Look up average ERA for pitchers per times through the batting order. The more times you see a pitcher generally the easier it is to hit off him. A big part of the offensive low problems and length/pace of game problems currently in baseball are because the bullpens are generally more effective and more used than ever before, while taking more time in pitching changes.There's another factor people might wish to ponder when talking about relief pitching. It's not often thought about, and until I read Whitey Herzog's You're Missin' a Great Game even I never thought about it:
How many pitches did a relief pitcher throw in the bullpen before his manager brought him into the game; and, did his manager warm him up, sit him back down, then warm him up subsequently before bringing him in?
You won't necessarily see a reserve quarterback on the sideline throwing all that many warmup passes during a game. But you will see relief pitchers firing away in the bullpen in the event of trouble in the inning. You will see, still too often, a relief pitcher warmed up, sat back down, then warmed up once again. You may even see that happen two or more days' in succession. (This ain't football. We do this every day.---Earl Weaver.)
And what many people don't stop to ponder is that that reliever who was warmed up, sat down, warmed up again, and then brought into a game might already have thrown the equivalent of four or even five innings of baseball. Even a reliever who was warmed up but once before being brought in might have thrown the equivalent of three innings' ball before going into the game.
Herzog told the story that, when he had relievers on his 1980s Cardinals who moved elsewhere but returned to the Cardinals, they'd tell him which managers were clueless enough about their bullpen men by way of things like warming them, sitting them, warming them again, watching them get murdered once they finally did take the mound, and wondering why those pitchers couldn't get anyone out. Herzog singled out Tommy Lasorda (Dodgers) and Pete Rose (Reds) as the two worst such offenders.
Well, [Lasorda] won 1,600-some ballgames and two World Series, and that's no accident, but the fly in his ointment---and it baffled me, because Tommy was a pitcher himself---was that he never figured out how to handle a bullpen. He'd take a reliever and warm him up four or five times and not use him; then, he'd do the same thing the next day. The day after that, he'd put the guy in a game. He'd have nothing out there, and Tommy'd say, "Hell, you ain't pitched in two days, what's the matter with you?" Some managers think if a guy's not actually in a game, he's not pitching. But if he's tossing on the sidelines, man, he's getting hot. Over the years I dealt some of my pitchers to L.A.---[John] Tudor, [Todd] Worrell, Ricky Horton, Ken Dayler---and they always came back with the same report: Tommy was still messing up the pen.A guy's only got so many innings in his arm. That's why I would never let Bruce Sutter or Todd Worrell or Lee Smith, my bullpen stoppers, warm up unless I knew that they were about to go in. If I didn't use them this inning, then they'd pitch the next one. I would never let them warm up without putting them in the game.
Pete Rose was like Tommy. Wonderful baseball man, but he was impaired when it came to handling pitchers. Here he had three worldclass relievers, Norm Charlton, Rob Murphy, and Rob Dibble, all in the same pen. Two were lefties; Dibble, the righty, threw 100 miles an hour. With those three guys on your side, you shouldn't lose games after the sixth. Not too damn many. But Pete found a way.
He'd get Murphy up in the third; he'd warm him up in the fourth. Then he'd sit him down. He'd get Charlton up in the fifth. Sometimes I'd look down there and he'd have both lefthanders going at the same time. Why would you warm 'em both up at once? You're only going to use one lefty or the other! Then, after he'd worked 'em out three or four times, Pete would put one in the game and be surprised he had no zip. "He can't be tired," he'd say. "He ain't pitched in three days!" Somebody counted how many times he warmed Murphy up one year and it was over 200. I like Pete, boy---but I loved managing against him.
---Whitey Herzog, in You're Missin' a Great Game.
