Think about it. Sure, I know that not all relievers come in only for the ninth inning, throwing 100MPH and sprinting through the bullpen doors like a bat out of hell as Enter Sandman or Hell’s Bells whips their hometown crowds into a frenzy. And yes, there are specialists out there who enter the game mid-inning for a batter here or there and rely on off-speed stuff and gimmicky junk to get hitters out. There are even the occasional submariners and all other sorts of one trick ponies that make their entire livings getting out lefties with a mid-80s slide piece.
Still, there is usually something about relief pitchers. They tend to have a little swagger. Many of them throw hard and work fast. Intimidation is often as big a part of their game as their stuff. And it seems, in this day in age that bullpens, are stocked to the gills with cannon arms that can come in for extended duty or as 7th, 8th or 9th inning guys. Everywhere you look even no-names are hitting 95 on the gun. It is with this as a backdrop that Moyer stands as quite possibly the least intimidating relief pitcher in recent memory.
Maybe his fatherly looks alone wouldn’t qualify him for such a distinction…nor even the slow, methodical delivery…or the 76 MPH heat. But combine them all and there’s little doubt no reliever seems to come close to producing whatever the complete opposite of shaking in your cleats would be. Can you imaging being an opposing fan? Tight game. Starter comes out for the Phils in the 7th, and you knew he was tiring and had a chance to get to him. Oh no, I wonder who they’re going to hand the ball to…oh sh&!, it’s Jamie-f-in-Moyer! Can you imagine?
Of course you can’t, because such a situation would be laughable and would never likely happen. You would probably be quite happy to see the old chap. That’s not to say Moyer still can’t sit folks down (the Mets would be a good example). He is one crafty summabitch. Intimidating reliever, though? Not so much.
Filed Under: Uncategorized
About the Author: Cecilio's Scribe is the founder of The Legend of Cecilio Guante and a generally pessimistic fan of the Mets, Jets, Knicks and Rangers. A fine NYC-based gentlemen who hones his marketing skills as his primary trade by day. Husband, chef, father of a newborn and after-hours blogger by night. Proud alum of the mighty Big Red of Cornell. University. Hot sauce devotee. Staunch protester of the continued wussifcation of American sports. Sometimes I rhyme slow, sometimes I rhyme quick.