Pitching

It's how every play starts, and the game can't begin  until the pitcher delivers the ball. There has been much talk in the last 25 years or so about pitch counts, innings limits, and Tommy John operations. I pitched in Little League, Babe Ruth League, and high school. 20 years later, when adult amateur leagues began forming around the country, I started playing again, and pitched for 17 more seasons. Over the course of those years I learned a lot, about pitching, about myself as a person and a competitor, and about the game. I learned that most hitters give themselves away, in terms of where they want the ball, and what they can and can't handle, simply by where they stand in the batter's box, where they position their feet, and where they hold the bat, high or low. For instance, a right-handed batter, standing off the plate, in a closed stance, hands at his waist, is looking to drive a belt-high or higher pitch, on the outside half, to right or right-center. Conversely, a hitter who crowds the plate, open stance, hands high, is looking to turn on an inside pitch at the thighs or below.
I had the immense pleasure of being able to go to a fantasy camp for three years, 1999, 2000, and 2001. During those years I was able to talk about pitching with men like Dick Radatz, Gary Bell, Bill Lee, Dave Boswell, Jim McAndrew, Mike Caldwell, Bert Blyleven, and others. One of the things I learned from them is that much of pitching, even at the Major League level, is trial and error. You may have read the story about Mariano Rivera "discovering" his cutter in a bullpen session. According to the pitchers I talked to, there is nothing unusual about this. When they have throwing sessions in the bullpen during spring training, or between games, they try different pitches, different grips, different finger pressures, and sometimes discover a career-changing pitch.
Everyone knows a curve is supposed to spin, but how that spin is applied is unique to each pitcher. Talking to Blyleven, Bell, Lee, Radatz, etc., there was nothing close to a consensus about what grip to use or how to release anything other than a fastball, because everyone has different size hands, fingers, etc. Many great pitchers have some kind of physical anomaly that helps them to succeed, from Walter Johnson's long arms, that allowed him to throw his fastball like cracking a whip, or Pedro Martinez's long fingers and large hands, allowing him to impart extra spin on his curves and sliders. For me, my wrists are oversized, which allowed me to get more spin on my curve, which was my best pitch.
Something else I talked about with the pitchers at camp was pitching mechanics. I was taught from a young age to throw everything straight overhand, be able to stop at any point in my motion and be balanced, and finish facing the hitter, ready to field my position. All of that seems to have been cast aside now, as most pitchers fall off toward first or third, and often wind up with their asses facing the hitter, unable to field even the weakest of balls hit back up the middle.
Why no one chooses to emulate Greg Maddux, who embodied every principle about being balanced, finishing facing the hitter, and who won 354 games without a 95 mph fastball, eludes me. No pitcher with less obvious physical gifts has achieved this level of success.
Let's talk about pitch counts and innings limits for a few minutes. Every pitcher scouted and signed in the last 30 years or so has been subject to such limitations, in a misguided attempt to limit injuries, which affect pitchers more than at any time in the game's history. Trying to find a pitcher on any major league staff who has not had a Tommy John operation is like finding a needle in a haystack.
Whatever is your particular primary skill, did you get better at it by doing it less? Taking less BP, taking fewer grounders, shagging fewer fly balls? But somehow pitchers are supposed to improve, even though they are removed arbitrarily all through their minor league "development" at some pitch limit, regardless of the game situation. They don't learn to pitch out of their own jams in the minors, so how could anyone expect them to be able to do so when they get to the majors?
When I was a young man, and I'd get to watch pitchers like Bob Gibson, Sandy Koufax, and others less skilled, they clearly started each game with the intent to finish it, and with a game plan to get each hitter out 3 or 4 times if necessary. Jim Palmer, still doing Orioles games, used to talk about the "variable chance fastball." Meaning that you don't throw every fastball at maximum velocity, you vary speed, adding on, taking off. If your maximum velocity is 95, over the course of a game you'll throw a certain percentage at 95, some at 92, some at 90, some 88, some 85. Pitching is all about disrupting the hitter's timing. Just ask Bartolo Colon.
There is occasional talk about baseball's unbreakable records, and many cite DiMaggio's hitting streak, presumably because he was a self-promoting blowhard, and a Yankee.   The real unapproachable records are all pitching records; Cy Young's 511 wins and 749 complete games; and Walter Johnson's 110 shutouts.