To the original poster: You missed three men who really helped bump baseball toward the real era of the relief specialist:
* Satchel Paige, 1948-53, American League. The Negro Leagues legend was used primarily as a reliever---and a solid one---when he finally made the Show. His legend helped bring people to the park to see him, his pitching kept them there and made a few opposing managers nervous. (Casey Stengel merely added to Paige's legend when, seeing Paige warming up in the pen, he'd hector his Yankee hitters, Get your runs now---Father Time is coming!) Helped the 1948 Indians win a pennant, then grinned and bore it with the last lame St. Louis Browns teams, though he did lead the American League in games finished in 1952 though it was clear enough that the real Father Time was finally catching up to him.
* Joe Page, 1947-49 Yankees. Big guy. Threw like a howitzer. His career year was 1949 (including winning the first World Series MVP award); the next season, felt a pop in his hip and the spring after that something blew in his arm. Never the same pitcher again; his taste for carousing didn't help, but Page
* Jim Konstanty, 1950 Phillies. Konstanty was 37 when he won the 1950 National League MVP, making his living in relief with the Whiz Kids Phillies; never a power pitcher, Konstanty made his living with a tight slider and a dancing changeup, and set a record by appearing in 74 games that season. He remains the only relief pitcher ever to win the National League MVP and was credited retroactively with 22 saves in addition to his 16-7 won-lost record, and his 2.66 ERA, though his fielding-independent pitching average of 3.77 tells you how often and how smartly Konstanty pitched to his defenders considering he wasn't a strikeout pitcher: 56 punchouts in 152 innings that year.
Now, I wonder: So much talk for years enough about the one-inning closer . . . yet how many innings' worth of warmup pitches did the like of Dennis Eckersley, Trevor Hoffman, or The Mariano himself pitch before getting into each night's game?
A good post. Burning a bullpen isn’t just the innings vactually pitched, it’s getting people up and throwing and then sitting them, then maybe getting them hot again. I think it’s much better than it used to be, generally. They still burn out after a while, especially the non-dedicated spot guys, who get up and down more.
Mariano used to throw a weighted ball for part of his warm up, if I recall.
The first ‘dedicated’ relief pitcher in the Hall was Hoyt Wilhelm. Ted Williams always swore that he had the best knuckler he ever saw. And that’s the feeliest of the feel pitches, it’s just on when it’s on and off when it’s off. And he didn’t have any time to get the feel of it, as he was mostly relieving.
“Wilhelm spent seven seasons in the minors before getting to the majors with the New York Giants in 1952. He’d been a starter throughout his minor league career, but Giants manager Leo Durocher moved him to the bullpen. All Wilhelm did was lead the National League in ERA and appearances as a rookie.
A few years later, Orioles manager Paul Richards gave Wilhelm the chance to be starter again after he came over from the Indians in August 1958. In just his third start for Baltimore, Wilhelm threw a no-hitter against the Yankees on Sept. 20, striking out eight. He remained in the Orioles rotation in 1959 and won the AL’s ERA title, though he moved back to the bullpen again the following season. Richards helped make this success possible by devising a larger catcher’s mitt that was 41 inches in diameter—later reduced to 38 by rule—for Wilhelm’s receivers to use, cutting down the passed balls that plagued him and so many other knuckleballers.
Wilhelm settled in as the premier relief pitcher in an era dominated by pitching. He posted ERAs under 2.00 in five consecutive seasons from 1964-68 with the White Sox, doing all of it after his 40th birthday. While some marveled at Wilhelm’s longevity—he was the majors’ oldest player from 1966 through the end of his career in 1972—he himself was quite pragmatic about it. He took care of himself, and he recognized that the knuckleball wasn’t as taxing on his arm as conventional pitches would be.
Wilhelm also believed that the knuckleball wasn’t a pitch that could be taught. A pitcher either had a knack for it or he didn’t. Wilhelm certainly did, perhaps better than anyone ever has.
“He had the best knuckleball you’d ever want to see,” said Brooks Robinson. “He knew where it was going when he threw it, but when he got two strikes on you, he’d break out one that even he didn’t know where it was going.”
He also got the purple heart at the battle of the bulge. Pitched in 1,070 games with a career ERA of 2.52.
FReegards