Post by RamapoValley on Jun 20, 2006 9:42:26 GMT -5
Joe Gannon's knuckleball seems to have its own personality, as if it stops midflight for surveillance before diving violently toward the target on some covert search-and-destroy mission.
He throws it between 55 and 74 mph using two fingernails dug deeply into the rawhide, leaving batters flailing and catchers begging for mercy.
Gannon doesn't always know where the pitch is going, only where it has taken him. He's a 31-year-old knuckleballer from South Buffalo who was tending bar two months ago. He has since ditched his apron and taken the mound for the Ottawa Lynx. He made his second Triple-A start Saturday against the Buffalo Bisons in Dunn Tire Park.
He's a 6-foot-1, 190-pound right-hander, but to describe him so succinctly, so plainly, would be understating a mind-boggling journey from Choate Avenue to Ottawa that has more twists and turns than the pitch he has spent years trying to perfect. His story is an example of fact stretching further than fiction, how childhood dreams can come true even when they border on absurd.
"You take what he's done and take winning the lottery, and you put them next to each other, and it would be easier to win the lottery," said Rick Lancellotti, who played 68 games in the major leagues over 17 seasons and runs a baseball school in Cheektowaga. "What he's pulled off is next to impossible."
All that's left in this made-for-movie tale about a former bullpen catcher turned professional pitcher is the conclusion and the credits. He's one step - one injury, one telephone call - away from reaching the major leagues after hard work, talent and persistence were greeted by an incredible streak of fortune.
Five years ago, Gannon was a solid but unspectacular utility player who left the bar to become a corrections officer at the Erie County Holding Center. A case of vertigo sidelined his career at the jail. He spent one year as a Catholic-school physical education teacher before going back to the world of late nights, mixed drinks and baseball.
Now he's pitching for the Baltimore Orioles' top affiliate.
"You could say it's a little odd," Gannon said.
Just a little.
Gannon gives hope to every couch potato, every wanna-be ballplayer who experimented with a knuckleball, who played Little League, who imagined playing one inning in the majors. He's in position to beat odds that appeared insurmountable from almost every rational angle. Then again, rational left town long ago.
Common sense suggested that Gannon hang up his cleats 15 years ago, when he was forced into playing catcher at Timon/St. Jude High School because it was the only way he would become an everyday player. He was mired in mediocrity for Canisius College, where he was listed as a backup catcher and served as a relief pitcher.
Honed the pitch for years
The knuckleball is the most difficult pitch to throw, but it's equally difficult to hit. Phil Niekro won 318 games in a Hall of Fame career that spanned 24 major-league seasons because his knuckleball danced like Fred Astaire. Niekro played a role in this fairy tale, too, because without him Gannon would have never made it this far.
Gannon wouldn't say how much money he's making, but he's keeping his apartment in South Buffalo just in case this fantasy falls apart.
"I'm still plugging along," he said. "It's not about the money. If I was making five bucks a game, how could I turn it down? I'm lucky."
How did he arrive in the International League? Even his closest friends are trying to fathom how it came together in symphony, how someone is starting his career at an age when others retire.
Gannon spent countless hours massaging the pitch. He experimented with it for years in local amateur leagues before taking it to independent ball for pennies. He tracked down Niekro, who became a fast friend. Each step seemed more daunting than the last. The final one will be the toughest.
"I was always goofing around with it," Gannon said. "I never thought I would actually do it. I was just like anyone else. Anyone who has picked up a baseball has goofed around, trying to throw a knuckleball."
Eventually, Gannon's knuckler started darting through the strike zone with such proficiency that a Detroit Tigers scout watched him throw 10 pitches in a Comerica Park tunnel and invited him to training camp in 2002. A year later, the Milwaukee Brewers summoned him to Phoenix for a peek.
Less than two years ago, he was pitching for Leib's in the local MUNY AAA amateur league, which consists mostly of washed-up ballplayers clinging to the game. Two months ago, he was serving drinks at Doctor's. Less than 24 hours ago, he tossed six innings in a 4-1 loss to the Bisons.
"We didn't do particularly well off him," said Bisons outfielder Ernie Young, who homered off Gannon in the second inning Saturday. "We only had five hits. When he was throwing it for strikes, it was tough to hit."
"I caught for him when he was working out, and I wasn't wearing a mask or any equipment," said Sean Doctor, a former three-sport star at Timon who played football and baseball at Marshall University. "After five pitches, he hit me three times. You don't know where it's going. It's right in front of you and - boom! - it hits your knee."
There's a sense even Gannon doesn't comprehend where fate has taken him, that perhaps he might wake up and realize it was just a dream. Perhaps most odd is that Gannon pitched Saturday where he caught for eight years in the 1990s as a Bisons employee. He worked for $50 a game as a bullpen catcher. He made another $50 on the rare days they asked him to throw batting practice.
And back then he thought he had the life.
Learning by osmosis
Gannon worked for the Herd in 1994 at the same time Red Sox knuckleballer Tim Wakefield, a converted infielder, was trying to perfect the pitch for the Bisons. Gannon learned from studying and listening, from catching Wakefield, from osmosis.
