In this unfortunate sporting time of big money, big egos, celebrity athletes and tabloid headlines, all Roy Halladay did was his job.
He didn't smile on cue for the cameras. He was never comfortable talking about himself or his situation. It was never about "Look at me." What he did for parts of 12 seasons -- the final eight in near-brilliant fashion -- on decent teams and mediocre teams and awful teams, was perform at the absolute apex of his craft.
He was substance over style with the Blue Jays. He was the steak without need for any sizzle. It didn't matter who was managing. It didn't matter who was catching. It didn't matter which of the million or so shortstops of the dreadful J.P. Ricciardi era was playing behind him.
He showed up. The way so few Toronto athletes in history have shown up. For every start in every situation: 287 of them in all with the Jays.
He lost just 76 games here.
A piece of historical perspective: In Ferguson Jenkins' eight seasons with the Chicago Cubs, seven of them 20-game winning years, in the four-man rotation days, the Hall of Fame pitcher lost 108 games. In Halladay's final eight seasons with the Jays, he lost all of 59 games.
"People forget, he skipped starts to make sure he would pitch against the Red Sox and the Yankees," Jays president Paul Beeston said. "I don't know if I've met an athlete as unselfish, as focused, as driven."
He may not have won 20 every year; but almost every year he lost fewer than 10.
Some day soon, Halladay's name and number will go up on the wall at the Rogers Centre beside the Blue Jays greats of years gone by. That's one of the no-brainers of our time. And maybe then, hopefully then, he will be relaxed enough to enjoy the accolades. Maybe then he will be comfortable enough to make a joke or unwind from his very private self, but, really, none of that matters.
What matters is that for whatever reason the Blue Jays didn't contend in whatever season you can name, it was never because of Halladay. He was more than a straight line. He was a stock worth buying. Great as Dave Stieb might have been as a Jay, Stieb never finished better than fourth on any Cy Young ballot. Five times, Halladay was top-5 on the ballot, one time he was top-1. Over his final eight seasons, Halladay was 71 games above .500 for a team that was 11 games below.
I don't cheer much for athletes or teams anymore. This proximity to the sporting world beats the fan out of you. But I am today a Philadelphia Phillies fan because of everything Halladay left behind here. Because if anyone deserves a championship, he does. Because he played with integrity and intelligence in this city; there was never a controversy of any kind. There was never a contract dispute or a threat of any kind. Even the painful manner in which he came to the big leagues, had to leave to rebuild his career, and returned to be become one of the three or four premier starting pitchers in baseball, never changed his outlook.
JUST PLAIN ROY
He was just plain Roy, tightly wound, the private pitcher from Colorado, wanting the ball, setting examples for the young around him, pushing others around him to do the same. For that, a simple word suffices: Thanks.
It has been our privilege. The endings, most often, are not happily ever after in sport. Carlos Delgado would have waived his no-trade clause in his final season in Toronto, but only if the Jays paid him handsomely to do so. George Bell left the Jays with anger. Same for Stieb and Roberto Alomar. That's the reality.
Another reality: The Jays had to trade Halladay now. They had no choice. At a time when they can't contend, and Halladay desperately wants to win, a deal was in the best interest of everyone.
Baseball isn't like hockey. There haven't been a lot of 20-year and 18-year Blue Jays the way George Armstrong and Tim Horton were once Leafs. Maybe, because of longevity, parts of 15 seasons, Stieb was the greatest of all Blue Jays. But Halladay, a better pitcher of fewer seasons, is right there. Right there with the best who have ever worn that uniform.
STEVE.SIMMONS@SUNMEDIA.CA