While there was a fair share of hitters with mystic-like pop at the plate during the ’94 strike-shortened season, a notable name on the mound was operating at a beyond historic rate. Atlanta’s Greg Maddux, the Cy Young Award winner in the last two seasons, and eventually for 1994 and ’95, making it four in a row, posted a 1.56 earned run average with a WHIP of 0.896 in 202 innings of work. In the Live Ball Era (1920-), only one other pitcher finished a year, while logging at least 200 innings, with an ERA under 1.60 and a WHIP below .9. That hurler was, of course, Bob Gibson, who exceeded these marks in 1968 while carrying out arguably the greatest pitching season of the century. When speaking after his final start (a complete game, 3-hit shutout win over the Colorado Rockies) of the ’94 year, Maddux, in summary of his incredible stretch, said, “This is the best 4 ½ months I’ve ever had.” Rockies Manager Don Baylor, whose team just got blanked by the legendary right-hander, said of Maddux: “He’s a treat to watch. I don’t know if we had one good swing.”
For modern standards, having eclipsed the 200-inning mark, Maddux had already logged what many would consider to be a ‘full season’ of statistics. Yet, because of his sheer imperium, start after start, the universe missed out on the possibility of seeing an even more epic compilation of numbers, had Maddux been given the chance to continue pitching through the end of the year. Though lowering his ERA to Gibson’s inconceivable 1.12, the MLB record for all qualified pitchers during the Live Ball era, seemed to be out of the cards—no pun intended while referencing the St. Louis Cardinals legend—it would have been interesting to see what Maddux could have ended with.
Though the two differed in style, as Gibson possessed a fearsome, ferocious delivery with high speed on his fastballs, whereas Maddux was more known for his ability to leverage his uncanny command in an effort to outsmart the opposition, the pair of aces did share one pivotal trait, which was their immutable desire to compete. On the rare occasion that Maddux misplaced a ball that he threw, spectators watching him perform would often see ‘The Professor’ shout out a profanity or two to himself as a way to evince his burning passion for his profession. If you put his incredulous numbers aside, Bob Gibson, off his sinister-like glare alone, the expression he would frequently have across his face while mowing down the hitters, would still be in consideration for the most intimidating pitcher of all time.
After wrapping up his illustrious regular season in 1968, Gibson and his teammates spent the next few days in preparation for their World Series matchup against the Detroit Tigers. During this interval, Milton Gross, author and sportswriter, caught up with the St. Louis Cardinals to get a feel for where their collective energy lay ahead of the Fall Classic. In a published article in the Omaha World-Herald, Gross penned an interaction he was privy to between Gibson and his teammate, the great Lou Brock. Brock had asked Gibson if he would be receiving a new car for his incredible pitching season, as he had heard that Denny McLain, the ace on the Tigers, who, like Gibson, had a tremendous year, had been gifted a snazzy ride for his contributions. Gibson responded by questioning his statement: “What new car?” To which Brock replied, “You mean nobody’s giving you one? I see they just gave McLain a ’69 Thunderbird.” Gibson, staying true to his fierce ways, said, “Nobody gives me anything but a hard time.”
Later in the article, Gross talked about his examination of Gibson’s personal locker. Populating his compartment were a set of buttons and a toy tiger that was taped to the shelf by its tail, the tiger doll in reference to the impending opponent. Written on one of the buttons was the phrase, “I’m not prejudiced. I hate everybody.” Also on the scene was a graphic sign that read, “Here comes da judge,” an idiom that one could infer to be in reference to Gibson’s supernatural ability to hold court over the opposition. As is believed, the body adheres to the direction of the mind, and it appears that Gibson knew how to correlate this connection better than most, scripting out the person he wanted to be and seeing his truths on the regular, so that the body would follow suit with ease when it was time to battle.