One of my friends was asked a question about his favorite baseball team, the Atlanta Braves. All these warm emotions came flooding back, as my affection for the Braves is not small. [Aren't you a die-hard Cardinals fan?--ed.] Yes. But the Braves of my youth in the '90s taught me to love the game more than my team, or at least to see baseball beauty unshaded by the passions of loyalty. [Wow. Pompous much?--ed.] If I write something pretty, I just gotta go with it.
As everyone probably knows, pitching is my favorite part of baseball. I used to pitch to my brother in the backyard; I'll take a 1-0 or 2-1 pitching duel over a home-run explosion any day. And my favorite pitcher by a long way is Greg Maddux. He always had that underdog thing about him, because I never saw him hit 90 MPH on the radar gun, and definitely not later. He surely is proud of the fact that he could out-think the hitters instead of overpower them. No one with 355 wins is actually an underdog, but you know what I mean. A hard fastball is like a SEAL team: it makes up for mistakes. A well-placed pitch, however, reveals greatness. Maddux was the crown jewel of those Braves pitching staffs until he returned to the Cubs in 2004. He needed those extra 5 seasons to get to 300 wins (to leave no Hall of Fame doubts in the minds of stupid baseball writers) but part of me dreams that he would have walked away in 2003. He was at his peak still, then. But aside from my Ric Bucher-like tendency to tell legends when to leave, let me be clear: I loved every second I watched him. I'd pay to watch him now, four years after he threw his last pitch. I'm still proud I traded Albert Pujols in fantasy baseball straight-up for him in 2002. He showed you that pride in being a pitcher that all the best ones have. He made it fun to watch the pitcher, to think like he thinks. He made it cool to like complete games again. And he's the prototype for guys like Halladay and Chris Carpenter, though they throw much harder. Even when he was bad, he was good. He lost some stamina and strikeout ability at the end, but he could still dominate on any given day.
I could tell you so many stories of games I watched where his legend grew in my mind. Not in the prime days, but long after. He was so great and proud to play the game. In my twenties, I followed every game as best I could. If you never saw him, you wouldn't get it. The numbers are epic, but they don't tell you the story. There is a romance to baseball that the numbers only hint at. There is a testimony that a game gives that a box score may not. This is why I appreciate sabermetrics in many respects, but my eyes show me the truth in baseball.
I'm saying that when I dream of Heaven, and pitching on the mound for the Cardinals there, I want to pitch like Maddux. If I have a son who wants to play, (and pitch) I'm going to show him how Maddux did it. If I can find my way to Cooperstown on his day soon, I'll go. And I'll cheer--and probably cry--because few did it better, and with so much class, as Gregory Alan Maddux.
As everyone probably knows, pitching is my favorite part of baseball. I used to pitch to my brother in the backyard; I'll take a 1-0 or 2-1 pitching duel over a home-run explosion any day. And my favorite pitcher by a long way is Greg Maddux. He always had that underdog thing about him, because I never saw him hit 90 MPH on the radar gun, and definitely not later. He surely is proud of the fact that he could out-think the hitters instead of overpower them. No one with 355 wins is actually an underdog, but you know what I mean. A hard fastball is like a SEAL team: it makes up for mistakes. A well-placed pitch, however, reveals greatness. Maddux was the crown jewel of those Braves pitching staffs until he returned to the Cubs in 2004. He needed those extra 5 seasons to get to 300 wins (to leave no Hall of Fame doubts in the minds of stupid baseball writers) but part of me dreams that he would have walked away in 2003. He was at his peak still, then. But aside from my Ric Bucher-like tendency to tell legends when to leave, let me be clear: I loved every second I watched him. I'd pay to watch him now, four years after he threw his last pitch. I'm still proud I traded Albert Pujols in fantasy baseball straight-up for him in 2002. He showed you that pride in being a pitcher that all the best ones have. He made it fun to watch the pitcher, to think like he thinks. He made it cool to like complete games again. And he's the prototype for guys like Halladay and Chris Carpenter, though they throw much harder. Even when he was bad, he was good. He lost some stamina and strikeout ability at the end, but he could still dominate on any given day.
I could tell you so many stories of games I watched where his legend grew in my mind. Not in the prime days, but long after. He was so great and proud to play the game. In my twenties, I followed every game as best I could. If you never saw him, you wouldn't get it. The numbers are epic, but they don't tell you the story. There is a romance to baseball that the numbers only hint at. There is a testimony that a game gives that a box score may not. This is why I appreciate sabermetrics in many respects, but my eyes show me the truth in baseball.
I'm saying that when I dream of Heaven, and pitching on the mound for the Cardinals there, I want to pitch like Maddux. If I have a son who wants to play, (and pitch) I'm going to show him how Maddux did it. If I can find my way to Cooperstown on his day soon, I'll go. And I'll cheer--and probably cry--because few did it better, and with so much class, as Gregory Alan Maddux.
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