A Wanted Man

And he is a fierce presence on the mound. "The guy is nasty," says Kansas City Royals outfielder Pat Tabler. "I mean nasty with a capital N. He has that nasty old slider that gives me fits."

"He throws hard, and he has a 50-foot breaking ball and a 50-mile-an-hour changeup," says Oakland slugger Mark McGwire, exaggerating slightly. "He keeps you off balance as well as anybody." Says White Sox shortstop Ozzie Guillen, "He's the greatest in the league. Are they going to trade him to the Mets? Please get him out of this league."

Texas Rangers manager Bobby Valentine compares Langston with four-time Cy Young Award winner Steve Carlton, and Lefebvre puts Langston in even faster company: "He can close out a hitter. [Sandy] Koufax was like that." And, says Lefebvre, Langston is a better athlete than the Dodger legend. "He may be the best shortstop in our organization, even if he is lefthanded. And he had the fastest time—111 miles per hour—on our bat-speed meter. And here's a guy who doesn't ever hit."

Most American Leaguers agree that Langston was an even better pitcher last year because of his devastating new changeup. "After watching the success of [Frank] Viola and [Bret] Saberhagen," says Langston, "it became clear to me the importance of changing speeds. I'll probably use the off-speed pitch even more this year."

Langston could always throw hard, even as a 160-pound senior at Buchser High in the pleasant northern California town of Santa Clara, where his father, Van, is a Silicon Valley softwear engineer. Soccer was Mark's game then—he was all-state—but he decided to take the only baseball scholarship offered to him, by nearby San Jose State, after the Chicago Cubs offered him only $10,000 to sign when they drafted him in the 15th round. In his junior year at San Jose, he started the season 4-0, but came down with a virus on a road trip to Hawaii and lost 10 pounds—and 10 mph off his fastball. He finished with a losing record, but the Mariners saw enough to draft him in the second round in June 1981. Three years later, he won 17 games in the big leagues.

As much as he likes Seattle, the frustration of playing on a persistently losing team has frazzled his nerves on occasion; last year he got into a brief name-calling session with manager Dick Williams. It is a frustration ex-teammate Moore fully understands. "On the one hand, you feel blessed just to be in the big leagues." says Moore. "But on the other, you want the chance to win." Indeed, of all the star pitchers from the rookie class of 1984—which includes Clemens, the Mets' Dwight Gooden and Ron Darling, L.A.'s Orel Hershiser, K.C.'s Mark Gubicza and Toronto's Jimmy Key—only Langston has not appeared in a postseason game. Frustration.

"I don't mind not getting the attention," Langston says cheerfully enough. "That doesn't matter to me at all. My job is to play baseball." Then his smile fades. "But someday," he says slowly, "I just want to be one of those guys you see jumping into the catcher's arms after the last out of the final game of the World Series. That's the bottom line."