He paced back and forth in the umpire's clubhouse at Comerica Park. His big arms were folded tight, like a straitjacket, against his chest. His face was flushed red. His tongue did its best to chop an umpire into pieces, which is where Joyce's psyche lay minutes after Wednesday night's near-perfect game by Armando Galarraga.
Near-perfect when it was clearly perfect.
"I missed it, I missed it," Joyce barked, his voice at the extreme end of anguished.
"I took a perfect game from that kid who pitched a perfect game.
"It was the biggest call of my career and I kicked the (stuff) out of it.
"I'm sorry. I had a great angle and I missed the call."
It was the kind of call Joyce, 54, who has been one of the game's better umpires for 23 years, has made a thousand times.
Mistakes are brutal. Mistakes that come from an Edgar Allan Poe manuscript are indescribably cruel.
Joyce's imperfect act that ruined a perfect game came with two out in the ninth, after Galarraga had put somehow put away 26 consecutive Cleveland Indians batters. He was ready to put a flourish on history, on a previously unremarkable career that was about to slip into baseball lore, when he got Jason Donald to smack a grounder between first base and second.
Miguel Cabrera snared the ball, waited a split-second to line up Galarraga, who was a few feet from history. Cabrera threw neatly to his soon-to-be celebrity teammate as Galarraga stepped on the bag, a split-second ahead of Donald's foot.
Joyce's hands, palms-down, stretched left and right.
"Safe!"
And at that moment, hellfire descended on Comerica Park's infield. As quickly as television replays confirmed what Joyce's blunder ruined, an umpire's nightmare began.
Galarraga got the final out of a 3-0 Tigers victory and, in an instant, Tigers manager Jim Leyland was breathing fire into Joyce's face, as were Tigers players, who came dangerously close to having a physical confrontation with an umpire whose name was about to know infamy.
"I really thought he beat the ball," Joyce said, speaking of Donald as he continued to pace 5 feet one way, 5 another, over and over, his crew members sitting silently at a nearby table.
"At that time I thought he beat the ball. I asked the guy in the (video) room to cue up the play as soon as we got in here.
"And I missed it from here to that wall."
Joyce had the appearance of a man who had done something far worse than make a mistake in a baseball game. He was inconsolable. He ripped at himself mercilessly. He would not hear about the game being human, about people being fallible.
"I don't blame the Tigers for anything that was said after the game," he said. "If I had been Galarraga, I would have been the first one in my face."
"And he never said a word to me. I don't blame one person for their reaction.
"This wasn't a call," Joyce said, emphasizing the third word. "This was a history call. And I kicked the (stuff) out of it."
Joyce later met with Galarraga, who said, "He feels really bad, probably worse than me. I give a lot of credit to that guy, to say he's sorry. I gave him a hug. His body English said more than the words. Nobody's perfect."
Joyce was asked if he had not come to terms with the perils of a profession where mistakes are displayed on a grand stage. He had to have known about Don Denkinger's grief when Denkinger blew a call that cost the St. Louis Cardinals the 1985 World Series.
"I've never been through anything like this," Joyce said, his voice quivering. "I worked with Don Denkinger, and I know what he went through, but I've ever had a moment like this."
Joyce stopped pacing. He stood for a moment, listening to someone's reminder that far more heartbreaking mistakes are made by other people each day. He turned to head for the shower. And he broke down.
Leyland heard about Joyce's psychological state in the Tigers clubhouse.
"I gotta get over there," the Tigers manager said, heading for the doorway, and for the tunnel leading to the umpire's dressing room.
Leyland returned 15 minutes later.
"He's better now," the manager said, forgiving an umpire who could not forgive himself.
Tigers no-hitters
George Mullin: July 4, 1912 vs. St. Louis (7-0)
Virgil Trucks: May 15, 1952 vs. Washington (1-0)
Virgil Trucks: Aug. 25, 1952 vs. Yankees (1-0)
Jim Bunning: July 20, 1958 vs. Boston (3-0)
Jack Morris: April 7, 1984 vs. White Sox
Justin Verlander: June 12, 2007 vs. Milwaukee
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