Taking a bite out of hitters: 'Mad Dog' Greg Maddux is the thinking man's pitcher, yet he has kept it simple on his way to milestone victory No. 300

Sporting News, The, August 9, 2004 by Dennis Tuttle

Greg Maddux will go down as one of the most improbable 300-game winners in baseball history. He was never blessed with the blistering fastball of Walter Johnson of Nolan Ryan, the riding slider of Steve Carlton, of the beguiling trickery of Phil Niekro's knuckleball and Christy Mathewson's "fadeaway."

But Maddux has used every wit, wisdom and wherewithal of his 6-foot, 185-pound body for 19 years with the Cubs and Braves, winning four Cy Young Awards and 13 Gold Gloves and putting together one remarkable career. When the righthander becomes just the 22nd major league pitcher to win 300 games--he was denied the milestone victory last Sunday--he will have accomplished the feat despite winning 20 games in a season only twice (1992, '93) and striking out 200 batters in a season just once ('98). He never has thrown a no-hitter and his fastball, usually 88 to 92 mph, has never spooked anyone.

Called "Mad Dog" because of his intense competitiveness, the Cubs' Maddux, 38, is blessed with great mechanics and balance, an exceptional changeup and a late-moving fastball--and one of the game's greatest pitching minds. Even as a 19-year-old minor leaguer "his approach was so far ahead of other pitchers that you knew he was going to be great," says the Orioles' Rafael Palmeiro, who came up through the Cubs' system with Maddux.

"It wasn't because of his size or blowing people away," Palmeiro says, "but because of the way he went about pitching."

So, the SPORTING NEWS asked three players--retired Padres hitting star Tony Gwynn and two of Maddux's longtime Braves teammates, catcher Eddie Perez and pitcher John Smoltz--to analyze Maddux, and their words provide a complete look at what makes the Mad Dog one of the best and smartest pitchers of our generation.

Tony Gwynn, the eye of an eight-time batting champ:

In the big leagues you tend to think about the pitchers with the overpowering fastball, the guys hitters fear the most, the dominant guys like Pedro (Martinez), Randy Johnson and Roger Clemens because they have their own unique way of getting people out. They lay it up there and say, "Go ahead, and bit it if you can."

But Greg came to the realization early in his career that he didn't have to throw hard to get people out. The movement he gets on a ball is so good that he uses that great sinker, a real good cut fastball and a great changeup to get a whole lot of people out without throwing a lot of pitches.

To me, that's the beauty of what he's accomplished. He simplifies the game. Greg reaped the benefits of knowing himself and his abilities by keeping it simple. "Why strike somebody out if you can let your defenders make the outs?"

It takes some guys 10 years to figure this out. Greg never had the overpowering fastball, so he excels with what he has. He works at 88-to-90 mph by locating that fastball with movement. He can put the ball where he wants, like Catfish Hunter did. Greg's control is so good that guys come back to the bench muttering, "How did he get me out?"

This is where Greg really simplifies the game. He isn't going to waste a whole lot of time. He gets ahead of the count by moving the fastball around the strike zone. Every now and then he'll start you off with a big breaking ball--you know, to have that thought in your head. But his trick pitch is the changeup. Earlier in his career, he could turn it up a notch, hitting 92, 93 mph, so he had the ability to strike people out. But I believe his thinking is, "Why use all those pitches when you can have a complete-game five-hitter by letting them put the ball in play?"

Now that I'm a coach (at San Diego State), I try to instill in my players the need to pay attention to things the way Greg does. Know the hitters; know the pitchers; know the umpires. Look at Greg. He's not a big guy. But he's very smart, very intelligent. He will do things and pay attention to things you won't believe.

It so happened I had a good batting average (.429) against him, but I can remember the number of balls I hit on a line: not very many. Most of my hits were on a changeup hooked into the second base hole, a changeup I stayed back on and hit into left field, a chinker or a blooper. I never hit a home run off him (in 91 at-bats).

Not many players want to be a defensive hitter against him, but I was. That's why I had so much success. I didn't try to make something happen. His style of pitching worked into my style of hitting. I went up to the plate with no preconceived way of going about things.

We were in Philly at the '96 All-Star Game. We're talking about our little matchups because after a while it became a Gwynn-vs.-Maddux thing with the media. The smart pitcher vs. the intelligent hitter.

He said, "Tony, why waste my time trying to strike you out? I'm just going to try and make a good pitch to get you out...."

"I know. I'm just trying to put the bar on the ball. I'm not doing anything tricky," 1 said. He thought l was BS'ing him, I thought he was BS'ing me, but we both knew what we were doing.

As our careers progressed, we both knew I had never struck out against him. He got me down 0-2 a couple of times and went for the kill. He'd throw a fastball in and run it back out, and I'd foul it off. He'd throw that great change he thought was a strike but I'd get the call. It was a pretty good cat-and-mouse thing.