Byline: BRIAN ETTKIN
There are times in sports when there's little to say, when what is required of a superstar is as clear as a flawless diamond. In these moments, expectation must be met. At these times, tomorrows become so scarce you must black out whatever on the calendar follows and focus on the only thing that matters, which is today.
This is one of those times.
Randy Johnson, you skyscraper of a man, your team is calling.
This is what they call the swing game, because with this best-of-5 ALDS tied 1-1, on tonight's outcome this will pivot. The loser must win two games while straddling elimination's ledge; the winner need only win one. So much depends on you.
You were brought to New York not to pitch the big game. You were brought to minimize the big game, to squeeze it in your left hand and shake it until the fallout turns harmless, until the outcome comforts like a snow globe. You were given a two-year contract extension not because the Yankees could count on you pitching like a $16-million-a-year pitcher in 2006 and 2007, but so they could count on you today.
Let's be honest. These Angels pitch well and hit not so well. They don't excel at accumulating base runners or bashing baseballs beyond a team's reach. Unless Vladimir Guerrero's swinging, there's no Angel who worries teams as Jeter, A-Rod, Giambi, Sheffield, or Matsui do. At their best the Angels scratch and scrape, pester and fester - a Baltimore chop single here, a base stolen and two-out, run-scoring flare there.
Pitch your best, Randy, and the Yankees should win. The Angels' biggest advantage over the Yankees is their bullpen. But if you pitch as you're supposed to, if you provide seven formidable innings or more, the game should never be placed in Tanyon Sturtze's or Alan Embree's combustible hands.
The Yankees should score a few runs off of Angels starter Paul Byrd.
And you should be able to ensure that off you the Angels don't.
Unable for most of the season to pitch like the five-time Cy Young winner you are, you finished as strong as ever (6-0 with a 1.93 ERA in your last eight starts). You said it wasn't your 42 years of age but mechanical flaws that had stuck a stick in your spokes of power. Watching video of yourself pitching about six weeks ago you noticed that you were dropping your arm angle and hurrying your delivery.
'I'm glad that I was able to correct them or we were able to correct them; I wish it would have been sooner,' you told reporters Thursday. 'But I'm thankful that it got corrected - and I was able to still put together a quality season and pitch some games that got us to where we needed to be. Now I feel extremely comfortable with where I'm at with my mechanics.'
You don't throw as hard as you once did, but others have lost something off their fastball while continuing to pitch like something else. You can too.
Anyone who saw your three-inning, six-strikeout relief appearance on one day's rest - after a seven-inning start - to pitch Seattle into the 1995 ALCS knows what makes your breastbone tick. Everyone who saw you throw knives as if channeling the spirit of another Johnson, Big Train Johnson, in the 2001 NLCS and World Series knows why you'll sit in the same hallowed rotunda with Walter and Lefty, Spahn and Mathewson, Clemens and Koufax, and of course Cy.
But tonight's not about your legacy.
It is about why the Yankees pursued you for years.
It is time. How do we know?
There's nothing else to say.
Brian Ettkin can be reached at 454-5457 or by e-mail at bettkin@timesunion.com.
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JONATHAN DANIEL/GETTY IMAGES RANDY JOHNSON was signed to a huge contract to pitch big games for the Yankees. Tonight's Game 3 of the American League Division Series against the Angels at Yankee Stadium -- with the series tied at a game apiece -- is about as big as it gets. But the 6-foot-10 left-hander, a five-time Cy Young Award winner, has been there before.
