Even a quick glance at Mike Cuellar’s 1975 Topps card reveals the face of a hardened, grizzled veteran. The extreme close-up gives us a good look at the side of his face, which is pock-marked and swarthy. It is the face of a man who has endured a lot in his life, growing up in Cuba and eventually making his way to the states. He looks like a veteran who has had his share of struggles, particularly in his early days as a professional pitcher, before becoming a pillar of success with several championship teams in Baltimore.

Upon closer inspection, we might also notice an error on the front of Cuellar’s card. When we look at his name, featured at the bottom of the card, we can see that it reads “Mike Cueller.” That’s Cueller, with an “e.” But it should read Cuellar, with an “a.” Knowing something about Cuellar, I can imagine that it did not please him to see such a mistake on his baseball card. One of the most superstitious men to ever play the game, Cuellar must have thought that the misspelling of his name carried with it a terrible degree of bad luck. No, I don’t believe that Cuellar (pronounced QUAY-yar) would have liked that at all.

By the spring of 1975, when Topps issued this colorful blue and orange-bordered card as part of its annual release, Mike Cuellar had established himself as one of the winningest left-handers in the game. Jim Palmer and Dave McNally had monopolized most of the headlines on the Orioles’ pitching staff, but Cuellar did his fair share of heavy lifting, too, in terms of logging innings and coming up with wins. Wins have become a subject of debate for pitchers; there are some sabermetricians who would like to see the win disemboweled or discarded. For better or worse, Cuellar did lots of winning in the late 1960s and early 1970s: 23 wins in 1969, 24 in 1970, followed by years of 20, 18, 18, and 22, the latter total coming in 1974, when he led the American League in winning percentage. The total would shrink to 14 in 1975, marking the beginning of Cuellar’s decline phase.

It’s easy to forget that Cuellar’s long career began years earlier in Cincinnati, when the franchise was still known as the Red Legs, and not the Reds. Cincinnati signed him in 1957 out of Cuba, where he was pitching for the Cuban Army team. That was not an easy task, given the pressure the players felt from Cuban dictator Fulgencio Batista, a man who did not like to lose. After signing Cuellar, the Reds assigned him to Havana. That’s where the Red Legs had judiciously stationed their top minor league affiliate, known as the Sugar Kings, as a way of tapping into the Cuban market. (The Reds had several other top notch Cuban players at Havana, including Cookie Rojas, Leo Cardenas and Tony Gonzalez.)

Cuellar would put in two good seasons for the powerhouse Sugar Kings before receiving a promotion to Cincinnati at the start of the 1959 season. He made two appearances in relief but was hit very hard, convincing the Red Legs that he needed more developmental time in the minors.

Upon his return to Havana, Cuellar pitched well, but his career became disrupted the following summer, when the Red Legs relocated their Triple-A affiliate from Havana to Jersey City in midseason. That franchise shift proved to be an omen for Cuellar, who spent the next several minor league summers on the move. Cuellar pitched for a number of affiliates, spent some time on loan to the Minnesota Twins’ organization, and even put in some work in the Mexican League. The Reds then traded Cuellar to the Cleveland Indians, who loaned him out for a spell to the Detroit Tigers before trading his contract to the St. Louis Cardinals. Whew. It was enough to convince a lesser man to quit the game, but Cuellar persevered in his quest for a more permanent place in the major leagues.

After struggling with the Cardinals in 1964 and not appearing at all in that fall’s World Series, Cuellar received the break he needed in the spring of 1965. At the June 15 trading deadline, the Cardinals traded Cuellar and veteran reliever Ron Taylor to the Houston Astros for right-hander Chuck Taylor and southpaw Hal Woodeshick.

The expansion Astros, who had entered the league only three years earlier as the Colt .45s, had a far greater need for pitching than the established Cardinals. Cuellar pitched mostly in relief for Houston, but also made four starts. He unveiled a screwball that he had first experimented with in St. Louis. The Astros saw enough to make him a part of their rotation full time in 1966.

Assisted by the dimensions of the pitcher-friendly Houston Astrodome and the generally difficult conditions that existed for hitters in the mid-1960s, Cuellar posted good ERAs over the next three years. He didn’t win a ton of games—an average of 10 per season—mostly because the Astros didn’t score many runs and didn’t win a lot of games themselves. But he did make the National League All-Star team one summer, hinting at some of the high-end success that would eventually come his way. He also showed a fierce streak of competiveness. When Philadelphia Phillies manager Gene Mauch subjected him to some intense bench jockeying, Cuellar had to be restrained from going after him. “I wanted to punch him in the nose,” Cuellar told The Sporting News.

After the 1968 season, Cuellar reported to winter ball in Puerto Rico. One day, he shut down an opposing team that featured an array of major leaguers: Paul Blair, Orlando Cepeda, Dave Johnson and Tony Perez. Employing his devastating screwball against the series of accomplished right-handed hitters, Cuellar made an impression on the opposition manager. It was none other than Hall of Famer Earl Weaver, who noted how the left-hander had made his hitters “look like fools with that screwball.”

