No Oswalt, No Good

What might have been? It's the cruelest question in sports. It's also a question the Houston Astros can't help but ask themselves about last October: What might have been if Roy Oswalt (strained groin) and Pedro Astacio (torn labrum) had been able to pitch down the stretch and in the playoffs? "To lose a guy like Oswalt, with the kind of year he was having, was psychologically devastating, let alone the actual physical setback it caused," says GM Gerry Hunsicker. "Then for Astacio to go down on top of that, after making that deal to get him, was doubly devastating. We all have to live with the injury factor in this business. But obviously, to have arguably your top two pitchers go down took a lot of the air out." The Astros wound up getting swept in the first round by the Braves -- a sweep that meant they never got to pitch Oswalt, who was scheduled to pitch Game 4. "It hurts," Oswalt says, "because in this game, it's really hard to even get to the playoffs. You have to play 162 games just to get there, so it's an honor just to get in. To get to the playoffs your first year and then not get to pitch, that's disappointing. Very disappointing. I try not to even think about it too much, because it hurts." -- Jayson Stark

Now this year, in Oswalt's first full season, it's the same show, different year. After his first seven starts, he's 4-1, with a 2.30 ERA. He's seventh in the league in ERA. Only Schilling and Johnson have more strikeouts.

He's currently 27 starts into his big-league career. The Astros have won 20 of them (a .741 winning percentage). And he has never lost back-to-back starts.

"It's pretty obvious that he's got something that separates the winners from the losers, something other than physical ability," Hunsicker says. "This kid has got what it takes -- in the head and in the heart."

Kids come along like this now and then. Just usually, they're not 23rd-round draft picks from places like Weir, Miss. -- a town that barely has more people in it (525) than play in the National League (400).

More people travel on the Astros' charters than you found in Oswalt's high school graduating class (23). The Astros have almost as many guys on their pitching staff as Oswalt's whole team had back in Weir (14). His high school didn't even have a baseball team until Oswalt's sophomore season.

But now, looking back on this wild ride that has taken him from the main drag in Weir to the National League's pitching elite, Roy Oswalt thinks it might have been the best thing that ever happened to him to launch his baseball career in a community so small that Hunsicker jokes "you could drive through the whole town in 60 seconds."

When you come from Weir, Miss., see, you learn early on not to be intimidated by players and places bigger than you are -- because just about everything and everybody on earth is bigger than you are.

"When you grow up in a small town, no one really expects a lot from you," Oswalt says. "Growing up, I was always pitching against guys from 5-A and 4-A schools, and they expected me not to do well because I went to such a small school. But you learn after a while that those guys were just like me. They were just born in a different place. That's all. Other than that, I didn't see any difference."

This has been Roy Oswalt's whole life story. He never seems to see any difference between himself and the best, the brightest and the biggest guys all around him.

He spent his whole childhood playing on the same teams as his brother, Brian, who was two years older than he was. So the competition was always supposed to be bigger and better than what he allegedly was ready for. The hitters he pitched against soon found out Roy Oswalt had other ideas.

Coming out of high school, he went undrafted. So he headed for Holmes (Miss.) Community College, 40 miles up the road from home. After his freshman year, the Astros took him in the 23rd round as a "draft-and-follow" pick who was returning to Holmes for his sophomore season.

By the time he was finished his dominating that second season at Holmes, "we were concerned we wouldn't be able to sign him," Hunsicker says. "If he'd gone back in the draft that year, he'd have been at least a second or third-round pick."

So the Astros paid him unheard-of money for a 23rd-round pick ($500,000). Five years later, you never hear anybody say that was a lousy idea.

The Astros eased him into his minor-league career, allowing him to spend two years in short-season leagues, getting acclimated and sanding off the rough edges of his small-town upbringing.

"When we first got him," Hunsicker says, "I remember getting a call from our minor-league people saying, 'This kid doesn't know how to stand on the rubber.' He used to stand right on the top of the rubber (instead of the edge) and make his pivot right on the rubber. He needed a lot of work. I know some of our people were concerned he'd give it up and go home."

But through it all, Oswalt kept winning, kept throwing strikes, kept overmatching hitters with raw stuff. And then, in 2000, the light went on. It was just two years ago, right about this time, that Oswalt's career took off, under circumstances very similar to what happened last spring, when the Astros promoted him to the big leagues.

In this case, he was eight starts into his Florida State League season at Kissimmee when an injury created a spot in Double-A. He was called into the manager's office and told he was going to Round Rock -- but not to get any delusions of grandeur.

"They said, 'You're only going for two or three days, and we've already got the return ticket, so don't take too many clothes,' " Oswalt remembers.

