3 UP ... 3 DOWN

Nobody has ever saved 58 games in a season. But when the Angels Francisco Rodriguez does, it won't be the only number that defines him.

by Eric Neel

The Angels are running two races this season. First, there's the pursuit of the team's fourth American League West title in five years. That race is all but over—has been since the All-Star break. Second, there's Francisco Rodríguez's pursuit of the single-season saves record. This race is just heating up, each appearance charged with anticipation, every save one step closer to 58. Not coincidentally, the Angels have won 46 games by two or fewer runs, the most in the majors by far. More than Torii Hunter's sunny personality or Vlad Guerrero's imposing presence or Mark Teixeira's sudden impact, K-Rod's emphatic postgame celebration is emblematic of the team's dominance. This season is all about the closer. And his season is all about the numbers.

All-Star closers Jonathan Papelbon, Joe Nathan and Brad Lidge all stand at least 6'4" and weigh at least 215 pounds. Rodríguez, barely six feet, weighed 175 when he debuted six years ago and is listed at 195 now. But there's an intimidating aura about him, a fierceness not reducible to his nasty slider. Says Angels GM Tony Reagins: "Every time he takes the ball, he's that little guy saying, 'You think I can't do this? I'll show you.' "

Mariano Rivera signed a three-year deal with the Yankees last November for $45 million. Rodríguez, who's 26, will be a free agent at season's end, and he'll hit the market with more saves than any other pitcher since 2005 and with the fourth-best strikeouts-per-nine rate (11.7) among relievers in history (minimum 300 games). K-Rod, who had 48 saves through Aug. 21, lost an arbitration case last winter (the Angels offered $10M; he asked for $12.5M), and following a few false starts on a long-term deal, he and the team have tabled talks until after the playoffs. "This is an important time for him," Mike Scioscia says. "You're gonna wonder what your future holds."

Rodríguez is 7-for-7 in save chances this year against Oakland, but Jack Cust isn't impressed. "I don't think he's got too many fans in this clubhouse," the A's DH told the Los Angeles Times after watching K-Rod's postsave routine, in which he pounds his fist in his glove and lifts both arms to the sky. Rodríguez blows a kiss and whispers words of love and gratitude to his grandfather, Juan Francisco, who died in 1999. "It's a genuine show of emotion," Reagins says. And yes, the pitcher is exulting when he lifts his arms, reveling in besting an opponent. "It bothers some guys, but part of me really likes it," says Red Sox third baseman Mike Lowell. "This time maybe he gets you and the arms go up, and yeah it stings a little. But he's on the line too. And next time maybe you get him and he has to keep the arms down, and now he has to feel it."

The song says 1 is the loneliest number, but as his saves climb and October approaches, Rodríguez takes refuge in a kind of clubhouse Zen. Says Angels pitching coach Mike Butcher, "We talk about 'one,' as in 'this one'—this pitch, this batter, this out." In a sense, Barry Bonds didn't hit 762 home runs, he put good wood on the ball 762 times. "I honestly don't believe Frankie's thinking about saves at all," Butcher adds. "He's thinking about getting the guy in front of him out, and then doing it again."

How hard can the Angels ride Rodríguez? The velocity on his fastball has dropped (92 or 93 mph now vs. 95 a few years ago). His K's-per-nine innings are down 18% from his career rate. His walks (4.9 per nine) are at a career high. So, naturally, his K-to-walk ratio (2) is at an all-time low. Saves record aside, this isn't close to his best season; Nathan, Papelbon, Rivera and the Royals' Joakim Soria all have better numbers. But as the Angels head toward the postseason for the fifth time in seven years, they know K-Rod has been a playoff monster (five wins, three saves, 2.76 ERA and 39 strikeouts in 29 1/3 innings).

"Part of me really likes it," says Red Sox third baseman Mike Lowell. "This time maybe he gets you and the arms go up, and yeah it stings a little. But he's on the line too. And next time maybe you get him and he has to keep the arms down, and now he has to feel it."

