In 1998 the Red Sox traded Carl Pavano and Tony Armas Jr. for Pedro Martinez. A new era for the Red Sox had dawned, and for me the central figure in my baseball life had emerged.
To watch Pedro in his pomp was to see pitching elevated to an art form. That's a cliche, but there are a few pitchers who seem to transcend the divide between sport and art and elevate their craft to that higher plane. Sandy Koufax is the archetypal artist-pitcher, left handed, tall, elegantly built, throwing 95 mph and partnering that with a curveball that seemed to be possessed by the furies. Vin Scully once remarked that Koufax was the only pitcher he had seen who received an applause upon walking to the bullpen before the game like the applause a symphony conductor receives, but Pedro got them too. Pedro was in that class of a distinguished artist emeritus. I saw him throw changeups against the Yankees that looked goofy: They were moving away from the left handed batter so drastically that one expected Carl Hubbell to appear with a slow hand clap. His curveball wasn't the equal of Koufax's, but it zipped in there, and often left hitters with the bat on their shoulder, unsure of what they had seen. And his fastball was his id, hard, riding in to the right-hander and often delivered with a certain resentment. It's said Al Simmons hated pitchers. I think Pedro hated hitters. If baseball's balance had tilted permanently towards pitchers, with 1968 being played out every year and hitters hitting .236 for eternity, I think Pedro would be happy. It certainly would have explained his inability to hit himself.
To go with his stuff was a personality that was more interesting than any other Hall of Famer of his era. Pedro was smart, very smart - English was his second language, yet he spoke it better than most American-born players. When he spoke English, he was insightful, occasionally prickly, and sometimes very funny. "Wake up the Bambino and I'll drill him in his ass," he once said after a writer mentioned the "Curse of the Bambino", and in that quote he deftly summarized the feeling of most Red Sox fans about the stupid idea that mystic forces held the Red Sox down rather than a lack of a union between good pitching and good hitting at any time since Ruth was in Boston. That sense of humor also bought us Nelson de la Cruz, Pedro's 3 foot tall Dominican friend who became the unofficial mascot of the 2004 Red Sox, a sort of modern day Lil' Rastus or the other oddballs who frequently were used as good luck charms by teams early in the 20th century.
1999 was Pedro's year. Although he had a better ERA and pitched more innings in 2000, 1999 was Pedro's year. His defense-independent ERA, which is normally higher than a pitcher's real ERA, was a ridiculous 1.32 - imagine in the high-offense 90s a pitcher even coming close to Bob Gibson's legendary 1968. He struck out 313 men in 213 innings, a ridiculous ratio 13.2 K/9 that no other American League has come close to. Wins and losses aren't particularly meaningful but he had the record consummate with his dominance as well, having 23 wins to just 4 losses (and he didn't pitch particularly badly in any of them, though he got lit up once and didn't receive a loss). He really could have won 25 or 26 games with just a little luck, and it's a shame he didn't, just because his year doesn't get quite the recognition it should, and because a 25-3 Pedro actually wins the MVP instead of a ridiculous pick like Ivan Rodriguez.
I've been lucky enough to see Pedro pitch six times in my career, and while he could be considered to have pitched poorly in two of those starts, he was an event. Going to watch Pedro pitch was like having tickets to a playoff game - you thought about it weeks in advance and tried your best to get there early and soak it all in. You made your best effort to focus all of your attention on the game. My favorite opportunity to see Pedro pitch was on August 6, 2003. I hadn't been to Fenway Park in two years - important since the John Henry group had bought the team since then and spent much needed attention on the park - and it was almost comically perfect. You couldn't have scripted a more perfect game at the park. I had an unbelievable seat in the loge, in the slot between the left hand batter and the catcher. The umpire sometimes uses this slot to call strikes, and you could have called strikes from my seat (several times during the game the crowd booed a close pitch that from this seat you could see had missed the corner). Nomar hit a home run, Johnny Damon made a sensational catch and I managed to go to the concession for a hot dog and Coke between innings and not miss a pitch - seriously. But the star was Pedro. He threw a complete game, and although that was probably the wrong idea since he was laboring in the 9th, seeing an in control Pedro shut down the Angels, striking out Tim Salmon to end the game, was incredible live viewing.
Pedro, while an immortal, is no longer an immortal, and there lingers some doubt whether he will find a job next year, though he likely will. He's coming to the end of his career, and there will be precious few chances for me or anyone else to see him in the flesh.
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