Weaver reported back to his general manager, Harry Dalton, about Cuellar. Orioles superscout Jim Russo, one of the game’s greatest evaluators of talent, also endorsed Cuellar. Later that winter, the Orioles conducted trade talks with the Astros, who had an interest in hard-hitting utilityman Curt Blefary. Dalton made sure to ask for Cuellar as part of the return package. So on Dec. 4, the O’s sent Blefary and a minor league throw-in to Houston for Cuellar, slick-fielding shortstop Enzo Hernandez, and a minor leaguer.

Critics of the trade questioned why the Orioles were so interested in a 32-year-old veteran who could best be categorized as a junkballer. Other critics claimed that Cuellar lacked guts and didn’t want to pitch in big games. Those critics knew very little about Mike Cuellar.

Cuellar’s physical appearance was highly deceptive. At six feet and 165 pounds, he didn’t look particularly big or powerful. But his Orioles teammates soon marveled at the strength of his handshake, which could be best compared to a vise grip. Joining a rotation that featured Palmer, McNally and right-hander Tom Phoebus, the new Orioles acquisition took his place as one of the staff aces. Cuellar’s ERA of 2.38 nearly matched Palmer’s. He logged a staff-high 290 innings, winning 23 of his decisions, also the top total on the Orioles. As much as anybody, Cuellar helped drive the Orioles to a 19-game runaway in the newly formed American League East. Cuellar’s performance earned him a share of the league’s Cy Young Award, along with Detroit’s more famous Denny McLain.

Cuellar’s effectiveness fell off somewhat in 1970, as his ERA rose to 3.48, but he actually carried a heavier burden for the Orioles. His 40 starts and 21 complete games not only led the Orioles; those numbers led the entire league. Cuellar won 24 of 32 decisions, pushing his winning percentage to a league best .750. This time, Cuellar finished fourth in the Cy Young voting, while providing the perfect complement to Palmer and McNally. Powered by their pitching, the Orioles won 108 games, took the East in another runaway, and eventually beat Cincinnati’s “Big Red Machine” in a World Series match-up of superpowers. In an appropriate finish, Cuellar ended the Series with a complete game win in Game Five, allowing him to initiate the Orioles’ on-field celebration with a hug of Brooks Robinson.

A Hardball Times Update by Rachael McDaniel Goodbye for now.

With 47 wins over his first two seasons in Baltimore, Cuellar had fully justified the trade with the Astros, who had already ridden themselves of the defensively challenged Blefary. Cuellar would win 20 more games in 1971—one of four Orioles starters to eclipse the mark that summer. Once again carrying a stiff workload of more than 290 innings, Cuellar lowered his ERA by half a run and made the All-Star team for the second consecutive season. Predictably, the Orioles won their third straight division title, before losing the World Series in a monumental upset to the Pittsburgh Pirates.

It was during that Series that Cuellar endured a momentary lapse that cost the Orioles. In Game Three, Cuellar trailed, 2-1, as he faced Roberto Clemente to start the seventh inning. Checking his swing, Clemente tapped the ball back to Cuellar, who fielded the ball off balance. Realizing that Clemente was running hard from the get-go, Cuellar hurried his throw to first base, pulling Boog Powell off the bag. The error ignited a three-run rally for the Pirates, who blew the game open in finding a way to stem the Oriole tide after losses in the first two games of the Series.

There was a touch of déjà vu to the play involving Cuellar and Clemente. The previous winter, the two veterans had clashed during the Puerto Rican winter league season. Cuellar was playing for Clemente, an old school, no-nonsense sort who believed that the same rules should apply to everyone. Initially, Cuellar made a bad impression by reporting to winter ball out of shape. Cuellar then made it clear that he wanted to pitch on his own schedule, and not Clemente’s. That didn’t fly with Clemente, who let it be known to Cuellar that he would have to adjust. Cuellar wouldn’t; he quit the team in midseason, leaving Clemente furious.

Cuellar’s behavior in winter ball exemplified his unique, offbeat personality and also helped explain how he obtained the nickname of “Crazy Horse” during his years with the Orioles. In perhaps his most extreme quirk, Cuellar believed strongly in the spirit of a special baseball cap, which he felt that he had to wear in any game he pitched. On one occasion, Cuellar forgot this particular cap and demanded that the Orioles fly the cap back to Milwaukee, where they were playing a series against the Brewers. “We had to call the clubhouse man back in Baltimore to airmail that [bleeping] hat to us,” Weaver explained to the Baltimore Sun. But when the cap made its way to Milwaukee, Cuellar realized that it was his practice cap, and not his gamer. Without his usual game-worn cap, Cuellar refused to pitch against the Brewers. Hence the nickname Crazy Horse.

