I am wholly unforgiving about steroid and HGH use in major league baseball. But with Andy Pettitte, I find myself spewing excuses. It was just TWO TIMES! He didn’t MEAN IT!
I rarely love athletes who are so public with their God-thanking.
Andy’s the exception.
I don’t know where all my Andy Pettitte love comes from. It’s almost impossible to spell his name right without worrying about a T shortage. I lack the ability to say his name without lapsing into a Joan-Cusack-as-Toy-Story-2-Jessie quote-fest (I’m sure his precious Andy is dying to play with a one-armed cowboy doll), but I digress.
I do not think he’ll pitch again. It seems like it’s time for his family to take precedence.
There are things that must nag at him. He had such a good 2010 season before injuries set in. But injuries set in when you’re older. He must want to go out on a better note. But how can he know it would be better? Chances are it wouldn’t be.
I know the core four can’t last forever, and I’m so ready for Jorge to stop catching, which really marks the start for me. But Andy? My precious Andy?
It seemed whenever I went to Yankee Stadium, the old one, Andy was pitching. My tickets were purchased months before one could predict the rotation, but he was always on the mound. At division playoff games, at the ALCS, I think I attended a lot of Game Twos. Andy, Andy, Andy.
As I prepared to write this, I was thinking that while Andy was rock solid, he wasn’t really the best at anything. Until I remembered he has more postseason wins than anyone else. That’s a nifty one.
He’s top notch, that Andy. I hope that if he decides he’s reached the end of the road, he sticks with it. I really, really want him to be better than Brett Favre at saying good-bye.