The idea of ​​a maestro like Luis Tiant in today's game of baseball is unimaginable

News of Tiant's death Tuesday at age 83 brought back memories that are vivid not only for those who witnessed his performances at Fenway Park, but even for generations who never did. To see the right-hander's highlights is to recognize the magic that distinguished Tiant from his contemporaries and makes his style and work on the mound almost unfathomable today.

Tiant often described pitching as an act of will — a take on “The Old Man and the Sea” that plays out every four days. He possessed an overwhelming desire to win, but had a relentless determination not only in the outcome but also in the competition itself.

“When I pitch, that’s my game. I didn’t want to go out there,” Tiant once recalled. “When I was growing up, my dad always said to me, 'You don't start something you can't finish.' “If you go in there, you better stay there and finish the game.” ”

The result was an incredible 187 complete games – a number that Tiant recalled precisely and proudly in conversations. For context, there have been 178 complete games in the major leagues over the last five years combined. In 2024, the pitchers combined to throw 28 complete games, just three more than Tiant did in 1974 alone.

All of his games were the result not of power—particularly after a shoulder injury in the early 1970s not only led to a move between organizations that eventually brought Tiant to Boston but also dulled his fastball—but of creativity.

Like all pitchers in baseball history, Tiant suffered a times through the order penalty in games. The batsmen's performance improved with each successive look at the right-hander.

But in Tiant's case, the punishment was gradual. As a starter, he held hitters to an OPS of .624 in his first appearance, an OPS of .671 in his second appearance, an OPS of .698 in his third appearance, and an OPS of .724 in his fourth appearance or later. As the game progressed, he became more and more vulnerable, but far from helpless, especially because he had a great instinct for keeping batters guessing, even after they had seen him a few times.

“If you beat me, you will never see this field again. Absolutely not, Jose,” he said. “When the batsman sees you three or four times, it is no longer easy to deceive him. … You have to do what you can — change your pitching mechanics for the batters you're facing, change the pitches.”

Tiant manipulated time and space with his swing – he turned with his back to the batter and then changed the rhythm with which he unwound, sometimes hesitant, sometimes quickening. When he released the ball, he did so from various arm angles—over his head, from three-quarters, sidearm—which probably made hitters wonder if they were seeing a double.

His range of throws – fastballs, slow-motion Bugs Bunny curveballs and sharper hooks, sliders, palmballs, sometimes even knuckleballs – had tremendous control and varying speeds. The attackers could only imagine the shape, location and speed of what lay ahead.

Pitching is now all about “tunneling” – creating deception by throwing multiple pitches from the same release point. There is a cruel magic in the combination of sinker and slider that embark on the same journey, only to make hairpin turns in opposite directions.

But Tiant offered something more complex, confronting thugs not with narrow tunnels but with mazes they rarely had enough time to solve. The attackers had to search not for one tunnel but for several, which often led to confusion.

“That's a mathematical algorithm that he had exponentially more than any other pitcher,” Lee said of his former teammate's ability to disrupt opponents' timing. “He has precise control, he can pivot, he can open up quickly and make a transition, he can open up slowly, land a little short, throw a four-seater up and in, he can get over the top with an overhand .” Devil.”

The result was mesmerizing – a kind of wire-to-wire showmanship for a magician who always seemed to have a new trick at his disposal, aided by the stamina he developed in his daily runs up and down the stadium steps from left field to left field appropriated by others right field.

“There was no one in the clubhouse, no other pitcher, who worked harder than me,” Tiant said.

This was all part of the artist's preparations to give everything he could on stage – a commitment that was felt by the audience and therefore evoked an emotional investment like no other.

Tiant electrified audiences in a way that is still felt more than 40 years after his last big league appearance, helping to highlight both his enduring fame and the sense of loss caused by the death of a pitching Picasso to explain.

Alex Speier can be reached at [email protected]. Follow him @alexspeier.