When Stephen Strasburg, the biggest pitching phenom in a generation, stuck out 14 in his major league debut, he seemed certain to join such epic fireballers as Bob Feller, Sandy Koufax and Nolan Ryan.
But with five weeks left in his rookie season, the game's latest young gun headed to the sidelines with a torn ulnar collateral ligament in his pitching elbow. Within the baseball world, that means Tommy John surgery and a recovery period of 12 to 18 months. Once again we're reminded that having an epic fastball, a thunderbolt handed down from above, will always be part blessing, part curse.
Often we put such talent on a pedestal. Certainly this is understandable because nothing stands out more than ability and untapped potential. But we need to remember that talent, no matter how breath-taking and seemingly invincible, often struggles to come into its own.
In writing High Heat: The Secret History of the Fastball and the Improbable Search for the Fastest Pitcher of All Time (Da Capo), I was struck by how nobody really has it easy in this line of work. Steve Dalkowski, Jay Franklin, David Clyde, Herb Score and J.R. Richard are just a few of the pitchers who had plenty of fireballing potential but never reached baseball's Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y. For every Randy Johnson, every Tom Seaver, you can find plenty of other arms who never made it. Whose talent was an albatross, a Midas-like burden they would have given away if they could.
Certainly Strasburg isn't alone in his struggles this season. In San Francisco, two-time Cy Young winner Tim Lincecum lost velocity, perhaps even faith in his fastball, with his Giants battling for a playoff berth.
In Denver, Ubaldo Jimenez proved that Coors Field could be more than a launching pad for mile-high home runs. In firing the first no-hitter in Colorado Rockies' history and getting off to a 15-1 start, he was briefly on track to be baseball's first 30-win winner since Detroit's Denny McLain in 1968.
In what some declared was another "Year of the Pitcher," five no-hitters have been fired to date this season. That's second only to the record seven pitched in 1991.
In a showcase of power arms, Jimenez squared off against Tampa Bay's David Price in the 2010 All-Star Game. From the starting rotation to deep into the bullpen, guys who can throw hard, with accuracy, were in abundance.
"It's hard to find a guy throwing only 85-86 miles per hour in most rotations," says ESPN analyst Aaron Boone. "More starters throw hard and more relievers seem to be in the mid-90s or higher."
"It's the time of the pitcher right now," echoes New York Yankees manager Joe Girardi.
Within baseball, Tommy John surgery has become almost run of the mill. When John was coaching last year in the minor leagues, several players on his roster had undergone the ligament replacement procedure, some multiple times. That's a far cry from 1974 when John was a medical pioneer. At that time, Dr. Frank Jobe told John the surgery had less than a five percent chance of success.
Today, parents of young hurlers are often thrilled to hear that the Tommy John operation is required. From the big leagues down to Little League, the buzz is that a pitcher can come back stronger, even faster from the procedure.
Certainly Strasburg will almost certainly return, in some fashion. Ten pitchers who underwent Tommy John surgery made this year's All-Star Game. He's expected to be back with the Washington Nationals by 2012. Still, he has many months of rehab and starts in the minor leagues to endure before then. For it is one thing to be healthy. It is quite another thing all together to be able to win at the major league level.
Nolan Ryan, a pitcher who came within a handful of votes of being a unanimous selection to Cooperstown, almost quit before he got started. Why did he nearly walk away from the game? He felt he wasn't doing right by the gift he had been given.
Billy Wagner had Tommy John surgery two seasons ago and is now again closing games for the Atlanta Braves. But I mention him because of what he overcame years ago. In grade school, Wagner often didn't know who would be picking him up after school. That's how dysfunctional his family life was. So what fuels his vintage fastball? Wagner wouldn't be surprised if it's anger.
Nobody personifies the crossroads between talent and performance better than Sandy Koufax. In essence, he had two careers rolled into one. His first six seasons in the majors, he was barely a .500 pitcher. His last six seasons, he was an MVP, three times leading the league in victories.
Koufax's career changed forever during a spring training game in 1961. His catcher, Norm Sherry, convinced Sandy to take a little off his fastball, try for more control, to trust himself and his stuff. The rest, as they say, is history.
As Stephen Strasburg finds himself at his own crossroads, perhaps he can take solace from the greats whose footsteps he's following in.