The lowest ERA at any level of the Red Sox organization belongs to a Double A reliever named T.J. Large, a pitcher who still takes the mound no matter what the score and thinks to himself, "This could be my last game."
Large, a righthander who turned 26 yesterday, has allowed two earned runs in 22 innings, for an 0.82 ERA, the best among Sox minor or major league pitchers with at least 20 innings. "The numbers don't lie," said Portland manager Arnie Beyeler.
Large draws his urgent outlook from a winding career and attains his success from a unique repertoire. He was picked in the ninth round in 2001 out of high school but chose college on unsound advice. His arm wore because he threw too many curveballs at the behest of his college coach, and he lasted until the Red Sox chose him in the 46th round after college in 2005. His best and most frequent pitch is a cutter, which he first tried four years ago, and only because of a freak occurrence.
"He's kind of had to earn and battle his way his entire career," said Red Sox director of player development Mike Hazen. "I think that's good. I think he walks around here with a little bit of an edge, and I think he should. He's earned every appearance."
Large became a prospect playing for Seminole High in Florida, one of the best programs in the country. Large threw his fastball 91 miles per hour consistently and topped out at 94. In 2001, the San Francisco Giants drafted Large in the ninth round.
Large had a decision to make. College appealed to him, and coaches at St. Pete Junior College courted Large by telling him any money the Giants had offered would increase after a year at junior college. That convinced him - he would go to St. Pete for one year, reenter the draft, and reap a better contract.
A year later, Large lasted until the 32d round. The Arizona Diamondbacks chose him, but they offered him less money than a scholarship represented. Large went to the University of Alabama, where his career zigzagged again. In 2004, Large tore a lat muscle, but that was a small part of the reason his professional stock continued to dwindle.
His coach at Alabama, Jim Wells, called pitches from the bench and disallowed pitchers from shaking them off. He wanted Large to throw curveballs, and Large did to an obscene degree, as many as 90 a game. The wear diminished his best fastball to 86 m.p.h.
"In college, it's all about win, win, win, not development," Large said.
In 2004, after his lat injury healed, Large needed an operation to remove a cyst from the top of his right wrist. The surgeon took the tendons that attached his middle, ring, and pinkie fingers to his wrist and moved them to the left. The procedure made his middle finger more dominant than his index finger when pushing down.
When Large began throwing again six weeks after the surgery, he started with basic four-seam fastballs. Something odd happened. His middle finger pulled on the outside of the ball, which forced it to cut from right to left across the plate. "Wow," Large thought. "I'm trying to stay behind the ball, and everything is cutting."
Large had never tried throwing a cut fastball. Now he could do it naturally. "It's weird, isn't it?" Large said.
After college, Large latched on to the pitch as a way to stand out. He is the only pitcher in the Red Sox organization who features a cutter, which he throws about 80 percent of the time.
In last year's Arizona Fall League, Large worked with Portland pitching coach Mike Cather on a two-seam fastball to keep batters from diving across the plate in anticipation of his cutter, but his main pitch remains the cutter. He studies Mariano Rivera, the cutter's most successful and prolific practitioner.
After college, scouts assumed Large would become injured and wondered how he wasn't already. The Red Sox chose him in the 46th round in 2005. He signed for $1,000. Four years earlier, if he had signed with the Giants, he would have earned far more money and been guided by a team that viewed his arm as something to be developed, not used up.
"I know that my job is never secure," Large said. "A guy signs for half a million dollars, they can get a couple years under their belt and pitch bad. They'll still have a job. I don't have that luxury. I pitch every game like it's my last game, because it could be."
And yet, "I wouldn't change anything," he said.
