PHOENIX _ A few steps down the line, after a fifth-inning pitch from Arizona starter Archie Bradley veered farther inside than Rich Hill preferred, Hill started to shout. When he reached first base, he spun and pointed at Bradley. His mouth unleashed a brief volley of invective, enough sound to empty both benches and bullpens, enough fury to reveal what he calls his "relentless intensity" on the diamond.
In a 7-3 defeat to Arizona, Hill could not reprise the heights of his last outing, when his seven perfect innings, and the subsequent hook from Manager Dave Roberts, inspired an industry-wide debate. Five days later, Hill left with one out in the sixth. The Diamondbacks taxed him for four runs.
The game combusted in the sixth. Down two runs, Hill gave up an RBI single, and Louis Coleman allowed his inherited runner to score. Then Coleman surrendered a three-run homer to outfielder Mitch Haniger, assuring Hill of his first loss as a Dodger.
Despite the setback, the team can still plan for a postseason run with Hill near its center. His expression on the mound evokes melancholy. His artistry approaches the sublime. His philosophy relies upon an insistence on conviction in his ability and passion in his approach.
"He's got a lot of edge out there," Dodgers ace Clayton Kershaw said. "It's fun to watch. He wants to be out there. He wants to compete. And he's really, really good."
His journey to this moment, when Hill may well be the best pitcher in baseball, encompasses a decade of life and loss. Hill debuted with the Cubs at 25, underwent shoulder surgery at 29 and needed elbow reconstruction at 31. He has pitched for 10 different teams in the past eight years. He lost his command as a starter, experimented as a reliever and chose to pitch in independent baseball last summer.
Hill was not a Long Island Duck for long. He made four starts for Boston last September, which enticed Oakland to sign him to a $6 million contract during the winter. The Dodgers targeted Hill throughout this past summer, and acquired him on Aug. 1 along with his teammate, outfielder Josh Reddick.
"I'm trying to make the most of my time," Hill said earlier this week, during a quiet moment during a hectic few days for him at Yankee Stadium. "Because time is so fleeting. You can't buy more of it. You can't get it back. So you have to make the most of it when you have it."
Hill savors the incremental gifts of his profession. He lacks hobbies, he says, "except for really trying to focus on executing each pitch in each outing." He simmers into a borderline rage on the mound, smashing a bat when Roberts removed him in Miami, jawing with Bradley on Thursday. He revels in the feeling of the baseball in his fingers, the crowd humming around him.
He understands how baseball can wound a man. He understands how life can.
His wife gave birth to their second son, a boy named Brooks, on the day after Christmas in 2013. The child dealt with health issues, and passed away that March. "He taught us a lot of things," Hill told reporters that spring, and earlier this week he referenced Brooks' passing as a moment that crystallized his mindset.
"For me, that's something that speaks to how important time is," Hill said. "And taking advantage of the time that you have here, while we're here, to do what we do. And try to make an impact during that time."
In the summer of 2015, Hill negotiated his release from the Nationals triple-A affiliate and went to the Atlantic League to stretch out his arm. He wanted to try again as a starter. He reunited with Boston in August, where a conversation with Red Sox pitching guru Brian Bannister sparked his curiosity and reshaped his trajectory.
During his five-year career in the majors, Bannister earned acclaim as an early advocate of advanced metrics. When he met Hill last August, he raved about the spin rate of his curveball. Hill had a unique weapon at his disposal, but he had only deployed it conventionally.
Bannister told Hill how Kershaw manipulated his offspeed pitches and how Zack Greinke altered his changeup. The discussion lit a bulb. He no longer needed to view his curveball as a secondary pitch. It could become a primary offering, thrown from different angles, at different speeds, to disorient hitters.
The transition weaponized Hill's curveball and reduced his reliance on his fastball. Hill had struggled with his command in the past. In order to tamper his wildness, he also shifted from the first-base side of the rubber to the third-base side.
He combines his aptitude on the mound with that smoldering intensity. At times, like in Thursday's fifth inning, the energy manifests as anger.
"It's like that boxer in the ring," Hill said. "You're going all out. You're giving every single thing you have, every time you get the opportunity to pitch. That's a great feeling. Because afterwards, to me, you should be like 'I left everything out there.' That's a cliche. But it's the truth."