"I don't know if (Wakefield) actually taught me, but I would listen in on what he was doing," Gannon said. "I tried to fill myself with as much knowledge as I could, just being around the guys I was around. It just so happened that he was there."
Looking back, it took nerve to merely attempt what Gannon pulled off.
He had a .268 batting average with 10 RBIs and one homer in 44 games over three years with Canisius College, a career that ended in 1996. It explains why he had problems cracking the starting lineup. He was looking for any way on the field, so he took to the mound. Gannon probably didn't belong there, either. He had a 5-4 record and a 4.92 earned-run average in 23 relief appearances. "He's been bouncing around," former Canisius coach Don Colpoys said. "I said to him: "Joe, don't quit. You can pitch in Cazenovia Park today and Yankee Stadium tomorrow with that knuckleball.' There's no routine that you have to follow when you have a knuckleball. If you have a good one, you can get anybody out at any level."
He tested his knuckleball in two games, pitching both ends of a doubleheader, 14 straight innings, for Leib's in summer 2000. A year later, he was playing catch with Lancellotti, and the knuckleball was moving like a butterfly.
"The thing was dancing all over the place," Lancellotti said. "I said to him, "Let me get on the phone.' I usually don't do that unless somebody impresses me that much, but I started making some calls for him."
Lancellotti reached Randy Johnson, a scout he knew in Detroit. The Tigers invited Gannon to minor-league spring training but released him. Gannon spent another summer throwing knuckleballs for Leib's, contemplating whether he would give up.
In 2002, he met former major-league third baseman and Red Sox skipper Butch Hobson, who directed him to former infielder Darrell Evans, who was managing the Allentown (Pa.) Ambassadors in the independent Northeast League. Gannon was making $800 a month and living in a hotel with Steve Larkin, the younger brother of Cincinnati Reds shortstop Barry Larkin. Gannon had a nondescript season, was about to be traded and asked for his release.
It was during the season in Allentown that Gannon left a message for Niekro, figuring it would not be returned. Niekro quickly called him back. Niekro pleaded with him to play another season. Gannon pitched last summer for Welland in the Canadian Baseball League, which televised a few games before the league folded.
"I was still bartending," Gannon said. "It was great. It was a few minutes from my house. I thought, "Why not?' "
Gannon sent a video to Niekro. Niekro put together a resume and showed general managers the tape during offseason meetings in Florida. In January, the Brewers invited Gannon to Phoenix for a tryout that included scouts from the Chicago Cubs and Oakland. Five minutes after Gannon made a follow-up call with the Brewers, a scout from the Orioles invited him to spring training based on the video he gave Niekro.
He throws it between 55 and 74 mph using two fingernails dug deeply into the rawhide, leaving batters flailing and catchers begging for mercy.
Gannon doesn't always know where the pitch is going, only where it has taken him. He's a 31-year-old knuckleballer from South Buffalo who was tending bar two months ago. He has since ditched his apron and taken the mound for the Ottawa Lynx. He made his second Triple-A start Saturday against the Buffalo Bisons in Dunn Tire Park.
He's a 6-foot-1, 190-pound right-hander, but to describe him so succinctly, so plainly, would be understating a mind-boggling journey from Choate Avenue to Ottawa that has more twists and turns than the pitch he has spent years trying to perfect. His story is an example of fact stretching further than fiction, how childhood dreams can come true even when they border on absurd.
"You take what he's done and take winning the lottery, and you put them next to each other, and it would be easier to win the lottery," said Rick Lancellotti, who played 68 games in the major leagues over 17 seasons and runs a baseball school in Cheektowaga. "What he's pulled off is next to impossible."
All that's left in this made-for-movie tale about a former bullpen catcher turned professional pitcher is the conclusion and the credits. He's one step - one injury, one telephone call - away from reaching the major leagues after hard work, talent and persistence were greeted by an incredible streak of fortune.
Five years ago, Gannon was a solid but unspectacular utility player who left the bar to become a corrections officer at the Erie County Holding Center. A case of vertigo sidelined his career at the jail. He spent one year as a Catholic-school physical education teacher before going back to the world of late nights, mixed drinks and baseball.
Now he's pitching for the Baltimore Orioles' top affiliate.
"You could say it's a little odd," Gannon said.
Just a little.
Gannon gives hope to every couch potato, every wanna-be ballplayer who experimented with a knuckleball, who played Little League, who imagined playing one inning in the majors. He's in position to beat odds that appeared insurmountable from almost every rational angle. Then again, rational left town long ago.
Common sense suggested that Gannon hang up his cleats 15 years ago, when he was forced into playing catcher at Timon/St. Jude High School because it was the only way he would become an everyday player. He was mired in mediocrity for Canisius College, where he was listed as a backup catcher and served as a relief pitcher.
Honed the pitch for years
The knuckleball is the most difficult pitch to throw, but it's equally difficult to hit. Phil Niekro won 318 games in a Hall of Fame career that spanned 24 major-league seasons because his knuckleball danced like Fred Astaire. Niekro played a role in this fairy tale, too, because without him Gannon would have never made it this far.
