The Case of the Fragile Pitcher

Welcome to this week's edition of Mystery Theatre where we delve into the most vexing whodunits of our time.

This week, we examine The Case of the Fragile Pitcher and analyze the theories that abound, ex-post facto, to explain why hurlers in the 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s and 80s took the ball every fourth day, remained on the hill for 300+ innings and wore down no more than their modern counterparts despite advances in conditioning and medical care. 

Our sleuths will uncover why today's moundsmen are bigger, stronger, better conditioned, yet throw no harder and dis-assemble faster than their progenitors despite massive attention paid to their workload.

Actually, our sleuths will do no such thing. The point of this installment of Mystery Theatre is that this week's mystery has earned its stripes and avoided explanation like Jimmy Hoffa's killers.

The timing of this discussion coincides with the implosion of Stephen Strasburg's elbow, which would have ended his career had not Tommy John presented the same ulnar collateral ligament injury to Dr. Frank Jobe in 1974.

How, we're all asking, could Strasburg have contracted this quintessential pitching woe when management of the Washington Nationals treated him like a sickly Southern belle in a heat wave? Despite gestating his talent beyond necessity in the minors, truncating his starts, plying him with extra rest and reacting to his every boo-boo with ever more caution, the franchise is nonetheless rewarded with the very injury they most feared.

Listen to sports talk radio and television and you will hear ex-jocks propose theories big and small for this vexing phenomenon. Their explanations range from the unprovably plausible to the patently ridiculous. Mostly they are stand-ins for the far more accurate and credible answer: I don't know. My favorite is the former players who rail against pitch counts. Although limits on pitch counts got a little out of hand for awhile, they are still based on solid research supporting certain limits on some pitchers.

We know that today's pitchers are bigger, stronger, better-conditioned and better-trained than their predecessors. We also know that the highest heat today is no hotter than the highest heat of yesteryear. Nolan Ryan, Bob Feller, Sam McDowell; hell, Walter Johnson would all be considered fireballers today. And we know that there seems to be some risk in increasing the workload of young pitchers dramatically from one year to the next, though the Verducci Effect is no longer the universally accepted metaphysical truth it once was. None of that explains why Cy Young's great-grandchildren can't hold a candle to Cy Young's grandchildren.

I would like to take a stab at explaining part of the problem by noting three simultaneous truths. Before I do, a caveat: this is not a universal theory of pitching durability. I don't really know why throwers of Bowie Kuhn's day outlasted today's crop.

I wonder whether the average pitcher today doesn't throw harder than the average pitcher of 1970, even if the pinnacle of the profession hasn't changed. Someone probably knows the answer to this, but I don't. A major league fastball is at least 88 mph in 2010. Rare is the violator of this rule. Was that the case in 1975, or could you get away with a speedball that peaked at 82 with sufficient craft and a 12-6 curveball?

I also wonder what impact new pitches like sliders, cut fastballs, etc. have  on athletes' shoulders and elbows. Are they even new pitches at all, or just new names for strategies being employed all the time?

Onto the facts: one reason pitchers pitch fewer innings today is that they pitch fewer innings. No, really. Isn't it conceivable that if pitchers took the ball every fourth day while working their way through the minor leagues and then continued in that vein in The Show, they would get acclimated to that workload? Under those conditions, some major league pitchers would compile 250+ innings, just like Tom Seaver and Juan Marichal did.

Fact Two: Bullpens are used differently today than in the past. Before the one-inning closer and the LOOGY (left-handed, one-out guy), managers let their starters pitch until they ran out of steam or had to be replaced by a pinch hitter. Teams had 10-man staffs -- four starters, a closer and a bunch of inning-eaters. Today, perfectly fresh starters get yanked in order to maximize match-ups. We have closers and set-up men and long relievers and situational lefties and righties who together comprise 13-man rotations. No wonder a starter can't get an inning in edgewise.

Fact Three: Pitching today is a full-time job. Pitchers face hitters up and down the lineup who are bigger, stronger and more powerful than in the past. Throw in the DH and today's hurler must make every pitch count and use every pitch to set up every other. Ken Griffey, Sr., Tony Gwynn, Sr. Cecil Fielder, Bob Boone, and others whose loins produced today's breed, competed with middle infielders who were Michael J. Fox-sized and couldn't go yard off a tee. Juan Marichal could cruise through the bottom of the order; a hanging curve might be a hit, but rarely extra bases. He didn't have to futz around with setting up Roy McMillan and his 292 SLG.

