Free The Rotation by Jim Salisbury

visiting dugout in Anaheim. He had been traded to the Phillies. Halladay was crestfallen. He knew he was stuck in Toronto. He knew another postseason would go on without him. His biological clock was ticking and he wondered if he’d ever get to pitch in a postseason. On top of it all, he had to go out and pitch a game against the Mariners. In one of the most difficult starts of his life, he lost, 3-2, in unusually stifling Seattle heat. After the game, Halladay appeared drained and anguished. He disappeared to a back room in the clubhouse for a while. Most
of his teammates had already boarded a bus for the airport when he emerged to speak with reporters.
    â€œWhen all was said and done it had to be the right situation for Toronto,” Halladay said that day. “That wasn’t the case. I’m a Blue Jay and I’m happy to be one.”
    Only half of that last statement was true.
    â€œI liked being where I was, but I was ready to go somewhere where we had a chance,” said Halladay, looking back at that day two years later. “Going through that month with nothing happening—it kind of sucks it all out of you. It was disappointing, but at the same time, a weight was gone.”
    Halladay finished speaking with reporters that day in Seattle and headed for the bus. Possibly the worst part of his day was about to come. The Jays were headed for a series against the A’s in Oakland. They would be staying at the Westin St. Francis in San Francisco, the same hotel where the Phillies were staying for a concurrent series with the Giants. Down the street, in an equipment trunk in the visiting clubhouse at AT&T Park, was a Phillies jersey with Halladay’s name and No. 34 on it. It stayed buried at the bottom of the trunk. Lee showed up and was issued No. 34. Halladay’s long July drama was over. All he wanted to do when he got to the St. Francis was lock his door and get away from it all.

    During his dozen years in Toronto, Halladay had five top-five seasons in both ERA and AL Cy Young voting (winning the award once). He had a pair of 20-win seasons and three times led the league in innings. Once a skittish impala in a land of lions, he had become the king of the jungle with an assassin’s mentality that matched a razor-sharp arsenal of pitches.
    â€œHe understands the dynamics of pitching,” Buck Martinez said. “He puts pressure on the hitter and makes them uncomfortable from the first pitch of the game because he throws strikes. But he’s not throwing it over the middle of the plate. He knows what inch he wants to hit. He cuts the ball and sinks the ball and changes speeds. There are guys with better stuff, but Halladay’s strength is he’s got his foot on your throat the whole game. Body language means so much and his says, I’m better than you. ”
    Of course, Halladay would never verbalize that. Others have to say it.

    â€œI’ll tell you what, he’s the best pitcher I’ve ever faced,” said Jerry Hairston Jr., who finished his fourteenth big-league season in 2011. “And I’ve faced a lot of guys. As a hitter, you hate to give a guy credit like that. But it’s true. You just never know what he’s going to throw.”
    Halladay never reached the postseason in 12 seasons in Toronto. Each October, he’d go home and watch other teams try to get to the World Series. With each passing year, Halladay’s desperation to reach the Series grew stronger. He thought he might have a chance to get there in 2009, but instead watched Cliff Lee get there—wearing the No. 34 Phillies uniform that had once been reserved for him.
    â€œTurn that darn TV off!” Brandy Halladay told her husband as he watched the Phillies and Yankees play in the 2009 World Series.
    â€œI had to turn my face,” Brandy added a couple of months later. “It was tough to watch.”
    But as difficult as it was to watch another World Series