On a team full of players just figuring out what they’re doing, Jered Weaver so clearly knows what he is doing, plus what everyone else is doing.

In a season when we are so focused on youth, the oldest player on the team has so far been one of the marvels.

“I have a blast watching him pitch,” Padres pitching coach Darren Balsley said. “It’s fun.”

It is a blast. Right up there with watching Wil Myers hit and Austin Hedges frame pitches and trying to figure where punctuation fits into Andy Green’s run-on sentences, watching Weaver pitch has been among the most enjoyable parts of this young season.


His starts are appointment viewing. Really.

With all sincerity and respect, I say that with a similar intent as to how I might say you would have to stop and watch a man juggling chainsaws on the beach. It could go horribly wrong. And if it doesn’t, well, that’s dang impressive.

Look, we have to seek things to enjoy and appreciate about the Padres. This season is all but predestined to be irrelevant if only paying attention to the standings.

Most of us have bought into the construction project underway in the organization. We are vested in Hedges, Hunter Renfroe and Manny Margot. We are intrigued by the Rule 5 trio and the Christian Bethancourt experiment. We look forward to seeing more young players up, some sooner than later.


But we can also pause on occasion to value 33-year-old Clayton Richard’s sinker and 29-year-old Yangervis Solarte’s enthusiastic execution and most definitely the 34-year old Weaver defying age (and gravity) with the slowest fastball among major-league starting pitchers.

So make an appointment for Saturday evening, when Weaver makes his first start at Petco Park for the Padres.

His only start in San Diego was in 2012 for the Los Angeles Angels. He gave up three hits and two runs over seven innings and got the win. That Petco appearance was three starts after he threw a no-hitter against Minnesota and was the sixth of his 20 victories that season.

Yeah, the dude has been around for a long time.


Dude, by the way, is a perfectly appropriate way to refer to Weaver, a 12-year veteran. There is a slight resemblance in the way he moves and talks to Jeff Bridges’ character in “The Big Lebowski.” The Dude, with a bit of a snarl.

It would take a guy who is both laid-back and a little angry to take the hill at this point, with a fastball that averages 84.4 mph and has topped out at 86 this season.

Do you have any idea how much nerve and smarts this guy possesses that enables him to do what he’s doing?

He’s not left-handed. He doesn’t throw a knuckleball. There’s no gimmick, just cunning.


He’s out there slinging a fastball you didn’t even think they allowed in the majors anymore. And he’s getting people out. Like, he has thrown 85 mph fastballs past people this season.

He’s not going to win the Cy Young. He might not last the season. He could give up four homers in his next inning, let alone his next outing.

Neither are we talking about giving him a participation trophy.

After teetering on the edge of disaster in the season’s fourth game at Dodger Stadium, in which he took 82 pitches to get through five innings, allowing four runs, including two rocket-propelled Yasiel Puig homers, Weaver has strung together two quality starts.


In Coors Field last week, he allowed two runs on three hits (two homers) in six innings. Monday in Atlanta, he again went six innings, allowing two earned runs while working out of the trouble caused by seven hits.

If you have even an inkling of what it takes to compete at the level Weaver does, you must appreciate that he is doing it.

His average fastball is almost 8 mph slower than the MLB average among starters. In a game that has become so dominated by power arms, Weaver’s velocity is oft-ridiculed. What he is doing with deception, angles, pluck and methodical strategy should become the stuff of legend.

Balsley prepares meticulous scouting reports that Weaver considers. Then Weaver goes out and does his own thing based on what batters are showing him.


“He can really read a swing,” Balsley said. “He can really read what a hitter is trying to accomplish at the plate, what they’re looking for.”

He notes the way a hitter fouls off a pitch, the way he takes, where he’s standing. He’ll move a hitter inside, then attack the outside. As his fastball velocity has dropped, so has the velocity of his breaking pitches. He’s developed a two-seam fastball, which sinks. So he keeps hitters off-balance.

“When you don’t have stuff you can get by guys, you have to try to out-think them,” Weaver said.” Sometimes you’re not going to. But more times than not I think I have a grasp on what guys are trying to do at the plate. … It’s kind of a chess game. I take a lot of pride in trying to do that.”

Chess. With chainsaws.


“There’s not too many of those guys around anymore,” Balsley said. “It’s such a technical game now. There are so many analytics. He’s a throwback. He’s a great competitor. He just relies on his instincts and his guile to navigate his way through a game. Not many guys know how to do that anymore.”

Rarity should be something we cherish, something we look for, especially when there isn’t much else.

Watch this dude pitch.

kevin.acee@sduniontribune.com