Game 133 // Sixth Inning, Texas // Gleyber v. Elder



Emily Jones is on Fox Sports Southwest saying:

“I walk into the clubhouse and try to talk a little Spanish to the guys, it’s always, you know, ‘Como estas?’ ‘Bien, y tu?’ And, for Bartolo, every day it’s just one thing: ‘Tranquilo’.”

“Tranquilo, indeed,” the guys say up in the booth. “No better way to describe Bartolo than tranquilo.”



Well, in the second inning tonight, Bartolo’s tranquilo got a little destroyo.

A guy 23 years his junior came up to the plate, and this happened:



Bartolo Colon made his MLB debut on April 4, 1997. When Gleyber Torres was three months old. Three months old.

Bartolo Colon is more than double the age of Torres.

He’s 44. Gleyber is 21.

And in the sixth inning, Torres came back up to the plate. Waited on a hanging changeup, 88mph, and connected. Again.



Launched straight to dead center, high in the air and carrying, carrying, until it crashed into the grass hill over the fence in center field.

On the Yankees’ radio broadcast, the legendary John Sterling came with—well, what he tends to come with.

“It’s Gleyber Day!” he shouts. “And like a good Gleyber, Torres is there!”



Two home runs, one game, and the elder statesman of major-league baseball hanging his head in geriatric woe.

“I’m losing my edge,” Bartolo Colon says into his glove, after the second home run lands on the grass in center field.

“The kids are coming up from behind. But I was there. I was there…”



“I was there, in Anaheim, 1997. Facing Darin Erstad for my first major-league pitch. I was there, in the 1998 ALCS—winning a complete game. I was there, in Montreal, when the Expos still played.”

“I’m losing my edge. But I was there.”




In Spanish, “torres” means towers.

Something admired, photographed, a landmark for all in its vicinity. The focal point of the modern city’s mythology.

The Eiffel. The Sears.

The Shanghai Tower. The Tower Bridge. The CN Tower.

The Gleyber.

Towering over the future of the American League. Sending home run balls over the outfield grass.

Towering, towering, towering…

Onward through the summer air.