marvin Hudson, the plate umpire, is following Donald up the line, but his view is restricted; Joyce is in perfect position to make the call. As Donald gets to the bag, Joyce splays his arms outward. Hudson thinks Joyce got it right, too, and tells himself, simply, "Well, there goes the perfect game. But when Detroit players start yelling from the dugout a few moments later, experience tells Joyce they saw the replay and are probably right.
Yet Joyce's confidence doesn't waver. Another ground-ball out at first, this time routine, and the game is over. Boos cascade from the stands as Joyce walks back to the umpires' locker room, telling himself over and over that he hopes he got the call right. He asks the locker room attendant to cue up the replay.
By the time Joyce reaches the changing area, he's now yelling, "I hope I got it right! I hope it got it right! Before seeing the replay, they surround Joyce by his locker. Joyce turns to Cousins and asks whether he made the correct call. Joyce throws his hat, rips off his shirt and pants and paces the room, yelling and cursing. He then watches the replay -- the only time he's seen it -- and rages more.
Back in Oregon, Keri Joyce, Jim's year-old daughter, returns home from a restaurant to an inbox full of Facebook messages. Many are offering support, but at least two dozen are nasty. Some are worse. One message threatens to burn her family's home; another wishes her AIDS. Jim's son, Jimmy, receives death threats, too.
Keri is shocked, but she also is angry. Later, she posts a status update on her page: I love my dad. You a who can't realise he's a human can f off. In Detroit, unaware of what his children are being subjected to, Joyce's actions and words begin to alter how his mistake will be remembered. He chooses to give the media rare access to the umpires' locker room.
He takes full responsibility for kicking the call. When the media leave, Leyland comes in for a beer. He tells Joyce that he blew the call and that he needs to move past it. Tigers general manager Dave Dombrowski visits, too, concerned for Joyce's well-being. Both men have known Joyce for decades and, like the players in the league who voted him the top umpire in an ESPN The Magazine poll, hold enormous respect for him.
Joyce appreciates the gestures, but his mind is on one person. He asks Dombrowski whether he can talk to Galarraga. Dombrowski leaves, and a few minutes later he returns to the umpires' room with the year-old pitcher from Venezuela.
Galarraga walks up to Joyce and while hugging him says, "We are all human. That's how bad I felt. Kay, at home in Oregon with their three dogs, has yet to talk with Joyce but is crying, too. She knows how hard her husband will be on himself. She watched the game on TV, blurting, "No, Jimmer, no! The phone rings. MLB security is promising a local police patrol outside the house. Kay says she's fine; she worries about her kids, she worries about Jim. When Jim leaves the ballpark and drives to his mother's house in Toledo, the first call he makes is to Kay.
She tells him, whatever you do, as soon as you get to your mom's house, just delete your Facebook account. She tells him their grown children are receiving death threats. Joyce's cell phone is stuffed with voice mails and texts. His mother, however, is unaware of what has occurred. The two sit in the living room, and Jim tells his mom he made the biggest mistake of his life.
The local news recaps the play, and as his mother watches it for the first time, he turns his back, hearing but not seeing his mistake. Ellouise eventually goes to sleep. Joyce deletes his Facebook account without looking at it.
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