3 days ago
I lost a no-hitter in the 9th inning. This is what that experience — and Roy Halladay — taught me
Editor's Note: This story is part of Peak, The Athletic's desk covering leadership, personal development and success through the lens of sports. Follow Peak here.
In July 2007, Toronto Blue Jays pitcher Dustin McGowan lost a no-hitter in the ninth inning against the Colorado Rockies. McGowan, now a high school baseball coach in Florida, shares what he took away from that experience and everything that led up to it.
In the bullpen before the game that day, I bet you I threw three strikes. I was spiking curveballs, missing with fastballs — I couldn't throw anything for a strike.
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I'll never forget walking out of the bullpen. Our long reliever that year was Scott Downs, and as I walked out, I heard my pitching coach, Brad Arnsberg, say to the bullpen coach: 'Make sure Downsy is ready to go.'
Man.
My last start had been against the Dodgers. In the bullpen before that game, it was the exact opposite. I couldn't miss. Any pitch I threw was a strike.
Well, I made it 1 2/3 innings and gave up six runs. I had to sit with that for four days, and all I did was think about it. How did this happen? Why did this happen? Trying to change things when you shouldn't.
Walking from the bullpen to the dugout, I was thinking about my previous start the entire time. But once the game started, something changed.
I had the absolute pleasure of playing with Roy Halladay, who taught me how to be in the moment and stay focused at all times.
One time, we had a game early in spring training. Despite the low stakes, for Halladay, this meant working hard. His work ethic was so well known that the team would give Halladay a key to the gate at the spring training facility because he'd want to start working hours before anyone else arrived.
Around the third inning, they brought in a high draft pick, a third- or fourth-rounder maybe. This kid made three errors in one inning while Halladay was pitching, and I believe Tampa scored 10 runs.
Halladay was one of those guys who was so competitive that he would get mad at people. But I noticed he didn't get mad at the kid. He went up to him, tapped him and told him to keep working.
The next day, we got to talking and I asked him: 'At any point, did you start to get frustrated giving up that many runs, all those errors?'
He responded, 'Let's say there is no scoreboard in that stadium and you've given up 10 runs. A father and son are late getting to the game, and when they walk in, your body language should say the game is 0-0. It doesn't matter the score. You still pitch like it's a 0-0 game.'
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That stuck with me.
The funny thing about my start against Colorado: The very first play of the game would have been a hit if we had instant replay. The very first batter of the game. He was clearly safe at first, but they called him out.
The other funny thing is that it's true what people say: You don't know you have a no-hitter. I was just focused. In the eighth inning, I struck out Rockies shortstop Troy Tulowitzki on a slider. All the fans in Toronto were standing up, going crazy. I was like: 'What is going on?'
As I walked off the field, I happened to look up and saw no hits on the scoreboard. I wish I had never looked up, because I started thinking about it. Then, when I got in the dugout, I noticed nobody was sitting by me.
In the ninth inning, Rockies infielder Jeff Baker singled to center field. I gave up the hit, but to me, that was fine. Honestly, I felt like I was lucky to even be in that situation.
I was raised in a one-red-light town in southeast Georgia. Baseball was life for me, but I only threw 82 mph as a junior. We were getting ready for the state playoffs that year when our catcher went down with mono. I'd never caught, but they told me I had to catch.
The very first runner that tried to steal on me, I threw out by a mile. The umpire behind me was a bird dog scout. He told me I had a good arm and asked how long I'd been catching.
'Well, first game,' I replied.
The next inning, he put a card in my back pocket and said, 'There will be somebody contacting you about showcases.'
Months later, I went to a showcase and hit 91 mph from the mound. I started getting some looks from colleges after that. That summer, I got invited to another showcase, but my parents didn't have the money to send me.
Three days before the thing started, my grandmother, who loved baseball and the Braves, came over. She handed me the money, saying, 'I don't want you to regret it.'
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That changed my life.
After three days of throwg, I went to the showcase and started off playing as a catcher. I didn't pitch until the last inning but I'll never forget, when my coach asked me, 'How hard do you throw?'
I said, 'Well, I clocked out at 91.'
He responded, 'Kid, you're sitting 95-96. Your life's about to change.'
And it did.
I tried to keep that perspective for my entire career, whether I got roughed up in the first inning or had a no-hitter in the ninth inning. I was just happy to be in that situation. I imagine everyone would be. I wasn't disappointed after the game. I didn't want to be the guy who talked about it afterward: 'Oh, man, I almost threw a no-hitter.' That's not what it's about.
I'd never thrown a complete game before. That day, I learned how to push through. And we won — that's what matters to me.
That experience taught me something else, too: No matter how things are going — your bullpen, your previous games, whatever — you've always got the chance to do something. It's always there for you, and you're always capable of still doing it.
One more funny story about the whole thing. When I got home, one of my best friends was like, 'Hey, man, I got you something.' I was like, 'Oh, you got me something???'
And he brought me a Jeff Baker signed baseball card. So that was great. I still think I've got that thing somewhere, too.
— As told to Jayson Jenks
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