Old Faithful, Without flash or flare, Greg Maddux continues to roll
by Lang Whitaker
last revised: May 1, 2006
CNNSI.comA large part of why I watch sports is because I enjoy watching people do things I’ll never be able to do. LeBron James storming toward the rim through a seemingly impenetrable defense, for instance. Andruw Jones yanking an inside pitch 20 rows into the stands. Ronaldinho’s elastico move. Deion Sanders returning a punt. The way Dominique Wilkins used to rise above a crowded lane to slam home a rebound.
Which does nothing to explain why one of my favorite athletes of all time is Greg Maddux. After all, he stands maybe six feet tall, weighs a pedestrian 175 pounds, and I’m guessing he’d be about the last guy you’d single out of a lineup as the guy who’s 15th on baseball’s all-time wins list. Even his headshot on MLB.com looks like an exhausted businessman getting his company I.D. photo taken — mouth slightly ajar, eyes glazed over.
Maddux’s stats are mind-boggling: 15th all-time in wins, 13th all-time in strikeouts, one of two pitchers ever with 3,000 strikeouts and fewer than 1,000 walks (the other is Fergie Jenkins), four Cy Youngs, 17 consecutive seasons with at least 15 wins and, my favorite, an incredible 15 Gold Gloves.
There’s so much to talk about with Maddux, who has had a magical and much-documented start to the season (5-0, 1.35 ERA). But what I love about him is that he’s just a brilliant, consistent, old-school winner. I like that Maddux refuses to pitch at Wrigley in anything but the regular white Cubs jersey. I like that in a league where steroid accusations fly at the drop of a fitted hat, the only ‘roids connection you could ever make to Maddux is that perhaps he looks like a chemist who could have formulated the Clear. Twenty seasons into his career, his body is still nondescript and he still curses like a sailor on the mound when a pitch doesn’t do what he wants it to do. (This used to be picked up by the TBS microphones when he was on the Braves, and I still catch a few foul blurts from WGN’s field mics.)
My favorite Maddux story is not his striking someone out or jamming a slugger; it’s from the 1999 season, when Maddux was off to a slow start. Maddux is allergic to contact lenses, so when he was pitching he’d wear the contacts for an hour or so, then go back to those wire-rimmed glasses he always wore. As he explained, “I had bumpy eyes.” He wasn’t named to the All-Star team that season, so Maddux used the break to have LASIK surgery. During the season. Without telling anyone.
Selfish? Maybe. But Maddux said he knew golfing buddies who’d recovered quickly, and he figured he wouldn’t miss a start. Before anyone could get upset about it, in his next start he allowed one run in eight innings against the Red Sox, and went on to win nine of his next 10 decisions. That’s Maddux.
In fact, between 1994 and 2000, Greg Maddux went 125-50. I went to so many Braves games to watch Maddux start during that period that I feel safe in saying that after two years of writing this column for SI.com, my bi-weekly Time Warner checks are still not even close to reimbursing me for all the tickets I bought.
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Along with a host of other accomplishments, Greg Maddux boasts 15 Gold Gloves. Dilip Vishwanat/Getty Images |
Things are different now in Atlanta. Maddux is gone, Tom Glavine is gone, Leo Mazzone is gone, the Braves are up for sale, the Mets won’t friggin’ lose and Fox has managed to infuriate the entire Braves fan base by getting rid of the Braves’ longtime announcers. (Check out the comments section here.) And yet, Maddux is still Maddux, maybe moreso than he’s ever been.
On Friday afternoon, the Cubbies squared off against the Brewers, and Maddux was in trouble in the early going. Top of the first, bases loaded, one out, the lefty Prince Fielder at the plate. First pitch was an 85-mph called strike on the outside corner. Second pitch was a fastball up and in that surprised Fielder so much he swung about two seconds late. (That pitch was clocked at a blistering 84 mph.) And with two strikes on the lefty, Maddux did what he’s always done, with the same crafty pitch he’s been using since his rookie year in 1986: He threw that little cutting fastball (this one 84 mph) that comes directly at the lefties and then, at the last possible second, zips back across the corner of the plate. The lefty batters always end up jumping out of the way, raising their arms to avoid a beanball that never comes, which is inevitably a called strike three. It’s consistent, it’s predictable, and yet nobody has ever figured out a way to hit that pitch.
All those guys I mentioned at the beginning of this article are not only guys I admire as athletes, they’re also guys I’ve interviewed or been around in locker rooms during my career as a sportswriter. So why shouldn’t I interview Maddux, try to get to the bottom of who he is?
Two reasons. First, because Maddux never says anything interesting. Even during his decade in Atlanta, the most compelling quotes from Maddux were after his LASIK surgery, when he raved about being able to wake up in the middle of the night and see the TV without having to put on his glasses. He’s always been forthcoming with his pitching philosophy: location and changing speeds. That’s it. He’s just better at them than anyone else.
Second, I don’t want to interview Maddux because, for once, I want this athlete to remain what he is to me: a myth, a hero, an inspiration. Sure, it’s fun to have guys like Deion ranting and raving about being the best alive, or to hear Ozzie Guillen mumbling like Fenster in The Usual Suspects.
But I’m going to let Maddux be, to watch him from afar, to read his mundane quotes in the game stories. And most of all, I’ll smile every time a lefty hitter reaches for the sky as strike three busts back across the inside corner of the plate.
