Matinee Idol

Denny Neagle had been with the Atlanta Braves for a week, and although he had already started one game for them, nobody on the team had asked the lefthander to show his stuff. Then third baseman Chipper Jones bellowed, "Hey, why don't you do that train of yours?"

Neagle nodded, smiled, threw back his head and let loose. From somewhere deep inside him came a rumbling "Whoo-whoooooo" that was a dead ringer for the train whistle that blares over the public address system whenever the Pittsburgh Pirates mount a rally at Three Rivers Stadium. "I was just waiting for someone to ask me to do it," Neagle says. "I wanted to cut loose a little bit. I did the train and it was like, 'O.K., guys, what else do you want?' "

Before we delve further into the peculiar sights and sounds of the 29-year-old Neagle, a disclaimer is in order. Cincinnati Reds reliever Stan Belinda, Neagle's former Pittsburgh teammate, says Neagle stole the train whistle from him, a fact Neagle cheerfully concedes. Does it matter that Neagle's train whistle, which he used to practice at home and is trying to pass on to his wife, Jennifer, isn't original? Isn't imitation the sincerest form of flattery?

The point is: Can Belinda purse his lips and make noises so rude and realistic that they can clear the back of a bus? Can he mimic the stentorian voice of Ernie, the former visitors' clubhouse man in Cincinnati, so precisely that the assistant clubbies would come running whenever they heard it? Can he laugh maniacally like Jim Carrey in the Ace Ventura movies? Can he do a spot-on Kramer during his classic Seinfeld debate on boxers versus briefs? ("I can't stand it, Jerry. I'm flipping, and I'm flopping.") Neagle does all those turns, earning a big league reputation for impressions. "Denny will certainly entertain you," says Jones, "whether you want to be entertained or not."

Maybe Neagle wouldn't be such a hoot if he hadn't had a National League-leading 20 wins and a 2.62 earned run average at week's end. Acquired by the Braves in August '96 for pitcher Jason Schmidt and two minor leaguers, Neagle has pitched brilliantly in his first full season with Atlanta, even putting together a scoreless stretch of 27 innings in late July and early August. In his past two starts Neagle, who won his 20th game on Sunday, hasn't allowed a run in 16 innings. The guy's a regular Mel Blank. For all the noise, however, he must have the quietest 20-3 record in history. In a season brimming with superior pitching performances—Roger Clemens's 20-win revival with the Toronto Blue Jays; Randy Johnson's two 19-strikeout games for the Seattle Mariners; Greg Maddux's unmatched artistry, which resulted in a five-year, $57.5 million contract extension with the Braves in August—Neagle's dominance has flown under the radar. But considering that he takes a number in the Atlanta rotation behind Cy Young winners Maddux, Tom Glavine and John Smoltz, maybe it shouldn't be surprising that Neagle's accomplishments have been accompanied by little fanfare.

"It's not like we have the market cornered on pitching," Smoltz says, "but [the depth in the rotation] is what makes it easy. Greg makes it easier on Tommy, and Tommy makes it easier on me, and I make it easier on Denny. This is where he wants to be. On any other staff, every start Denny made would be magnified. Here, there's no pressure on him to be the Number 1 guy."

The multivoiced Neagle truly is the Fourth Tenor. He is a pitcher who doesn't have no-hit stuff, who isn't going to fan 19 unless you give him a couple of weeks, who isn't going to negotiate nine innings in 78 pitches (as Maddux did earlier this season), who doesn't throw a fastball that hisses on its way to the plate. When your best pitch is a 76 mph changeup, your pitching is a murmur.

"Denny's more in the Glavine mold," Jones says. "There are power pitchers who can make a mistake and get away with it; Denny can't make a mistake. When you get guys like him who win games with an ERA no higher than 3.00 or 3.50, that shows a real mastery of pitching. With all due respect to someone like [Montreal Expos star] Pedro Martinez (box, page 84), who's unreal, if you're looking for the best illustration of the art of pitching, you find it in this clubhouse."

The comparison to Glavine is as natural as it is deceptive. Both are lefties. Both feature fastballs and changeups. Both throw to spots. The locations, however, are as similar as Atlanta and Nome. While Glavine is continually probing the elasticity of the outside corner, Neagle works inside as often as he does away, even throwing curves and sliders to righthanded hitters, which Glavine studiously avoids. "The big difference is that I don't throw as hard as Glavine does," says Neagle, whose fastball tops out in the mid-80s. "Those few less miles per hour force me to come in more and establish both sides of the plate."

Even Braves catcher Javy Lopez was sucked in at first by the similarities in the styles of the two southpaws. After Neagle arrived from Pittsburgh, Lopez began calling his games as if Glavine were on the mound, but Neagle was loath to correct him. He had been a big deal in low-rent Pittsburgh, with 27 wins over the previous two seasons, but now he was keeping company with the most exceptional starting rotation in decades. Sharing a staff with Maddux, Glavine and Smoltz was intimidating enough without wondering if away, away, away was an Atlanta pitching philosophy. Offering an impression of a train whistle was one thing. Offering an opinion on pitching was quite another.