CC Sabathia melded sadness with just perfect Thursday night.
His career ended morbidly and ideally, the gunslinger emptying his six-shooter for the last time, going out horribly and just the way you would expect.
“I think it’s just kind of fitting,” said Sabathia a day later, a sling holding his spent and crumbled left arm in place. “I threw until I couldn’t anymore.”
Period. Paragraph.
Sabathia has been seemingly held together by kindergarten paste the past few years, pushing on because of a sense of obligation and his joy in the competition and consequences of standing 60 feet, 6 inches from euphoria or despair.