Superlatives tossed around when Lester is the subject

FORT MYERS, Fla. -- About an hour after Jon Lester comes off the mound, for as long as he's pitched minor league baseball, John or Kathie Lester's phone will ring in suburban Tacoma, Wash. There was, John Lester recalls, one memorable exception, a summer day in 2003 when his son pitched for Single A Augusta, and the call never came.

''We knew he'd gotten hammered," said the father of the 22-year-old widely regarded as the best prospect in the Red Sox farm system. ''We didn't find out until weeks, maybe months, later that after the game he'd given away his glove, his shoes, everything.

''He'd walked by the fans and asked if anybody was lefthanded. A little kid raised his hand. He said, 'Here you go.' "

At that point, the regimented lefthander acknowledged, ''I was going to the same restaurant before I pitched, sitting in the same seat, wearing the same undershirt, then getting rid of it, cutting it up. Just stupid stuff, shoes, socks, anything."

These days, he eats the same meal on most days he pitches -- one pancake, with scrambled egg whites -- and leaves for the ballpark at the same time. It is, at face value, Schillingesque (''I'm not that anal," Lester countered). The search for perfection, he claimed, is limited to baseball. His apartment can be a mess, just not his left arm, or the work that gets it ready to do what it does so well.

''In a game it helps me," Lester said, ''because every pitch I'm analyzing. Fastball up and away. Why? Well, I did this. OK, fix it. Make an adjustment. Do it next time. But it's bad because in a bullpen, instead of getting my work done, I beat myself up because I'm not hitting my spots. I always do it. People tell me not to."

Two of those people: Seattle lefthander Jamie Moyer and Bob Tewksbury, the former major league pitcher employed by the Sox as a psychology coach. A few years back Lester's father contacted an acquaintance who worked at Safeco Field, and the acquaintance arranged a meeting with Moyer.

''He told Jonathan, 'Between the lines you're an entertainer, a baseball player, take it seriously,' " John Lester said. '' 'Off you've got to be able to back off. If you have a bad day, forget it.' "

Tewksbury, meanwhile, has told Lester that it's OK to be a creature of habit, to eat the same and prepare the same, but only to an extent, because sooner or later the routine will let him down.

''He's kind of adopted that philosophy," his father said. ''He's worked hard on that. It surprises me now, this spring training, how laid-back he is."

The son of two county employees -- his dad is a sergeant for the Pierce County Sheriff's Department, his mom works for the public works department -- Lester is an only child. He grew up eating righthanded, writing righthanded, and brushing his teeth righthanded, but couldn't throw a lick righthanded.

In high school, at Bellarmine Prep, he once threw a seven-inning no-hitter, recording 18 of his 21 outs on strikeouts. He fanned 86 in 42 innings that year, hitting 93 miles per hour on radar guns. The Sox, in 2002, selected him with their top pick, 57th overall. The next year, he posted a 3.65 ERA in Augusta. But, his motion was taxing his arm, and he found it difficult to continually -- and properly -- replicate his arm action.

''I tried to pitch," he said, ''but I didn't have a clue."

The following season, at Single A Sarasota in 2004, the organization paired Lester with minor league pitching coordinator Al Nipper.

''He just wasn't quite synched up," said Nipper, now the Sox' interim pitching coach. ''He was throwing across his body, which was stressing his arm and the back of his shoulder. It was twofold, a health issue long term, and a command issue."

But, before Nipper would break Lester down, he wanted to sell him on the merits of a complete overhaul.

''Until a pitcher visualizes it and gets facts, and understands it, he won't buy into it," Nipper said.

Nipper pulled out his computer. He split the screen. He put Roger Clemens, and later Greg Maddux, on one side of the screen, though he inverted their bodies to make them lefthanded. He put video of Lester on the other half of the screen. And he synchronized their deliveries.

''So, he'd see at every point in the delivery where they were and where he was," said Nipper. ''He was able to see visually what he was doing wrong."

The work began with a rebuilding of his delivery.

''He'd had no windup, with his hands in front of his chest," Nipper said. ''When he'd get to his balance point and begin the hand separation, he had no timing built up or torque created, so he had to create it by himself. That created a lower arm slot and put some stress on his shoulder and elbow."

So, Nipper taught Lester to go over his head with his hands.

''We created timing, lengthened his stride," Nipper said. ''It helped all his breaking pitches. He was able to command the ball to both sides of the plate. His velocity picked up. He had been 88, touching 90 to 92, and now he was hitting 96 and 97."

With Lester's mechanics improving the middle of that summer, Nipper began to teach him to throw a cut fastball, which stood to help him get inside on righthanded batters, something he'd labored to do. Nipper eased him into it. He learned to throw it on flat ground, then off a mound. He graduated to throwing five or six in a game, then to maybe 10. The results came, in time. He went 7-6 with a 4.28 ERA that season while rebuilding himself, took the winter to regroup, then dominated last year, leading the Eastern League in ERA (2.61) and strikeouts (163).

Today, his delivery is considered as smooth and effortless as any in the Sox system.

''He's beyond his years as far as polish goes," Curt Schilling said.

''When you watch him," Nipper said, ''he's like poetry in motion. The way he stands on the mound, eyes peering from behind the glove, big tall guy, the way he walks and the way he stands and delivers the ball. Even if you didn't know him he just looks like a pitcher.

''He may not get anybody out," Nipper added, starting to laugh, ''but he looks damn good."

This spring, in his initial big league camp, it felt as though Lester didn't get anybody out. In six innings, he surrendered 13 runs on 12 hits. He walked six and fanned just two, going 0-2 with a 19.50 ERA in four appearances (three in relief).

Lester, being the creature of habit he is, appeared thoroughly unsuited to relieving. In his debut, in Bradenton, he was told before the game he'd follow Schilling. But when Schilling was done, Lester wasn't sufficiently warmed up, so the club pitched Edgar Martinez an inning. When Lester did come in, he threw eight of his first nine pitches for balls.

He's pitched in relief only a couple of times in his minor league career, and, he said, ''It didn't work out for me. I never knew when I was going in. I kind of need to have a routine. If I don't have that routine, everything's off."

Though the Sox enjoy easing starting pitching prospects into the majors as relievers, as they did with Jonathan Papelbon last year, it's almost assured that Lester will never be used in that capacity.

''If they gave me a couple days to get used to that, I could do it, no problem," he said. ''If they just came to me and said, 'Do it,' it'd be 100 miles a minute. I wouldn't know what to do."

It's that preparation, though, that makes Lester, by all accounts, as good a prospect as Papelbon, if not better.

''I will tell you this, and I don't think this is letting out any big secret," manager Terry Francona said. ''When you talk to all the player development people, and we're going over all those reports, they're still flipping a coin as to who they think is going to be a better major league pitcher, and that's awesome. They just can't tell you now who's going to be better.

''They just think [Lester's] an equal. He's got velocity, he's got command of a lot of pitches, he's got poise. He has the ability to compete. A lot of the things they say about Papelbon they say about him. He's just lefthanded."