The Beauty of His Pitching Is Inversely Related to Speed

Consider the many advantages of Tom Candiotti.

1.--Candiotti is pitching for the Dodgers. You go to the game. You get to your seat. Candiotti goes into his windup. You get up from your seat. You ask everybody in your row how many hot dogs they need. Candiotti releases his first knuckleball. You go to the concession stand, buy some dogs, smear some mustard. By the time you get back to your seat, Candiotti’s first pitch should be arriving at home plate.

2.--Candiotti is pitching for the Dodgers. You bring your youngster to the game. He or she plays T-ball or Little League, but is afraid of the baseball, afraid of being hit by a pitch. Look, you say. Look at Tom Candiotti out there. His pitches couldn’t hurt a fly. His pitches couldn’t bust glass. And Tom’s a major leaguer! Why, he’s so slow, you could swing your bat twice!

3.--Candiotti is pitching for the Dodgers. You bring your camera to the game. You hope to snap some photographs of the action. But Steve Avery throws too fast. Rob Dibble throws too fast. Dwight Gooden throws too fast. You need a more expensive camera. Ah, but not when Candiotti’s out there. You can use a Polaroid. You can use one of those cardboard disposable cameras. Heck, you could paint a picture of Tom Candiotti’s pitches.

No wonder he is already a fan favorite.

Candiotti is the best new acquisition of the Dodgers. Sure, Eric Davis has more ability, is more spectacular. But Candiotti can do something Davis can’t. Candiotti can make opponents look clumsy and foolish. And if there’s one thing we baseball fans adore in a pitcher, it’s when he can make an opponent look clumsy and foolish.

Sunday’s game, for example, was worth the price of admission if only for the opportunity to watch Deion Sanders flail at those flutterballs as the leadoff man for Atlanta. For a second there, I thought Deion might go back to the bat rack for one of those Fred Flintstone toy models with the 20-inch sweet spot. Or maybe uproot the dugout bench and try to hit Candiotti with that. He looked like a kitten chasing a kite.

When Candiotti pitches, anything can happen. His knuckleball could end up anywhere. Vin Scully is in grave danger. At any given moment, a Candiotti knuckler could catch a puff of wind, float above the catcher, above the umpire, above the backstop, over the netting and into the booth, where it could skull Scully and cause him to start calling the team “Brooklyn.” And you know what would happen then. Don Drysdale would have to retaliate.

Candiotti came to the Dodgers from the American League, where they know what a knuckleball is and does. From Hoyt Wilhelm to Wilbur Wood, from Charlie Hough to Candiotti, batters in the junior circuit (love that baseball lingo) have spent the past three decades trying to get wood on those wobbly little bobbers. But since the Braves waved bye-bye to Phil Niekro before the ’84 season, nobody in the National League has had to worry much about it.

As Candiotti said after his latest outing: “I guess it’s a pitch you have to see to get used to. I don’t know where it’s going to go. How are they going to know?”

The disadvantage of Candiotti, of course, is that his own catcher doesn’t know where it’s going to go. If you think Mike Scioscia is adroit at blocking home plate, wait until you see him after six months of fielding Candiotti’s offerings like a goaltender. Scioscia either will deserve a wing of the Hall of Fame or wing at the nearest sanitarium.

So far, watching Candiotti has been a treat. And why not? He’s a total pro. No nonsense. No shaking off the catcher’s sign. No rubbing up the baseball like somebody squeezing a melon to see if it’s ripe. No trying to paint the black of the outside corner. All Candiotti does is lob the thing up there and say: “Here. Hit this.” Whereupon either the baseball or the batter stands a good chance of ending up rolling in the dirt.

It is too bad that the major leagues have a rule specifying that only the catcher can play out of bounds. Otherwise, the Dodgers could put two of their four infielders in the on-deck circles, to chase any of Candiotti’s pitches that accidentally end up there.

A final advantage of Candiotti: When, say, Cincinnati’s Dibble throws a wild pitch, he could wipe out a family of four. But with Candiotti pitching, you could diaper a baby in your lap without a care. If a pitch gets away, your baby could reach up, catch it barehanded and fire it back at the pitcher, every bit as fast.

Candiotti’s not only entertaining, he’s safe for the whole family.