Comparatively Speaking

BALTIMORE, MARYLAND, May 23,2013-It was the bottom of the 5th inning in Toronto, Friday night, and the Orioles led the Blue Jays, 9-3.  But Baltimore's pitcher, Chris Tillman, had already thrown a lot of pitches (over 100 in less than five innings) and Toronto had runners at first and second with nobody out.  Adam Lind, the former Oriole, was the hitter and he hit what used to be called a Baltimore Chop - a hellish ground ball bashed into the ground and now bouncing high.  It also had a whirling dervish of a spin that Oriole third baseman Manny Machado would have to short hop.  Machado had been playing deep behind the bag, and now he charged fearlessly.  In a flash, he scooped that short-hop, secured it in his glove, stepped on third base ahead of the runner and, falling into foul territory, leaped into the air, and, using only his arm, fired hard to first.  Chris Davis saw that the throw would pull him off the bag, but he, too, performed brilliantly, catching the throw in foul territory and pirouetting with his arms fully extended, tagging the shocked Lind with his glove hand before the runner could touch first base. Toronto fans wiped their eyes and realized that the Orioles had just turned a double-play.

In the Oriole Television booth, Jim Palmer, the Hall-of-Fame righthander, said "if I was selecting a team, I'd want him - Machado - on my team."

Gary Thorne, the impeccable play-by-play announcer, didn't miss a beat.  "You had him on your team," he said without a hint of sarcasm.  

There was a second of dead air.  But just.  Palmer, sharp as he was on the mound in his heyday, quickly realized what Thorne was saying. He almost whispered, "I guess I did."  

Machado is coming so fast.  Hits bang off his bat like missles in a moonless sky.  Nobody knows how to get him out because his bat is under such breathless control.  And his fielding is seamless, amplified always with impeccable confidence and an ease that makes even superstars envious.  And yet, as good as he is, as good as he can and, I think, will be, he has so far to go to catch up with the man Thorne recalled: the sainted Brooks Robinson.  Brooks defined greatness: a great hitter and even better clutch hitter, a fielder for the ages for the greatest Oriole teams. Some hitters would swear he was an apparition.  He was there, playing where third basemen were supposed to play, next to the third base bag, mouthing that Arkansas cornpone chatter now and then, and looking oh so unimpressive.  And then some big hitter would turn on a fast all and blister it directly down the line - a certain double.  CERTAIN.  But then Brooks, instantly transforming from a regular guy into something beyond human, seemed to defy time and space, seeming to disappear and then reappear right where that line drive was streaking by him, or trying to, and in that same instant the glove extended and when time slowed again to normal, there was the ball in the glove and the umpire, who'd seen that enough times to know what was coming, already had his arm up to signal that the astonished hitter was now out. The hitter would stop, stunned, just stunned.  He would stand there, looking at that Brooks fellow, looking at that ball in his glove, looking at the out, again.  Can Manny Machado be that good?  It is asking so much.