Nick Cafardo - Inside Pitch: Playing and Broadcasting the Game I Love

To my wife, Chris, my best friend and rock. To our wonderful childrenJonathan, Amber, Peyton, Mason, and Kienan thank you for your love and support. Love you guys!

Contents

Foreword by Greg Maddux

I am, first of all, proud of Tom Glavine.

He was my teammate for half of my career. And together with John Smoltz, who was inducted a year later in 2015, its mind-boggling to think that we had three Hall of Famers on the same team, led by the same staff and a Hall of Fame manager in Bobby Cox.

I guess you dont really realize or recognize how great it was until youre sitting on that stage at the Clark Center in Cooperstown, New York, ready to go up to the podium to give your speech.

Then it hits you that this guy I played golf with, this guy I used to joke and kid with, this guy who made me a better pitcher, was one of the greatest pitchers the game has ever known. And I had the privilege and honor to be his teammate. That kind of stuff hits you like a brick when youre sitting there with all of those great players, that one of them was your friend and your teammate.

The first time I ever met Tom as a teammate was a couple of weeks before spring training in 1993 during a mini-camp that pitching coach Leo Mazzone held in Atlanta. I thought it would be a tough time because I was replacing Charlie Leibrandt in the rotation, and he was the guy the young pitchersTom, John Smoltz, Steve Avery, Kent Merckerlearned the game from. But Tom took me in, inviting me to go out golfing with a bunch of them, and I knew right then and there that I would fit in and be accepted.

Tom and I did a lot of things alike. Our approach to the game was the same. We shared a commitment to success. We wanted to be as good as we could be. And we had respect for the game. We never believed the game owed us anything, but that we owed the game everything we have in life, which is why Tom is so respected and why he fought for the rights of players.

Hes dedicated 100 percent to whatever he does. Whether its pitching or golf or representing players or being a dad and a husband, he doesnt do anything halfway. I think youll agree with me when youre done reading this book.

The thing that separated Tom from everyone else is he never stopped evolving. He always tried to do something better. He made adjustments from season to season and from start to start. He never stayed stagnant. We had incredible, in-depth talks about pitching and how to set up hitters in the dugout during games. We talked baseball during our many golf outings. We had success, but we had so much fun whether it was talking about baseball, golf, our families, or goofy things. Whatever we did on and off the field, we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Not many players are so blessed.

The thing with Tom was that he loved being a baseball player. He wasnt just a pitcher. He loved to hit and he loved to run the bases or move a runner over with a bunt. Thats why the both of us stayed in the National League, because you can be a baseball player and not just a pitcher. Tom was such a great athlete that the all-around game meant so much to him.

I know people say that Tom and I didnt throw very hard and maybe in todays game we wouldnt fit. But Toms fastball was actually his best pitch. He had late-life on his fastball and it was hard for the hitter to see it the last 10 to 15 feet. He never gave in to a hit ter. He battled and battled and found a hundred different ways to pitch to any given hitter. He never stopped trying to find that per fection. He worked on that his entire career. Ive never seen a guy work so hard on trying to be better. And he was already the best.

If you didnt know that prior to October 28, 1995Game 6 of the 1995 World Series against the Cleveland Indiansyou must know it by now.

It was simply a case of a great pitcher pitching a great game at a great moment. And by the second or third inning, I knew we had won. Tom was completely focused, locked in. There could have been people standing a foot behind him heckling and he wouldnt have heard them. He was so in the zone, I dont think he even remembered walking from the mound to the dugout after an inning.

Tom understood the magnitude of the game and its place in baseballand Braveshistory. And he knew what he needed to do to win. He knew that a lot better than I did when I went out in Game 5 and lost the chance to lock up the championship. I had doubts entering that game, which is perfectly normal, and I thought Glav would also have doubts entering Game 6. I was wrong.

He had beaten the Indians in Game 2 without his best stuffIve seen him throw 50 or 60 games better than that onebut he still pulled it out, which is the sign of a great pitcher. It also led me to believe that if he was just a little sharper the next time he pitched, then he would have fewer problems and win the game.

Sure enough, he was razor sharp. His pitches were so well crafted that the Cleveland Indians, with one of the best lineups Ive ever seen, couldnt touch him.

And he produced so many great games. He did it for a long time. He took such good care of himself that he stayed healthy. He was able to pitch a lot of innings, pitch postseason after postseason, and hed bounce right back and do it again.

Hes experienced last place and hes experienced the World Championship and everything in between. In this book, youll experience the anguish and frustration of those early years, as well the triumphant moment of the 1995 World Series, and yes, the final chapterthe great reward for a career so superbthe Hall of Fame.

Greg Maddux

December 2015

1. An Atlanta Second

Instead of leaping right out of my skin and charging Mark Wohlers on the mound for the celebration, I hung back and sat on the bench for a second after Marquis Grissom had secured the final out of the 1995 World Series safely in his glove.

This wasnt just any second. This was one of the greatest moments of my life, one I wanted to cherish and stretch out forever. Youve heard of a New York minute? This was an Atlanta second.

The 51,875 fans went crazy, rocking the stands of AtlantaFulton County Stadium, waving and chopping with their red tomahawks, jumping and screamingsome were even crying, they were so happy. I wanted to say, Go ahead and live it up, you deserve it!

The tumult crashed over us in the dugout and practically carried everyone out onto the field. My teammates were ecstatic. Some of us had been here from the beginning when the Braves were a National League joke, year after frustrating year, throughout the late eighties, the nineties, and right up to this sweet moment. In the pile of bodies were Mark Lemke, Jeff Blauser, Johnny Smoltz, Mark Wohlers, David Justice, Steve Avery, Kent Merckerthey more than any of the others understood how incredible this moment was.

I was feeling a range of emotions: excitement, happiness, accomplishment, and, most especially, vindication and validation. No longer would we have to hear about how we were the unfortunate bridesmaids or the Buffalo Bills of baseball. We were now, without question, the best. I think we always knew that. But this victory put a stamp on it.

Our team had gone about it the right way, working hard and sustaining a great level of performance from day one to Game 6 of the World Series. Think about that. Thats a long time to maintain consistency.

We had to win our division over a 144-game schedule (curtailed from the normal 162 games because of the strike). We had to win the first round of the playoffs against the best-hitting team in our league in Colorado, at a ballpark whose altitude turns normal fly balls into home runs. We had to beat a much-touted Cincinnati Reds team, which had great team speed, power, and good pitching, to capture the National League pennant. And ultimately, we had to beat the Cleveland Indians, who had gone through their own trials and won 100 games during the regular season.