A baseball pitcher whom not even New York City can enlarge or exaggerate stands atop the hill and the heap at 21. Without counting the mound, which is also situated about ten inches above the rest of the field, Dwight Gooden in just two major league seasons has risen like an illusion of a fastball to a height somewhat loftier than 6 ft. 3 in., and a level nearly beyond imagination. When Sandy Koufax says, “I’d trade anyone’s past for Gooden’s future,” that includes Walter Johnson’s, Grover Cleveland Alexander’s, Bob Feller’s and his own. “Who wouldn’t?” growls Don Drysdale, winding up for his famous knockdown pitch. “Gooden makes $1.32 million a year.” Since arguing with pitchers is no more sensible than arguing about them, let a hitter take his swing, a slugger with an eternally simple view of life , but a profound knowledge of athletic gifts . “If I could pick somebody to be,” says Mickey Mantle, “that’s who I’d be.” He knows there is a wonderful ride ahead. “Dwight Gooden.” Being Bret Saberhagen, 21, would not be too terrible either. Saberhagen and his wife both delivered dramatically last October, a bracing baby boy and a bouncing Kansas City championship.
