David Price is still outstanding, so shut up

Things you should like about the postseason: the intensity, the hum of the crowd, the wide eyes of the players who haven’t been there before, the calm eyes of the players who have, sharing a televised baseball game with the entire continent, even if it isn’t your team, and doubling down on the idea that this meaningless sport means everything.

Things you shouldn’t like about the postseason: That every freaking thing has to mean something, that players fail because they didn’t chew through a cocoon of desire to get to the open air of success, that players succeed because they have it, defined as it, which is something that can’t be acquired, can’t be purchased, it’s just it. You know, baby, it.

The first list is compelling. The second list almost makes me want to hide under a rock for a month, emerging to see if my shadow is reflecting against dumb MVP arguments, then crawling back under the rock. But the first list takes it. The postseason, and everything that comes with it, is probably worth it. Probably.

Which brings us to David Price, excellent major league pitcher.

Oh, you son of a ... you, in the back, I saw you roll your eyes. Price is excellent. Great. Just a fantastic template of a successful major league pitcher. Has the frame, the consistency, the stuff, the endurance. He’s a Hall of Famer with five or six more outstanding years, as long as he stays healthy. A perennial All-Star with a Cy Young on the mantle at home. He is, without question, one of the very best pitchers in baseball today.

But in the postseason, he ...

NO. I mean, stop. You’re doing it, doing that thing where you ascribe too much importance to one game. Stop. It was one game. It came after 11 days’ rest! Of course he was rusty.

Dunno. Here’s his postseason ERA over his six career starts, and ...

No, no, no, no. You’re talking about six starts, split over several seasons. What are we talking about? We’re talking about six starts.

Six starts.

And then he led the American League in ERA.

That disaster start meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. It didn’t mean that Price was mechanically off in a way that couldn’t be fixed. It didn’t mean the Yankees had his number, considering he handled them well in his next three starts against them. It meant he had one bad game. Hangnail was acting up. Or his front foot was planting wrong. Or he was making his pitches, but the other team kept hitting them. Great pitchers have off games. Then he was great again.

The idea that six postseason starts can prove something about Price is the same thing, give or take. Take the 2015 postseason so far. Four games played. Four road teams winning. What does it mean?

That the crowds of the

Nope.

That the travel of the

Nope.

The thing about the National Anthem is

No, it means nothing. And everyone implicitly accepts that. Right now, in the steaming furnace of the hot-take factory, there aren’t any orders for opinions about the home-field disadvantage. Ha ha, just one of those things. And everyone agrees. You can’t tell that much from four games. No one is trying to. It’s just, “So the road team won the first four games ... seems like something with a decent chance of happening, right?’

I’ll concede that there was a reason Price was off on Thursday. I’m too dumb to pinpoint it, but I can see a smart person explaining the physical reasons why Price’s fastball wasn’t going where he wanted it to go. That means something for that start, certainly. But it doesn’t mean anything about David Price, Postseason Pitcher.

However, I’ll also concede that there might be something about this David Price, Postseason Pitcher. That he’s too jittery, or that the fatigue of a full season has set in by the middle of September. To the first point, that he doesn’t have the moxie and derring-do of a successful major league pitcher, I present this:

That’s David Price, with 14 innings of regular season experience, coming into a game with the bases loaded, up by two, with the pennant on the line. If he were a shorts-sudser, a pitcher who just couldn’t stuff the thumpthumpthump of his heart back where it belonged, the Red Sox would have advanced to the World Series. That one game gives him a lifetime pass on the choker label, right?

If you’re suggesting that there’s a physical reason Price is worse in October, then I’m listening. But I’ll be so, so skeptical of everything you say. The burden of proof is on you.

So we’ll make an agreement. I’ll concede that there might be a reason why Price is worse in October. A real-life, verifiable reason. Here’s the problem, here’s what he needs to fix. This might apply to his attitude, his grace under pressure, his concentration, his confidence, his arm slot, his front foot, boxers vs. briefs, whatever you want to suggest.

The other part of that compact is that I’ll assume that you don’t know what that problem, that magic fix, is. Which means I’ll ignore your explanation and continue to assume Price is just as good as he’s ever been That’s the agreement. A problem, a serious problem, might exist! But you don’t know.You really don’t know. So, quiet.

That’s the end of that. Excellent pitchers who struggle over six starts sprinkled sporadically across a half-decade don’t have to wear the scarlet choker. They’re probably the same pitchers they were before the postseason. It might be bad luck, or it might be bad execution. But you can’t tell the difference, and the possibility of dominance or dejection was just about the same as it ever was.

Phew. Glad that topic is done with. Now let’s forget about all these silly “clutch” labels for pitchers, shall we?

You son of a