Big Unit Defined Dominance on Mound

Now that Randy Johnson has retired -- half-jokingly saying he will finally be able to try "parachuting, ziplining and swimming with Great Whites in Australia" -- we can go over what he became known for over a remarkable 22-year pitching career.

His 6-foot-10 frame.

A surly disposition.

Long hair.

And strikeouts. Lots and lots of strikeouts.

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Johnson announced his retirement Tuesday on a conference call, saying it was a final decision, not a "99.99 percent chance." (Hear that, Messrs. Favre and Clemens?)

I covered Johnson for eight straight seasons, six as a Diamondbacks beat writer and two with the Yankees. When Johnson signed his original four-year deal with Arizona, after the 1998 season, it included escalating bonuses for his first, second, third and fourth Cy Young Awards.

We chuckled at the outlandishness of that clause.

He wound up cashing all four checks.

Johnson's final totals are impressive enough that the Hall of Fame seems a given, and he knew he would be asked Tuesday which cap he wants on his Cooperstown plaque, Diamondbacks or Mariners. He finished with 303 wins (22nd all-time, sixth among lefties); 4,875 strikeouts (second to Nolan Ryan in history); five Cy Young Awards; .646 winning percentage (10th among pitchers with 250 decisions).

(Johnson took a no-decision on the cap question, by the way, saying, "That's really a decision that's out of my control.")

When Johnson signed his original four-year deal with Arizona, ... it included escalating bonuses for his first, second, third and fourth Cy Young Awards. We chuckled. ... He wound up cashing all four checks. But look at what he did over a 10-year period from 1993 -- when he finally figured out how to control his competitiveness and use his height in a consistent delivery -- through 2002: 175-58 record, 2,928 strikeouts in 2,190 1/3 innings and a 2.73 ERA.

"The one thing I really got out of this game," he said, "was understanding the history of the game and the other players before me and what they had done and the company I was in."

But there's more than just numbers to Johnson's career.

He put two franchises on the map. The Mariners had one winning record in their first 18 years of existence, then Johnson -- along with Ken Griffey Jr., Edgar Martinez and others -- drove the team to the playoffs in 1995, and all of a sudden, Seattle was a baseball town. That season led directly to the construction of Safeco Field.

Unable or unwilling to extend Johnson after the 1998 season, the Mariners traded him to the Astros at the July deadline. After he went 10-1 with a 1.28 ERA for Houston, the D'backs signed him as part of a major spending spree.

And he was the biggest piece of an influx of talent that, in one year, turned an expansion team into a contender.

Johnson wasn't always dominant. He turned down the Braves, who took him in the fourth round of the 1982 draft, to attend Southern California. I saw him pitch there, too, and he was so wild and hittable that he was used much of the time in relief.

But somewhere in there was a remarkable drive. And once Johnson made himself into a winner, he refused to settle, always wanting to do more.

Perhaps it had something to do with his upbringing, or a complex from growing up always being gawked at, but Johnson never felt he had done enough.

Which is what made it so special when he smiled wide and laughed after the final strike of his May 2004 perfect game. For maybe the first time, Johnson enjoyed the moment.

The smiles didn't come often in public. Besides a steely glare over the tip of his glove, Johnson liked to find other ways of being intimidating. He wasn't above purpose pitches. He didn't do the media give-and-take particularly well. And he'll be remembered in New York mostly for shoving a cameraman on the street the day before his introductory press conference.

"I'm not wound as tight as I was when I was between the lines or at the ballpark," he said Tuesday. "And I don't regret being that way. I only regret that that's kind of the way that I was portrayed. But I got the most out of myself being that way because I knew when I took that out to the mound that was an intangible that I had and made it work for me."

I remember other things. I got to see Johnson's perfect game, his 20-strikeout game and his winning relief appearance in Game 7 of the 2001 World Series. I saw him pitch in the 2006 playoffs with a herniated disk in his back, prompting teammate Sal Fasano to say, "After today, I have more respect for him than any pitcher I ever caught."

Off the field, Johnson was private and not given to a lot of chit-chat. And while I had to endure a few eruptions, we had a perfectly fine professional relationship; he respected what I did and how I did it, and I tried to keep in mind that he wasn't prone to deep thoughts and that his defensiveness was an offshoot of his unsurpassed competitiveness.

Johnson last year was limited to 17 starts for the Giants because of a torn rotator cuff, but he worked as hard as ever to return and pitch in relief over the final two weeks of the season.

That way he could say he wasn't forced out of the game by an injury.

But he also felt he could no longer pitch well enough to satisfy himself.

"I really wanted to go out on my terms," he said. "Could I play another year? I believe I could.

"I just feel like there's not a lot more for me to do in this game."

No arguments there.