Skip to main content

David Price spent the first moments of his news conference trying to balance a sheet of Bristol board between two baseball cleats.

The board showed a picture of Price's official MLB emoji, including his French bulldog, Astro. The shoes were size 13.5 custom Jordan PE4s.

"I'm pretty sure P.E. stands for 'player's edition'," Price said. "It's my playoff cleat from Michael … [a comic pause and a lowered register] … Thanks, Mike."

Some guys see a looming signpost in the journey of life before a big game. And other guys see free advertising.

Looking so loose he should've been speaking from a hot tub, Price entertained questions for 10 minutes. Not all of them were metaphoric stroking. In five attempts, Price has never won a playoff start and carries an earned-run average just under 5.00. He's been off for 11 days. If you want to go looking for signs of danger, they're there. Price shrugged them off, and did so without brittleness. He seemed honestly stoked.

He said a great deal – very little of any real substance, but all of it cheerful – until a moderator shut things down.

"That's it?" Price said, sounding disappointed. "I could stay in here all day."

He gathered up his presentation materials, gave cartoon Astro a little kiss, and shuffled out of the room.

Twenty-four hours out from the beginning of the postseason, you couldn't help but contrast Price to the guy who followed him, Texas Rangers' manager Jeff Banister.

Banister has the tight smile of a man who knows something you don't. Or, at least, thinks he does.

He didn't look very comfortable. Or comfortable at all.

The first question was about handling the bullpen in postseason conditions.

"That's a good question, right out of the gate, hm?" Banister said. You had no idea if he meant that as a compliment or an insult.

He was asked what his Game 1 starter, Yovani Gallardo, has done to be so successful in two starts (2-0, 0.00 ERA) against the Jays this year.

"If I gave away all my secrets, you would be helping them out," Banister said, "Are you working for them?"

Again – no idea if this is fully joking, half-joking or not joking at all.

Reporter: "Could you share your lineup for tomorrow yet?"

Banister: "No."

He's obviously good at his job, but right now, Jeff Banister is about as light as an anvil.

This is a first-time manager in his debut season taking a team no one gave a chance to succeed into the playoffs. He's earned his salary. You'd think he'd be just a little chuffed with his circumstances.

Instead, Banister seems like he's waiting for the sandbag to come out of the rafters and decapitate him.

Price's shoulder-shrugging, dog-kissing, emoji-touting ease or Banister's 'Some of you are not going to make it' pre-battle tension. None of this will mean anything once they start actually playing, but you know which approach you'd prefer.

How does Price manage it? Two months after he arrived, we're still trying to figure out exactly what makes his inner workings turn.

He isn't loose in the traditional sense. Which is to say, he doesn't have moments of intensity followed by a general relaxing.

Instead, he is always this way – garrulous, playful and half-amazed at his own good fortune. He's this way after he wins and after he loses (though we haven't seen very much of that).

He's the best Jays pitcher since Roy Halladay. In terms of personality, the two have nothing in common. Halladay was so tightly wound, he created his own gravity.

One of Halladay's admirable quirks was judging the quality of any game in purely personal terms. If he pitched poorly and the team won, Halladay didn't pretend to be happy. And if he pitched well and the team lost, he didn't pretend to be sad.

Halladay knew he could control one variable in baseball – himself. He didn't waste time worrying about anything beyond that one factor. He let the winning and losing sort itself out. And he didn't care what anyone thought of that.

Halladay was a bright, decent fellow, but he lived inside his own clubhouse bubble.

Price is far more affected by his environment. He wants to be liked. More than that, he needs to be a sort of social convenor.

"Times change, but I don't," Price said on Wednesday. "I know that if I can show my teammates that I'm here for them every single day, especially on the days that I'm not pitching, I know that they will respond to that well and they'll have my back as well."

This open embrace extends to the other 50,000 people in the room.

"I really don't feel that fans understand how they can have their hand in sporting events," Price said. "[They] can turn 95 [miles an hour] into 96. [They] can make that hitter get to that pitcher's pitch. It pumps you up ... [It's] a big factor."

This is contrary to the sport's common wisdom, and especially so for pitchers. There is a very fine line between geeked-up and out-of-control. Price is one of the few players capable of straddling it.

Because, he is essentially a Halladay. He controls that same, single thing on the field. And while he would like everyone to know he's got their back, that protection only works off the diamond. Once you cross the chalk lines, everyone's on their own.

In the last week of the season, Price was offered the chance to bolster his Cy Young credentials with one last start. He took a pass. It probably cost him the title.

"That showed me something," manager John Gibbons said.

It was another thing Halladay would have done. Not because he didn't want it. But because he couldn't control it. So why care?

When you rise beyond a certain level, it frees you from worry. This is different from not caring. It's learning to care just enough, and about the things you can change.

Halladay had that. Price has it, too. Jeff Banister doesn't look like he has much of it at all.

Reaching that state of mind guarantees you nothing. But it's a good place to start.

Follow related authors and topics

Authors and topics you follow will be added to your personal news feed in Following.

Interact with The Globe