Tim Wakefield, a longtime veteran pitcher in MLB, primarily with the Red Sox, has passed away at age 57.
Wakefield had started his professional career as a first baseman, but upon learning that he was unlikely to make it to the major league level, he learned the knuckleball, and switched to pitching. He was in the starting pitching rotation for the Red Sox in their World Series championship seasons of 2004 and 2007, and finished his career with 200 wins.
A few days ago, Wakefield’s former teammate, Curt Schilling, revealed on social media – against the Wakefields’ wishes – that both Wakefield and his wife were suffering from cancer.
Agreed; I always liked Wakefield as a player, and he was one of the last successful knuckleball pitchers in the majors. In 2010, he won the Roberto Clemente Award, which is presented to players who exemplify sportsmanship and community service.
I haven’t really followed baseball since the mid 80s, but I knew who Wakefield was because of a documentary about knuckleball pitchers that came out a few years ago. So I read about him and was interested to learn that he had been a standout hitter in college, but found he wasn’t going to make it to the majors that way. He then converted to pitcher.
It’s always interesting to find that highly successful athletes sometimes struggled. Keith Hernandez wrote a book about his early career, and I was surprised to find he had serious problems hitting. I knew him as a team leader on the Mets, by which time he had an MVP and was a career .300 hitter.
Derek Jeter struggled mightily with fielding in the minor leagues - tons of errors in his early days. But he eventually got the hang of it.
It’s good for people to know these guys weren’t superhuman, and that they had to learn and adjust. It’s something I would teach kids if I were still in that business.
Sorry to hear about Wakefield. It sounds like a truly terrible time for his family, even without that Schilling idiot involving himself.
I will always remember Tim Wakefield because of his interesting relationship with catcher Doug Mirabelli. Mirabelli was a fine collegiate catcher at my alma mater, Wichita State University. He was drafted in 1992 but never did a whole lot after finally making it to the majors in 1996. But in late 2001, he was acquired by the Red Sox; the next year, he was the ‘designated catcher’ whenever Wakefield was the starting pitcher. This relationship continued for the next three seasons, and Mirabelli was the starting catcher in Game 4 of the 2004 World Series, as Wakefield was the starting pitcher. Mirabelli lasted in the majors until 2007; as a career .231 hitter, he essentially owed his major league career to Wakefield.
You can’t mention Mirabelli without talking about the time in 2006 when the Sox reacquired him just to catch for Wakefield. He traveled 3000 miles in 5 hours and arrived at Fenway just barely in time to start the game. IIRC, he caught for Wakefield the first few innings without a cup because he didn’t have one to change into while be transported from the airport to the park in a police cruiser.
I don’t know if I’ve ever cried over a death of a baseball player before, but I did several times today, including reading this thread. Even if he hadn’t been an integral part of 2004, I would have had fond memories of him as a player and a person.
I’ve been watching the 2004 ALCS and World Series this week because Wakefield was on my mind. There was a game in the ALCS against the Yankees where Wakefield came on in relief and the regular catcher, Jason Varitek, stayed in and TRIED to handle him. Three passed balls in one inning! It was painful and sort of hilarious to see.
They had a camera on Mirabelli on the bench, and he was seen with a pained expression and crossed fingers.
I saw him pitch for Buffalo (AAA) against Turk Wendell and the Iowa Cubs in '94. Both pitchers had been in the majors but had been sent down to refine their skills.
Always liked to watch knuckleballers pitch (and catchers catch).
I saw Wakefield pitch quite a few times, it was always a delight to see him mess with the batters by switching from the knuckleball to the occasional 75 mph “fastball”, which suddenly felt very fast indeed.
I loved watching Wake pitch. I was so funny seeing big boppers wave futilely at the dancing ball.
What’s always been truly amazing is how fast he threw a ball with no spin. His was a consistent 68-69 MPH. As a teen I threw at one of those guess your pitch speed things. Throwing as hard as I could, I got to 70. He did that just pushing the ball towards the plate. Professional players are just different from us regular humans.
To some extent, you’re just born with it. It’s clearly not something that can be wholly learned, and it’s not just a matter of strength; Pedro Martinez wasn’t some huge weightlifter but threw mid-90s.
TV can be deceptive; they’re throwing MUCH faster than people fully realize. The players are also running much, much faster than you think. Pro athletes are just on another level.
The Louisville Slugger Museum has (or had, as of 2000 anyway) an exhibit where you stand behind a barrier close to home plate and watch 90 mph fastballs being fired right by you.