The Arm by Jeff Passan Read Free Book Online Page A

cannot withstand the onslaught of energy and spill it down to an already-loaded elbow. The UCL is triangular, and the energy affects each side differently; the posterior and transverse bundles, biomechanists believe, endure less stress, while the anterior—the side that in almost every injury is torn—is burdened to the cusp of failure.
    When the ligaments and tendons tell the shoulder it cannot rotate further, the elastic energy turns into kinetic energy, and the shoulder sends it down the arm by rotating internally at up to 8,000 degrees per second. No movement in the body matches the internal rotation of the shoulder, and along with the extension of the elbow, it propels the arm forward.
    â€œIf you’re one-thirtieth of a second late or early, you’re basically, over time, doing damage,” said Brent Strom, the Houston Astros’ pitching coach. “And that’s how fine this thing is. It’s like hitting a golf ball. You’ve got to be right on time. Those that can maintain that timing can stay healthiest the longest.”
    The UCL breathes a sigh of relief as the energy travels down the arm and through the ball. Shoulder muscles contract to help the arm decelerate safely, and the follow-through dissipates the remaining energy. And, if all goes well, pitchers do it ninety-nine more times that day.
    Baseball has seen its share of anomalies who could throw 150 pitches without any arm soreness or regularly top 100 miles per hour without incident. R. A. Dickey, the Toronto Blue Jays’ right-handed knuckleball pitcher, a thirteen-year major league veteran, throws a baseball for a living without a UCL, which is not supposed to be possible. He does not know if he was born without one or it just vaporized at some point during all the innings he tossed in high school. He is not sure if the muscles inhis arm learned how to contract to keep it stable. Dickey simply knows he is a freak. And freaks are confusing. They defy explanation. And they challenge the modern theories of the pitching arm, which hold it to be a delicate flower never to be mistreated.
    â€œI believe it’s miraculous,” Dickey said.
    Dickey isn’t wrong. Long before he mastered the knuckleball, he was a regular fastball pitcher, able to run it over 90 miles per hour. His arm’s ability to function without a UCL is extraordinary; though, for that matter, every arm is a little miracle. It doesn’t take an outlier to appreciate the arm’s ability to survive the rigors of baseball.
    â€œEvery time I throw, it’s a train wreck,” then–Philadelphia Phillies starter Cole Hamels said on May 25, 2012. “I’m sore as heck. I don’t even want to know what’s going on inside me.”
    Two months to the day after Hamels said that to me, the Phillies signed him to a six-year, $144 million contract extension.
    H ARLEY HARRINGTON IS A LOT like a boy who grew up in San Diego a quarter century ago and later inspired hosannas to the beauty of his pitching. Even when Mark Prior spent afternoons in the backyard playing catch with his grandmother, his talent was obvious. He grew up to be the Vitruvian pitcher, ideal in every way until he wasn’t.
    â€œI tried to tell people: ‘My mechanics are not perfect,’” Prior said. Nobody wanted to listen, of course, because baseball people are stubborn and Prior looked the part. He was six feet five, his 225 pounds perfectly distributed from his tapered torso to his strong legs. His delivery looked symmetrical, with an upright trunk, easy pace, and soft landing, all so his right arm could ride a rounded pathway to his release of the ball. Prior was supposed to be the Chicago Cubs’ savior. He threw his last major league pitch when he was twenty-five, kicked around in the minor leagues after shoulder surgery, flopped in a few comeback attempts, andwound up in a front-office job. Today, he’s responsible for helping keep the