October 28, 2001

Phoenix - Mariano Rivera once spent a winter working on a changeup.

"Like everything that he set his mind to do, he can do it," Yankees bullpen coach Tony Cloninger said. "To this day, he still throws a pretty good changeup."

He just never, ever throws it in a game. For the Yankees' closer, "off- speed" means a two-seam fastball, a sinker - a pitch that is clocked at about 89 mph.

As Rivera conceded, "To me, the two-seamer is not really an off-speed. It goes hard."

The closer, undoubtedly the person most important in this Yankees dynasty, generally doesn't change speeds. In his everyday life, he is deliberate, easygoing, calm. Once he turns into Superman and steps on the mound, everything moves quickly.

His cut fastball, which darts in on lefthanded hitters, has become what the Mona Lisa was to Leonardo da Vinci. It's his most important, best- known work. Yet in order to remain baseball's best closer, at age 32, he has needed to continue his innovation and perspiration. One doesn't convert 23 consecutive save opportunities in postseason play, as he has, by standing pat.

"People say he's a one-pitch pitcher. He's not a one-pitch pitcher," Cloninger said. "Some days he can make the cutter big. Some days he can make the cutter smaller. He can throw high and outside, high and inside, low inside or bust him away."

His four-seam fastball, the pitch that first earned him fame as John Wetteland's setup man in 1996, is still an important tool.

Last year, he started throwing the sinker. He used it to neutralize dangerous Seattle designated hitter Edgar Martinez in the past two American League Championship Series.

His repertoire of pitches has changed over the years. When he arrived in Tampa in 1990 as a free- agent signee out of Panama, he threw a curveball, said Cloninger, who worked with him as the team's minor-league pitching coordinator.

His personality, according to Cloninger and everyone who has known him for periods long and short, has not changed much, even though he has risen to the pinnacle as baseball's highest-paid closer, making just under $10 million per season.

"He's an All-Star, and people are saying he's the best reliever in the modern era," Yankees lefthanded reliever Randy Choate said. "When he comes out [to the bullpen], he acts like he's no better than anyone else out there."

When the Yankees are on the road, Rivera often walks around the city during the day, before the team has to report to the stadium. He enters the clubhouse with a smile and a "Que pasa?" to the attendants.

He'll usually hold court with some of his teammates. Last year, when the Yankees called up Choate and another young reliever, Craig Dingman, on the same day, Jeff Nelson ripped them to a reporter.

Rivera took them aside and explained to them what it was like when he first came to the big leagues in 1995. It was, both pitchers said later, extremely reassuring and relaxing.

During pregame drills, he has a good time. He used to try to hit Cloninger in the shins with balls that broke into the dirt. Now he tries to hit Choate's glove right in the palm, so Choate can feel it for the rest of the day. The Yankees' best defensive player among the pitchers, Rivera also shags fly balls, chasing them all over the outfield.

Around the fifth inning of each game, he heads to the bullpen, where he does his best to keep the mood light. "He goes out there, he's probably one of the biggest ones making the jokes out there," Choate said.

When he's summoned to warm up - when the Yankees have a small, late lead - he maintains an air of tranquility. He even used to whistle while he got loose. Yet the transformation begins.

"When it gets to the eighth or ninth inning, he knows that it's his time, he gets serious," Choate said. "We let him do his thing. He turns it on just like that."

"Although outwardly he looks calm, you can tell his heart is thundering inside," Cloninger said.

At home, when he enters, the Yankee Stadium sound system plays Metallica's "Enter Sandman," a song selected by the Yankees' employees, rather than Rivera himself. Rivera claims to know neither the artist nor the title - although, by this point, he has been asked often enough that if he still doesn't know, it's by choice.

What he does at that point, of course, is well known. But he wasn't always this good. He underwent reconstructive surgery on his right elbow in 1992 and didn't overwhelm his superiors as he rose through the Yankees chain in 1993 and 1994.

In early 1995, the Yankees needed a starting pitcher, and general manager Gene Michael admired Detroit's David Wells. The Tigers admired Rivera. Then, one day in his Yankee Stadium office, Michael looked at his reports from Triple-A Columbus and saw an astounding thing: Rivera's radar-gun readings had jumped from 91 mph to 95 mph.

Michael double-checked the readings, calling the scouts who submitted them. They were legit. Rivera started 10 games for the Yankees in 1995 before moving to the bullpen, from where he helped the team late in the season and in the American League Division Series against Seattle.

It was that ensuing winter, the same offseason that Joe Torre replaced Buck Showalter, when the Yankees assigned Cloninger to teach Rivera the changeup. They still needed a starter and still thought Rivera could fill that void.

Jimmy Key healed from 1995 surgery sooner than expected, however, and Rivera wound up back in the bullpen. Torre admits now that he wasn't particularly impressed with Rivera in his first spring training. Had other Yankees officials wanted to deal him, Torre said, he wouldn't have objected too strongly.

Yet the greatness began then. The four-seamer got him through 1996, the cut fastball was born in 1998 and the sinker came about last year.

Perhaps, in due time, an off-speed pitch will come as well.

"I think sometime it'll be in his repertoire, yeah," Cloninger said. "When it comes time, he'll know it."

"If you have to work an off-speed pitch, I will," Rivera said. "Now, I'll stick with the way I'm doing it and keep it the way it is, plain and simple."

Mariano Rivera actually pitches best when he pitches least. This year, while setting a high for innings pitched since he became a closer in 1997, he blew seven save opportunities. That made for his worst save percentage (by a percentage point, to be fair) since 1997. He also recorded his highest ratio of strikeouts per innings pitched since he became a closer. Rivera is most successful when his pitches generate a high number of groundballs, and when he is used more, he may try to overpower hitters as compensation for a slight drop in command.

Year Saves Chances Pct. Strikeouts IP K/IP
1997 43 52 82.7 68 71.2 .95
1998 36 41 87.8 36 61.1 .59
1999 45 49 91.8 52 69 .75
2000 36 41 87.8 58 75.2 .77
2001 50 57 87.7 83 80.2 1.03