Tim Wakefield Retires, the Sun is Less Bright, the Sky is Less Blue

In 2012, there will be one less knuckleballer in the Major Leagues; one less weirdo who doesn’t even need a full wind-up and relies on tricks and witches brews to get outs; one less pitcher whose fastball is that in name only. The mighty Tim Wakefield has retired.

I like to imagine that Wakefield will hole up somewhere in northern Iowa and pitchers, young and old alike, will flock to him in a Field of Dreams-esque sequence. Pitchers without a fastball that breaks 86, pitchers with an arm injury they just can’t lick, pitchers who enjoy trickery and the dark arts, will all convene on Wakefield’s farm. Wakefield will usher in a terrifying new era of knuckleballers that will spread through the land like a zombie virus, devouring 95 mph fastballs on their way. Sadly, that’s probably not going to happen.

Growing up, I had two favorite players. One was Ken Griffey Jr for his natural talent, his graceful swing, his monstrous home runs. The other was Tim Wakefield who possessed none of those traits. While sick with the stomach flu in 1996, I opened up a pack of Topps Metal Universe cards which cemented my love. Surprisingly, the Internet does not hold an image of this card, but let’s just say it looked a lot like this but with 100% less jerkbag:

(image via Miller Cards)

Though my modern tastes recoil at the atrocious design, my 9-year-old self thought it was perfection in cardboard. “Just look at all that shiny and exxxxxxtreme silver,” I thought. And when I flipped over my metallic Wakefield, gazing at his 16 wins and his 2.95 ERA from the season before, I thought “why doesn’t he earn more respect? Why isn’t he a constant Superscenter highlight?” I was already a baseball blogger at heart, though I had no idea how to express it.

I followed his career closely, dumbfounded at the Red Sox refusal to use him in the rotation during the late 90s and early 2000s, but glad to see how easily Wakefield could switch between roles. I reveled in his ability to baffle the Yankees in 2003, only to be crushed when Aaron Boone ended their season and ruining Wakefield’s narrative on that dinky home run.

After winning his ring in 2004, Wakefield selflessly removed himself from the 2007 World Series roster, knowing that the team’s best chances were with him watching from the clubhouse. It lead to one of the most endearing moments in TV history when he was interviewed with Mike Timlin:

So when Wakefield was pushing for win number 200 last season, despite evidence that he perhaps should be bumped from the rotation (in place of who? Well, that’s another story), Red Sox fans everywhere begrudged him nothing. He had long ago earned it, especially after giving the Red Sox the most team-friendly contract since Curt Flood’s days, a perpetually renewing $4 million team option. He gave all of us hope—he didn’t look like an athlete and he sure as hell didn’t throw like one. Somewhere in the back of my brain, Tim Wakefield gave me hope that if I just worked hard enough, I too could become a Major League pitcher. Despite a fastball that wouldn’t break 50 mph.

While RA Dickey will continue to hold the flame of the knuckleball aloft, Wakefield must now join the cabal of knucklers teaching their occult practices to willing apprentices. It’s the natural order of things.

Knuckleballs Float Forever.