The last time I saw the Nationals play was two weeks ago, when Ryan Zimmerman hit a walk-off grand slam against the Phillies. The feeling was similar to that of the Nats’ opening night in 2008, when Zimmerman, a boy-faced third baseman, christened the new park with a walk-off home run. Since then, he has become one of baseball’s most dangerous hitters in the bottom of the ninth inning, especially with the bases loaded. He hits and hits and hits — 14 walk-offs in his career. Well, 13 right after that game two weeks ago.
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The last time I listened to Lifehouse in earnest was eight years ago, maybe more. They had a great hit in 2001 called “Hanging by a Moment,” and after that they didn’t really do much, although people who have radios claim that the band churned out singles here and there. Their songs are as formulaic as those recorded by the best and worst of the '90s — four chords each, major key, vague lyrics about personal improvement. If I heard them again since 2003, it was by accident.
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On Saturday, I came back to Nationals Park, and again Zimmerman strode up to bat in the bottom of the ninth inning. The bases were loaded, there was one out, and the team trailed the Mets by a run. Zimmerman is not the guy you want to face in this situation, but there he was, digging into the dirt around home plate. The first pitch came from the mound. It was a strike.
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On Saturday, I listened to Lifehouse again — almost ad nauseam. About two-thirds of the fans at the park left after the end of the ninth, and the rest crowded into the lower-level seats between home and first, and home and third, as they waited for the free post-game show. The grounds crew opened a door in the outfield and wheeled onto the warning track a medium-sized stage and a dozen amplifiers. They snaked around left field and eventually settled right on top of where second base was. The band stepped up to cheers — some real, some confused — and started playing their first song.
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Zimmerman got set for the 0-1 pitch from the Mets’ final pitcher. The scene was familiar: Two weeks before, Zimmerman patiently worked the count full — alternately taking balls and fouling pitches — before he homered to left field, clearing the bases. As we watched nervously on Saturday, the sound-effects operator at the park was taking full advantage of the “charge” horn and organ, playing the cavalry jingle at every pause. Everyone yelled. Zimmerman took ball one.
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Lifehouse finished their first song and smoothly finessed it into their second (that was easy to do because it sounded a lot like the first). Neither of these songs had been “Hanging by a Moment,” which was really the only reason for sticking around after the game. The second song became the third, and the third became the fourth, like oil mixing with more oil. We waited and waited.
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Zimmerman waited for his third pitch. The light was holding green. Swing the bat, everyone in the stands was thinking. Swing the bat. Swing the bat. He took ball two.
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Play the song, everyone was thinking. Lifehouse waited patiently, playing a few more songs that sounded like the first three. A small “mosh pit” of select people had been meticulously organized on the dirt around second base in front of the stage, but the 80 people standing there weren’t moving much. They were right where Jonny Gomes had been, leading off of second, before Zimmerman swung for the first time in his last at-bat.
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Zimmerman made contact on his fourth pitch. It wasn’t going to be a home run. The ball popped up, floating over the pitcher, over the first baseman. The second baseman ran back to catch it. The right fielder sprinted in to get to it. The ball started falling, the way it does at the end of a disappointing game that was nevertheless close and fun to watch. But when the man in right dove to end the game, the ball dropped just in front of his glove and bounced behind him. One run came in, and then Gomes slid in to home and immediately chucked his helmet in jubilation.
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The crowd erupted in vindication — after a half hour, Lifehouse had finally begun to play the one and only song that made them worth an entry on Wikipedia. People stood up, clapping and dancing, singing, smiling, laughing. This was the song I put on a mixed CD for my high school girlfriend, the song I heard on FM every day 10 years ago. We hung for several moments as the band played the chorus six times. When they finally finished, the seats started to empty just as the next song began.
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When Zimmerman hit his 14th walk-off of his career that night, the game officially ended. It took nine innings to bring the game to a close, and it ended the same way fireworks shows do, with a grand finale. When Lifehouse officially ended their concert, there weren’t that many people around to see it. Most had already left after they played their smash single.
Both events happened on the same field. But some men are built to hit every day, and others get just one.