Why Clayton Kershaw getting hit in the face turns to moments of levity

MESA, Ariz. – The bat cracked – something in the wood or in the pitch or, perhaps, in the mechanics of the 29-year-old utilityman who lurched at that Friday afternoon fastball from the Los Angeles Dodgers' Clayton Kershaw.

They all shrugged and laughed about it after the loss to the Oakland A's, because it was never as bad as it looked or could have been, and besides if they really thought about this stuff who knows what sort of turmoil would follow. They can't play the game and avoid the game at the same time. So they rely on the small favors of skill and luck and, need be, wood grain.

The bat cracked because Kershaw had a true fastball on Friday that did not leak or tail and Andy Parrino, in the brief time he had to decide if this was a strike he should hit or if this would pass too far inside, misjudged it some. The bat hit the ball but well short of the barrel. By the time the farthest areas of Hohokam Stadium would be soothed by a sound that was less threatening, there was the sight of Kershaw in a defenseless tangle and attempting to locate the ball before it did him.

What came is the eye-blink when all that's left is luck or not. A man tumbling on a hill. A baseball that may or may not spare him. A batter frozen in follow-through. A thousand flinches.

"As long as it's not McCarthy style," Kershaw said, and that's what they prefer not to think about: Brandon McCarthy or Alex Cobb or Aroldis Chapman or Dan Jennings or worse.

Side-saddle facing third base, Kershaw stabbed at the ball or a shadow or his best guess with the glove on his right hand, felt nothing and, in a last gesture of escape, turned his head away. The ball struck him near the jaw line, then at a right angle continued toward third base. He fell and immediately felt for damage.

"Never in the face," Kershaw said. "Pretty much every other body part, but not in the face."

As the game went on around him – fielders chasing, runners running – Kershaw sat up, draped his arms over his knees, hung his head and spit.

"No blood," he said.

A jagged edge. He had lost part of a tooth.

Teammates gathered with the manager and the athletic trainer at the mound. This was their ace, one of their leaders, the best pitcher in the game, but more, far more, this was the guy who'd just been hit in the mouth with a batted baseball. They'd all seen other guys not stand up. Not open their mouths for the trainer. Not shoo everyone away for a warm-up pitch and an impatient nod to get going. Not walk away.

It's just a dumb moment then. A day's work. These things happen. He's fine. Didn't you see? He threw another 30 pitches.

"I don't think I hit it too square," Parrino would say.

"I think I like overshot it," Kershaw would say.

"I knew it wasn't hit that hard," Dodgers manager Don Mattingly would say.

"I mean, it hurt," Kershaw would say, "but I knew it wasn't super, super serious."

"I felt like the Gold Glove was a sham," catcher A.J. Ellis would say with a grin, when his friend was upright and unaffected and eager to get on the road to beat the cross-town traffic. "A broken-bat changeup hit right back at him?"

Shoulda turned two on that, bro.

It's what keeps them all upright and unaffected, the whew-that-was-close-gotta-make-that-play-hey-put-a-glove-on-that-jaw whistling past the ball yard. It's what allows every one of them to stand on a 10-inch riser and unguarded while very nearly feeling the breeze of the biggest swing. They root for a good day, for a lively arm, for strikes when they ask for them, and for a little bit of luck. Not the head. Anything but the head.

"I've seen them," he said. "That's about it."

Kershaw was struck in the third inning. He finished that and pitched two more innings. He went to the bullpen to throw more pitches, and on his way past the grandstand the people applauded, because he's Clayton Kershaw and because in that eye-blink he was so lucky. Afterward, his shoulder and elbow wrapped in ice, he pedaled a stationary bicycle, because there'd be another game and soon the season would come. The slider was better. He's throwing some changeups. The command of his fastball is getting there. Another couple starts…

The pitch was good, the swing was good enough, and then the bat cracked. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe so. And maybe that's why it was never as bad as it looked or could have been.

He said he hadn't yet spoken to his wife, Ellen. He nodded to his locker, where his phone was.

"Yeah, I gotta check," he said. "I'm sure she's panicked."

Then he'd have to have that tooth looked at.