NEW YORK, NY – Another great from the past has made his way into Baseball Heaven. My friend Ron Goldstein wrote this ode for his friend Tommy John and I’m sharing it in today’s column.
I am deeply saddened by the passing of my friend, Tommy John.
The baseball world will remember Tommy as one of the great pitchers of his generation—a four-time All-Star who pitched an incredible 26 seasons and won 288 Major League games. His name became permanently woven into the history of the game through the revolutionary surgery that not only saved his career, but ultimately helped save the careers of countless athletes who followed him.
But today, I am not thinking only about the statistics, the records, or even the famous name that will forever be part of baseball history.
I am thinking about my friend.
I was fortunate enough to know Tommy beyond baseball, and that is the Tommy John I will remember most. He was a genuinely good man, and I feel blessed that our paths crossed and that I had the privilege of calling him my friend.
And I am going to say something that I have believed for a very long time: Tommy John got screwed. He should have been in the Baseball Hall of Fame years ago.
He won 288 Major League games, pitched for 26 seasons, was a four-time All-Star, and demonstrated extraordinary longevity and excellence. Then consider the impact his name has had on baseball far beyond anything that can be measured on a stat sheet.
Tommy had the courage to undergo an experimental operation when nobody could promise him that he would ever pitch again. He came back, won another 164 games after the surgery, and helped change the future of sports medicine forever.
Think about how many pitchers’ careers—and livelihoods—have been saved because of the medical breakthrough that will forever carry the name Tommy John.
If the Hall of Fame is supposed to recognize people who left an extraordinary and lasting mark on the game of baseball, I don’t know how anyone can honestly tell the history of baseball without Tommy John.
It is terribly unfortunate that he never received baseball’s highest individual honor during his lifetime. In my opinion, that recognition was long overdue.
But a plaque cannot define Tommy John’s legacy.
His name will continue to be spoken in clubhouses, training rooms, hospitals and ballparks long after all of us are gone. Very few people in the history of sports can say that.
And for those of us fortunate enough to know him personally, Tommy John was much more than 288 victories, 26 seasons, a revolutionary surgery, or a baseball legend. He was our friend.
My heart goes out to Cheryl, his entire family, his friends, former teammates and everyone who loved him.
Rest in peace, Tommy. I will miss you, my friend.
You deserved your place in Cooperstown a long time ago.
To me, you were already a Hall of Famer.
