Roy Halladay and the pathology of greatness
The mind is a powerful thing. Maybe Roy Halladay's last act of greatness will be to teach us all just how powerful it can be.
Roy Halladay and the pathology of greatness
David Murphy, Daily News Staff Writer
One of the reasons we gravitate toward competitive sports is the illusion of control that it offers us. The world is a scary freaking place. Think about the moment when the first of our ancestors developed consciousness, when he or she looked up and down and left and right and experienced a trickle of realization about what, exactly, all of us are up against. Talk about "Oh, crap" moments. The course of human history has been shaped by our attempts to exert control over an environment that, at its fundamental level, is uncontrollable. We build cities and then watch them crumble atop the plates that shift beneath them. We build levees and then watch them burst, build friendships and then watch them turn to dust. Spend a night watching television commercials at some point and count how many of them appeal to our desire to fortify our psyches with a sense of control. You can control your age, you can control the feelings of your fellow man, you can control your restless leg. Take this pill, drink this beer, drive this car, and the world will be at your mercy instead of the other way around.
Professional athletes inhabit a world that was built for them to control, and for most of their lives, they exert dominance over it. When they do not, the root of that failure is easy to identify. Every problem has a solution. Longer workouts. More practice. A mechanical adjustment. The greatest of these athletes are the ones who will go to any length to find the solution that surely exists, the ones whose defining characteristic is a will to exert complete control over their environment, to establish themselves as alpha. When they do not succeed, is is not because of the weather, or the opponent, or the physical condition of their body, or their deteriorating skill. It is because they failed. And to be great requires convincing oneself that failure can always be fixed.
In a certain sense, great athletes are liars, and the greatest are the most pathological. They are the ones we are drawn to, because they are the ones who make us believe that the entire world is within their control. We watch sports because of the way this pathology manifests itself within the framework of controlled, competitive situations. Michael Jordan draining a jumpshot with 5.2 seconds left. Derek Jeter relaying the ball to home plate. Tom Brady leading a last minute drive. The will to win is a very real thing, but I think a more accurate way of describing the phenomenon is the suspension of disbelief in one's own limitations.
Roy Halladay is one of the greatest athletes that his sport has ever seen. He is great because, long ago, he learned how to suspend disbelief. He did so with the help of the late sports psychologist Harvey Dorfman whose pragmatic, tough love approach to the mental side of sports won him legions of followers. Dorfman preached the importance of focusing on the aspects of performance that an athlete can control. An excuse is the first step toward believing that something cannot be accomplished.
During Brad Lidge's brutal 2009 season, people would occasionally snicker when they listened to the closer assess his performance. His body was always healthy. His pitches always felt good coming out of his hand. He never cared what the radar gun said. Lidge was a Dorfman client, and he was always convinced that the tools he needed to succeed were at his disposal. I'm not sure what people wanted him to say. An athlete cannot maximize his ability if he does not possess a steadfast belief that he is in possession of the tools that are necessary to do so. A pitcher cannot control his physiology, or the aging of his arm, or the maximum velocity at which he can throw. The only option is to believe that his tools are good enough. And then it is on him to make them work.
For the last month, Roy Halladay has insisted that his tools are good enough, that he can make them work. His body feels great. The ball feels good coming out of his hand. He can feel the strength building in his soon-to-be 36-year-old arm. Yet on Wednesday night, in the wake of an outing against the Braves that lasted just 3 1/3 innings,Halladay offered a few small glimpses of the internal confliction he has battled. Last year, Halladay always insisted that he did not care about the velocity readings that said he had lost a couple miles per hour on his sinker and cutter. He always insisted that pitching is not about velocity. Yet on Wednesday night, he talked about how that lack of velocity affected him last year, forcing him to stray from his usual strategy of pounding the strike zone.
"Last year, feeling the way you do, you feel like, I can't throw an 86 mph fastball to a general zone, it's going to get hit," Halladay said.
Last year, he insisted that his body was healthy, that his shoulder was not an issue. This February, he admitted that was not the case.
On Wednesday night, Halladay said that he can feel velocity on his pitches that was missing last season. The radar gun said otherwise, particularly over the last two innings. The problem, he said, was that he was too picky, that he did not trust his stuff enough and ended up nibbling at the corners instead of pounding the zone. The sinker that Justin Upton blasted for a home run was a case of a poor choice of location. The cutter that Evan Gattis blasted was just a mistake. The tools were good enough. The failure was on him.
Those of us who are outside of an athlete's mind know that there comes a time when the tools are not good enough, when a running back loses the burst in his step, when a basketball player loses the bounce in his legs, and, yes, when an aging power pitcher loses the fire in his arm. When Halladay steps on the mound to face the Mets on Monday night, chances are good that we will see him rely on the stuff that made him great. He will pound the zone with sinkers and cutters instead of the offspeed stuff we saw against the Braves. Halladay spoke like a man who has reached the "Screw it" stage of internal conflict, the part of the journey where a man finishes like he started or goes down trying.
"I'd rather lose 20 to nothing and pitch eight innings than pitch three-and-a-third," he said.
The mind is a powerful thing, and maybe, just maybe, Roy Halladay's last act of greatness will be to teach us all just how powerful a thing it can be. He knows that there is reason for all of us to doubt.
"You guys can write whatever you want," he said, a rare snarl of defiance in his voice.
Public opinion is something that is outside Halladay's control. As for what remains within it? Well, that's the kind of thing that makes us tune in to see.
This is really starting to get boring ...
— Copper34- I agree with you Copper. These writers just continue to beat a dead horse. It's what pushed Carlton over the edge. The smartest thing Carlton did was to ignore them.
