Hitting The Cutoff Man

Think about all of the scary things one might encounter as a professional athlete.

If you’re a football or hockey player, you can get smashed into a pancake. If you’re a boxer, your brain can get turned to mush in an instant. If you’re in the NBA, you might be the only guy between LeBron James and the basket, knowing you’re about to become an extra in a poster.

I would contend that nothing might be scarier than standing in the left-handed batters box and staring up at all 82 inches of Randy Johnson glaring down at you, all arms and legs and mullett. Just ask John Kruk.

The Big Unit will not be around to terrorize hitters anymore, as he announced his retirement Tuesday after 22 seasons in the big leagues, during which he won 303 games, struck out 4,875 batters and caused innumerable managers to sit even their good lefties.

It was quite a career for Johnson, who is surely one of top few southpaws of all time. He had so many fantastic seasons that it would take forever to go over his numbers in detail.

But just for a taste of his utter dominance, look back at what he did after getting dealt to the Astros at the trade deadline of the 1998 season. 11 starts, 10 wins, 4 shutouts, a 1.28 ERA, 84.1 IP, 57 hits, 116 strikeouts.

Not bad.

Obviously, the Unit is a no-doubt, first-ballot Hall of Famer. From my perspective though, it’s too bad he didn’t retire the same year as Greg Maddux, who hung ‘em up after the 2008 season. Not only are those two guys two of the greatest pitchers ever, but they tend to stick in my mind together and it would be fun to see them enter the Hall at the same time.

Both were elite pitchers who began their careers in the late ‘80s and pitched into their 40s. But that’s really where the similarities end, which is what makes them such a fascinating duo to me.

Johnson was left-handed, Maddux right-handed.

Johnson was a 6-foot-10 beanpole, Maddux a bit short for a pitcher at 6 feet even.

Johnson stared daggers at hitters; Maddux generally had a calm demeanor.

Johnson had a sizzling fastball and a slider that defined the term “filthy;” Maddux almost never hit 90 mph and didn’t have any sort of huge breaking ball, instead relying on great control and sneaky movement on his fastball.

Johnson never seemed particularly loved, even by his teammates; Maddux was a notorious practical joker and essentially a second pitching coach later in his career.

Johnson hit and fielded about as awkwardly as you would expect from someone his size; Maddux was a pretty solid hitter and won 18 Gold Gloves.

Johnson looked frightening; Maddux looked like your neighbor.

It just goes to show, there is no single recipe for greatness.

Fear, however, had a simple recipe through the 1990s and into the new millennium: Take pitcher's mound, add Randy Johnson.