COMMENTARY : Ryan Has Persevered and Will Eventually Have the Last Word

The problem with being the strong, silent type, as Nolan Ryan has learned after years of strongly silencing major league hitters, is that somebody else is always getting the last word.

In 1969, at age 22, Ryan helped take the New York Mets out of Casey Stengel’s lounge act and into the World Series. He won the pennant-clincher against the Atlanta Braves and saved Game 4 of the Series against the Baltimore Orioles.

But he’s no Tom Seaver.

Two years later, the Mets traded the hardest-throwing pitcher in baseball, along with three prospects, to the Angels for an aging All-Star shortstop named Jim Fregosi.

What can the Angels be thinking?

In 1973, Ryan threw his first no-hitter against the Kansas City Royals.

Let’s see him do it again.

Two months later, Ryan did it again. He no-hit the Detroit Tigers.

Yeah, but Koufax did it four times.

By season’s end, Ryan had 383 strikeouts, breaking the previous big league record held by Sandy Koufax. He also won 21 games, threw four shutouts and finished with a 2.87 earned-run average.

And the 1973 American League Cy Young Award goes to . . Jim Palmer.

By 1979, Ryan had pitched his fourth no-hitter, surpassed 300 strikeouts four times and led the Angels to their first AL West title.

I’m Buzzie Bavasi and I can replace him with two 8-7 pitchers.

With Houston in 1983, Ryan logged the 3,509th strikeout of his career, eclipsing a record Walter Johnson held for 46 years.

What about the walks?

In 1987, at age 40, Ryan led the National League with an ERA of 2.76.

Nice record, too. Eight-and-16.

It didn’t matter how far Nolan Ryan’s fastball took him. It was never far enough. He could scale Mount Kilimanjaro and all everybody wanted to know was what he was going to do about Everest. He was always too wild, too erratic, too unpredictable, too .500.

As recently as 1988, Ryan was still a coin-flip pick for the Hall of Fame. He threw more no-hitters than any man alive, threw a faster fastball than any man alive and struck out more opponents than any man alive. Half the Cooperstown crowd shrugged. You’d have thought they were talking about Pete Rose, not the most overpowering pitcher of this or any other time.

Ryan never gambled on anything, unless you count his selection of working clothes. Ryan banked the first 20 years of his pitching career on three of the weakest-hitting organizations in existence--the Mets of the late 1960s, the Angels of the early 1970s and the Astros of the 1980s. That current TV spot Ryan does for razor blades ought to be for Maalox. He is the king of the 1-0 defeat, a man who can swap sob stories with Mark Langston any day of the week.

Yet, for some reason, Ryan was held responsible for this. It’s true, he didn’t hit enough home runs. But for going 138-121 with the Angels and 106-94 with the Astros, Ryan should have received a Presidential commendation, not reams of flak from hacks who contend the guy is no winner.

In the end, the best thing Nolan Ryan ever did was live past 40. Never mind the records. Once people began counting the birthday candles, Ryan went from ain’thood to sainthood.

At 42, Ryan went to the Texas Rangers and won 16 games. Along the way, he notched the 5,000th strikeout of his career, won the All-Star Game for the American League and led the majors in strikeouts with 301.

At 43, Ryan is 10-4, a month removed from his sixth no-hitter and one start away from his 300th victory. If form holds, Ryan should get it Wednesday night in Arlington, Tex. The opposition? The losingest team in baseball, the New York Yankees.

People have begun to notice that most 43-year-old pitchers traditionally don’t act this way. Forty-three-year-old pitchers throw sidearm and junkballs and fastballs that float like hot dog wrappers. Forty-three-year-old pitchers look like small zeppelins and carry tool kits with them to the mound. From emery boards to Vaseline, they’ll resort to any means if it means hanging on in the game for one more year.

Right now, the game is having more trouble hanging in with Ryan.

The last two seasons have brought the Ryan revisionists out in force. Columnists, former non-believers with Hall of Fame votes, have come out and caved in. Buzzie Bavasi has admitted his mistake--the biggest of his career, he says--and sent Ryan a telegram after no-hitter No. 6, beseeching him to stop rubbing it in. Even old grump Bob Feller, who was Nolan Ryan before Nolan Ryan and wants everybody to know it, has finally put down his weapon.

Ironically, Ryan has won them over, not by brute force, but with finesse. Gradually, he just wore them all out. Before 5,000 strikeouts and six no-hitters and 300 victories, there was room to argue. Now? What the hell.

If Ryan pitches one more year, as he promises, his time will come in 1997. After the five-year retirement requisite, Ryan will be up before the committee, eligible for entrance into baseball’s ultimate museum.

Then, at last, he’ll have the last word.