In short,  the full story behind the discrepancy between pitchers of bygone eras and today remains a mystery. There seems to be evidence that pitching today is more difficult and that usage patterns have changed. Beyond that: I don't know.

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The Next 300-Game Winner Will Be...

"People tell me tomorrow's another day. No, today is another day. We don't know what tomorrow is going to be, and by the time we find out, it will be today." -- George Carlin

After Early Winn limped to his 300th career pitching namesake at the end of 1963, sportswriters began touting him as the "Last of the 300-Game Winners." Indeed, it took 19 years for Gaylord Perry to next cross that barrier. No one in 1963 would have identified Perry as the next candidate: at that point he had amassed a 4-7 lifetime record and a 4.66 ERA.

The 300-win refrain has been sung repeatedly since, most recently now. In the wake of Randy Johnson's 300th big unit last week, sports websites were buzzing with the chorus "no one will do it again." But someone pitching today will, I promise.

Certainly no one is in the pipeline. Only eight Major League hurlers are even halfway to the mark, and not one of them is a reasonable candidate. They include the likes of Jamie Moyer, Pedro Martinez and Tim Wakefield.

But Randy Johnson wasn't much of a candidate himself until pretty recently. The giant lefty didn't record his first win until he was 25 and was still 196 Ws short of 300 at age 32, with a creaky back on the resume to boot. What we've learned about great players is that, Ken Griffey Jr. and Frank Thomas not withstanding, it's how you finish much more than how you start. And we don't know how guys will finish until we get there, hence the Carlin quote at the top.

Someone pitching today is going to have a revival in his career's second act. Johan Santana, Jake Peavey and Roy Halladay are all longer on talent than on wins, but that could change. Any of them could remain productive through their 25th high school reunion and march slowly to that milestone. Or some youngin' who has yet to distinguish himself, say a Rick Porcello, Max Scherzer or Felix Hernandez, could find a groove in the 2010's.

Conditions are certainly more difficult than they were when Johnson first flung the horsehide 100 mph past some startled batter. Starters now record decisions in just 69% of their starts, down 12% (not 12 percentage points) since 1972, a loss of 47 decisions in 500 career starts. But the last four entries into the august 300-club -- Johnson, Glavine, Maddux and Clemens -- have all pitched the majority of their careers under similar conditions. So it's possible, even if present usage patterns persist.

By the time that day inevitably arrives, advanced baseball analysis could be the accepted norm. We'll understand the relative irrelevance of pitching wins -- not to mention saves, RBIs and batting average -- and focus on more revealing stats that better correlate with success. At that time, the big question about the next 300-game winner may not be "who?" but "who cares?"
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Didn't You Used To Be Roger Clemens?

If you want to know what scandal has cost Roger Clemens, all you have to do is look at Greg Maddux’s retirement.

Maddux hung it up at exactly the right time last month, before a run of mediocrity started tarnishing his spectacular resume.

It would belabor the point to recap Maddux’s career here beyond marveling at the run of seasons from 1992-98 when he surrendered just slightly more than half as many runs as the average NL hurler. Seventeen straight seasons of 15 or more wins and 18 Gold Gloves may or may not be what they’re cracked up to be, but they’re the most ever.

More to the point, Maddux is being lionized as the greatest and winningest pitcher of his generation. Before we discovered that Roger Clemens was dabbling in Mindy McCready, that was supposed to be his career epitaph. Batters were frustrated by Maddux, but intimidated and awed by Clemens, who retained the heat into his 40s. With more career traction and better stuff, it looked as if Clemens had pulled away from Maddux for good.

What’s the conventional narrative now? It’s the morality play of the tortoise and the hare, with Clemens in the role of rabbit. Suddenly not possessing raw power is a virtue for Maddux. Winning with without high heat makes Maddux more commendable. It’s as if chicks now dig the changeup.

Of course, that narrative was always hooey. Maddux may weigh 175 pounds and wear glasses, but he threw plenty hard and notched nearly 3400 strikeouts. Moreover, he was a great natural athlete who demonstrated his raw ability at the plate and with the glove.

It’s not as if Clemens just rolled God’s gifts out onto the field and chalked up the victories. His heat was the by-product of an intense physical fitness regimen and equally intense mental preparation and focus. He was the greatest pitcher of his generation…until his derriere became back page fodder and the rest of him became MLB’s persona non grata.

I guess that’s comeuppance for the personal and professional skullduggery that Clemens seemed to have engaged in. We’re chalking one up for the good guy. So let that be a lesson to us all. Roger Clemens will still be remembered as a great pitcher, but he gave away a significant mantle to Greg Maddux – best of his era.