RIP, Fernando.


Fernando Valenzuela celebrates a World Series that capped off one of the most memorable seasons in baseball history.

In the 1981 season, major league players staged a strike on July 12, right before the All-Star Game, that lasted until the end of July, splitting the season in two halves and generally making a mess of baseball.

My beloved Reds were one-half game out of first when the strike hit, with the Dodgers “winning” the first half, and a game-and-a-half out of second, losing out to the Astros, for the indignity of having the best overall record in baseball that year but not making the playoffs because of the strike format.

But within that chaos was one of the baseball’s greatest stories. Years before Cal Ripken saved baseball after the disastrous strike in 1994 that wiped out the World Series, Fernando Valenzuela was in the process of carrying baseball on his very broad shoulders. He did a darn good job of erasing the pain of that season.

Fernandomania swept the baseball world to be sure. But was bigger than that. Fernando Valenzeula carried the entire Latino-America world on his back

In 1981, Valenzuela came out of nowhere, from a small town in Mexico, to win the Cy Young award, the Rookie of the Year award, the Silver Slugger award, and a World Series ring. 

Not bad for a first year.

He was 13-7, with a 2.48 ERA, led the league in games started (25), shutouts (8, these days a starting pitcher can go his entire career without one), innings pitched (192.1), and strikeouts (180). Don’t forget, all these numbers are in a strike-shortened season in which the Dodgers played only 110 games.

But he went beyond the numbers. He didn’t look anything like a baseball player. He was more in the Bartolo Colon mode. The lefty had the most unorthodox windup; he would corkscrew around, whip his body into a position that a contortionist would envy, shoot a glaze up at the heavens, and whip a screwball that was unhittable.

He was at the right place at the right time in history, with the right temperament to energize a baseball world that was sorely in need of energizing. The only thing more devastating than his screwball was his infectious smile.

Fernando quickly became an icon in LA. So much so, when he retired the Dodgers broke their long-standing tradition of retiring numbers only of players in the Hall of Fame. Fernando’s flame of excellence didn’t burn long, he had a six-year run of domination, then fizzled out. But it did burn intensely. In those six years, he was beloved by a city and by a culture that was emerging with its star pitcher.

He wound up pitching seventeen seasons in the major leagues, the first eleven with the Dodgers, the first six (not counting a handful of games in 1980) an All-Star and Cy Young contender each season. He even finished high in the MVP race three times, leading the league in wins with 25 in 1986.

Then, the light dimmed on this screwball. His fastball lost a touch of magic. 

In the height of Fernandomania, as the 19-year-old phenom had just completed his fifth shutout, Vin Scully summed it up best, as he always did, “It’s the most puzzling, wonderful, rewarding thing I think we’ve seen in baseball for many, many years.”

Fernando Valenzuela died last night at the age of 63, just days before the team he has been the Spanish-language announcer for starts the World Series. 

Que descanse in pez, Fernando.