After his 57-save season for the White Sox in 1990, Bobby Thigpen had just 54 more over the next four years, due to a back injury that derailed his career. He was out of the game by 1995. Thigpen, who was 27 when he set the record, made a career-high 77 appearances that season. Rodríguez too is headed for a personal high. (His average is 65; he has pitched in 59 games, with five weeks left to play). There are "alarms, ticking noises, neon lights and signal flares for any executive dreaming of staking tens of millions of dollars on Rodríguez," as Tim Marchman wrote on July 22 in The New York Sun.

Hitters haven't noticed much drop-off in K-Rod's game. "He throws 3 'plus' pitches now," Lowell says. "He's still devastating." Rodríguez entered the league throwing a fastball with a natural cutan almost unhittable pitch that breaks down and in on lefthanded hitters. He's added a slider from a different arm slot and a changeup that falls down and away from lefties. "The changeup is a 'wow' pitch," says Angels catcher Mike Napoli. "To think he hasn't been throwing it until this year is unbelievable." Veterans say you learn to think of your body as an instrument, your pitches as tools. Says setup man Scot Shields, "His velocity is down, but he's locating, thinking about selection and sequence. He's becoming a pitcher."

Josh from Santa Ana sports a white No. 57 jersey behind home plate at Angel Stadium. He's an Army vet back from a tour in Iraq, and he remembers when he first saw K-Rod, on a small screen in the chow hall at Fort Knox, Ky., in 2002: "I was in basic training. The Angels were in the World Series against the Giants, and he was so strong and so wild. The way he threw—bam!—like something had gone off inside him. It was love at first sight for me."

K-Rod is one of 14 Rodríguez children. Raised by his grandparents after his parents separated, he bunked with his uncles in a two-bedroom flat. They called him Nene Fran (Baby Fran). He watched them play pickup games in the street, and made a glove out of cardboard and a ball out of newsprint and tape. "I was the kid without shoes," he says. "And some days you wondered if you'd eat." When he was 7, he went to a baseball academy in southern Caracas. He had to ride seven buses to get there.

Everything's akimbo. Rodríguez lifts his left knee to his chin, then kicks wide to the third base side. He whips toward the plate, a storm of elbows and ankles, then falls hard toward first base as he follows through. "He jumps out at you," says Dodgers infielder Casey Blake. K-Rod found his form as a kid in Venezuela, playing chapitas—bottle caps for baseballs, broomsticks for bats—on dirt lots in Caracas. He was 31/2 years old the first time he played. "Throwing came natural," he says. "My body was meant to do it. Everything I had, all at once. All of me."

As Rodríguez pulls on his jersey in the clubhouse before a July game against the Indians, he makes the following 2 comments, back-to-back. Theycontradict each other, yet somehow seem perfectly consistent:

"I'm me. I'll never change. I'll go hard until it's not there anymore, and then I'll say good-bye."

And then:

"You make adjustments if you want to stay in the game. I want to be here for a long time. I'm working at it."

"He does all the right things," says Tom House, co-founder of the National Pitching Association and former Rangers coach. "It's violent to the eye, but the mechanics are quite good."

He is a pitcher on the cusp, between where he's been and where he might go. He's still proving to his uncles he can hang, while at the same time learning the limitations of hunger and desire and discovering the possibilities of patience and strategy. K-Rod is no longer the kid who blew the Giants away in the 2002 World Series, but he isn't a guy losing his edge, either. He's an interesting cat on the brink of a gaudy record, in line for a second ring and about to hit an enormous payday. In the end, he isn't someone you can sum up just yet.

In nearly six seasons, Rodríguez has been on the disabled list 1 time, with a forearm strain. That just doesn't compute. "He's got a slingshot style," says Baseball Prospectus injury analyst Will Carroll. "It's almost like a jai alai player's motion, seemingly putting a lot of pressure on his shoulder. It appears that his arm is way behind his body and has to go crazy fast to catch up. Which is why he throws the ball so hard, but also why I anticipated he'd blow up years ago." At the point of release, K-Rod's landing foot angles toward third base. The result is that he throws hard across his body. But smooth and pretty aren't the keys to an efficient, repeatable delivery, nor are they indicators of durability. Pitching is a kinetic chain, and for all the noise in his delivery, K-Rod's timing along that chain is excellent. "He does all the right things," says Tom House, co-founder of the National Pitching Association and former Rangers coach. "It's violent to the eye, but the mechanics are quite good."

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