The Rotation (23 page)

The countdown to Opening Day had begun in Halladay's mind.

“You put in a lot of work over the winter and in spring training,” he said. “To be able to actually put it to use is kind of a relief.”

The final week of spring training means different things for different people. Veteran players comfortably pack their bags for the trip north. Fringe players walk an emotional fault line, not knowing if they are headed to Philadelphia or the minor leagues. Management frets over the final roster decisions.

Spring training 2011 was not the smoothest the Phillies have ever had. Everyone got a vocabulary lesson when Chase Utley was diagnosed with
chondromalacia and tendinitis in his right knee. The team's quiet leader didn't play an inning in Florida. Closer Brad Lidge checked into camp feeling healthy and checked out with a tear in his shoulder. Hotshot prospect Domonic Brown slumped badly and then broke his hand. Veteran Luis Castillo came in for a late look at second base but failed to make the club because, well, it already had enough brittle thirtysomethings.

But through it all, The Rotation stayed healthy and the possibilities excited even the hardest of baseball men.

“When I look at the Phillies rotation from a distance I am in awe of what they could possibly accomplish,” said Hall of Fame pitcher Don Sutton, a Braves broadcaster. “I know the book isn't written yet, all we have is an outline, and I don't think we'll be able to evaluate until we look back on it. But looking forward to it, I think it should be the envy of every major-league ball club. If you don't want those four guys running out there for you, there's something wrong with you.

“It has the potential to be the best rotation in all of baseball and one of the best in history.”

R
oy Halladay sat in front of his locker and spoke to a small and attentive audience in a corner of the Phillies' clubhouse.

He wore a red hooded Phillies sweatshirt, blue Phillies gym shorts, and red sneakers. Several sheets of paper, each one showing different hitters and how he planned to attack them, rested on his lap. Pitching Coach Rich Dubee sat to his right, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Catcher Carlos Ruiz sat across from him, hunched over, hanging on every word as if his life depended on it. It was 10 A.M. on April 1, nearly three hours before Halladay would throw his first pitch on Opening Day of the most highly anticipated season in franchise history, and he was running the show.

Pitchers, catchers, and pitching coaches talk strategy before every game. They discuss the strengths and weaknesses of the opposing hitters and the pitch sequences and locations they plan to use. It's an exchange of ideas. The pitcher offers his opinions. The pitching coach and catcher offer theirs. But when Halladay pitches, he does the talking. He keeps detailed notes on every hitter he has faced and has studied video of every hitter he has a chance to face in that day's game.

Halladay started studying film of the Houston Astros, the Phillies' opponent that Friday afternoon in front of a sellout crowd at Citizens Bank Park, more than a week earlier.

He knew exactly what he wanted to do.

The meeting lasted about 15 minutes. Dubee and Ruiz, who barely uttered a word, stood up and quietly walked away. Halladay turned toward his locker, picked up his iPod, put an ear bud into each ear, and switched on the device. Teammates leave Halladay alone the days he pitches. He gets 33 or so chances a season to help his team win and he treats each opportunity like it's his last. Teammates know better than to puncture the ace's meditative balloon.

A buzz filled the clubhouse on this snowy, Opening Day morning. (Yes, players drove through a snow flurry on their way to the park.) In the corner opposite Halladay, Michael Martinez, a career minor-league infielder who finally made the big leagues at age 28, beamed in front of his locker. The
Phillies selected him in the Rule 5 Draft in December and, thanks in part to an injury to Chase Utley, he earned a spot on the roster. Martinez put on his uniform and smiled. The lowest-paid player on the roster—which boasts seven players making more than $10 million per season—Martinez would make the league minimum $414,000, but the money was life-changing and would help his family in the Dominican Republic.

“Back in the Dominican, we are from the 'hood,” said fellow countryman and Third-Base Coach Juan Samuel as the clubhouse buzzed with activity before the season opener.

J. C. Romero strutted through the clubhouse, whistling the tune playing on his iPod. Brad Lidge reached into his locker and checked his cell phone before retreating to a back room. Lidge would open the season on the disabled list with a tear in his rotator cuff. Ordinarily, the smart and affable veteran reliever might be giving a rundown on the season's goals to reporters before the season opener. But on this day, Lidge goes about his business unbothered. Players are seemingly invisible when they are on the disabled list, even former World Series heroes.

Relief pitchers Danys Baez, Jose Contreras, and Antonio Bastardo sat in chairs, conversing in Spanish a few feet away from Martinez. Baez and Contreras are best friends who share a bond as Cuban defectors. An impressive young talent—but one who had trouble staying healthy, pitching consistently, and showing maturity in previous seasons—Bastardo served as the heir apparent to Romero, the team's top left-handed relief pitcher. But Dubee and Manager Charlie Manuel made a point in spring training to say he had proven nothing yet. The coaching staff knows players read media reports about themselves, no matter how much they insist publicly they do not. Even if they don't read the stories, a family member or friend does. And if something negative is written about him, the player will hear about it within minutes.

In the case of Bastardo, the Phillies didn't want him to just think he is good. They wanted him to prove it.

Jimmy Rollins ambled through the clubhouse, wearing a full-length white robe with red pinstripes and his last name and No. 11 on the back. The robe drew a few chuckles from onlookers and Rollins responded by flashing his toothy grin. Nobody else had a robe like this, but nobody else
would
have a robe like this. The most confident and stylish player in the Phillies' clubhouse, Rollins pulled it off.

A few feet from him, clubhouse attendant Sean Bowers handed Roy Oswalt different-sized caps to try on until he finally found one he liked.

Cliff Lee was across the room from Halladay's locker, which used to house Pat Burrell, and then Matt Stairs. Lee reclined in his chair, playing on his iPad, a popular way to kill time in the clubhouse. In 2003, hunting magazines filled the clubhouse at Veterans Stadium with outdoorsmen Jim Thome, Turk Wendell, Rheal Cormier, and Brandon Duckworth on the roster. In 2005, players filled down times with Sudoku puzzles. In 2007, they had PlayStation Portables, and linked up to play first-person shooters on cross-country flights.

For the 2011 season, it was
Words with Friends
or
Angry Birds
.

Lee glanced at Halladay, whose head remained buried in his locker. He was excited to watch the ace of the aces pitch.

“He knows what he's doin',” he said.

Instructions for the pregame festivities hung on a wall in the middle of the clubhouse. Above the instructions, two clubhouse TVs showed video of Astros pitcher Brett Myers, who would pitch against Halladay in the season opener. One TV showed video of Myers facing right-handed hitters; the other showed him facing left-handed hitters.

Bruce Springsteen's “Glory Days”—with its sentimental reference to baseball—played over the clubhouse speakers, and the Boss' words sounded particularly meaningful on the first day of the new season.

It felt like a personal message to the Phillies, who would try to win their fifth-consecutive National League East championship and—if all went well—a second World Series in four years. The Phillies know they must take advantage while they can because the team is getting older and the window of opportunity won't stay open forever. They don't want to look back on this season with regrets.

Springsteen stepped aside for Led Zeppelin as Halladay took the mound in front of a huge crowd and threw his warm-up pitches before the top of the first inning.

Of course, Halladay did not hear the music. He never does. Hours before his first start at Citizens Bank Park in 2010, Phillies Manager of Video Services Kevin Camiscioli asked Halladay what warm-up music he wanted. This is an important decision to many pitchers and hitters, but Halladay told Camiscioli that he could not care less because he wouldn't hear it anyway. Nothing comes between him and his focus on the game. With the decision in his hands, Camiscioli told Phillies Music Director Mark Wyatt to play some Led Zeppelin. Wyatt, who sits in the Phanavision booth in the second deck along the first-base line, chose the combination of “Moby Dick” and “Good Times Bad Times.” Those two songs have played every time Halladay has pitched in Philadelphia.

Halladay pitched well against the Astros, although he certainly had pitched better. He allowed five hits and one run, and struck out six in six innings as the Astros ran up his pitch count to force him from the game earlier than expected. But off-season concerns about an aging and impotent offense showed through the first eight innings. Myers allowed just three hits and one earned run in seven innings as the Astros carried a 4-2 lead into the bottom of the ninth. The Phillies' willingness to swing early in the count had Myers shaking his head the next day. He could not throw his curveball for a strike, but the Phillies never figured that out because they kept swinging early.