The sad tale of our DARK KNIGHT
It has been said that the brightest stars burn the fastest. Six years ago, Matt Harvey thundered into baseball. New Yorkers were dazzled by his dominance, baseball media swooned and southeastern Connecticut watched as a local legend and neighbor ascended to national stardom.
At 6-feet, 4-inches and 220 pounds, Harvey was a terror on the mound, his fastball blazing, his slider filthy. Batters looked foolish, occasionally driven to flinging bats in frustration. As well-branded a pitcher as there ever has even been, The Dark Knight was selected to start the 2013 All-Star Game at his home field in New York, just two and a half hours from his hometown.
Rapid rise, swift fall
Harvey’s rapid rise to the top of America’s game seems to have been followed by an equally swift crash to the bottom. October 2015 marked the pinnacle of Harvey’s career. The boy from Fitch won Comeback Player of the Year and helped march the Mets to a World Series.
Harvey’s agent publicly criticized the Mets’ decision to push Harvey into the playoffs. Exorbitant innings post-Tommy John surgery could be calamitous for his ace, he argued. Lo and behold, Harvey hasn’t been the same player since. Injuries, frustration and a skyrocketing ERA have followed. People pay closer attention to what he’s up to off the field.
Exactly a year ago, Harvey was in the headlines and on the minds of his fans in New London County. Harvey didn’t show up to a game at Citi Field, citing a migraine. He was not slated to pitch. The media reported Harvey had been out late the previous night, putting down tequila shots with friends.
A couple weeks later, I found myself sitting at Otto’s Barbershop on Bank Street in New London. It was a Friday, and I was cranky. I had spent the workday staring at Excel, and another 45 minutes staring at the tops of my shoes waiting for my haircut.
The topic of conversation turned to sports. A boy a few seats down from me asked one of the barbers if he was a Matt Harvey fan. The barber said he was. I offered that Harvey was a bum, and the conversation livened.
A history of injuries
The barber claimed to be Harvey’s cousin. I laughed. Another customer defended the pitcher’s talent, pointing to his fast-growing injury history as the source of his problems. His argument seemed to be gaining momentum. In retrospect, he is probably right.
But in my mind, injuries weren’t the culprit. New York City had gotten the best of Matt Harvey. NYC is not UNC; 1 Oak is not Voodoo Grill. The Mystic kid was now beholden to an MLB front office and the court of public opinion. I had to set things straight. “Matt Harvey’s problem,” I said “is that he was too drunk to go to work.”
The buzzer stopped. The barber looked up. “You know he’s really
my cousin, right?” he asked. Every so often, southeastern Connecticut has a way of making you acutely aware of how just small and tightknit it really is. “My bad,” I uttered. I spent the next few minutes embarrassed and wondering what was about to become of my head.
Mets color commentator Gary Cohen dubbed Harvey the “brightest comet to flash across the Citi Field sky” before going on to announce the details of his trade to Cincinnati. Such a characterization is hardly a stretch. He burst into the mecca of modern sports and for a brief time made it his own.
Harvey and his new club are alike in some ways. One of the oldest teams in baseball, the Reds are a storied franchise. They are ripe for a rebound however, posting a winning record just three times in the last 10 seasons. Perhaps the baseball gods have something good in store for the Dark Knight and his new team.
Until then, Harvey remains a close-to-home example of the sometimes-fleeting nature of good fortune. For me, he serves as a useful reminder to measure my words.