The pursuit of perfection is plump with peril and profit. Alliteration aside, this is why I love when art and sport mix. They have seemingly different approaches to this pursuit. The inherently subjective nature of art renders "perfection" an almost meaningless word. For an artist, it suggests satisfaction--that limited ambition Johnny Depp demurred to be the "death of an artist." Artists nonetheless pursue perfection (masochists!) defining it subjectively and individually. Obviously, this makes comparing and valuing one artwork vis-a-vis another difficult as there exists no accepted criteria to dictate "what" is "better" (nor should there). The post-modern, independent hipster further complicates this matter. When indie is trendy and indie is irony, meaning blurs and fuses with futility. So who knows, Dave Eggers asks, "What is the what?" Not so with sports, where the scoreboard is all that matters. This is why I love when art and sport mix and the pursuit of subjective and objective perfection collide.
There is no more clearly defined achievement of perfection in sport than baseball's "perfect game": one pitcher, 9 innings, 27 batters up, 27 batters out, no runs, hits, walks, or errors. Perfect. No room for subjective or objective disagreement. Or so I thought...
...until I heard the song "Harvey Haddix" (listen to it here) by a band aptly named "The Baseball Project." The tune tells the true story of its namesake: a Pittsburgh Pirates pitcher who on May 29, 1959 threw a perfect game through 12 innings--I repeat, not 9 but 12--only to give up one homerun in the 13th to ruin the most spectacular pitching spectacle ever exhibited. To put this in perspective, only 17 pitchers in baseball's history have thrown perfect games--all of which lasted 9 innings. Haddix raised the bar on... perfection... by 33%! Had his feeble teammates produced one run in extra innings, he would be a household name for pitching The Most Perfect Perfect Game. As is, his opponent (throwing a mere shut-out--laughable!) got the win and Haddix the loss. Oh the cruelty of objectivity. So is Haddix a tragic loser or unsung hero? Here's the band's take:
"The search for perfection is a funny thing, at least as I've been told
It drives you nuts, it makes you curse and eats away at your soul
Sometimes better ain't better, sometimes justice just ain't served
Sometimes legend isn't laid where it's most deserved."
Perplexed and distraught at Haddix's doomed fate to never appear on that most distinguished list of perfect game pitchers, the band asks, "Why don't we add old Harvey to that list?" Marc Hirsh touches on the underlying irony that if they got their wish, "the pitcher would simply be one man out of 18. As it is, Haddix stands alone." Then is this loss paradoxically the best game ever pitched? The band continues:
"Humanity is flawed as the losers will attest
We're drawn to tragic figures, the ones that suit us best
But for 12 innings on that fateful day, old Harvey was a God
A perfect game if nothing else because perfection's always flawed."
This is the ambiguity of perfection and the beauty of baseball; thank you, art, for articulating it.