Pitchers pitch through problems all the time. They deal with fatigue, with nagging injuries, and are often at less than 100 percent. It's part of the job.
But Monday at Fenway Park, Rich Hill had to pitch with a heavy heart. And that was worse than a barking elbow or an ailing shoulder, both of which he's endured before.
Last Friday, Hill lost his father, 94-year-old Lloyd Hill. The elder Hill has been sick for some time, and it was known that the end was near last week, enough so that Hill flew home from Detroit to Boston ahead of the team, to be able to spend time with his father.
For the most part, he kept the news private. When I talked to him last Friday morning, before the home opener, and asked if he had been in touch with former teammate Clayton Kershaw, who was removed from a perfect game two days earlier, Hill said he hadn't yet reached out to Kershaw, a close friend.
"I've had some family stuff going on,'' said Hill, without further explanation.
The Red Sox offered to skip Hill's turn as he dealt with his grief, but the veteran lefty would have none of that talk. He had a job to do, and in his mind, he needed to do it.
"The job is to be a professional and show up,'' said Hill, who allowed two two-run homers in 4.2 innings, leading, in part, to an 8-3 loss to Minnesota. "No matter what circumstances there are, outside the clubhouse or outside of the lines, you show up and you're a pro. That's something that I learned from my Dad. ... He taught me a lot of lessons and one of them was to show up and do your job even when things aren't perfect on the outside.''
As if the emotions weren't enough, there was another connection to his father that was unavoidable. Lloyd Hill, an educator, ran 37 Boston Marathons in his life and the day was always a special one in the Hill household in Milton, Mass.
"There were a lot of great memories of him coming home,'' said Hill, "and a few times being able to get in there and see him finish. It was great. He had a great life.''
So there was never a thought, not once, of taking the day off to mourn and remember. In Hill's mind, there would still be time for that. He had an obligation to his teammates, to his manager, to his team. And not incidentally, showing up to work was, in his mind, a most fitting tribute to his father.
"It was mixed emotions,'' he confessed when asked whether he was trying to remember his father, or, with a task at hand, push his memory to the side for a bit. "But I definitely was focused in on competing and getting the job done. Unfortunately, I came up short. I think I did everything I could to go out there and keep everything else emotionally in check.''
Hill dug into his memory bank, and thought of the composure his father had displayed during challenging times. He decided the best way to honor his memory was to try to do the same.
"I use the word professional,'' he said. "He was always a pro.''
Hill allowed a homer that barely reached the Monster Seats in the first, and another again in the third. Both were wind-aided, and he didn't pitch poorly otherwise, but he left trailing 4-0 in the fifth.
"We came up short because I didn't set the tone right away,'' said Hill. "That's difficult because I want to go out there and do that as a starting pitcher. That's my job.''
Still, his mere presence on the mound, his willingness to take the ball under the toughest of circumstances, did not go unnoticed by the rest of the Red Sox.
Manager Alex Cora spoke with reverence about Hill's determination, and the quick impact he's made on the organization and in the clubhouse. Cora lost his own father at age 13, and wondered how Hill even took the mound. When Cora went to lift him with two outs in the fifth, he spend an extra couple of minutes on the mound, reminding Hill how much his teammates respected him and how thankful they were that he was part of the team.
"I can't even imagine the emotions and the feeling and everything,'' said Cora. "Like I told him, we're very proud of him, we're family and we're here for him. And for him to go out and compete, that was good enough. He did a lot today, and he showed his team a lot.''
Hill is no stranger to loss. He and his wife lost an infant boy, Brooks, in 2013, understandably delaying his arrival to spring training. When he finally got to Fort Myers, most reporters respectfully kept their distance, giving him his privacy. But Hill knew that he needed to address the issue, and approached some reporters, noting: "You guys probably want to talk to me.''
He stood and answered every question, his voice occasionally cracking with emotion.
It was a display of remarkable grace. And so it was again, on Monday, dealing with another loss, one far bigger than the one on the stat sheet.
In a perfect world, of course, HIll would have tossed six or seven scoreless innings and walked off the mound to a rousing ovation. But life doesn't deliver storybook endings. Sometimes, try as you might, you don't get the result you wish.
But Hill did the next best thing. He did what his father would have done. He showed up, he did his job, and he was every bit the professional.
And that, in its own way, was the best tribute he could have paid.