Day Fifty Two: Randy Johnson

I didn't follow the day to day grind of the Diamondbacks during their ascendant years of the late 90's and the early 00's culminating in the improbable (or perhaps utterly probable) World Series victory of 2001, but I definitely followed the Mariners of the early to mid 90's with a daily fervor. And so I cannot actually say that I saw the very best that Randy Johnson had to offer as a pitcher, but the seasons between 1993 and 1997 are still pretty amazing. It's a testament to Randy's will and adaptability that these crazy Cy Young caliber years were just a preview of what he could do when he fully developed all his pitches. From 1999 to 2002 Randy won four consecutive Cy Young awards and struck out well over 300 batters each year. That is ridiculous. He hit a grand slam in the World Series and he refused to answer Curt Schilling's phone calls. He became one of the all-time greats. His statistics are basically a study in perfection. But it wasn't always that way. And to get to that pinnacle he had to rough it through some grotesque years and shed a lot of strange emotions along the way.

Randy came to the Mariners in part of the Mark Langston deal that also brought Gene Harris and Brian Holman to the club. He was a 6'10" fireballer from USC who had little to no control and very little in the way of mound discipline. Nobody that tall had ever pitched in the majors and I'm sure that Randy strained (for his whole life) under the scrutiny of his size and the difficulty that it brought. Randy was always intensely visible. And before anyone wanted to talk about anything he was throwing, where he grew up, what he liked or disliked, they wanted to talk about his height. I used to feel like Randy had a bad attitude. He was well known for his clubhouse moodiness, his public unapproachability and his general coldness towards Mariners fans. And of course all of that was true. Randy had some serious emotional stuff going on for the first few years of his career. But he was also just a strange, mulleted giant in his mid to late 20s trying to pitch his way out of the freakshow. And eventually he did, and from what I hear he was much more the fan favorite when he pitched in Arizona and subsequently with the Yanks and the Giants, but when he was with the Mariners he was a headcase in the way that only a twenty something person can be. Why should I demand that Randy have had his shit together during a time in my own life when I most certainly did not (still not sure I do tbh)? It isn't right to hold ballplayers to a different standard than I would hold myself, my friends, or my family. After all, if I had the kind of pressure on my own head at that age I would have most assuredly blown it. By the time he reached his 30s he had harnessed some of that intensity to become a Cy Young winner and playoff hero in 1995, but it was just getting started. He dominated the NL in the second half of his career like nobody else has in my lifetime. Sure, Greg Maddux was brilliant, but nobody brought the ferocity that Randy brought. And maybe that competitiveness was what also brought his melancholy and anger. Either way, we are all lucky to have gotten the chance to witness every little bit of it.

I remember listening to my old transistor radio back in 1993 up on the ball filed at Lawton Park hearing Dave and Rico call Randy's 300th strikeout. It was the single greatest achievement that any individual Mariner had yet accomplished and I was so excited. Randy struck out 300! And it was Randy who first put the Mariners on the books with a no-hitter. He brought a lot to the club and I salute him for all his contributions and appearances out of the pen. (The Mariners pen was so awful that often times Lou would bring Randy in for relief appearances even during the regular season). Thanks Randy! You're an honorable mention number 51.2 but you're definitely not NUMBER 51 anymore. And he loved photography! What an interesting guy. Here's a pic of Randy as a serious photographer: