It's often said that there's more than one way to skin a cat. Never having skinned a cat myself, I don't have any idea if that's true. What I do know is that there's more than one way to pitch a baseball, and as proof I offer up four excellent major-league pitchers: Juan Marichal, Luis Tiant, Fernando Valenzuela, and Hideo Nomo.

When Juan Marichal signed with the New York Giants (soon to become the San Francisco Giants) in 1957, the organization's director of player development was Hall of Fame pitcher Carl Hubbell. A year or two later, a minor-league pitching coach asked Hubbell if he could "tinker" with Marichal's delivery.

Hubbell's reply? "Leave him alone."

	Fernando Valenzuela's "look to the sky" was one of the many unorthodox parts of his pitching delivery.

This made sense, considering that in 1958, his first professional season, Marichal had led the Midwest League with 21 wins and a 1.87 ERA, and struck out 246 hitters in 245 innings. He did virtually the same thing in 1959, and in 1960 he reached the majors. In Marichal's very first major-league game, he pitched a one-hitter against the Phillies.

He's still famous for his high leg kick; at the mid-point of Marichal's delivery, his left foot was actually higher than his head. And if that weren't strange enough, the batter didn't have any idea where the baseball would come from, because depending on the circumstances (and his mood), Marichal might pitch from over the top, from three-quarters, or from a sidearm slot.

Before we leave Hubbell, he also said about Marichal, "This guy is a natural. He's got ideas about what he wants to do and he goes and does it. He amazes me."

On his way to the Hall of Fame, Juan Marichal amazed a lot of people.

For a few months in 1974, Marichal teamed up in Boston with Luis Tiant, and (O!) the conversations they must have enjoyed.

In a famous article for The New Yorker, Roger Angell wrote of Tiant,

His repertoire begins with an exaggerated mid-windup pivot, during which he turns his back on the batter and seems to examine the infield directly behind the mound for signs of crabgrass. With men on bases, his stretch consists of a succession of minute downward waggles and pauses of the glove, and a menacing sidewise, slit-eyed, Valentino-like gaze over his shoulder at the baserunner. The full flower of his art, however, comes during the actual delivery, which is executed with a perfect variety show of accompanying gestures and impersonations.

Angell then went on to enumerate a number of different classifications for Tiant's various deliveries, including "Call the Osteopath" and "The Runaway Taxi."

In 1980, Luis Tiant enjoyed his last extended stint as a rotation starter in the major leagues (he also pitched briefly in 1981 and '82). That same season, another pitcher with an unorthodox delivery entered the fray. His name was Fernando Valenzuela and, like Tiant, he violated the cardinal rule that every father teaches every son who wants to pitch: "Keep your eye on the target!"

In the middle of an otherwise ordinary delivery, as Valenzuela raised his glove and the baseball above his head, his eyes also went skyward. If he'd pitched in the 1950s or even the 1960s, it's quite possible that nobody would have noticed. But in the 1980s, with TV cameras located all over the ballpark and super slow-motion replay all the rage in the production trucks, every telecast of a Valenzuela start included multiple takes on his heavenly gaze upward.

And there were a lot of telecasts, because in 1981 Valenzuela became the biggest story in baseball since ... well, maybe since Roger Maris. After joining the Dodgers in September of 1980, Valenzuela didn't allow an earned run in 17 and 2/3 innings of relief ... and he was just getting warmed up.

In 1981, Valenzuela started the Dodgers' opener because Jerry Reuss came up lame. He pitched a five-hit shutout. His next time out, he pitched a four-hitter (but did allow a run). Next, another five-hit shutout, then a couple of seven-hit shutouts, then another five-hitter (that included another run), and then one more seven-hit shutout.

Seven starts, and seven wins. Throw in Valenzuela's relief work from the previous season, and here's what his stats looked like, through May 8 of his rookie season: nine wins and zero losses, 81 innings, 48 hits, 21 walks, 77 strikeouts ... and a 0.22 ERA.

Thus was born Fernandomania, which gripped southern California until the middle of June, when the players went on strike. Valenzuela did finish the 1981 season with eight shutouts in only 25 starts to help lead the Dodgers to the postseason and, eventually, their first World Series championship since 1965.

	Hideo Nomo has his own distinctive pitching delivery.

After winning the World Series -- he pitched brilliantly in the Division Playoff and the League Championship Series, not so brilliantly in his single World Series start -- Valenzuela garnered one more honor, becoming the first rookie (and still the only rookie) to win a Cy Young Award.

After 1981, Valenzuela never pitched quite as well again. But for a few months, there wasn't a better pitcher in the world.

What did Juan Marichal, Luis Tiant, and Fernando Valenzuela have in common, aside from being great pitchers? All three were born outside the borders of the United States. As was Hideo Nomo, who joined the Dodgers in 1995, five years after Valenzuela's last season with the club (during which Fernando pitched a no-hitter).

Nomo was (and is) probably the closest thing to Tiant that we'd seen since Tiant. Because nobody in Japan had ever told him he couldn't do it that way, Nomo pitched like nobody else in the post-Tiant major leagues. Nicknamed "the Tornado," Nomo extends his hands high above his head, then turns his back to the hitter -- just like Tiant -- before pivoting back around to deliver the pitch.

After stints with the Mets, Brewers, Tigers, and Red Sox, Nomo's back with the Dodgers and he's pitching well. But he'll turn 35 in two months, and so it won't be long before he goes the way of all pitchers. Fortunately, there's always somebody else, whether from a foreign land (Byung-Hyun Kim) or from this one (Dontrelle Willis). While the world may well be overrun with unimaginative pitching coaches and by-the-numbers instructional videos, there will always be the occasional pitcher who insists on doing things his way.

And as baseball fans, we can only be grateful.

Senior writer Rob Neyer writes four columns per week during the baseball season. His new book, "Rob Neyer's Big Book of Baseball Lineups," has just been published by Fireside. For more information about the book and Rob's upcoming book signings in Seattle (June 28), Portland (June 30), and Denver (July 9), visit Rob's Web site.