Knuckler

  Handed a 5–3 lead over the Royals, Wakefield began the ninth inning by striking out Chad Kreuter and Scott Pose. He then struck out Johnny Damon, too, but when the third strike eluded Varitek, Damon safely scampered to first base. Carlos Febles then belted a game-tying, two-run homer before Wakefield struck out a fourth batter in the inning, Carlos Beltran, in a succession of events that delivered all of the knuckleball's traits in one highly concentrated package: strikeouts, passed balls, and home runs. The Red Sox then rallied for four runs to take a 9–5 lead that ultimately would grant the Red Sox (and Wakefield) a win, but Williams was forced to pull Wakefield for right-hander Rich Garces with two outs in the bottom of the 10th inning after Wakefield had struck out two more and been charged with another passed ball.

  "His knuckleball was so good that 'Tek couldn't catch it," Williams chuckled. "I had to take him out and bring in Garces to get the last out."

  Of course, while a traditional closer might not have matched Wakefield's outing in terms of peculiarity, the reality is that a hard thrower might just as easily have blown the game in as frustrating a manner as Wakefield had. Two years earlier, after all, fireballing Anaheim closer Troy Percival had blown a game in such fashion against the Red Sox in the contest that marked Williams's managerial debut, and at the time Percival was regarded as one of the best in the business. And yet, while most baseball observers were willing to chalk up Percival's failure that night as a fluke, many of the same people looked at Wakefield's carnival ride in Kansas City as far more predictable, a just verdict for a manager who tempted the baseball fates.

  The reality, of course, was that Wakefield was as good as most anybody else at closing games during the 1999 season, if not better. That season, of the 38 major league pitchers who finished with at least 10 saves—the Red Sox had three of them—Wakefield finished a respectable 16th in save percentage, the statistic that measured his efficiency in his new role. He successfully converted 15 of 18 opportunities, a conversion rate of 83.3 percent that placed him ahead of, among others, Percival of the Angels (79.5 percent), Armando Benitez of the New York Mets (78.6 percent), teammate Lowe (75 percent), Mike Timlin of the Baltimore Orioles (75 percent), and Scott Williamson of the Cincinnati Reds (73.1 percent).

  Wakefield understood all of that, naturally.

  Jimy Williams clearly did, too.

  But there were others in the Boston organization who understood neither Wakefield's value to the team nor the many uses of the knuckleball.

  YOUNG KNUCKLEBALLER: After being drafted as a power-hitting first baseman, a desperate Tim Wakefield made the conversion to a knuckleballer in 1989. By the time he reached the Triple-A Buffalo Bisons in 1991, the Pittsburgh Pirates were beginning to realize what they had stumbled upon.

  Courtesy of the Buffalo Bisons

  THE BIG LEAGUES BECKON: At Triple-A Buffalo in 1992, Wakefield went 10-3 with a 3.06 ERA in 20 starts, earning a promotion to the major leagues.

  Courtesy of the Buffalo Bisons

  ELVIS HAS ENTERED THE BUILDING: Wakefield's arrival in the majors was nothing short of a whirlwind, producing an 8-1 record and postseason heroics. Years later, Pirates manager Jim Leyland would describe Wakefield the rookie as "the Elvis Presley of the National League."

  © Dave Arrigo / Pittsburgh Pirates

  KNUCKLE SANDWICH: After being released by the Pirates in the spring of 1995, Wakefield was able to resurrect his career with the Red Sox, thanks to the advice and guidance of knuckleballing brothers Phil Niekro (left) and Joe Niekro (right).

  Chuck Solomon / Sports Illustrated / Getty Images

  GRIP, KICK. . . : During his time in Boston, Wakefield has served as starter, closer, middle reliever, and long reliever, validating Phil Niekro's assertion that knuckleballers are among the most versatile and, therefore, valuable commodities in baseball. Courtesy of Gary D. Ambush Photography

  . . . AND THROW: In the end, Wakefield became the Red Sox all-time leader in innings pitched, meaning he has recorded more outs than anyone in the history of the franchise. He ranks in the top three on the club's all-time list for victories. Courtesy of Gary D. Ambush Photography

  THE FAB FIVE: During their historic championship season of 2004, the Red Sox starting rotation consisted of (from left to right) Derek Lowe, Curt Schilling, Pedro Martinez, Bronson Arroyo, and Wakefield. Julie Cordiero / Boston Red Sox

  THE BOONE OF HIS EXISTENCE: For the second time in his career, Wakefield was on the verge of being named Most Valuable Player of a League Championship Series when his fortunes rapidly turned. Aaron Boone's home run against Wakefield in extra innings of Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS sent the Yankees to the World Series and had Wakefield fearing he would be remembered as the Bill Buckner of his time. That distinction, of course, ultimately belonged to Red Sox manager Grady Little.

