Josh Johnson, Ubaldo Jimenez, David Price and Roy Halladay are just a few of the big names getting a lot of attention- and rightfully so.
But there's one guy who's not a starter, who's just carrying out business as usual in 2010. He's not a 22-year old phenom flame thrower whose every outing is scrutinized. He's 40 years old. He pitches one inning an outing and does it without too much pub. His ERA is not just below 3 or 2- it's below 1. He's fought through lingering injuries this season, so much so that he had to skip the All-Star Game.
If you haven't figured it out by now, the guy I'm talking about is Mariano Rivera. A model of consistency in a role that can be very volatile. There are more Eric Gagnes and Armando Benitezes than Riveras. Guys who are electric for a season or two than fade into irrelevancy.
As I watched Mariano Rivera last night on the mound in a tense divisional game with the Rays, a random sense of appreciation swept through me. In the top half of the ninth, Robinson Cano blasted a home run to give the Yankees a one-run lead. Then, the bottom of the ninth came around and there was a sense of calm. Rivera on the mound and immediately starting off with two straight strikes. He did give up a broken bat single to Willie Aybar but that was the night's only blip.
Yankees fans have been spoiled by Rivera. For 15 years, there has been no sense of panic, no closer-by-committee, no fear that your closer could implode at any moment. Since 1996, Rivera's "down" year was 2007 when he had his highest ERA as closer, 3.15. Or maybe his "down" year was 2002, following probably his most infamous moment, Luis Gonzalez's game-winning hit in the 2001 World Series. After that game, some thought Rivera was done. In 2002, he was on the disabled list three times and pitched just 46 innings, the lowest of his career.
Rivera missed the first month of the 2003 season and again, there were calls that he was done. But again, he proved the doubters wrong. And he had one of his most triumphant moments in the biggest spot, game 7 of the 2003 ALCS, pitching three scoreless inning to get the win and the series' MVP honor.
His tale is one not only of consistency but resiliency. Time and time again, he has emerged more dominant when those doubters started to come out of the wood work. Last season, the seven home runs he allowed were "cause for concern." I'll admit there was some shock on that May night in 2009, when Rivera gave up back-to-back ninth inning home runs to Carl Crawford and Evan Longoria in the Bronx. With any other team's closer, you would be mad, fuming that the game was blown. With Rivera, you're just left mouth agape.
It's that sense of calm that Rivera has fostered in this ninth inning role for a decade and a half that leaves you so shocked when he has a misstep. Ever since he took that mantle from John Wetteland in 1996, Yankees fans have been treated to one of the greatest in the sport. Say what you will about the importance of the closer, besides Derek Jeter, who has been more important to the franchise in the past two decades than Rivera?
Funny enough, the image for which many will remember Rivera, which is seared into the minds of Yankees fans, is his worst, that November night in the desert when it all fell apart under the brightest lights. It's tough to say that is not Rivera's defining image. Ironic, huh?
But maybe the reason that image stands out so much is because of the sheer shock of it. It's easier to remember the cataclysmic than the one-two-three nights that have become merely routine. Rivera doesn't make himself the centerpiece of the moment. He gets the save and Frank plays. When he retires, that clip of Gonzalez's hit will still play in Rivera montages. But the indelible image I will always have of him will be the simple one like last night, him recording the final out and walking off the mound to share a word with his catcher. Nothing out of the ordinary for a pitcher who should be remembered as one of the extraordinary.
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