Entered the Oakland A’s clubhouse here Tuesday afternoon and was immediately flanked by bullpen royalty-Dennis Eckersley on my left, Goose Gossage on my right. Two of the best relievers in diamond history, Eckersley the reigning closer, Gossage the king of the previous generation.
Gossage had to return to the field, but Eckersley was changing into his street clothes, through for the day.
And it occurred to me I had a question for Eckersley I had not asked before: If the final three outs are the toughest for a pitcher, starter or reliever, what is the degree of difficulty for the last out?
Eckersley should be an expert on the subject. During the last six seasons he retired the last batter 336 times-256 saves plus 80 other games he finished.
“It doesn’t matter who the batter is; he can be a .190 hitter,” Eckersley said. “There is always more pressure on the last out because you always think the next pitch is going to be the last pitch. And when it isn’t, you start forcing it. You come out of your game.”
Could he be more explicit?
“The excitement and the pressure of finishing it off gets you out of your normal rhythm,” he said. “You try to overthrow. You’re not pitching anymore. You’re throwing. And if you’re not a power pitcher, you’re in trouble.”
There was a time, 10 years ago, when Eckersley was a power pitcher with a 93 to 94 m.p.h. heater in his arsenal. His fastball is no longer exceptional, down in the mid- to high 80s. He now has exceptional control.
He had 36 saves last year, a poor season for him. He had 51 saves the year before and 43 the year before that. He had his best season in 1990-48 saves in 51 opportunities.
“What I did that year was phenomenal,” Eckersley said. “It’ll never happen again.”
He was not being immodest. It was a miracle season, without precedent.
I doubt anyone could have imagined a heavy-duty reliever with more saves than base runners allowed. Yet that was the achievement: 48 saves and 45 base runners-41 reaching with hits and four on walks, one of which was intentional.
“You can’t walk only three guys,” Eckersley said “because if you’re going to do that you have to give up something. When you’re trying not to walk anybody, you have to pitch to the fat part of the plate, and when you do that you’re going to get whacked around. You’re going to give up a lot more hits.”
Eckersley paused, enjoying the memory.
“It was one of those years when I threw real well. And I was lucky, too. The hitters put the ball in play a lot, but everything was caught.”
He also conceded that he had help from the umpires.
“I had a good reputation for throwing strikes, and it gets around,” he said. “The umpires knew I was going to be around the plate. They were more apt to give me the pitch on the corners.
“Last year my plate wasn’t as big. It sounds like an excuse, but I’m just saying when you’re going good you get more breaks. It’s like being in first place. You tend to get more calls. Somebody’s going to get the short end, so it might as well be the team that’s not playing good.
“The umpires have a tough job. If I was an umpire, I’d probably give the hitters the borderline calls.”
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Eckersley laughed.
“I’d give them the best of it because they’re closest to the umpire,” he said. “They can yell at them (the umpires) right away.”
Eckersley is 39, up in years, but he figures if he is used correctly, never pitching more than one inning, he should have “three more good years.”
Tony La Russa, the Oakland manager, rarely summons him until the ninth inning-and then only if the score is tied or the A’s lead.
A one-inning pitcher, Eckersley acknowledged, has a tremendous advantage.
“I can pitch with anyone for one inning,” he said. “It’s one thing to strike out one guy an inning when you’re only working one inning at a time. But it’s a different story if I throw 100 pitches. I could never strike out nine guys in nine innings.”
The closer has another, seldom-spoken advantage.
Since 1988, when he became a full-time reliever, Eckersley’s longest relief stint, and then only once, was three innings. He can’t recall ever facing the same batter twice in the same game.
“For that to happen, you have to really screw up,” he said. “When Dave Parker was with Milwaukee, I pitched the full season and never faced him.”