He rocked back into his windup, his head dropping back slightly, his eyes tilting upward, as if having a secret, personal communication with the heavens.
The eyes had it.
“He turned the game into a religion,” broadcaster Jaime Jarrín once said. More than a pitcher, Fernando Valenzuela was, of course, a mania. His dusty cinematic background, his cuddly youth and his quietly wry air of mystery fused with his preternatural talent, creating in Los Angeles an immediate sensation and an enduring love affair.