Baseball without legendary pitchers would lack its special magic. Think of it as a peanut butter sandwich without jelly. These mound wizards have terrorized batters for over a century. Let’s celebrate them (while thanking the baseball gods we never faced them).
10. Cy Young (1890-1911)
Before sliced bread existed, Cy Young made batters look foolish. This human pitching machine completed 749 of his 815 starts. Today’s $40-million pitchers would sprint to the injured list at such a workload.
His 511 career wins and 7,356 innings pitched leave modern analysts speechless. Baseball named its most prestigious pitching award after him. This says clearly: “No one will ever be this durable again.”
Young pitched in wool uniforms during 100-degree heat. He still managed a 2.63 career ERA. Maybe your grandfather’s stories about “tougher men back then” weren’t all nonsense.
9. Christy Mathewson (1900-1916)
Most early baseball players looked like dock workers after a long shift. Mathewson arrived looking fresh from an Ivy League classroom (which he was). This thinking-man’s pitcher elevated the game from “throw ball hard” to “let’s use strategy.”
At his peak (1907-1911), Mathewson went 154-49 with a 1.82 ERA. He treated National League hitters like confused toddlers at a physics symposium.
His three complete-game shutouts in the 1905 World Series would break Baseball Twitter today. Mathewson’s famous “fadeaway” pitch (now called a screwball) gave him an unfair advantage. He played chess while others figured out checkers.
8. Walter Johnson (1907-1927)
If you built a time machine to watch one pre-Depression player, pick Walter Johnson. The “Big Train” threw a sidearm fastball batters claimed they could hear but not see. Think of it as the early 1900s version of “it was lagging on my screen!”
Johnson’s 110 career shutouts make modern baseball stats look tiny. In his amazing 1913 season, he posted a 1.14 ERA and 0.78 WHIP.
He did this while playing for the Washington Senators, a team that made bland oatmeal look exciting. His training methods were so advanced that today’s analytics departments would be impressed (after recovering from shock at his workload).
7. Sandy Koufax (1955-1966)
Koufax’s career ended faster than your January diet. But what a flash it was! His final four seasons (1963-1966) revealed baseball’s cheat codes. He posted a 1.86 ERA when others hovered near 4.00.
Imagine being four times better than all your coworkers. That was Koufax. His curveball paired with a 100 mph fastball gave batters two bad choices: embarrassment or danger.
Arthritis forced him to retire at 30. This created baseball’s greatest “what if” scenario since “what if the Red Sox kept Babe Ruth?” His four no-hitters in four years defied probability. It’s like accidentally becoming a billionaire—possible but not planned.
6. Bob Gibson (1959-1975)
Your boss seems scary? Try facing Bob Gibson. He saw smiling during games as weakness. His 1968 season broke baseball (1.12 ERA, 13 shutouts). MLB literally changed the rules afterward. They lowered the mound to give hitters a chance.
It’s like nerfing an overpowered video game character. Gibson ignored teammates during games. His focus would impress Buddhist monks.
He once pitched with a broken leg from a line drive. This tells you everything about his pain tolerance. Batters often updated their life insurance before facing him.
5. Roger Clemens (1984-2007)
The Rocket combined power with intense competitiveness. During his Red Sox prime (1986-1992), Clemens resembled a maxed-out video game character. He averaged 20 wins and 264 strikeouts per season.
Batters questioned their career choices. His two 20-strikeout games are like winning the lottery twice—possible but suspicious. Clemens then did the impossible: he improved with age.
He won four more Cy Young Awards after 34. Most players at that age shop for golf clubs and practice broadcasting. His late-career success raised eyebrows. PED allegations tarnished his legacy.
4. Greg Maddux (1986-2008)
When most pitchers tried to throw through walls, Maddux played 4D chess. He looked like your friendly accountant, not a dominant athlete. He confused hitters with pitch movement that defied physics.
During his Braves peak (1992-1998), he walked just 1.4 batters per nine innings. His control made Swiss watchmakers jealous. Maddux won 18 Gold Gloves.
He could have succeeded even if throwing baseballs became illegal. His approach was so advanced that catchers held their mitt in one spot. They simply waited for the perfect pitch. It’s like ordering food delivery that arrives before you feel hungry.
3. Pedro Martinez (1992-2009)
If pitching were Netflix, Pedro’s 1997-2003 run would be the must-watch season. Standing barely 5’11” amid hulking power hitters, Pedro dominated like Napoleon with a better fastball.
His 1999-2000 masterpiece featured a 1.90 ERA during the steroid era. He brought a sports car to a tank battle—and won. In 1999, Martinez struck out 313 batters in just 213.1 innings.
Pedro didn’t just pitch; he performed. He wagged his finger after strikeouts and conducted baseball like an orchestra. Pitching seemed too easy without his added drama.
2. Randy Johnson (1988-2009)
When you’re 6’10” with a mullet deserving its own ZIP code, you’re halfway to legendary status. Johnson’s early career featured wildness that worried air traffic controllers.
Once he found control, he became baseball’s controlled demolition—precise yet destructive. Johnson’s 4,875 career strikeouts rank second all-time. His 10.6 K/9 rate is like bringing a flamethrower to a knife fight.
Johnson once obliterated a bird with a fastball during spring training. This freak accident perfectly symbolized what he did to opposing lineups for two decades.
1. Clayton Kershaw (2008-Present)
Kershaw proves nice guys can destroy batting averages. His 2011-2017 peak featured a 2.10 ERA. He made modern hitters look helpless despite their launch angles and exit velocities.
With a career 2.48 ERA in an offensive era, Kershaw has been consistently excellent. Yet baseball fans somehow find ways to be underwhelmed by his greatness. It’s like complaining about free ice cream because your favorite topping isn’t available.
