FIREPOWER

Batters always look for fastballs from Curt Schilling. He likes it that way.

Curt Schilling loves war. He plays simulated war games with friends. He contributes to a war games newsletter. He's an active partner in a company, Multi-Man Publishing, that's working with Hasbro to develop new products for a strategic game system, Advanced Squad Leader. Ask him, "How much do you know about World War II?" and he says, "How much do you want to know?" War and pitching have obvious parallels-power, psychology, strategy-that Curt Schilling understands. He can explain the First Army's plan for capturing the bridge at Remagen and his plan for pitching against McGwire with the bases loaded. He loves "blowing people away"-but only with his heater.

Throwing hard is a gift, one that Schilling didn't fully appreciate until Roger Clemens lectured him for an hour one day in 1991 about the importance of using what God gave him. A reliever in Baltimore (1990) and Houston (1991), he was traded to Philadelphia in 1992 and won 30 games as a starter his first two seasons. Injuries and arm surgery limited him in '94 and '95, but he came back strong the following year. His breakout season was 1997, when he topped 300 strikeouts-reaching 319, the NL record for a righthander. Last year he struck out 300 as well. Another 300 this year will make him the century's second pitcher, after his hero, Nolan Ryan, to strike out 300 or more three seasons in a row.

On a warm, lazy day at his spring training home in Largo, Fla., Schilling talked about strikeouts and throwing gas. As he spoke, he opened a huge box that had just arrived. It was a painting of a war scene. It will hang in his office, next to his baseball scenes. -T.K.

I'm a fastball pitcher. I throw probably 90% fastballs. Once, in 1993 against the Giants, seventh inning, I realize I haven't thrown a breaking ball the whole game. I look at Dutch [former Phillies catcher Darren Daulton] and say, "We probably need to mix it up here, it's the seventh." Dutch grabs me by the back of the head and says, "Look at the f-ing scoreboard." It's 4-0, and I have a two-hitter going. That day, I threw 114 pitches, 112 fastballs. Look at the major sports. What are the two things that bring people out of their seats? Speed and power. The fastball is both. It's a testosterone-loving, macho thing. It's like driving the fastest, nicest looking car. When you're out there throwing gas, it's such a rush. It's such a cool feeling. I know I'm throwing a fastball. I know you know I'm throwing a fastball. The problem is, you're not going to hit it, and I know you're not going to hit it, and everyone else here knows you're not going to hit it. It's pure domination. It's like being in a fight and telling the guy that you're going to hit him with a right, and he's not able to get out of the way.
There's no feeling in life, other than having kids, that can approach it. When it happens, everyone knows it. The fans. Your teammates. I hear guys in the other dugout laughing. The last few years, I've faced a lot of guys in their first major league at-bat. It'll be a three-pitch at-bat, and as I'm walking off the mound, I'll look in the other dugout and see guys covering their mouths. Or I'll get these looks from hitters. After a while, you hear fans in the stands going, "Guess what? He's going to throw you a fastball here!" Speed is a natural thing, something you're born with. You can work on a guy's hands, you can work on a guy's foot speed, you can make him a little faster. But your basic velocity? You either have it or you don't. I was blessed with it at birth, but I didn't really use it until the last couple of years.

Since I was 8, my father told me, "You have an arm that will let you be what you want to be." When I was growing up, playing Little League in Paradise Valley, near Scottsdale, there was this kid pitcher named Justin Lasher. When he was 12, he was huge. We called him Froggy. He threw freaking gas. I got e-mail from him a few months ago; he said, "Do you remember me?" I knew his name right away. You never forget the first kid you faced who threw really hard. I was terrified of him. He threw gas.

HEAT WAVES: When I was 13 or 14, I realized I had above-average velocity. I played mostly third base, so I had built-up arm strength. My junior year in high school I went to a Reds tryout camp and lied about my age. I was throwing 88-90 on their gun. They were interested in me until I told 'em I was a junior, not a senior. That's when I realized pitching was my calling. I knew I was way too damned slow to run the bases.

