Yawn.
And that Rickey guy out in Oakland? Stole another base, I hear.
No biggie.
"Why so passive?" you might ask. (Go ahead, ask. I've got all day.)
Good question. Glad you asked. And I've got a logical answer, one quipped by Yogi Berra several years ago:
Just a case of 'deja vu' all over again.
What's that mean? Well, in a nutshell, it implies that these are events which should not have surprised anyone. Nor should have the responses from the two baseball stars.
Rickey Henderson's quest for Lou Brock's all-time stolen base record has been the subject of a thousand-plus stories in the papers, television and radio. He opened the year a few shy of the mark, and there was no doubt he would get SB No. 939 sometime during the year.
After all, when you average something like 80 steals a season, it would be a pretty lousy year if Rickey swiped only one or two by October 6.
So Rickey's pursuit of Brock's achievement was no surprise. Nor was his response on the field, when he grasped third base (the one he stole for the record), held it over his head, and exclaimed, much like a combination of Muhammed Ali and Mars Blackmon, "I am the greatest!"
That leads us to R. Nolan Ryan (or "Mr. Ryan" to the rest of you), the greatest strikeout machine baseball has ever seen. Unlike Rickey, Nolan handled his brush with greatness as professionally as anyone I've ever seen.
Nolan'd tale is legendary. A lot of people anticipated him going up against the Detroit Tigers last weekend, because he could very well strike out 27 batters. The Tigers whiff crew of Cecil Fielder, Mickey Tettleton, Pete Incaviglia (a former teammate of Ryan's) and Rob Deer was expected to turn Tiger Stadium into a wind machine more powerful than a Lansing politician in the middle of a campaign swing.
But Detroit missed out. And the Toronto batters missed everything.
When the Express hit Toronto (not the other way around, obviously) May 1, it hit with a fury. Sixteen strikeouts. No hits.
No major shock.
But even more impressive was Nolan's response. Instead of insulting the intelligence of everyone in the stands, his teammates, the other team and the television audience - as Henderson did - Ryan spoke calmly and collectively into the microphone, giving words of appreciation to everyone around him for their hard work, his laidf-back Texas drawl commanding the moment. Indeed, if he had been any more relaxed and composed, I would have sworn he had taken too many Valium after the game.
Yes, it was history. When this 44-year-old Texan throws a no-hitter, it's an historic event.
But it's not unprecedented. Let's face it. This was Nolan's seventh no-no. That's almost twice as many as Sandy Koufax, second on the list. Whenever Ryan goes out on the mound, you can almost expect a no-hitter.
No, the act itself is not surprising. It seems to happen every year. If you want a no-hit surprise, put me on the mound. Then you'll be in shock if there's a no-hitter.
How long will he keep it up? Who knows? Nolan could be throwing peas past his own grandson before he retires.
Yes, this will be a season of records and milestones in the major leagues. Rickey should steal No. 1,000 by the end of the year. And Ryan should have three or four more no-hitters by then, too.
When they happen, they won't surprise me. Not a bit.
This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.