Well, off he went to Round Rock, a team owned by his idol Nolan Ryan, with three changes of clothes in his suitcase. Fifteen strikeouts later, Ryan was on the phone to Astros assistant GM Tim Purpura, asking, "Are you sure this guy has to go back to Kissimmee?"

He never did, of course. And the only reason the rest of his stuff isn't still sitting in his apartment in Kissimmee is that he managed to get it shipped to him a week later.

He proceeded to go 11-4, with a 1.94 ERA, in a league (the Texas League) where a 4.94 ERA would be considered future Cy Young material. He pitched himself right onto the 2000 Olympic team, where he beat Korea in the semifinal game on the way to a gold medal.

His three pitching coaches that year -- Burt Hooton, Dewey Robinson and Mike Maddux -- helped him fine-tune his command and learn the art of changing speeds. And presto -- 23 starts after that "one-and-done" promotion to Double-A, he was in the big leagues.

A year later -- and less than two years removed from Kissimmee -- Oswalt's teammates talk about him the way the Diamondbacks talk about Schilling or Johnson. When he's on the mound, they expect to win. Because that's about all they ever do.

"Every now and then," says Craig Biggio, "you come across a guy with that demeanor he has. He just has that confidence about him. You can just see it the way he handles himself, the way he walks around the mound."

Asked if the opposing hitters often mutter to him about Oswalt when they get to second base, Biggio chuckled.

"Not many guys," he quipped, "get to second."

	“	He's just got That Look. And I really believe there's something to that. He's got That Look that says, 'Don't mess with me. Get out of my way. I'm going to beat you.' ”
		— Gerry Hunsicker, Astros GM, on Roy Oswalt

If you just saw Roy Oswalt heading for your table in a restaurant -- at 6 feet tall, 175 pounds -- you would think he was as likely to be your waiter as your home team's resident ace. So when Oswalt hears people talking about how intimidating he is on the mound, he knows it isn't because he reminds them of Randy Johnson.

"I'd have to say," he laughs, "he's got a little more intimidation going for him than I do -- 6-foot-11 versus 6-foot, 175."

But when you watch Oswalt pitch, it's impossible to miss his fearsome mound presence and his consistent willingness to challenge hitters on the inner half of the plate.

"A lot of guys say it's cockiness, but I'm not trying to be cocky at all," Oswalt says. "I just try to be real confident in myself on the mound, and some people take that the wrong way. I know Brad says a lot of guys get in the box and say, 'This guy's staring at me.' But I'm not staring. I'm reading them, just as much as they're trying to read me."

And if he thinks one of those hitters is getting a little too close or a little too comfortable standing in that box, hoo boy. He knows he doesn't have to send them an e-mail to deliver a message that he isn't real happy about that.

"Growing up in my town," he says, "we only had three channels -- 4, 6 and 9. So we didn't get much baseball. But every once in a while, we'd get a weekly special -- the Atlanta Braves. So I watched those guys pitch. And I always liked Nolan Ryan because he was so aggressive. He loved to pitch inside. And I always liked the way that man pitched.

"I can't pitch like him, obviously. But when I've got a player up there and he's crowding the plate on me, I like to pitch him inside, just to see the reaction I get. I don't believe in head-hunting. But I do believe that today, guys are so big that if you pitch them away, you'll get your head handed to you pretty quick."

In fact, he says, the more he began to hit himself in the minor leagues, the more he began to understand that "if somebody pitches you in, how hard it is to get to it as a hitter." Now he reminds the hitters of that every time out there.

Of course, it's easier to be fearless when you have stuff as electrifying as Oswalt's. He has a 95-mph fastball he can sink or ride. He can snap a curve ball three feet. He's now mixing in his changeup and slider more than ever. And his drop-and-drive delivery includes a slight hesitation that adds a touch of deception to an already-lethal repertoire.

Now, a year after his arrival, we're all seeing where that repertoire and approach lead -- to 18 and 4. That's where.

"To do what this guy has done," Hunsicker says, "considering his background and where he came from, is an amazing story."

But the best part about Roy Oswalt is that he understands the story isn't over.

"I see a lot of guys," he says, "who try to go from the standpoint of what they did last year or the year before. They get too caught up with what they did instead of what they're doing now. To me, it doesn't matter what we did last year. We didn't get to the World Series, so I've got to turn it up a notch.

"That's why I try not to even think about last year. I say it was a good start on my career -- but why not finish better than you start?"

Great philosophy. But it does lead to one question: If he can finish better than that 18-4 start, shouldn't somebody start working on his Cooperstown plaque right now?

Jayson Stark is a senior writer for ESPN.com.