Joe Niekro, a knuckleball pitcher who came from obscurity to become the Astros' all-time leading winner, died Friday.
Niekro, 61, suffered a brain aneurysm Thursday night at his home in Plant City, Fla., and died Friday at St. Joseph's Hospital in Tampa, Fla.
--Houston Chronicle
October 28, 2006
October 28, 2006
221 wins. A twenty-year major league career, the great majority of it as a starting pitcher. Two 20-win seasons, back-to-back for Houston in 1979 (21-11) and 1980 (20-12). Stellar performances in pressure games, including pitching the 163rd game of the 1980 season, clinching the Astros first ever division title (the extra game was precipitated by a tie between Houston and Los Angeles for the NL West crown – precipitated because the Astros went into LA for the final series of the season, holding a three game lead, and proceeded to lose all three games, all by one run); pitching 10 scoreless innings vs. the Phillies in Game 3 of the 1980 NLCS (the Astros won 1-0 in the 11th); and 8 scoreless innings against the Dodgers in Game 2 of the 1981 NLDS (the Astros eventually won the game, again in the 11th.) In fact, in 20 post season innings (including two in his only World Series appearance, for the Twins in 1987), Joe Niekro gave up 14 hits and exactly zero runs.
All this accomplished with a mediocre fastball, an average curve and change, and a good-but-not-great knuckleball he usually only threw around 50% of the time (most knuckleball pitchers throw the pitch 75% of the time or more.) All this after his once promising career (with the Cubs and then Tigers) had stalled almost completely by his mid-twenties, due to arm problems and ineffectiveness; he made his way off the scrap heap and eventually to Houston (where he would resurrect himself in time) by way of waiver deals and outright sales – by that point Niekro apparently wasn’t even considered worthy enough to be included in an actual trade, even as a throw in.
Even after he got to Houston and the cozy (for pitchers) Astrodome, Niekro was a middle reliever and spot starter for three years, as anonymous a position as there was in the major leagues at that time. He pitched very well in that difficult role, however, and toward the end of July in the 1977 season, Niekro was moved into the Astros starting rotation. At that point he was 32 years old, and had 72 career wins.
Niekro won nine games the last two months of that 1977 season, including 9 complete games in 14 starts. He went on to pitch another 10 full seasons, with the Astros, the Yankees, and the Twins, well into his forties, collecting 149 more wins along the way.
But it really wasn’t the wins, or any other statistic, that told the story of Joe Niekro. What Niekro had, what made him so popular with many fans, was an abundance of guile to go with his average stuff. That, and what we used to call ‘stones’. . . he was tough and fearless on the mound, it seemed even more so when everything counted the most. Pitching in his late prime with more illustrious teammates like J.R. Richard and Nolan Ryan, Niekro was usually overlooked; and of course he had an older brother who overshadowed him, too. Brother Phil, also a knuckleballer, would win 318 games and be elected to the Hall of Fame. (In this narrow sense, I tend to think of Joe Niekro in conjunction with Jim Perry, who pitched in roughly the same era; Perry won 215 games himself, but all the attention went to his colorful and even more accomplished brother Gaylord, like Phil Niekro a 300-game winner and Hall of Famer.)
Joe didn’t get much attention at all -- until much later, when he got caught on the mound with an emery board in his back pocket by a perceptive umpire; at the time Niekro claimed not to know how it got there. I always felt this incident just added to his ignominy, as fans tended to believe Niekro had doctored the ball all along, and that is how he won so many games. By that time I had long despaired of convincing non-Astros fans, and Astros fans who didn’t pay attention (and there were and are a lot of those), that Niekro was a very good pitcher, and not some kind of gimmick or cheat. I finally decided Joe probably preferred people just go ahead and underrate him; it had happened through most of his career, and he could always take pride in his sizeable success despite the short shrift.
*****
That game in 1980 versus the Dodgers, the pennant-clincher, I’ll never forget that game as long as I live. When it was announced it would be carried on television, I was going to call in sick (it was a day game), but instead I just called my boss and told him I wasn’t coming in because I was going to stay home and watch the Astros. He said it was okay, he was taking off early to do the same thing. Most people will remember wishing Ryan was available (he’d lost his start two days before), or maybe Art Howe’s big home run in the third, or his two-run, two-out single the next inning that put the game out of reach; I will, too, but what I will always remember most was my absolute confidence, before the game even started, that Houston would win, no doubt about it, with Joe Niekro out there on the mound, and everything on the line.