While such incidents placed Cuellar in the category of high maintenance, the Orioles were more than willing to put up with him because of his clownish sense of humor, which made him a popular member of the clubhouse and a fun-loving participant in the team’s celebrated “Kangaroo Kourt.” Cuellar’s belief in the mystical powers of his cap was just one of a horde of superstitions that he held and practiced. Let’s consider some of the others:

When Cuellar first joined the Orioles, he insisted that backup catcher Clay Dalrymple catch his warmup tosses prior to games. Not only that, but Cuellar arranged for another Orioles catcher, Elrod Hendricks, to stand at home plate with a bat while he completed the warmups. Dalrymple retired in 1971, forcing Cuellar to adopt a backup plan. Cuellar called on Orioles coach Jim Frey to serve as his new pregame catcher.

On days he pitched, Cuellar would smoke a cigarette in the runway off the dugout while the Orioles batted. Once an Orioles batter had been retired, Cuellar would extinguish the cigarette and throw it away. At the end of each inning, Cuellar refused to leave the dugout and return to the mound until his catcher—usually Hendricks or Andy Etchebarren—had put his shin guards back on. Then when he did walk out to the mound, he never stepped on the foul line.

Once on the mound, Cuellar would not allow anyone to throw the ball back to him. Instead, he would pick the ball up only from the ground. On one occasion, an opposing player decided to have some fun with Cuellar. Alex Johnson of the Cleveland Indians, an interesting character in his own right, caught the third out of the inning and then slowly walked back toward the infield. Walking near the mound just as Cuellar arrived, Johnson tossed the ball to the quirky veteran. Cuellar awkwardly ducked out of the way, refusing to allow the ball to even touch him. The bat boy then picked up the ball and tossed it Cuellar’s way a second time. Once again, Cuellar ducked out of the way.

On Orioles road trips, Cuellar always traveled wearing a blue suit. Not just a suit, but a blue one, without fail. And then, the night before he pitched, Cuellar always ate a meal of Chinese food.

Cuellar’s superstitions made headlines, seemingly more so than his continued quality pitching. Even as the Orioles endured an off year in 1972, Cuellar raised his level of performance again. Pitching to a 2.57 ERA (his lowest since 1969), he emerged as the clear No. 2 behind Palmer. He would tack on two more excellent seasons in 1973 and ’74, helping the Orioles to two more divisional titles. His effectiveness remained high in the postseason, even though the O’s lost consecutive Championship Series to the Oakland A’s.

Although Cuellar remained underrated by the public, perhaps because of a lack of a high-octane fastball, his Orioles coaches and teammates certainly came to appreciate his talent. His vast repertoire of pitches included two kinds of screwballs, two curveballs, a change-up, a slider and a fastball. “He was like an artist,” Palmer would tell the New York Times years later in describing a pitcher who only once cracked the 200-strikeout milestone. “He could paint a different picture every time he went out there. He could finesse you. He could curve ball you to death, or screwball you to death. From 1969 to ’74, he was probably the best left-hander in the American League.”

It was not until 1975 that Cuellar began to show signs of wear and tear, which was perfectly understandable given that he was now 38. His ERA rose to 3.66, its highest level since he had struggled with the Cardinals in 1964. The situation worsened in 1976, as arm problems limited him to just over 100 innings, a 4.96 ERA, and an uncharacteristic win/loss mark of 4-13. Convinced that Cuellar was done, the Orioles released him in December.

Given his name brand status, Cuellar received one more chance when the California Angels came calling. Badly in need of accomplished pitchers, the Angels signed him in January and pitched him twice in the early season. The results were not good. Cuellar allowed seven runs in three and a third innings, an indication that it was time to move on. On May 16, the Angels released the left-hander, ending his career one week after he had turned 40.

Other than a brief stint in the Mexican League in 1979, Cuellar remained outside of organized baseball for the most part. He worked as a pitching coach in independent ball and in the Puerto Rican Winter League. In 2009, he returned to the Orioles as a volunteer pitching instructor at their spring training camp and also participated in a celebrated reunion of the 1969 Baltimore team.

In 2010, Cuellar’s health took a turn for the worse. At first, he was diagnosed with an aneurism in his brain. He then had to have his gall bladder removed. And then came the worst diagnosis; it was stomach cancer, which resulted in his admission to Orlando Regional Medical Center in Florida. One of his closest friends and golfing buddies, former second baseman Felix Millan, visited him during his final days. On April 2, Cuellar died, losing his battle with cancer at the age of 72.

At one time, the average life span of a man was said to be 72. In the case of Cuellar, very little about his life was average. From his time growing up in Cuba, to the difficult and convoluted route he was forced to take in making the major leagues, to the full array of his superstitions and unusual beliefs, Mike Cuellar led a life that bordered on the extraordinary.

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