Josh Beckett
As baseball tries to emerge from its era of suspicion, Texas-bred Red Sox pitcher Josh Beckett--with the game's most feared right arm--has become the perfect antidote.
by Mike Monroe | photos by Patrik Giardino
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"I throw the damn thing as hard as I can"
Each winter, before he heads to Red Sox training camp in Fort Myers, Fla., Josh Beckett spends about a dozen nights in a courtside seat at San Antonio's AT&T Center. He admires everything about the San Antonio Spurs, the NBA's reigning champions. As he watches veteran forward Robert Horry—who owns six championship rings and is known as Big Shot Rob for draining some of the coldest three-point shots in playoff history—he sees a little bit of himself. "I was a Houston Rockets fan growing up, and I followed Robert's whole career, all those rings he's won," Beckett says. "The biggest thing with him is, he was never scared to be The Guy. He would have been able to deal with missing some of those shots. He would never have shied away from it when the coach said, 'Hey, we want you to have the ball.'"
In baseball, Beckett is unquestionably
The Guy. In fact, call him Big Game Beckett.
He's the game's best pitcher, the Ace of
Aces, the ultimate stopper. In 2007, the 27-
year-old right-hander went 20-7, and was
the game's only 20-game winner one season
after no pitcher was able to reach that
lofty plateau. But that was mere regularseason
magic. You don't earn nicknames
for games won in the summer. There's
no Mr. July. Fall is when baseball's legends
are made and when Beckett shines.
Last season, he won two games in the
American League Championship series,
including Game 5, which the Sox entered
trailing the Cleveland Indians in the bestof-
seven series, three games to one. With
a Cleveland crowd howling, starved for its
first trip to the World Series since 1997, he
bested 2007 American League Cy Young
Award winner C.C. Sabathia with a 5-hit,
8-inning gem.
Then in the 2007 World Series, against the
Colorado Rockies, who'd swept two prior opponents
in the postseason, he unleashed an
overpowering, muscle-flexing performance
in Game 1. His first 18 pitches were 94- to
97-mile-per-hour fastballs, and he struck
out the side in the first inning, providing the
impetus for the Red Sox' four-game sweep,
making Boston baseball's world champions
for the second time in three years.
How could a Game 1 victory have
affected the entire series when the Rockies
had earned an 8-day layoff? "Just trying
to get your timing back is tough, let alone
against Beckett," said Rockies outfielder
Matt Holliday, the National League Most
Valuable Player runner-up last season. "He
is tough. You have to be sharp to score much
against him. He set the tone [in Game 1].
With that layoff and facing him, it was not
a good combination."
"I definitely wanted to test them after that
layoff and set the tone," Beckett recalls. "The
whole game of baseball is predicated on the
fastball, whether it be hitting or pitching."
Not that Beckett's macho, meat-and potatoes
approach is a surprise. In 2003,
he earned World Series MVP honors with
two commanding performances, the second
on just three days' rest, to help the upstart
Florida Marlins beat the formidable
New York Yankees four games to two. In a
Game 3 loss he held the Yankees' vaunted
Murderers' Row lineup to just one run in
seven innings, the lone score coming on a
bases-loaded walk. But it was Game 6 when
Beckett and his trademark goatee dazzled
America. Pitching against Andy Pettitte,
Beckett threw a complete-game shutout at
Yankee Stadium to defeat the Bombers, 2-0.
It was the first final game, complete game
doughnut in the World Series since Minnesota
Twins ace Jack Morris did it in 1991.
What makes Beckett so tough in big
games? His secret is surprising, yet it is no
secret at all. "It's easy," he says. "If you've got
everything going for you. And those kinds
of games, when your focus has to come all
together, those are the times when you are
apt to do well.
"It doesn't hurt when I'm usually throwing
94 to 97 miles an hour. The reaction
time for the hitter is still the same, except
he's got a little more riding on each pitch.
So I think there are two different types of
pressure, as far as the pressure to execute
a pitch and the pressure to execute hitting
that pitch. It's in favor of the pitcher,
to me. They have such a short amount of
time to make up their mind whether or
not they're going to swing at the pitch.
Maybe that little extra millisecond gives
me an advantage.
"That's why I say that when you've got
everything going it's easy."
Beckett has yet to win a Cy Young
Award. He was runner-up to Sabathia in
last season's voting. Some experts insist
that while Sabathia was a worthy winner,
Beckett is the guy you'd want on the
mound in Game 7. "Right now he's in
the top two in baseball," said Mel Didier,
a scout for 56 years, for the Dodgers,
Expos, Diamondbacks, and, most recently,
the Texas Rangers. "He may be the very
top. [Johan] Santana is one, but Beckett
is right there with him."
Beckett prefers to judge himself by the
confidence his teammates have when
he takes the mound. "I put in all these
hours of work to try and be as successful
as possible," he says, "but not necessarily
to get rave reviews like that. The biggest
compliment I've ever had is when my
team tells me that when I've got to go
out there and pitch they feel like they're
going to win that day.
"That's always been something I've
strived to do: Make my teammates feel
so confident that they would say stuff like
that. Last year they really were."
Beckett grew up in Spring, Texas, about
25 miles due north of Houston, where
Roger Clemens makes his off-season
home. Like all hard-throwing Texas teenagers,
he idolized Clemens, who starred at
the University of Texas before heading to
the majors, as well as an older Texas-born
fireballer, Nolan Ryan. "I think Clemens
had a little more power to him back then,
with his four-seamers," he said.
Due to their geographic proximity, as
well as Beckett's similarly commanding
presence on the mound, Clemens is the
pitcher with whom he is most often compared—
a comparison of which Beckett is
extremely proud. Don't even think about
bringing up the recent firestorm over allegations
of steroid use by Clemens after
the iconic pitcher's name was included in
the infamous Mitchell Report outlining
the use of performance-enhancing drugs.
Such talk is not for boyhood icons. Only
pitching, which Beckett takes on like he's
staring you down from 60 feet, six inches
away. "Until somebody makes an adjustment
I'm not changing," he says. "I'm going
to throw you fastballs until you adjust,
and then I'm going to throw you a split
[split-fingered fastball]."
His strategy has always worked in the
biggest of games for baseball's best big
game pitcher. Why change now?
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