  ABOVE: Julie Cordiero / Boston Red Sox

  RIGHT: © Matt Campbell / epa / Corbis

  THE KNUCKLER ALSO RISES: One year after allowing the homer to Boone, Wakefield helped the Red Sox complete the most stunning comeback in baseball history. After the Red Sox rallied from a 3-0 series deficit to defeat the Yankees in the ALCS, Wakefield this time celebrated in the visiting clubhouse at Yankee Stadium.

  Julie Cordiero / Boston Red Sox

  G'DAY MATE: Wakefield spent a significant chunk of his Red Sox career paired with batterymate Doug Mirabelli, who became his personal catcher. Julie Cordiero / Boston Red Sox

  GAME 1 STARTER: Following the 2004 series win over the Yankees, Red Sox manager Terry Francona named Wakefield his starter for Game 1 of the World Series against the St. Louis Cardinals at Fenway Park. Wakefield recorded a no-decision in the outing, the first of four consecutive Red Sox wins in Boston's climactic World Series sweep. Brita Meng Outzen / Boston Red Sox

  FAN FAVORITE: An injured Wakefield pulled himself from the playoff rotation in 2007, but his contributions were not forgotten.

  Paul Keleher / Flickr Unreleased / Getty Images

  FINALLY, AN ALL-STAR: Just before Wakefield's forty-third birthday in 2009, Tampa Bay Rays manager Joe Maddon selected Wakefield for his pitching staff to represent the American League in the 2009 All-Star Game. Wakefield joined (from left to right) closer Jonathan Papelbon, starter Josh Beckett, first baseman Kevin Youkilis, and left fielder Jason Bay at the game.

  Michael Ivins / Boston Red Sox

  TEAM PLAYER: Wakefield and his wife, Stacy, have continued the pitcher's charitable endeavors throughout his time in Boston. In 2010, Wakefield was awarded the prestigious Roberto Clemente Award for his contributions to baseball on and off the field.

  Julie Cordiero / Boston Red Sox

  LOYAL TO THE END: At the conclusion of the 2010 season, Wakefield was among a most select group of active major league players to have spent fifteen or more seasons with one team. Entering 2011, he was a mere seven victories short of two hundred for his career.

  Michael Ivins/Boston Red Sox

  Eight

  The knuckleball screws up the mind.

  —Former major league coach Tim Owens

  AT ONE OF the darker and more disappointing moments of his Red Sox career, Tim Wakefield was blindsided. The Red Sox had just survived the 1999 American League Division Series with an emotional and draining comeback against the Cleveland Indians. They were delighted, but that hard-fought series had the team scrambling. And now they had the Yankees to face. Wakefield slept some on the team's flight from Cleveland to New York, but he was also busy wondering about his role in the next round of the playoffs.

  The next day, seated at his locker at Yankee Stadium, Wakefield folded up his favorite section of USA Today, crossed his legs, and began working on the crossword puzzle as the team prepared for an off-day workout in anticipation of the rapidly approaching American League Championship Series. Wakefield had pitched twice in relief during the Indians series, but the outings were short. He was rested. And because the Red Sox pitching staff had been depleted during the Cleveland series, Wakefield believed that he was
in prime position to aid the cause.

  I wonder if they'll ask me to start Game 1.

  Of course, Wakefield wanted to start Game 1, felt he deserved it, believed he could help. The Red Sox felt otherwise. Wakefield was still seated at his locker when he noticed manager Jimy Williams nervously walk by, avoiding eye contact, with no apparent destination. That's weird. For several minutes, the manager kept walking back and forth in front of Wakefield's locker. Maybe his sometimes quirky manager, he thought, was merely burning off nervous energy following a series and trip that had left them all drained, exhausted, operating on fumes.

