I'm not sure why, but to me there is no sadder story in baseball than that of the stud pitcher in decline. The spectacle is not the same as a slugger with fading skills, who is accustomed to making out seven out of ten times already. The decline from .300 to .200 is one extra out every two to three days. That's all. Humbling, but hardly drastic or heart-rending.

Not so for the pitcher who has lost his stuff. He is a punching bag, who stands unarmored on the mound as hitter after hitter toys with him. Yes, maybe once in a while he can dig deep, or use his wiles on some rookie, and register a strikeout. But it is a pitiful sight to see him in the second inning--while the bullpen phone is ringing and he relievers are scrambling like firemen to answer the alarm--as the heart of the order tees off. It's a pathetic spectacle, like a once-proud gladiator being circled by rabid lions. Not a good way to go.

Think of David Cone going 4-14 only two years removed from pitching a perfect game, in a cursed season in which his best start was erased by a rainout and a dive for a popup dislocated his shoulder. Time and again he would go to two strikes on a hitter only to give up a home run. But Cone has not been unique in this regard. The list of pitchers who have gone from "Cy Young to sayonara" is long.

It is for this reason that one of the best, most uplifting dramas in baseball is that of the pitcher who has hit rock bottom, and through whatever miracle, surgery, workout regimen, reinvention, or divine intervention, gets it back. This year's rag-arm to riches story just might be Chuck Finley.

Only a few months ago Finley was suffering in that special purgatory reserved for players who should have stayed with their former teams. With the Angels, Finley was a Southern California poster boy, with a fashion model wife and a Hollywood life. But the Indians coveted Finley, "the Yankee Killer," to be the piece of their postseason puzzle that would finally vault Cleveland over the new New York dynasty. Finley went to Cleveland, but never had the chance to face the Yankees in October. He struggled with mediocrity in Cleveland, and struggled off the field with his wife, who left him bruised and bleeding after assaulting him with her feet clad in spike heels. Talk about a low point in one's life. But with Cleveland looking to rebuild, Finley's destiny lay elsewhere.

The reasons why St. Louis found itself in need of starting pitching are tragic, and not in the literary sense I have employed previously. But the Cardinals carried on after the untimely death of Darryl Kile, and Finley found himself among the torchbearers leading the team's charge to the postseason. After a decidedly crummy 4-11 start to the season in Cleveland, after joining the rotation in St. Louis, Finley went 7-4 with a 3.80 ERA, the first time it has been under four (or five...) since 1998.

It is still in question as to whether Finley's story is a comeback story or a tragedy with a flare of false hope in the end, but his performance on the mound at Bank One Ballpark in Game Two of the NLDS was a heartwarming one. Six and a third innings of four-hit, shutout ball, with seven strikeouts. Finley dueled with Curt Schilling, one of baseball's current ultra-dominant hurlers, and left the game leading 1-0. Schilling made one mistake, a homer to J. D. Drew. Finley made none, and as befits the suffering hero, left the game with a debilitating cramp in his pitching hand.

If this were a Hollywood story, the score would have remained 1-0, the Cardinals would have taken a two games to none series lead, and Finley would be lauded as one of the men on whose shoulders St. Louis climbed to the next rung of the playoffs. As I write this, however, the bullpen has coughed up the tying run in the bottom of the eighth. Finley will not get the win, and at this stage, it is questionable as to whether the Cardinals will, as well. Perhaps they will pull off a ninth inning rally, and Finley's role in the win will still be lionized. Or perhaps it will be wasted.

But regardless of the game score, or the series lead, I am still thrilled by the performance of Chuck Finley. That is why I am writing this now, instead of waiting for the final outcome. The gladiator stands on the mound, armored only by the righteousness of his cause. The larger epic of the season and the postseason encompasses many stories. Thus far, Finley's has me riveted. Stay tuned.