If Mark Fidrych had started grooming the mound and talking to the baseball with the purpose of garnering attention toward himself, it never would have worked.
He would have been detected as a phony and been called out for it - especially in this town.
The difference is Fidrych was genuine. It wasn’t an act.
He was a simple guy, who lived a simple life except for his 15 minutes of fame. What was so wonderful about those 15 minutes is that Fidrych enjoyed it so much. Never got a big head. Never was full of himself. He was only full of life and it rubbed off not only on this town, but the entire country. It was wonderful watching him enjoy it.
Fidrych was the kid with the curly, blond mop top from down the street who made it. It was impossible to resent him for his success.
He was also a excellent pitcher. When Fidrych talked, the baseball listened. What set him apart during that magical season in 1976 was his command of the ball. Every pitch buzzed the knees and clipped a corner of the plate.
It’s surreal to know he is gone.