I really hadn’t realized how much having Joe Niekro to watch and admire meant to me back then in my formative years, until I heard of his death yesterday. It hit really hard, a lot harder than I would have expected. Of course, losing one of one's early heroes, its losing a little of oneself, as well. Part of my sadness is selfishly wrapped up in that. But I do not want to be selfish just now; I want to remember clearly, as clearly as I can twenty-six years on. I want to remember Niekro standing calmly on the mound in Dodger Stadium, in the late afternoon, early fall sunlight. Standing there with the Astros whole season in his hands, in a sense all of their history in his hands, standing there cool and unflinching. . . he looks in to Ashby for the sign, begins his slow, easy windup, and then delivers another pitch, headed safely toward home.
All this accomplished with a mediocre fastball, an average curve and change, and a good-but-not-great knuckleball he usually only threw around 50% of the time (most knuckleball pitchers throw the pitch 75% of the time or more.) All this after his once promising career (with the Cubs and then Tigers) had stalled almost completely by his mid-twenties, due to arm problems and ineffectiveness; he made his way off the scrap heap and eventually to Houston (where he would resurrect himself in time) by way of waiver deals and outright sales – by that point Niekro apparently wasn’t even considered worthy enough to be included in an actual trade, even as a throw in.
Even after he got to Houston and the cozy (for pitchers) Astrodome, Niekro was a middle reliever and spot starter for three years, as anonymous a position as there was in the major leagues at that time. He pitched very well in that difficult role, however, and toward the end of July in the 1977 season, Niekro was moved into the Astros starting rotation. At that point he was 32 years old, and had 72 career wins.
Niekro won nine games the last two months of that 1977 season, including 9 complete games in 14 starts. He went on to pitch another 10 full seasons, with the Astros, the Yankees, and the Twins, well into his forties, collecting 149 more wins along the way.
But it really wasn’t the wins, or any other statistic, that told the story of Joe Niekro. What Niekro had, what made him so popular with many fans, was an abundance of guile to go with his average stuff. That, and what we used to call ‘stones’. . . he was tough and fearless on the mound, it seemed even more so when everything counted the most. Pitching in his late prime with more illustrious teammates like J.R. Richard and Nolan Ryan, Niekro was usually overlooked; and of course he had an older brother who overshadowed him, too. Brother Phil, also a knuckleballer, would win 318 games and be elected to the Hall of Fame. (In this narrow sense, I tend to think of Joe Niekro in conjunction with Jim Perry, who pitched in roughly the same era; Perry won 215 games himself, but all the attention went to his colorful and even more accomplished brother Gaylord, like Phil Niekro a 300-game winner and Hall of Famer.)
Joe didn’t get much attention at all -- until much later, when he got caught on the mound with an emery board in his back pocket by a perceptive umpire; at the time Niekro claimed not to know how it got there. I always felt this incident just added to his ignominy, as fans tended to believe Niekro had doctored the ball all along, and that is how he won so many games. By that time I had long despaired of convincing non-Astros fans, and Astros fans who didn’t pay attention (and there were and are a lot of those), that Niekro was a very good pitcher, and not some kind of gimmick or cheat. I finally decided Joe probably preferred people just go ahead and underrate him; it had happened through most of his career, and he could always take pride in his sizeable success despite the short shrift.
*****
That game in 1980 versus the Dodgers, the pennant-clincher, I’ll never forget that game as long as I live. When it was announced it would be carried on television, I was going to call in sick (it was a day game), but instead I just called my boss and told him I wasn’t coming in because I was going to stay home and watch the Astros. He said it was okay, he was taking off early to do the same thing. Most people will remember wishing Ryan was available (he’d lost his start two days before), or maybe Art Howe’s big home run in the third, or his two-run, two-out single the next inning that put the game out of reach; I will, too, but what I will always remember most was my absolute confidence, before the game even started, that Houston would win, no doubt about it, with Joe Niekro out there on the mound, and everything on the line.
I really hadn’t realized how much having Joe Niekro to watch and admire meant to me back then in my formative years, until I heard of his death yesterday. It hit really hard, a lot harder than I would have expected. Of course, losing one of one's early heroes, its losing a little of oneself, as well. Part of my sadness is selfishly wrapped up in that. But I do not want to be selfish just now; I want to remember clearly, as clearly as I can twenty-six years on. I want to remember Niekro standing calmly on the mound in Dodger Stadium, in the late afternoon, early fall sunlight. Standing there with the Astros whole season in his hands, in a sense all of their history in his hands, standing there cool and unflinching. . . he looks in to Ashby for the sign, begins his slow, easy windup, and then delivers another pitch, headed safely toward home.
