The WTP Companion Guide To The Greg Maddux Documentary

Farts, Lies and Videotape

“One of a Kind,” the 70-minute documentary chronicling the career of Greg Maddux, debuted last August then vanished like one of the Hall of Famer’s changeups. Or maybe it’d be more fitting to say it disappeared like a fart in the wind.

See, one of the only times throughout the entire documentary that Maddux seems genuinely happy to be interviewed is when he recalls the 1988 All Star Game. His locker was next to Gooden’s in the NL clubhouse. It was Maddux’s first midsummer classic; sadly, it would be Gooden’s fourth and final (at the age of 23). Did Maddux talk pitching with him? Did they discuss the American League lineup?

“I heard him fart,” Maddux admits, grinning with boyish pride. “How ’bout that? I heard Doc Gooden fart.”

I watched the documentary twice: the first time for fun; the second time to confirm that it was a stinker. It’s not without merit, though.

One of the best clips involves Barry Bonds and Maddux each analyzing their head-to-head confrontations. That kind of footage should be widely available. Instead, the film has gone to the internet chop shop; the best clips can be found online (if you know where to look) in bite-size pieces. Those snippets, however, are worth the uneven ride of the film.

I realize I’m sending mixed signals. “One of a Kind” is disappointing overall: Footage of Maddux around a poker table in his hometown of Las Vegas forces a theme that doesn’t land, and, honestly, while I’d consume all the Maddux tape available, he’s not the ideal subject for a documentary. He’d rather be playing golf, and the mood of the film often reflects that. The show is salvaged, however, by incredible glimpses into his genius and on-field charm.

I’ve watched the scene in which Maddux’s personal catcher Eddie Perez reveals a unique signal-calling system at least 10 times. Chipper Jones peels back another layer of brilliance when he shares the details of the time his pitcher defied manager Bobby Cox’s orders to intentionally walk Luis Gonzalez.

So where did this film go wrong? I can pinpoint the exact date.

July 7, 1987

One of the first major stories delved into by the filmmaker — who has proven very difficult, maybe impossible, to identify — involves a young Maddux pitching, essentially, to retain his roster spot. The scene is set by then-teammate and raconteur Rick Sutcliffe: “He’d been told before the game that, if he doesn’t win, he’s going back to the minor leagues.” Maddux admits that he wasn’t pitching well enough to have earned the respect of his teammates.

In an infamous game between the Padres and the Cubs on July 7, 1987, at Wrigley Field, Andre Dawson is hit in the face by a fastball from Eric Show in the bottom of the third. Harry Caray’s original call of the game adds great color and nostalgia to the moment. Dawson lies on the ground for some time before springing to his feet and pursuing Show. A wild scene ensues. The young Maddux knows his job.

The Documentary

The editing of the film creates tension. Dewayne Staats, also in the booth calling the game that day, mentions the dilemma that Maddux faces after Dawson has been hit because he has not yet qualified for the win. Sutcliffe shares that, between innings, he urged Maddux not to retaliate. The veteran pitcher told Maddux to get three more outs, then do whatever he wanted once he had completed five innings. Retaliation would result in immediate ejection and a no decision.

What’s more important: Earning a win and staying in the big leagues, or defending the leader of your team and earning the respect of your teammates? Much to the dismay of Sutcliffe, Maddux intended to hit the first batter. Defending his teammates was all he cared about. The documentary shows Maddux hitting Benito Santiago and getting ejected. Sutcliffe tells us that the young pitcher was subsequently demoted.

The Reality

Maddux wasn’t three outs away from putting himself in position get the W. It was only the top of the fourth. Now, please understand: I don’t think Sutcliffe intentionally changed the story to fit a more dramatic narrative. The man spent 18 years in the big leagues as a pitcher and many more as a coach and commentator. He’s seen a lot of baseball. He’s lived a lot of baseball. He’s told a lot of stories. He’s been very generous with his time to me, for these stories I write.

Sutcliffe is sharing a memory nearly 40 years old. He deserves some grace. But surely the people behind the lens had to know.

In the top of the fourth, Maddux strikes out the first two batters — Chris Brown and Tim Flannery — and then he dots Santiago in the upper thigh with a fastball. That’s how a professional pitcher gets the job done. With two outs and nobody on, a baserunner is much less likely to score than if the leadoff batter reaches. Also, hitting the Padres’ All-Star catcher meant more than plunking either of the two previous players.

Maybe It’s Me

I know what you’re thinking: Who has the time to fact-check a feel-good baseball documentary? Well, maybe I watched too much Scooby-Doo as a kid, but I was curious how Maddux performed after he returned from AAA. I was chasing down a mystery. And that’s when I found that he never got sent down.

I had wondered what kind of organization would punish a player for defending his teammates. What kind of organization would issue the ultimatum: Win today or ride the bus tomorrow? What if he had lost, 1-0? What if he threw nine innings of scoreless baseball and the Cubs failed to score? The late-80s were still a very win-centric time, but even the scenario Maddux faced seemed dubious. The Cubs GM at the time was baseball lifer Dallas Green. I never met Green, but I know plenty of people who knew him well. That threatened course of action didn’t jive with the stories I’ve heard.

The Truth

Here’s the part that kills me. What happened after the abbreviated, do-or-die outing is even better than the manipulated narrative.

Maddux returned on two days’ rest to face the Dodgers. He went toe-to-toe with Orel Hershisher, who was on the cusp of becoming the most dominant pitcher in baseball. Maddux threw eight innings, allowing four runs (three earned). He gave his team length when they needed it (bad weather required that the prior day’s suspended game resume before the scheduled game began).

If hitting Santiago earned Maddux a little respect with his teammates, his eight-inning effort (and no decision) certainly merited some appreciation in the clubhouse. That’s the story I’d like to know more about.

Maybe I’ll ask Sutcliffe.

Aftermath

One month later — after three bad starts and two lackluster relief outings — Maddux was optioned to Double-A. He made four starts for Iowa and threw two complete game shutouts. He posted a 0.98 ERA and never saw the minor leagues again.

Upon return to the Major Leagues, Maddux still struggled. The following season, he earned his first All-Star nod. His reward, apparently, was hearing Doc Gooden fart.

(If the above video doesn’t play properly, you can find the clip of Maddux fondly recalling his time around Gooden here.)

There must be a reason the program is not readily available through traditional means. Did the MLB network bury it after realizing that the filmmaker took liberties with the truth? Just because Maddux was a master of deception doesn’t mean his documentary needed to mimic his style.

We’ve got a few weeks before Opening Day. I’d recommend you read the new Earl Weaver book before heading to YouTube to find “One of a Kind.” But even with the flaws, it’s still Greg Maddux.

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