Watch Max Fried pitch when you haven’t focused on him much before. He comes out throwing a fastball at 89-90 mph, and you’re thinking, uh-oh.
You knew he was a crafty lefty, but you didn’t think he was a touch-and-feel guy, a soft tosser. You wonder if he is injured.
You keep watching and it begins to make sense. Fried stays at 90 for a bit, then pushes it to 92. But this is not a pitcher loosening up in typical fashion. He might touch 94 and then retreat to 91. With two strikes, he hits 97. Then perhaps back to 93.
You get the idea. This is not exactly normal, right?
“No, he definitely does it more [than anyone],” said Fried’s catcher, Austin Wells. Smiling, he adds, “It’s scary because I don’t know when he’s going to do it.”
What does Wells think is happening? Is Fried changing speeds on purpose?
“Yeah,” Wells said. “[After it happens on a pitch] I’m always like, that makes sense.”
Fried, after pitching seven scoreless innings in a 3-0 Yankees win over the Rays on Friday — improving his record to 6-0 and his ERA to 1.01 (!) — took a moment near his locker to try to explain this skill.
“Sometimes it’s conscious and sometimes it’s not,” Fried told SNY. “Sometimes you try to let it go and it’s one speed, and sometimes you time it up good.”
How does one actually change speeds on a four-seam fastball? Is it a matter of grip? A subtle reduction in arm action? Does Fried even know?
He squinted while thinking, then said, “It’s just something that I’ve always done. It’s not something that I can even really explain. My whole life I’ve always been a big fluctuator of velocity in pitches. I’m just leaning into what’s natural for me.”
The most variation within one at-bat on Friday came in the fourth inning against Jonathan Aranda. Fried started at 89, then went 93, 94, 95, and 92. By the time Aranda looked at a 79 mph curveball for a called strike three, he appeared thoroughly confused. Earlier, in a second inning at-bat, Fried showed Kameron Meisner 92 and 96, two pitches apart.
This is not a game plan. This is a person in full control of a spontaneous moment.
“It’s not something that I’m sitting here saying that I’m going to throw 20 percent of my balls under this number of miles per hour,” Fried said. “It’s just a feel of the game. It’s a little of everything.”
Freid paused. He was really trying to explain it. Words failed.
“I wish I could give you a more definitive answer,” he said. “It’s just literally like, it’s just the flow.”
It’s just the flow. That actually did sound like the answer. Changing speeds is not a verbal thing. It’s not an intellectual thing. It’s a flow thing. Fried seemed to like that. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Flow. Absolutely.”
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