Nick Trujillo: Remembering Nolan Ryan

In the summer of 1972 I was a 16-year-old pitcher for my American Legion team in Las Vegas, Nevada. That summer our team traveled to Southern California to play American Legion teams in the Los Angeles area. We won a few games, and we lost a few games. But the highlight of the trip was going to Anaheim Stadium to see Nolan Ryan pitch in his first season with the California Angels.

All of us, of course, had heard of Nolan Ryan, and we were excited to see him pitch. When we entered the stadium, the pitchers on our team immediately raced down to the Angels’ bullpen, so that we could watch him warm up before the game. When we saw Ryan throw that first fastball, we were in awe. How could anyone throw the ball that hard?

I don’t remember the outcome of the game, but I do remember that Ryan struck out about a dozen batters and walked seven or eight. it seemed like a typical Nolan Ryan outing. I also remember on the 300-mile return trip to Las Vegas, we talked a lot about how hard Nolan Ryan could throw a baseball.

In the winter of 1988 I was a 33-year-old professor at Southern Methodist University in Dallas and pitching coach of the SMU baseball club (baseball was dropped as a varsity sport at SMU after the 1980 season as a cost containment measure). I had been studying the Texas Rangers’ franchise for over a year, and I happened to be driving out to Arlington Stadium on the morning of December 8 to conduct an interview with the ticket manager. Just before I turned into the stadium parking lot, I heard on the radio that the Rangers had signed Nolan Ryan as a free agent at the winter meetings in Atlanta. Like most Rangers fans, I couldn’t believe my ears. Excited to talk with Rangers employees about the big news, I walked briskly to the ticket office. But when I walked into the office, phones were ringing off the hook. The ticket manager looked up and said, “I’m sorry, Nick, but we have to reschedule the interview. Everybody is calling to buy season tickets to see Nolan Ryan!”

Seeing Nolan Ryan pitch in his first season with the Texas Rangers was indeed memorable. He had some classic matchups, none more riveting than his 2-1 win over Roger Clemens at the end of April 1989. He struck out Bo Jackson the first of several times he faced him when Bo was with the White Sox, but then Bo got even when he launched a 461-foot drive over the center field fence for the longest home run in Arlington Stadium history.

Then in August 1989, after the Rangers had played themselves out of divisional contention, Ryan got his 5,000th strikeout against Rickey Henderson of the Oakland Athletics. The crowd was electrified that night and popped thousands of camera flashbulbs on every two-strike pitch after Ryan had registered No. 4,999. The atmosphere in the ballpark that night was as exciting as during a World Series, and that game ranks among the most memorable ones in Arlington Stadium history.

I also remember seeing Nolan Ryan off the mound that first season. I remember seeing him sign autographs for countless little leaguers (and middle-aged leaguers) at the ballpark and in the parking lot. I remember meeting him at a Rangers banquet. There he was, one of the most recognizable people in all of Texas, wearing a nametag “Nolan Ryan,” and politely making small talk with guests.

I was living in Sacramento, California, during the 1991 season, so I did not get to see his seventh no-hitter, another memorable moment in Arlington Stadium history. But I remember reading the local paper the next day and seeing Nolan Ryan’s photo on the front page, even though virtual hometown hero Rickey Henderson had broken Lou Brock’s all-time stolen base record the same day.

I remember reading a lot of articles in the paper about Nolan Ryan and actually read over 500 articles in order to write The Meaning of Nolan Ryan (Texas A&M Press, 1994) in newspapers from 1965 — the year before he began his major league career — to 1993 when he retired from baseball. Just as many Americans, I probably know more about Nolan Ryan from reading about him and seeing him on television than I know from spending time in person. In Ryan’s 27-year major league career, reporters gave us many Ryan stories and images to shape our memories of him.

Early in his career, sports writers presented critical stories of Ryan, termed a youthful prospect who was wild, inconsistent, stubborn, and injury-plagued. By the time he ended his career in his mid-40s, still throwing the ball in the 90s, he was “the ageless wonder,” or “miracle man,” or “the last real sports hero.” With the help of the media, we remember his life story as a quest: he left rural Texas in search of the American Dream, he struggled to overcome the obstacles of his wildness and mediocre teams, he performed great feats along the way, and he returned home to end his career as a Hall of Fame hero.

In my view, Nolan Ryan is one of the greatest pitchers in baseball history, and his 50-plus major league records prove it. His 5,714 strikeouts represent his enduring legacy as a power pitcher and as someone who once threw the ball 100.9 mph. His seven no-hitters (and 12 one-hitters) represent the pure dominance he had over others; when Ryan was on, he literally was unhittable. His 300-plus wins represent the success he achieved over time while playing much of his career with .500 or below teams. His 27 seasons, more than any other major league player, let alone pitcher, in history stand as a tribute to his incredible longevity.

In 1999, Ryan’s plaque will be placed in Cooperstown to make sure that fans will be remembering Nolan for generations.

NICK TRUJILLO is an Associate Professor of Communication at California State University, Sacramento. His book, titled The Meaning of Nolan Ryan, was published by Texas A&M University Press in 1994.