Wilbur Wood, the legendary knuckleballer who became a workhorse for the Chicago White Sox in the 1970s, passed away Saturday in Burlington, Massachusetts, at the age of 84. His wife, Janet, confirmed his death at a local hospital.
Wood wasn’t just a pitcher-he was an innings-eating marvel from a different era. And he did it with a pitch that danced more than it darted. Thanks to the knuckleball-a slow, fluttering offering that’s as unpredictable as it is hard to master-Wood was able to shoulder a workload that seems almost mythical by today’s standards.
A left-hander with a rubber arm and a fearless mentality, Wood led the league in innings pitched twice and topped the majors in games started four times. His 1972 season remains one of the most jaw-dropping feats of endurance in baseball history: 376⅔ innings pitched and 49 starts.
Let that sink in-49 starts in one season. No one has come close to those numbers since, and it’s not likely anyone ever will.
To put that in perspective, modern aces are often capped around 200 to 220 innings a year, and a 35-start season is now considered a full workload. Wood wasn’t just pushing the limits-he was redefining them. And he did it year after year, all while throwing a pitch that most major leaguers wouldn’t dare rely on full-time.
What made Wood’s run even more remarkable was the way his managers leaned on him, knowing that his unique pitch put less strain on his arm. That trust led to a staggering amount of usage, and Wood delivered with consistency and grit. He was the kind of pitcher you could hand the ball to every third or fourth day and expect him to give you a chance to win-and go deep into the game while doing it.
In today’s game, where pitch counts and innings limits dominate conversations, Wilbur Wood stands as a reminder of a different kind of pitcher. One who didn’t overpower hitters with velocity, but baffled them with movement. One who didn’t need rest every five days, but thrived on being the guy who took the ball whenever his team needed him.
Wilbur Wood's legacy isn’t just in the stats-though those are staggering enough. It’s in the way he stretched the boundaries of what a pitcher could do, and how he carved out a place in baseball history with a pitch that moves like a butterfly and a mindset built for the long haul.