To me, the amazing thing is that I didn't peak velocity-wise until after shoulder surgery in '95. I'd never thrown anywhere close to this hard. It depends on your surgeon, what you do after surgery. I worked harder than I'd ever worked. [Phillies head trainer] Jeff Cooper told me what I should do to keep my arm as strong as pos sible. I listened to my doctor, Craig Morgan. I'm also bigger now. In 1988, I weighed 210-215. Now I'm 235. My upper body has gotten a lot thicker. My mechanics are very simple. The key was [former Orioles manager] Frank Robinson putting me in the bullpen in '90 and telling me not to use the windup. When I went to Philly in '92, I had to go back to the windup because I was going to be starting again. I thought, "I've got to make it as simple and small as possible. I'm going to simplify my mechanics to the lowest factor." It's like in golf: If you set up wrong, it doesn't matter how hard you swing-you're not going to hit it right. In pitching, if your windup is wrong, it doesn't matter how hard you throw the ball.

FAST FRIENDS: What makes power pitchers so dominating today is that they know where the ball is going. Hitting 100 mph on the gun to the backstop is irrelevant. Guys today are high to mid-90s on the corners, and they don't throw a ball in the middle of the plate. Greg Maddux's fastball has never gotten the respect it deserves. He throws 88-90, and that's real good. I've seen him hump up when he needs to, but he relies on movement and command. He uses finger pressure to make the ball move in and out, and he cuts and slides and does whatever. He doesn't trick you; he uses a fastball to get you out. He's done it for 10 years. There's not a splitter to deal with, not a great curve, not a great slider-he's just a pure fastball pitcher. Kevin Brown is dominating.

I'm so friggin' glad I'm a pitcher. His ball is heavy, so heavy. I can practically hear its heaviness. It's like catching 15 ounces of lead at 95. Tremendous downward movement and velocity. He's physically able to do something that a lot of people can't, throw from that angle, with that delivery. Roger Clemens throws the pure power-pitching fastball. Straight over the top. Here it is-it could be under your chin, it could be up your butt. And it could paint the black.

Randy Johnson really impressed me when I saw him in person for the first time last year. I thought he was just a big and gangly thrower, but I saw a guy who knows how to pitch. He goes 91, 92, 93, then boom, he hits 98 when he has two strikes. I thought, "Wow!" Looking at guys like him the way fans look at us, with that admiration and respect, I think, "I'm never going to see this again except for watching this guy right now." You don't get out of your seat. Certain power pitchers bring that. You don't want to miss Randy Johnson throwing 99 mph under someone's chin.

I was stunned after watching Kerry Wood pitch. Here's a guy who threw legitimately in the high 90s with almost no effort, and yet he threw 50% breaking balls. I thought, "I'd bench whoever's catching him and put someone out there who only had one finger." Kerry has dominating breaking stuff. But just the threat of it being there is enough to get you out. With his 97 mph heater, he doesn't have to throw that other stuff.

The hardest-throwing pitcher I've ever seen is Nolan Ryan. He and Roger Clemens are what Mark McGwire is to power hitting. The first time I saw Nolan, when I was with the Orioles, it was awe-inspiring. I was thinking, "I'm watching the greatest power pitcher who ever lived." It was a dream. I watched his actions, his motions. I heard him grunt. I watched him go through his workouts. He just oozed intimidation. I remember Brady Anderson leading off a game by stealing second. The next time up, Nolan drilled him. I thought, "That's a pretty effective way to stop the running game." Except for my father, if I could choose someone to be, it would be Nolan Ryan.

MANO A MANO: Tony Gwynn is the best. You cannot throw a fastball by him. There are fastball hitters who you'll be able to sneak one by, except him. I've struck him out two or three times, which is my crowning achievement in baseball. Every time it's been a split-fingered fastball-I had to trick him to strike him out. It gets real tiring trying to make him do things. Now I just throw fastballs away, and we defense him on the left side. If he hits it at someone, it's an out.

Vinny Castilla is very good, a high fastball hitter. Even the good fastball hitters will chase one up, but he chases the ball up and hits it out for a home run. Not too many guys can do that. Mark McGwire is a great fastball hitter. I threw harder to him than I threw to anyone last year. I threw everyone else 92-93. I didn't throw a pitch under 97 to him for three at-bats-because it was him. The crowd was into it. It was that matchup that you look for as a power pitcher. Mark is a low fastball hitter, which is rare for a righthanded hitter. I like to move the ball up the ladder on him, then change the plane and go down with a split-fingered fastball. I struck him out in three at-bats on nine fastballs, and I walked him the one time I threw him breaking stuff. It's a big thrill for a power pitcher to strike out a big-time power hitter. Sosa, Bagwell, Galarraga, Chipper Jones, McGwire ... there's someone in every lineup to make the crowd go Oooooh! when he swings. On the road, that's the guy you take pride in striking out because it shuts up the crowd.

