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Discover the Mystique and Resilience of the Knuckleball

The Iconography of Wilbur Wood

It is spring in 1972, and the background is filled with men donning high-waisted red slacks. Wilbur Wood stands frozen, seemingly containing the least potential energy among all. The intended imagery is of a pitcher post-release, glove raised, ready to field his position. However, his left arm, encased in a wrinkled warmup jacket beneath his uniform, hangs limply. His cheeks are puffy, leaving one to wonder if it's from tobacco or the previous evening's debauchery. His eyes display a unique combination of tiredness and boredom, a weariness only seen in an older generation of ballplayers who spent their childhoods scrubbing foundry ladles and smoking countless cigarettes. This is not a man playing a child's game; this is a man at work, longing to be off duty.Wilbur Wood played and pitched as if he had stepped out of the 19th century. As a bonus baby thrust into the majors as a teenager, he couldn't establish himself with his hometown Red Sox or later with the Pirates. It wasn't until a trade to the White Sox and the guidance of elder statesman Hoyt Wilhelm that he truly became Wilbur Wood. For years, he had practiced the knuckleball, and Wilhelm sat him down to refine some of its finer points. An over-the-top motion was added to give the pitch more drop, and the wrist was locked into a snap-push follow-through to prevent any twist that could give the ball spin. For two years, Wood teamed with Wilhelm to form one of the slowest and most effective relief tandems in baseball. When Wilhelm moved on, Wood took over as the fireman, saving 52 games between 1968 and 1970.

The Mystique and Fraternity of the Knuckleball

The knuckleball has always carried with it a sense of mystique and fraternity. Unlike other pitches that rely on genetic advantages and endless training, the knuckler seems like something anyone should be able to do. But as it becomes clear that not everyone can master it, that sense of inclusivity gives way to an invisible exclusivity. These men with this talent are different, yet it's difficult to characterize or predict exactly how.We have come to accept the decline of the knuckleball without truly understanding why. It's as if a sense of upward mobility has been lost, the fading idea that we too might possess something hidden within us. Our celebrities and athletes are no longer the children of tradesmen; they are millionaires. The amount of time and money required to become special is so great that it's too late for many of us, and even our children. We need to look ahead generations to see opportunities.Even in Wilbur Wood's time, it was often too late. In 2019, Mark Liptak interviewed Wood, who shared his advice with pitchers facing trouble. He emphasized that if one is trying to learn the pitch due to an injury, it's too late. He had been throwing the knuckleball since high school, and it takes years to get used to it. Major league organizations aren't likely to give a pitcher three or four years to master the pitch.The knuckleball is not a pitch for tinkering. As Wilhelm told Wood in 1966, when the younger pitcher was struggling for confidence, one must either throw it all the time or not at all. Specialization is required, but it's not like modern training. It's not about pushing for a little more or adding an extra wrinkle. One must cut off all other futures and focus on this one. In today's world, a 25-year-old can barely be expected to settle on a profession.

The Romanticism of the Knuckleball

The knuckleball is romantic because it's always seen as a last resort, a desperate move. But the truly successful knucklers had their escape plans mapped out in advance. For Wilbur Wood, after five failed major-league seasons, it was the only choice and the right one. He was, in a sense, a knuckleballer. Among his peers, he was special. He threw the ball slower than Niekros, Hough, and even the 40-year-old Wilhelm. He threw it for strikes, with a 2.4 walks per nine innings rate that was the best among modern practitioners. He needed fewer pitches and could throw more. And he had a particular resilience locked within him that made him not only great but unique.Occasionally, a player will break baseball. They'll display talent that defies explanation, like a solar eclipse or a rain of frogs. Wilbur Wood's superpower was more subtle. In 1971, a spring injury and his holdout prevented him from being traded, and he was relocated to the starting lineup. He preferred relief but did his best as a starter. Over the next five seasons, he averaged 45 starts and 336 innings a year. He won 106 games, more than 12 active starters in their careers, and threw more innings than Jacob deGrom in his 11 major-league seasons. He accumulated more rWAR (39.1) than Fernando Valenzuela, Jake Peavy, or Catfish Hunter in their lifetimes. Just by being consistent and throwing strike after strike, every fourth day and sometimes every third when needed.These numbers are ridiculous, reminiscent of the deadball era. It's easy to overlook them as an anachronism in modern baseball. There is no online footage of him pitching, and if there were, it would likely have been destroyed. He doesn't fit the modern mold of baseball. He was the last pitcher to throw 345 innings in a season, start 45 games, and start both games of a doubleheader. He was the last of his kind, the only one with his unique abilities.If he had followed a smooth path like the aging knuckleballers, he might be in the Hall of Fame today like Hoyt Wilhelm. But his career was derailed by injuries. A comebacker to the knee fractured it, and a slip on wet grass broke it again. When he returned, he wasn't the same. He was constantly bracing for the next hard hit, and his knuckleball suffered. Before long, his career came to an end. He was one of the best pitchers in the league for nine years, four of them in relief. He didn't last long enough to etch his name in history.