At first, it was hard to hear what Turk Wendell was saying from atop his tractor.
On a mostly cloudy Thursday afternoon, the former Mets relief pitcher was planting corn on his farm in Adel, Iowa. Wendell took a break from his work to detail his life these days to the Daily News, which includes a heavy dose of tranquility on his spacious piece of Midwest land.
Wendell doesn’t really stick to a routine. When he’s not tending to the vegetables (alfalfa, corn and beans) and animals (he grazes about 40 calves each year, plus managing the deer) on his 200-plus acre farm, he’s staying occupied by fishing or bowhunting in the state he refers to as “God’s Country.”
“Just all sorts of stuff like that. Every day is a little different, but it’s fun,” he said by phone.
Iowa governor Kim Reynolds recently permitted the easing of some coronavirus-related restrictions. But Wendell doesn’t have much need for malls or movie theaters.
“It’s just the way my life is. I’ve kind of been quarantined my whole life in the offseason,” he said. “Other than occasionally going out to dinner or traveling somewhere for something, my life’s not changed.”
Wendell was an important middle-relief pitcher for the Mets when they made their run to the World Series in 2000, before the Amazin’s fell to the Yankees in five games. As a Met from 1997-2001, Wendell posted a 3.34 ERA and a 22-14 record in 285 appearances. He led the team in games pitched in the 1999 and 2000 seasons. Wendell amassed 33 saves across an 11-year big-league career playing for the Cubs, Phillies and Rockies before retiring in 2004.
But the eccentric workhorse was best known for his antics on the hill.
Wendell would leap, skip or hop over the foul line — making sure not to touch it. He would approach the mound and slap the rosin bag on the base of the hill immediately before facing hitters. Sometimes, he would chew black licorice. Other times, he’d brush his teeth between innings. Another of his superstitions was the shark tooth (or sometimes elk-tooth, turkey-spur and bear-claw) necklace he wore while pitching.
Those days are in the rear-view mirror for Wendell, who grew up in Western Massachusetts and played college ball at Quinnipiac in Connecticut.
The right-hander, now 52, is enjoying his quiet life. He lives with his 20-year-old son, Wyatt, who followed in his father’s footsteps (he’s a right-handed pitcher at Indian Hills Community College in Ottumwa, Iowa). Wendall’s 22-year-old daughter, Dakota, who was an All-American soccer play at Minnesota State University, visits her father and brother on the weekends.
Like most baseball enthusiasts, Wendell is looking forward to the return of the sport.
“I miss baseball like many Americans do, and international people as well. All over the world, everybody misses baseball,” Wendell said. “But once it does start again, there are still questions. Will there be fans? Will they play in Arizona or Florida?”
Major League Baseball continues to navigate the best way to potentially begin a 2020 season amid the coronavirus pandemic. Most recently, the league is reportedly centering around the idea of clubs starting spring training 2.0 in their home cities. But plenty of questions remain unanswered.
“As far as the season goes I think, and I hope, this may change baseball in a way for starting pitchers,” Wendell said. “With a shortened season, hopefully they’ll let these guys pitch longer or have higher pitch counts because they won’t have as many starts.”
Wendell, a self-proclaimed baseball traditionalist, wishes more starters conditioned themselves to pitch into the ninth inning and throw 150 pitches in an outing. He understands that doing so is hardly a simple task.
“It’s just that whole mental approach to the game,” he said. “That itself is an attribute that a lot of guys have to adapt to. Most people think it’s a physical grind, but it’s a mental grind to get to that level every single day for eight months.”
These days, Wendell has applied the pace of that visceral grind to his farming practices. He doesn’t yet know what life has in store for him. But, as he plants his corn and takes care of his deer, he’s in no rush to find out.