COMMENTARY : End Came Too Late for Ryan

Nolan Ryan had a chance to be different. Two years ago, at 44, he could have retired near the top of his game.

His Hall of Fame credentials were already secured, his legend made. He could have ended his career like one of those Hollywood feel-good movies. He pitched his seventh no-hitter in 1991. He won 12 games, lost six. He was third in the American League in strikeouts with 203 and had the fifth-lowest earned-run average at 2.91.

Impressive numbers for a pitcher at any age, let alone his.

Unlike all those other famous athletes who didn’t know when to quit, Ryan could have walked into the sunset after four consecutive winning seasons.

Instead, he will be remembered, somewhat pathetically, like others who refused to go gently: Johnny Unitas sitting on the bench with the San Diego Chargers, Willie Mays and his expanding waistline hopelessly trying to get around on a fastball, Steve Carlton bouncing from team to team, begging for employment.

And now you must include Nolan Ryan, walking off the mound in Seattle’s Kingdome last Wednesday evening, the greatest pitching arm God ever assembled dangling like a wet noodle.

Ryan, the greatest strikeout pitcher ever, unable to get an out.

Ryan, the no-hit King, giving up a grand slam to somebody named Dann Howitt.

What a shame. His right arm defied logic for 27 seasons. He threw harder for longer than anyone ever has and probably ever will. He threw more pitches than anyone in history. He is the all-time leader in strikeouts and walks. And, rest assured, 3-and-2 counts. He once threw 241 pitches in one game.

Remarkably, Ryan never has undergone major arm surgery. In 1975, when he was with the Angels, he had four bone chips removed from his pitching elbow.

Four bone chips in 27 seasons.

Now, merely to hold the reins on his horse down at the ranch in Alvin, Tex., he will need tendon transplant surgery.

Why?

Because Ryan came back for two unnecessary seasons, 1992 and ’93. He had nothing left to prove and was only pushing his luck.

He pitched better than his 5-9 record showed last season, his bullpen blowing six games in which he left with the lead.

No excuse. Ryan should not have returned in 1993 and, deep down, he has to know it.

Did he come back for the money? Well, of course. But by offering Ryan $3.7 million this year, the Texas Rangers weren’t exactly kicking him out the door, either.

Ryan, no doubt, was also lured back by his own bedeviling talent.

He swore he would never change his pitching style to hang around in the big leagues. And he never did. His bionic right arm never failed him.

He knew he could pitch if he stayed unhurt. His fastball still hit 95 m.p.h. on the radar gun, faster than most major leaguers can pitch in their dreams.

Until his last stand, it was the rest of his body, not his arm, that betrayed Ryan. Although he was one of the most physically fit athletes of his generation, a man who worked out harder as he got older, Ryan’s body eventually started acting its age.

His powerful legs, the pistons in his pitching engine, could no longer drive the Express.

But his arm remained the ultimate tease. As late as last Friday, five days before his final pitch, Ryan threw seven solid innings against the Angels, giving up one unearned run while walking none.

After the game, Ryan acknowledged that it was difficult to think about quitting when he knew he was still capable of such performances.

But Ryan should have counted his blessings and gone out in style, in one last burst of glory.

His much-ballyhooed farewell tour this season turned out to be a long ride on a broken-down bus. He left parts strewn on interstates across America.

He spent 114 days of his last season in the repair shop, on the disabled list. Torn knee cartilage, strained left hip, strained rib cage.

The telling virtues of his career, his extraordinary stamina and longevity, were ultimately undermined as they dragged this tired bag of bones from town to town so that visiting teams could award him cattle and belt buckles and saddles.

A goodby tour in 1991 would have played so much better.

On May 1 of that year, no one was whispering that Nolan Ryan had lost it. On that night, against the Toronto Blue Jays in Arlington, Tex., Ryan pitched his seventh no-hitter.

In 1991, opponents batted a league-low .173 against Ryan. He averaged a league-leading 10.56 strikeouts per nine innings.

There would have been no sense of sadness, no pity. No inclination that we were somehow watching a shell of a man.

Maybe we will never understand why so many great athletes don’t know when to quit. Maybe not being quitters is what made them special to start with.

But in 1991, Ryan had a chance to rope and hogtie his own retirement.

Instead, the last entry into his pitching log will reflect a 5-5 record with a 4.88 ERA.

And some of us will never forget Dann Howitt’s grand slam at the Kingdome.