SARASOTA, Fla. — Had I ever seen Tyler Glasnow smile before this?
Wasn't sure. So I asked.
“Really? I feel like I’m always kind of positive,” he’d fire right back. “I mean, when things are bad, when you’re sucking in the big leagues, it’s a little harder.”
The kid burst out with laughter that echoed all through the Pirates’ rickety old visiting clubhouse inside Ed Smith Stadium, the Orioles’ spring home, on this Friday afternoon.
And OK, now I was convinced: No way. Never had I seen anything on that face other than the same unfortunate mix of exasperation, confusion and general malaise. But, as Glasnow attested himself, that’s what happens when a 22-year-old manchild arrives in the majors with an impeccable track record, every imaginable prospect plaudit and all the resulting immense expectations, only to ... oh, you saw it: 2-9 record, 6.75 ERA and 13 home runs in as many starts, capped by a return ride across I-70 to Indianapolis.
He was horrible.
So when I approached following his second Grapefruit League start — three innings, two runs, four hits, a home run, six strikeouts, zero walks in a 10-8 loss — my intent was to inquire about his mindset. As in how he’d recover from last summer.
“Yeah,” he began, “I think my mentality going into this year is just being athletic and throwing hard.”
Wait, what? There’s nothing mental about either of those.
“I know, but I feel like that’s got to become the instinct that takes over. That’s what I’m trying to hone in on: Be athletic, and throw hard. I kind of had that mindset my whole minor-league career and then, in the big leagues, I kind of lost it.”
That’s one way of wording it.
But others have lost it, too, only to be found. Including some with similar talent. I offered to Glasnow that his situation, as well as how he and Ray Searage were now engaged in extensive work aimed at simply throwing harder, reminded me of Charlie.
Didn’t even need to mention the last name.
“Morton? Yeah, I can see that. He wasn’t throwing that hard earlier in his career when he was here. Now, he’s at 95, 96, 97 with sink. He built everything off that fastball, made his other pitches feed off that. He made up his mind to go hard, and it really worked for him.”
He paused.
“But I think some of this is that I’m still growing into myself, too.”
Wait, so we’re still talking mental? Or is this physical now?
“Physically,” he replied, motioning to the visibly broader upper body on that 6-8 frame. “I think I feel a lot stronger now than I did last year. And last year, I felt WAY stronger than the year before. I’m filling in. I can feel my body’s still changing from year to year. I’ve never thrown this hard before.”
OK, so it is physical?
“I don’t know. I think it’s just the consistency of not changing everything up when things get bad.”
He made a silly contorted face.
“Oh, I’ll change this, or I’ll change that,” he spoke in an over-the-top tone, openly mocking the 2017 version of himself.
This was getting genuinely fun now.
I’ll say it: I was enjoying Tyler Glasnow.
“It really just comes down to doing what you do in practice, then take it into the game," he continued. "I’d go out there in the past and I’d let the first few pitches of the game determine how my night was going to go.”
He reverted to the self-mocking character.
“Oh, no! It’s my first batter! I can’t walk my first batter!”
Ha!
Well, as fate — no, will — would have it in this mostly sunny, 76-degree setting, the real heat radiated from Glasnow’s right palm from his very first pitch. Baltimore’s leadoff man, Chris Davis, maybe aware of Glasnow’s panicky past, maybe just working on plate patience, laid off all five offerings he saw.
Fastball, 97 ... crack into Jacob Stallings’ mitt for a strike.
Fastball, 97 ... strike two.
And after two more heaters aimed in vain at luring Davis' bat from his shoulder, Glasnow dropped a skyhook — I mean, seriously, this curve fell from that one cloud in the sky — that buckled the knees and raised the ump’s right arm.
“I liked that,” Glasnow recalled with another smile, this one smaller. Stallings was now seated at the next stall, so maybe he was keeping cooler. “I feel like the curve was huge for me.”
Two other Orioles got the hook, too -- Davis waving at one in his next at-bat and Jonathan Schoop doing likewise:
Not sure if it's noticeable in that video up there, but that curve came with some bonus slider-type action, if you follow through to Stallings' backhanded stab.
This was, as Glasnow termed it, 'a good start:'
But that's got to be kept in context. And context can be cruel.
An American League scout, the one who gave me the radar readings on this first two pitches, wasn’t impressed by much of anything he saw beyond the velocity and a three-strikeout third inning. He didn’t like Glasnow’s overall command -- 36 strikes out of 52 pitches -- and within the zone itself. He didn’t like that Glasnow didn’t try a changeup in his first spring start, then used only two here, one of which was “really bad” according to Glasnow himself and got tomahawked for a Colby Rasmus home run. He didn’t like Glasnow’s standard deliberate pace. He did like the hook that brought half of the six strikeouts, but he didn't like the clear reliance on it. He didn’t like Glasnow repeatedly shaking his right hand and fingers on his way to he dugout after the second, as if he were hurt, although Glasnow would tell me later “it was just some mud I got on there,” so who knows?
“That’s got to be,” the scout told me, "the most frustrating pitcher Searage will ever have.”
Might be. But let the record show that our man Charlie still wears that crown. As well as a World Series ring, of course, after he figured it all out in Houston.
“I’ve just got to stop thinking so much,” Glasnow would say as we wrapped up. “I’ve got to be athletic.”
Also, throw hard.
“Right. That, too. But that’s it. Just pitch.”
