So Not Clutch

In lieu of Big Papi's performance today, yet another example of why he is the best player in the game of baseball right now, I think the topic of "clutch" deserves some space here. And while the baseball statisticians haven't come up with a way to measure performances readily referred to as "clutch", it does have a quantifiable quality in my mind. And since I dabble in philosophy, I must define that term.

Clutch: With the game on the line (read: a chance to win or tie for your team), and you come through.

Of course, not doing that would be defined as not-clutch. And to accomplish that feat, you have to, obviously, do the opposite. I present to you the three not-clutch performances of my life:

1. Soccer. I was 12. The playoff game went into penalty kicks. The other team was up one goal in PK's. I was the 5th and final kicker. I needed to score to put the pressure on them. I set the ball. And always one for literary moments, offered these words to the referee (mind you I was 12): "This is where dreams are made." I kicked. It was my best Panenka kick ever. Only the ball trickled right down the center, skipping along, never leaving the ground. The goalie even dove to his right, got up and picked the ball up. We lose. They win.

2. Basketball. For four years I had tried to win an intramural championship. Now it was spring semester of my senior year and I finally got on a team that went to the championship. Center court. The ladies' was watchin'. We score with 13 seconds left, take a one point lead. I figure they're going to call a T.O.. Instead, they inbound the ball quickly to this super quick biology major who hasn't scored all game. It's my guy. I figure then they'll call timeout at half-court. Instead he keeps dribbling. I pick him up, force him to his left (he had no left). He drives down. 5 seconds left. He gets by me. He twirls in the lane, gets fouled by three people and hits the shot. And the foul shot. 1 second left. We lose.

3. Softball. I step up. They're playing me shallow in right field. I crush the ball all the way to the fence. I'm fast, so I'm thinking three. I get to second and they haven't gotten the ball yet. So I'm thinking homerun. I get around third and look-up. The ball's still in the outfield. I coast into the plate. With my last step before I score, I decide to hop up and slam my left foot emphatically on home plate. Mind you, I'm not a proud man. As my foot lands on the plate, my knee locks and pops. I roll all the way to the backstop. I'm in serious pain. But, I manage to hear the crowd go from cheering to silence to laughter. And I tore my MCL.

The thing of it is: I've been clutch quite often in my life. Even recently. But, like I said, I'm not a proud man.