If you never believed the Mets when they pumped up Jason Isringhausen, then listen to Seaver.
PORT ST. LUCIE – If you took off a couple of pounds, touched up the tinges of gray around the temples, and changed the synthetic blue jersey to 100 percent cotton, you might think it was St. Petersburg, circa 1975.
The pitcher, wearing his trademark No. 41 Mets jersey and hat, was Tom Seaver, and the catcher was John Stearns, and if only the ball they threw between them along the third base line could have understood the history.
For a moment, the hardened eyes that are used to seeing great pitchers like Roger Clemens and Greg Maddux through professional lenses, were little boys’ eyes all over again, watching Tom Terrific in orange and blue pinstripes on the mound at Shea.
The motion was fluid and the mechanics were sound. The Hall of Famer didn’t look like he was planning a comeback or anything, but after 10 minutes of catch with Stearns at an empty Thomas J. White Stadium, it sure brought back memories.
There he was, Tom Seaver, in a Met uniform, throwing a baseball. It was an echo of the Near Perfect game of 1969, the 19-strikeout performance of ’70, the shocking day he was traded away in ’77.
Making his first appearance in a Mets uniform since his aborted comeback in 1987, and his initial appearance at the Mets current spring training complex, Seaver wasn’t blowing anyone away with his stuff. No, yesterday was Seaver’s turn to be blown away by a pitcher most cynical fans have all but given up on.
If you never believed the Mets when they pumped up Jason Isringhausen, then listen to Seaver. In his first practice as a Mets special instructor, the Hall of Famer was talking to pitching coach Bob Apodaca about the young right-hander as Isringhausen was warming up in the bullpen. Seaver and Apodaca stood behind him watching as Izzy pulled the string on a changeup, right on the black.
“Wow,” Seaver said to Apodaca. “Nasty”
Then Isringhausen snapped off one of his trademark curveballs, dropping it in on the bottom of the outside corner.
“Is he always like this?” Seaver asked.
“He could have the best stuff in the organization,” Apodaca replied. “He’s got the whole package.”
Isringhausen is just the type of young pitcher the Mets hope Seaver will have an impact on. The stuff is there, it always has been. But either because he was rushed into it or because of injury, Isringhausen has mostly been a brittle disappointment.
But now a man with all the credentials in the world has put his stamp of approval on Izzy, and it can only help with his flagging confidence.
“It’s nice to know he’s in my corner,” Izzy said. “This is Tom Seaver. Anything he wants to tell me, I’ll listen.”
With a group of about 100 admiring fans watching only 10 feet away, Seaver watched Isringhausen for a moment and then asked Apodaca if he could talk to the 26-year-old.
Apodaca said “Please do,” and Seaver talked to Isringhausen about getting completely set before he threw.
“This is pitching practice,” he told him, “Not throwing practice.”
Izzy settled down, took a little heat off, and threw a perfect strike, much to the approval of both teachers. Izzy turned back and smiled like a proud student.
Some have worried that Seaver’s presence might be taken as a threat to Apodaca, but this pitching coach has already proven he’s not territorial. He is not the same wide-eyed kid that came up to the Mets in 1973 when Seaver was working on his second of three Cy Young Awards. Now Apodaca is the boss, and he is not afraid to work with Seaver as an equal.
“Now that I’m 50 I can tell Tom Seaver to [bleep] off,” Apodaca laughed.
Seaver, who was brought in by the Mets to announce games as a TV color commentator, has never drawn a paycheck before as a coach, but he said he’s acted like one since he was a veteran player. When he was with the Reds he told Tom Hume to fix up his mechanics or go back to the feed store in Florida, and Hume went on to pitch several more productive years in the majors.
“When you’re a veteran, you’re always an instructor,” Seaver said.
In fact, Seaver said he remembers a similar lesson he got as a 21-year-old minor-leaguer in 1966 from a second baseman named Squeaky Bowman, who told the pitcher he had a great fastball, so use it more.
“I remember that 30 years later,” Seaver said. “And at the end of my career, my best pitch was my fastball.”
Seaver went on to recall how as a White Sox pitcher in 1985 he used that advice to blow six letter-high fastballs past Tony Armas and Mike Easler, recording two strikeouts against those good Red Sox hitters.
Seaver wasn’t throwing that kind of gas yesterday … but Isringhausen was.