By Sean McAdam, Special to
ESPN.comSEATTLE -- One is almost 42 years old; the other is 33. One has won 174 games in the major leagues; the other, 18. One has been with the same team since 1995, while the other has been with four organizations since the end of 2006.
But where it counts -- on the pitcher's mound -- Tim Wakefield and R.A. Dickey are more alike than not. Both belong to an exclusive club, which has a membership of two: themselves.
Like some sort of endangered species, they are the only two current major league pitchers who throw a knuckleball. As such, they share a unique kinship.
Across baseball, there are approximately 370 pitchers. Select almost any two at random, and the pair could compare notes and share common experiences.
Not Wakefield or Dickey, though. Nobody knows the troubles they've seen. Or felt. Or faced.
Except themselves, of course.
Knuckleballers were never exactly rampant, but in the modern era, the game has had its share. Some -- such as Phil Niekro and Hoyt Wilhelm -- were good enough to earn induction into the Hall of Fame.
Some were good enough some of the time to win 20 games multiple times (Wilbur Wood, each season from 1971 to '74) or consistently win in double figures (Charlie Hough, nine straight seasons from 1982 to 1990).
Most pitched well into their 40s before retiring. But now Wakefield and Dickey stand alone, as if threatened by extinction. If they're not the last of their breed, they are, for now, the only links to the game's most unique pitch.
And though they pitch for different American League teams -- Wakefield for the Boston Red Sox and Dickey for the Seattle Mariners -- and their teams face off nine times this season, they're in this together.
It's such a small fraternity. When I was coming up, it was nice to talk to guys. I remember when I worked with Charlie [Hough] for the first time, I watched him throw and carried a tape recorder with me. I can remember Phil [Niekro] standing behind the screen, watching me throw and giving me direction -- 'Take a little off this one; throw this one a little harder.' I can still hear him.
"It's lonely sometimes," Dickey said of his existence. "You almost feel like a place-kicker on a football team. 'Yeah, you go over on that other field by yourself.' Lots of guys throw a slider or a sinker or a changeup. But only we throw knuckleballs. That's a bond that Wake and I share."
Monday afternoon at Safeco Field, as the Mariners left the field after batting practice and the Red Sox took over, Dickey lingered in the outfield and talked with Wakefield for almost a half hour.
Even from afar, Wakefield could be seen going through his motion, rotating his hand to demonstrate a grip or a release point as Dickey listened intently.
"This is valuable time for me," Dickey said, "because I don't get to see him very often."
Sometimes the two talk on the phone. Wakefield offers advice and, sometimes, encouragement.
"I can't believe how accommodating he is," Dickey said. "It's kind of humbling because he doesn't have to do this."
But Wakefield feels, if not a sense of duty or obligation, then a certain past debt. When Wakefield was learning his signature pitch, he learned from Hough. Later, after he was released by the Pirates and desperate to reclaim his command, he worked with Phil and Joe Niekro, who won a combined 539 games. Still later, he occasionally consulted with Tom Candiotti.
Now it's Wakefield's turn to help someone else, to pay it forward, as it were.
"It's such a small fraternity," Wakefield said. "When I was coming up, it was nice to talk to guys. I remember when I worked with Charlie for the first time, I watched him throw and carried a tape recorder with me. I can remember Phil standing behind the screen, watching me throw and giving me direction -- 'Take a little off this one; throw this one a little harder.' I can still hear him.
"It's not a responsibility that I feel. But I think it's cool to give back to somebody, to be able to help someone like those guys helped me."
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