  Then Williams finally stopped and abruptly invited Wakefield into the visiting manager's office at Yankee Stadium, where he asked Wakefield to sit as he shut the door.

  At that instant, Williams also shut the door on Tim Wakefield's 1999 season.

  Believing he was about to be named the Game 1 starter, Wakefield instead sat in disbelief as Williams informed him that he would be left off the active roster for the ALCS against New York. Wakefield was not merely bypassed for Game 1; he would not be pitching at all. He did not know what to say or do. He asked Williams for an explanation but never really got one, the manager instead mincing his words and talking in circles. Williams had arrived at the ballpark early that day, he told Wakefield, and had been in his office "stewing for two hours." Then he had walked into the clubhouse, repeatedly checking to see if Wakefield had arrived. After Wakefield showed up and settled into the chair in front of his locker, Williams found himself still unable to engage his pitcher.

  The more Williams talked, the more Wakefield wondered, Is Jimy really the one making this decision? Two years earlier, Williams had stood his ground with regard to Steve Avery, but that was a different case. Williams had felt he was being told how to employ his pitcher, and how fell under the jurisdiction of the manager. For someone like Williams, in any organization, roles were clear. The general manager got the players. The manager implemented them. Problems arose when boundaries were not respected. But if Wakefield was being left off the playoff roster, that decision had to be coming from higher up. There had to be other factors influencing the outcome of an organizational discussion on the matter.

  To Wakefield, his manager seemed unusually evasive. Williams danced around questions about the decision-making process and his role in them, all of which led Wakefield to believe that pitching coach Joe Kerrigan was the one who had argued against his presence on the roster. An ally of general manager Dan Duquette, Kerrigan had that kind of power when it came to the pitching staff. It was entirely possible that in the organizational decision-making about the playoff roster, Williams was outnumbered and thus overruled. And so a frustrated, angry, and dejected Tim Wakefield got up from his seat and walked out of the manager's office, feeling as if Jimy Williams had delivered a message that he himself did not believe in.

  This is unbelievable.

  I can't believe this bullshit.

  Indeed, to that point, there was no way Wakefield could have forecast such a demotion. The Red Sox were on a high in the wake of their victory over the Indians, a five-game affair in which the Red Sox had overcome a 2–0 series deficit and won the last three games, the final and decisive affair behind six brilliant relief innings from a wounded Martinez, who had strained his shoulder in Game 1. Wakefield had pitched twice in the series, including an effective outing in Game 2, and a second, less effective performance had been fraught with confusion. In the fifth inning of Game 4, after Rich Garces walked leadoff man Roberto Alomar in a game the Red Sox were leading 15–2, Wakefield had been ordered to start warming up. He had not had sufficient warm-up time when he was summoned into the game, but he said nothing. Wakefield then issued a pair of walks and two singles to the four batters he faced, trimming the Red Sox lead to 15–4 and prompting his removal from the game.

  As it turned out, that outing had hurt Wakefield, at least in the eyes of Kerrigan. And so, after a season in which he did everything the Red Sox asked him to, Wakefield was undone by four batters in a lopsided affair during which he felt rushed into the game.

  They put more weight on four batters I faced in a 15–2 game than they did on what I gave them during the regular season.

  Even Williams clearly and obviously sensed the unfairness of it all. Wakefield finished the regular season with individual totals that hardly illustrated his contributions to the team—a 6–11 record, a 5.08 ERA, and 15 saves in 140 innings pitched—but that was a trade that Williams and others were willing to make because of the emphasis placed on the ninth inning. Late in the year, Williams had made it a point to highlight Wakefield's contributions and had focused far more on the group results than the individual ones because those were what mattered.

  "I don't think there's been a pitcher in this era who has done the things Wakefield has done," said the knowledgeable manager.

  And yet, now Wakefield was out.

  It made no sense to him.

