Remembering Randy

BY KEVIN KERNAN

One of the great joys in my career was co-hosting a radio show with Randy Jones during my San Diego days on KFMB radio.

In many ways Randy Jones was Mr. Baseball in San Diego. He was beloved as the Padres first 20-game winner, then their first NL Cy Young Award winner in 1976; he became a pitching coach for young San Diego pitchers like Barry Zito, then there was his amazing ballpark BBQ – and most of all, Randy Jones always had time for the fans.

Always, whether on the golf course, on a fishing trip for the Randy Jones Foundation or in the grocery store.

Randy was the Padres Ambassador.

And just like his time on the mound. Randy worked fast and with precision. He was the Pitch Clock before the Pitch Clock. You could take your family to a ballgame that Randy started and often completed, see your team win and still have time to go out for ice cream or a Kenny Rankin concert.

More on that later from Hall of Famer Jim Kaat.

Randy Jones, who loved baseball and people, died on Tuesday at the age of 75. He will be greatly missed. Randy never took himself too seriously and would often downplay his success on the mound.

But on this night in the 1990s on talk radio, he could not downplay his ability. That’s because Pete Rose was calling in to Padre Talk.

“Randy was incredibly humble and self-deprecating about his career,’’ Jeff Dotseth, the show’s outstanding producer told BallNine on Wednesday. “But he was smiling like a kid when Pete went on about Randy being the toughest pitcher he faced. Pete said he would yell cuss words at Randy before, during and after every at-bat.’’

That’s how good Randy Jones was as a pitcher.

“Sometimes I would get Pete Rose 2-0 damn near on purpose. He knew he was going to get the fastball, he just didn’t realize it was going to be only 73 miles per hour. And I’d get a ground ball.’’ — Randy Jones

Pete Rose, the man with the most hits in the history of baseball, praised his pitching ability. And Randy pitched. He was not a thrower; he pitched and as he told me a few years ago in a column for BallNine: “Every pitcher should have a money pitch. My spot was down and away from a right-handed hitter, and I could hit a gnat in the ass most of the time. You’ve got to be able to do that.’’

Randy Jones was a craftsman.

“If I threw 100 pitches in a game, how many do you think I threw above the belt – none,’’ the left-hander explained. “If I did it was an accident. If I was going to miss, I would miss off the plate a little bit and I was going to miss down. The curve ball was my third best pitch. I’d bounce that son of a bitch. You want to see one, here. You can take a look at it. If you want to swing at it, you are on your own. I’m not going to beat you with my third best pitch. I’d just throw it for a ball to set up my sinker. That’s all I was doing.’’

And how about this pitching genius comment?

“Sometimes I would get Pete Rose 2-0 damn near on purpose,’’ Jones said. “He knew he was going to get the fastball, he just didn’t realize it was going to be only 73 miles per hour. And I’d get a ground ball.’’

Then get cursed out again by Pete Rose, as Pete told Randy decades later on the radio one night in San Diego.

Jones overflowed with pitching knowledge, and he passed that knowledge on to area youngsters like Barry Zito, who would win the NL Cy Young 26 years after Randy won it, and Joe Musgrove who would go on to pitch the Padres’ first no-hitter in 2021.

“You have to understand the weaknesses of the hitter and take advantage of it,’’ Jones explained to me about the art of pitching. His pitching knowledge overflowed just like his curly hair flowed out from under his cap with his classic brown and gold Padres’ uniform on the July 12, 1976, cover of Sports Illustrated. That was a great bicentennial summer for America and for Randy Jones. At the All-Star break he was 16-3. On that SI cover in bold letters, it read: “Threat to win 30. San Diego’s confounding Randy Jones.’’

No pitcher has matched that 16-win All-Star break total since.

This is how he confounded hitters. Today’s throwers should look at this comment.

“I just changed speeds and my mechanics never changed,’’ Randy explained. “A lot of times I would throw a slider into a right-hander’s hands, and I would throw that harder than my fastball and they would look at me like: “How the hell are you getting in my kitchen? I’d throw the slider 83 and the fastball 78. It was fun setting up guys.’’

In 1974, his second season in San Diego, he lost 22 games, but the numbers turned around in 1975 with a 20-12 record, a stunning 2.24 ERA and 18 complete games.

Then, in the Bicentennial season, Jones won the NL Cy Young beating out Mets lefty —the always underrated Jerry Koosman. Over in the American League Mark (The Bird) Fidrych was the Rookie of the Year and Jim Palmer won the Cy Young.

They were not only all great pitchers, but they were pitchers with personalities. The ’70s were filled with personality.

In 1975, Jones lost out on the NL Cy Young to a guy named Tom Seaver. Jones was not to be denied in 1976 when he posted a 22-14 record with a 2.74 ERA. He started 40 games, pitched 25 complete games, 315.1 innings, faced 1,251 hitters and allowed the most hits in the league with 274, but he got guys out with his sinker. Or as he would have said, he allowed hitters to get themselves out; hitters like Pete Rose would be cussing him out from the start to the finish of the at-bat even though as Randy often said, “I didn’t throw hard enough to break a pane of glass.’’

It was beautiful, an artist at work.

Jones loved the big stage; he notched the save for the NL in the 1975 All-Star Game and started the 1976 game earning the win.

And as mentioned earlier, it was fast: Pitch Clock fast. How about the game in San Diego on May 4, 1977, when Randy hooked up with another pitching speed demon — in time, not velocity — future Hall of Famer Jim Kaat who was with the Phillies that season. The game lasted 1 hour, 29 minutes, the fastest game in Padres’ history and a 4-1 win for San Diego. Jones struck out only one hitter but induced 19 ground balls.

Kaat fondly remembers that game and told me so on Wednesday. The 7 p.m. start ended so quickly Kaat still had time to get to a Kenny Rankin concert that night, saying, “I had a car waiting near our clubhouse and made it to the 9 p.m. concert. Randy walked one and K’d one. As a fellow pitcher it was fun to watch him frustrate batters. The Padres TV crew would call me every May 4th to reminisce about the game.’’

When Jones was with the Mets the final two years of his career in 1981-82, Kaat was with the Cardinals and both teams trained in St. Petersburg, Florida so they would often hang out together.

I can only imagine the depth of their pitching conversations and the laughs they had, along with another friend Cardinals catcher Gene Tenace. That is some high-level baseball knowledge right there with those three players.

Randy always made everyone feel welcome. That was another one of his gifts. I had so many laughs hanging with Randy Jones at KFMB and over in the press box of what was once Jack Murphy Stadium and then later in my visits to Petco Park. Good times with RJ, indeed.

My friend Jeff Dotseth said it best, “Randy was just a ‘dude.’ No ego. He wanted to know how you and the family genuinely were doing.’’

Randy Jones was much more than a Cy Young winning pitcher, who always had time for people. His laugh at once made you feel welcome. He explained the art of pitching in terms everyone could understand. Fans flocked to his Padres starts, and he received many standing ovations from a loving fan base that did not always have a lot to cheer about with the home team. Jones’ No. 35 was retired in 1997, the first Padres’ number to be retired and he was inducted into the Padres Hall of Fame inaugural class in 1999. He hosted many events for military families in a military town. He pitched eight years (1973-80) with the Padres, then spent a golden lifetime in San Diego, touching so many lives.

Padres’ fans loved Randy Jones for all the right reasons, and luckily, I got to hear it every night on the show, even that night Pete Rose called Padres Talk.

God speed, Randy. When all is said and done, you made that perfect pitch in life, too.