Gannon wouldn't say how much money he's making, but he's keeping his apartment in South Buffalo just in case this fantasy falls apart.
"I'm still plugging along," he said. "It's not about the money. If I was making five bucks a game, how could I turn it down? I'm lucky."
How did he arrive in the International League? Even his closest friends are trying to fathom how it came together in symphony, how someone is starting his career at an age when others retire.
Gannon spent countless hours massaging the pitch. He experimented with it for years in local amateur leagues before taking it to independent ball for pennies. He tracked down Niekro, who became a fast friend. Each step seemed more daunting than the last. The final one will be the toughest.
"I was always goofing around with it," Gannon said. "I never thought I would actually do it. I was just like anyone else. Anyone who has picked up a baseball has goofed around, trying to throw a knuckleball."
Eventually, Gannon's knuckler started darting through the strike zone with such proficiency that a Detroit Tigers scout watched him throw 10 pitches in a Comerica Park tunnel and invited him to training camp in 2002. A year later, the Milwaukee Brewers summoned him to Phoenix for a peek.
Less than two years ago, he was pitching for Leib's in the local MUNY AAA amateur league, which consists mostly of washed-up ballplayers clinging to the game. Two months ago, he was serving drinks at Doctor's. Less than 24 hours ago, he tossed six innings in a 4-1 loss to the Bisons.
"We didn't do particularly well off him," said Bisons outfielder Ernie Young, who homered off Gannon in the second inning Saturday. "We only had five hits. When he was throwing it for strikes, it was tough to hit."
"I caught for him when he was working out, and I wasn't wearing a mask or any equipment," said Sean Doctor, a former three-sport star at Timon who played football and baseball at Marshall University. "After five pitches, he hit me three times. You don't know where it's going. It's right in front of you and - boom! - it hits your knee."
There's a sense even Gannon doesn't comprehend where fate has taken him, that perhaps he might wake up and realize it was just a dream. Perhaps most odd is that Gannon pitched Saturday where he caught for eight years in the 1990s as a Bisons employee. He worked for $50 a game as a bullpen catcher. He made another $50 on the rare days they asked him to throw batting practice.
And back then he thought he had the life.
Learning by osmosis
Gannon worked for the Herd in 1994 at the same time Red Sox knuckleballer Tim Wakefield, a converted infielder, was trying to perfect the pitch for the Bisons. Gannon learned from studying and listening, from catching Wakefield, from osmosis.
"I don't know if (Wakefield) actually taught me, but I would listen in on what he was doing," Gannon said. "I tried to fill myself with as much knowledge as I could, just being around the guys I was around. It just so happened that he was there."
Looking back, it took nerve to merely attempt what Gannon pulled off.
He had a .268 batting average with 10 RBIs and one homer in 44 games over three years with Canisius College, a career that ended in 1996. It explains why he had problems cracking the starting lineup. He was looking for any way on the field, so he took to the mound. Gannon probably didn't belong there, either. He had a 5-4 record and a 4.92 earned-run average in 23 relief appearances. "He's been bouncing around," former Canisius coach Don Colpoys said. "I said to him: "Joe, don't quit. You can pitch in Cazenovia Park today and Yankee Stadium tomorrow with that knuckleball.' There's no routine that you have to follow when you have a knuckleball. If you have a good one, you can get anybody out at any level."
He tested his knuckleball in two games, pitching both ends of a doubleheader, 14 straight innings, for Leib's in summer 2000. A year later, he was playing catch with Lancellotti, and the knuckleball was moving like a butterfly.
"The thing was dancing all over the place," Lancellotti said. "I said to him, "Let me get on the phone.' I usually don't do that unless somebody impresses me that much, but I started making some calls for him."
Lancellotti reached Randy Johnson, a scout he knew in Detroit. The Tigers invited Gannon to minor-league spring training but released him. Gannon spent another summer throwing knuckleballs for Leib's, contemplating whether he would give up.
In 2002, he met former major-league third baseman and Red Sox skipper Butch Hobson, who directed him to former infielder Darrell Evans, who was managing the Allentown (Pa.) Ambassadors in the independent Northeast League. Gannon was making $800 a month and living in a hotel with Steve Larkin, the younger brother of Cincinnati Reds shortstop Barry Larkin. Gannon had a nondescript season, was about to be traded and asked for his release.
It was during the season in Allentown that Gannon left a message for Niekro, figuring it would not be returned. Niekro quickly called him back. Niekro pleaded with him to play another season. Gannon pitched last summer for Welland in the Canadian Baseball League, which televised a few games before the league folded.
"I was still bartending," Gannon said. "It was great. It was a few minutes from my house. I thought, "Why not?' "
Gannon sent a video to Niekro. Niekro put together a resume and showed general managers the tape during offseason meetings in Florida. In January, the Brewers invited Gannon to Phoenix for a tryout that included scouts from the Chicago Cubs and Oakland. Five minutes after Gannon made a follow-up call with the Brewers, a scout from the Orioles invited him to spring training based on the video he gave Niekro.