  Outraged, Wakefield returned to his locker at Yankee Stadium and later vanished into the more private areas of the visiting clubhouse, hoping to avoid reporters who undoubtedly would ask him about being slighted after the season of sacrifices he had just produced. When the media finally corralled him, Wakefield tersely declined comment. On the inside, he was angry and hurt, feeling that the team had deprived him of something he had dutifully earned. He wanted to go home and leave the team altogether, but teammates Mark Portugal and Rod Beck, both veteran pitchers, persuaded him to stay. You're not the kind of guy who leaves. That's not who you are. Wakefield watched the postseason from the dugout and the clubhouse, often wishing he were somewhere else throughout the balance of the postseason, a five-game series during which the Yankees rolled to a 4–1 series victory over Boston—and eventually a third World Series title in four years.

  While Boston's problems in the series were primarily on offense—the Red Sox scored a mere eight runs in the four losses and truly dominated only in Game 3, a 13–1 victory behind the otherworldly Martinez—Wakefield believed that he could have helped. Still, that belief was causing only a fraction of his angst. Wakefield believed that the Red Sox owed him something, too, and he eventually became more convinced than ever that it was pitching coach Kerrigan who had undermined him. Following the '99 season, in a phone conversation with Wakefield, Williams suggested that the pitcher blame his manager for the slight at playoff time, but it was entirely within Williams's character to fall on his sword for the good of the team, just as the skipper had done in the manager's office at Yankee Stadium.

  The more Wakefield thought about it, the more the pieces fit to gether. Wakefield's status as a knuckleballer frequently left Kerrigan helpless, just as Niekro had predicted. Managers and pitching coaches, they can't help you much with the knuckleball. And when push came to shove, when it came time to give Wakefield the smallest measure of thanks for a season filled with sacrifice, the Red Sox replaced him on the playoff roster.

  Wakefield had never once thought that the sacrifices he made during the regular season would hurt him with regard to his place on the playoff roster.

  As it turned out, the entire series of events left a mark on his soul that extended well beyond October 1999.

  By most accounts, Joe Kerrigan was a fairly judicious pitching coach and a student of the game, but one who lacked the people skills that might have made him more popular and possibly more effective. In the major leagues, pitching coaches are often psychologists. Most of the pitchers have indisputable ability. The coach's job is to tailor his methods to the specific needs of each player, to enhance strengths and cover weaknesses.

  Kerrigan's level of tinkering often went too far, as happened with a young Japanese right-hander named Tomo Ohka, who had gone a combined 15–0 with a 2.31 ERA in the minor leagues during the 1999 season before being summoned to the major leagues. When the young pitcher's results did not similarly transfer immediately, Kerrigan began overhauling his mechanics, changing the way he did things. Veteran Sox p
layers took note and shook their heads. Ohka finished 1–2 with a 6.23 ERA that season and ultimately fizzled out in Boston before winning 10 or more games in three separate seasons with other teams. While Ohka hardly became a superstar, there was a sentiment in the Boston organization at the time that Kerrigan had hurt Ohka more than he had helped him, largely because Kerrigan wanted Ohka to do things his way rather than utilize the talents and style that had helped him in the minor leagues.

  And then there was this statistic: during the 1997 season, the year before Martinez arrived in Boston, the Red Sox had ranked 12th in the American League in team ERA with Kerrigan as their pitching coach. In the two years after Martinez joined the staff, Boston had ranked second in 1998 and first in 1999. The obvious conclusion was that the pitchers made a great deal more difference than the pitching coach, a fact that made Kerrigan's résumé look a good deal more like Ringo Starr's than John Lennon's or Paul McCartney's.

  For Wakefield, Kerrigan was a positively terrible match, a pitching coach who had little use or desire to understand the true value of the knuckleball. What people like Duquette and Williams saw in the knuckler, Kerrigan did not. To him, it was as unreliable as a trick chair, likely to produce a fall or collapse for the next sap foolish enough to ride it. With conventional pitchers, Kerrigan often applied an analytical approach based on data accumulated over large chunks of time, numbers that inevitably revealed patterns and tendencies. If statistics showed that right-handed pitchers could neutralize someone like Cleveland Indians slugger Manny Ramirez with curveballs and sliders to the outside of the plate, then the Red Sox were likely to employ precisely that strategy, no matter who was on the mound. The evidence was what mattered. Kerrigan often molded the pitchers to the strategy instead of the other way around, discounting the specific skill sets of the pitchers on the Boston staff.