Dec 09 2008
Maddux: Simply the best pitcher of our lifetime
By Bud L. Ellis
braves.today.com
ATLANTA — Mention the name Greg Maddux, and immediately I’m taken back to one moment in time.
It’s not Game 1 of the 1995 World Series, when I sat in chilly Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium and watched Maddux stifle the high-octane Cleveland offense during a two-hit masterpiece, setting the tone for the Atlanta Braves’ only World Series championship.
It’s not any of the 355 career victories, the four NL Cy Young Awards or the sheer precision with which Mad Dog has fashioned his Hall of Fame career.
No. I go back to a quiet Sunday morning in the Braves’ locker room at Turner Field in June of 2000. In advance of the All-Star game, which was coming up in Atlanta the next month, I spent part of my morning talking to Braves who had a chance to land on the NL roster and play in the Midsummer’s Classic in their home yard.
Maddux, of course, was in the running – and he would be selected. So I asked the greatest pitcher of his generation if he had a few minutes to chat. The visual memory of Maddux peering from behind the newspaper crossword puzzle, stocking feet propped up on a folding chair as he sat at his locker, and the ensuing 10-minute conversation that was part-interview, part-shoot-the-bull session, stays with me to this very day when I think about the man who did so much on the bump.
You see, this moment solidifies to me what is so great about Greg Maddux. He spent most of the interview offering his typical “aw-shucks, I don’t know if I’ll be selected, it’d be an honor but I don’t know if I’ll make it” humility that defined Maddux away from the mound.
The sheer look of a guy who looks like he should be riding the elevator with you to the office on Monday morning, a guy who looks like he should be perched on the bar stool next to you, makes what Maddux accomplished all the more impressive. Not blessed with immense physical statue, Mad Dog looks like an average Joe.
That is, until he climbed the bump. Then, he transformed into an intense perfectionist, and the absolute best hurler these eyes have ever seen.
Maddux was a master on the mound. Ever wonder what it’s like to stand in the OR and watch a surgeon, or peek over Picasso’s shoulder while he crafted a masterpiece? That’s what it was like watching Maddux pitch.
He didn’t possess a 99-mph fastball. He didn’t have the ability to simply blow hitters away with blazing heat. Instead, he built a career for the ages with pinpoint control and ridiculous movement, an intensity that was second-to-none, and a desire that was unmatched.
And he did it in an era when ballparks were smaller, hitters were bigger, and the ball was juiced.
Maddux overcame all of it, joining John Smoltz and Tom Glavine to build a dynasty in Atlanta. In his 11 seasons with the Braves, Atlanta reached the postseason every single year. With Smoltz and Glavine, Maddux fashioned a three-man rotation the likes of which we likely will never see again.
His numbers boggle the mind. But beyond the stats, the real story for me is Maddux’s unassuming nature. He wasn’t 6-foot-4, and he knew it. He knew he’d never last in the majors if he had to rely on power. So, he simply took the ball every fifth day and dazzled opposing hitters with precision and a competitive fire that most of us never will know.
Maddux’s MO was simple enough – pitch the ball, hit your spots, throw strikes, get hitters out, minimize damage. He did it better than anybody, and now, he’s done. Maddux announced his retirement Monday at the Winter Meetings in Las Vegas, his hometown. The greatest pitcher of our time, walking away from a career that will be revered for as long as this game is played.
His career is finished, but the time to celebrate the greatness, the accomplishments and the way Maddux went about his business is just beginning. In a career that spanned 23 seasons, the work – and the makeup – of Greg Maddux will live on forever.
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