September is testimony to baseball’s resiliency, to its inexhaustible capacity for regeneration. The sport follows the seasons through spring and summer, as the pennant races develop, and it comes to a wonderful, full flowering in October, with the play-offs and the World Series. Yet just as the chances of 22 of the 26 big-league teams begin to wither, in the last month of the regular season, suddenly there is new hope for growth and improvement. September call-ups–the phrase used for minor-league players brought up for their first taste of big-league ball, when rosters expand from 25 to 40 on the first of the month–are unique to baseball, and a marvelous idea they are. In other sports, the season goes bad and there is nothing for solace but the faraway balm of next year. In football, basketball, and hockey there is nothing but the abstract hope of a high draft pick; if the season has been a complete loss, the draft pick is so high that a fan can safely guess which of the talented college or junior-hockey stars will be available. Yet even here, the fan must fantasize about what the team will be like with the new, young star, how he will fit into the team’s character. In baseball, with its necessary slow nurturing of college, and high-school talent, its requisite years in theminor leagues, its never-ending process of adjustment and readjustment, the minor-league phenom comes to the majors at the end of the year, when all hopes of postseason play are gone, and he gives us a new sense of hope. It’s amazing that as the ivy of Wrigley Field develops a tinge of brown, we can already see the buds of next season.
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On the first Friday of this month, we got our first glimpse of Mike Harkey as he ran against the backdrop of that same ivy in Wrigley Field. We had been awaiting his arrival for months, since he got off to a fast start at the Cubs’ AA minor-league affiliate at Pittsfield, Massachusetts. In fact, we’d been watching him intently since the spring, when Baseball America named him one of the top prospects in the Cubs’ system. He was the Cubs’ first draft choice a year ago, and, while his numbers in a shortened season at Class A Peoria were not astounding, the magazine said his repertoire of hard fastball and sharp-breaking slider was reminiscent of Bob Gibson. He got off to a good start, as we said, this season, and he carried on the fine pitching after being promoted to AAA Iowa. Altogether, his record was 16-4, his earned-run average under 2.50: outstanding figures at any level. When Iowa failed to make the American Association play-offs, Harkey joined the Cubs along with four other phenoms just as soon as the rosters were expanded. Harkey, however, was the brightest prospect, the one the team. expected most from–almost, for better or worse, the future incarnate.
Harkey was not eloquent about himself–what player is at 21? what 21-year-old is in any field?–but neither were his answers simple or prereadied. The funny scene toward the end of Bull Durham, where the phenom pitcher uses all the cliches he’s been taught by the veteran catcher, is repeated often enough in the real-life majors, but with the all-purpose phrase “It’s my job” replacing the old-fashioned “I’m just trying to help the team.” Harkey, to his credit, did not seem prepared like some rookie pitcher or some presidential candidate for this ambush; each answer was considered as he looked off into the corner of the dugout. He described himself as a power pitcher, with a repertoire of fastball, slider, curve, change-up, with the fastball of course the number-one pitch. He said his progress this year had been mainly due to his developing ability to change speeds, something he believes he had too often called on a year ago at Class A but used with more moderation this year; in other words, tactics had to be learned, but most important was that he remember his natural strengths. He expressed some envy for pitchers such as the White Sox’ Jack McDowell, who made a quick jump to the majors, but added that in hindsight he probably wasn’t ready for the majors last year and felt ready this year. He was asked–humorously, but with a mocking edge–just how fast this fastball is. He looked off into the corner of the dugout and said, “Upper 90s.”
The Cubs scored twice in the second, and this did much to settle Harkey down. He continued his brisk runs to the mound every inning, but his demeanor once on top of the hill grew more ordered. He is of a jumbled appearance; he has not yet grown into his own body. Looking at some parts of him–his legs and face–a person would think he is heavy, at other parts–his calves and arms and neck–a person would think he’s thin. Below the furrowed brow he has a solid jaw, however, and he thrust it forward here and settled into a rhythm. He has a simple, effective motion, much like Jeff Pico’s–but with one embellishment: he points his toe in kicking his left leg. This, as I remember from a pitching manual written by the Braves’ old Bob Shaw, is meant to stretch the leg muscles, to keep them flexible and ready to accept the weight on the stride, and, of course, to instill a rhythm in the delivery. Old-timers who remember Shaw will probably also remember this toe-pointing touch in the deliveries of the Cubs’ own Joe Decker and the Houston Astros’ Larry Dierker, as well as a more exaggerated toe point in the left-handed deliveries of Steve Carlton and, before him, of Sandy Koufax. Harkey, however, is not likely to have been influenced by any of these pitchers. In any case, along about the fourth inning he was in his rhythm. He was mixing his pitches well, changing speeds, throwing an increasing number of curves, yet going to the fastball to strike out the dangerous Parrish. “Rock and fire” is the old phrase for this sort of pitching, and that’s exactly what Harkey did.