- If you writers are not careful, you are going to push Doc into the "Carlton" zone. He should just stop talking to you completely. The man is trying to adjust from losing the velocity on his fast ball. He has to completely reinvent himself in the process. That takes some doing for a man used to pitching a certain way for years. You writers compound the problem by harping on him and annoying him with your questions. Why? Because NONE of you have any d*mned idea what it means to pitch at the level Doc has over the years, to have to face reality and adjust to a completely different pitching style. Get off Doc's back and let him work on his problem without all the ridiculous scrutiny from a bunch of fish wrap hacks.
- I enjoyed the insight and thought this was very well written. I'm not interested in reading fluff pieces about how everything is rainbows and unicorns if that's not the case. I have to disagree with those who believe that somehow one obstacle standing in the way of Roy Halladay's return to greatness is scrutiny from the media. Though - if a move to the "Carlton Zone" includes 27 wins, I'm in favor.— Robbo
- i really think there is nothing mechanically wrong with doc. but what i think is he is sick! he always looks gassed. ever since that game in chicago he hasn't been the same. is it possible that he might be suffering from a parasite from the waters he was in when fishing in south america? he saved somebody by jumping in the water didn't he? it's a known fact that just the fact of swimming in some of those places, especially fresh water parasites abound down there. if that's the case anti biotics would cure him. we need doc healthy.— Ryne Duren
- This is a good overall post that tries to capture the essence of a great player trying to deal with fading abilities. The only place I differ is that I don't see guys like Halladay working so hard to control being great. I think at the end of the day he has a solid appreciation of how narrow a gap there is between greatness and mediocrity at the major league level. That's what has driven him to get up and work so hard over the years. Let his guard down just a little or take a week off here and there and he risks becoming just another pitcher struggling to stay in the game. That's a part of the mindset as well and it's something the writers miss. They just take for granted that a guy can run out there, make 33 starts and pitch 240 innings effectively, when there are a ton of dedicated, determined, hardworking, talented guys who will never be able to do that ever. Guys like Halladay know what it takes and know how difficult it is. That's why he puts so much effort in.— jtj06
- copper & callison: normally, i agree with you guys right down the line. but i gotta side with robbo here. murphy finally, finally, has put down words that have more depth and meaning than the sis-boom-bah cheerleader dreck he's been writing so long. or maybe we've grown so used to dreck from philly writers that a piece like this doesn't compute with what we expect from the ladies auxiliary in this town. and pleeeze, don't compare doc with lefty when comes to the mental. lefty was an arrogant numbskull (but, oh, whatta pitcher!); doc's got both brains and heart.— bubba church & granny hamner
- bubba: I appreciate your thoughts and I usually agree with you as well, so we're on the same track. My comparison with Carlton was only that they were two aces (although, in my opinion, Lefty was much more dominant in his prime than Doc) who found themselves in similar situations at the tail end of their careers. That's where the comparison ends. You are right about the difference in their personalities, but these writers could push Casper the Friendly Ghost over the edge. Carlton was absolutely right to shut them out and it benefitted his career. Yes, Carlton could be a head case, but his silence certainly worked for him. Doc might have benefitted from Gus Hoefling's tutelage and may have furthered his career by sinking his arms into large buckets of rice early in his career, just like Lefty did. It's little too late, at this stage, for Doc. He'd likely throw his shoulders out with the same regimen.
- ditto (all of the above)— warbiscuit
Agreed, unanimous (with all but Ryne Duren - as I don't go for the medically speculated). Interesting article.
Personally, I think what is bothering Doc is Dorfman (the lack of him), his mentor, died in February of 2011. And the piece missing here is mental. He just isn't as 'tough' mentally as he once was. But here I go 'medically speculating.'— 24sDad
Yeah I agree - Murph is an easy target because usually he writes trite garbage. This piece is pretty darn good for a change. Doc has to reinvent himself - again - and without Dorfman. I for one think he can do it. How long and how successful the end result will be is up for grabs.- @ghost of c: i'm one of the few got lefty to talk to me in the clubhouse (c. mid-70s). actually, he didn't exactly talk; more, he screamed at me. (well, anything beats being ignored, right?) i told him i wasn't a beat writer, i was (ready for this?) an artist (!) who wanted to paint his picture with my words for phillymag, and he had no right to, etc. but lefty'd have none of it. when the best pitcher of his generation rails at you and players all around are snickering, makes you feel frickin terrific. i quickly went from 5'10" to 0'10". kinda colored my view of the dude. but, oh momma, was he ever magic until his arm went south. and then, the ego took over from his pure athleticism, and he struggled pathetically for a few years just so he could (in his mind) catch spahn in the W column. hope against hope doc don't go there.— bubba church & granny hamner
- I enjoy this type article. Examine the way Steve Carlton and Mike Schmidt ended their careers. In totally different ways. Is Doc already HOF caliber? I'm glad he hasn't called it quits.... At this point in time all we can do is to stay tuned. I want him to succeed!!!! You can go all the way back to Dizzy Dean. He wasn't the same after he broke his toe. Which way will it go for Doc?— PhilsfaninNebraska
- When Carlton had a less than mediocre year following his 27-10 season in 1972, he was accused of drinking too much Johnnie Walker Black by a well known Philly columnist. When other writers left him hanging, he basically told them all to go scratch. I could not agree with him more. Carlton despite his gritty Florida upbringing, had a level of sophistication about him that the Philly beat writers did not.— Phillip Phan
- "The will to win is a very real thing, but I think a more accurate way of describing the phenomenon is the suspension of disbelief in one's own limitations." -- Murphy, you should be proud of the thinking and writing that went into that very fine sentence. This is an excellent piece, the kind that literate columnists like Grantland Rice and Red Smith used to produce "back in the day." More like this, please (although obviously nobody can tackle existential subjects every day).— Dave Clemens