One of the most devastating losses of my career came two years ago. It's 2-2 in the seventh inning against Pittsburgh. I've got 14 strikeouts. I throw a 1-2 fastball to Kevin Polcovich. He hits it out. Now, Kevin Polcovich doesn't come above the top of my desk. I lost a game because I got too stupid and I just went back and threw the ball. When I do that, when I feel so good and I just throw the ball without thinking, that's when I get in trouble.

THE PITCHER'S BEST FRIEND: Guys on our staff say, "How hard is it to throw fastballs away and get people out?" They're belittling it, saying it's simple-and they're right. But the fastball down and away is the hardest thing to conquer in pro sports. It's the point on the plate farthest from the barrel of the bat, and it takes the longest to get there. Every good pitcher throws away. On a good night, I feel like my fastball is six pitches because I can throw it to six different locations. I can throw it down the middle and get away with it. That's why I throw so many pitches. I make mistakes, and instead of doubles, they are foul balls. I've probably had more 10-pitch at-bats against me than any pitcher in history. The four-seam fastball is the only one I throw. I throw it straight over the top. A four-seamer is straight, so you can throw it harder than any other pitch. Of course, it behooves me to know where that ball is going. If I'm trying to throw a ball to a corner, I don't want late movement on it because I'm planning on that ball being on the corner when it crosses the plate.
The crowd helps me throw harder. I'm a very emotional person. In the first game of the 1993 playoffs against Atlanta, I struck out the first five guys. I wasn't even remotely concerned with my velocity because I knew with the crowd, and everything surrounding the game, I was going to be throwing the s- out of the ball. The one thing I've heard from a lot of people is that they've never seen anyone throw harder later than I do. I know how to reach back and throw harder without altering mechanically or giving up something. It's mental. I say, "I really need one here." And I do. I go from 92 to 97. The hardest I've thrown is 98. It's like hitting a ball in the back of the upper deck-that's territory not many guys play around in. I also have late life on my fastball. It has to do with my finish. The first guy I heard of like that was Pete Harnisch. He throws over the top, and his fastball just explodes in the last 10 feet.

I'm a very conventional thrower: I come straight over the top and finish straight behind the ball. My four-seamer is a straight rotating four-seamer. I don't know if the law of physics allows a ball to rise, but I know at eye level, it looks like it's coming up at you. When I don't have my best stuff, it's a challenge. Jim Palmer said something I've never forgotten: The key is to be able to still be in the game when your best stuff shows up. And it will show up. I've gone from being very concerned about how I'm throwing in the bullpen before a game to not caring. Once in 1996, my fourth or fifth start back from shoulder surgery, I was warming up in San Francisco and I wasn't breaking 75. I thought, "Oh, this is bad." The first inning, I go three up, three down, and I didn't throw a ball over 80 mph. But by the end of the fourth, I've struck out seven and I'm blowing gas. My fastball just appeared. So now I don't worry. It'll come. If I threw 85 instead of 95, I wouldn't strike people out, but I would win games. I will be a better pitcher when I lose the fastball that I have now-better than when I started out-because I know how to pitch. There are times when I don't have to pitch with the stuff I have now. I honestly believe the day I lose my fastball, I'll be okay. I'm not afraid. But I'm living this up to the fullest now, having this velocity.

We went to Japan with a major league All-Star team in the off-season. Wherever I went, fans came up to me and said, "Ahhhh, Curt Schilling, 153 kilometers." That's 95 mph. After one of the games, some of our pitchers were sitting around talking about pitching. Me, Al Leiter, Trevor Hoffman, Tom Gordon, Billy Wagner, a bunch of guys who throw hard. One of the Japanese reporters asked us, "Which one of you guys throws the hardest?" I hadn't even thought about it. I didn't think I should be included with the guys I was sitting with. Two or three of them pointed at me and said, "He does."

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