Rauch Reaches All-Time High
At 6 Feet 11, Nationals Reliever Is the Tallest Player in Major League History

By Barry Svrluga
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, March 8, 2007

KISSIMMEE, Fla., March 7 -- Jon Rauch hears it at the mall. He hears it as he pumps his gas. "Do you play basketball?" people ask.

"It's part of daily life," he said Wednesday. "And I'm starting to get the football question more now, too."

Daily life, at 6 feet 11, can be, as Rauch said, "a grind." He ducks under thresholds. His knees have nowhere to hide on airplanes. He can't, as he said, "exactly go out and buy a Honda Accord," though he did test-drive a Mini Cooper and found it, surprisingly, "a lot more comfortable for me than most cars."

There is one place he considers his height an advantage: "Out on that mound."

Rauch is a pitcher for the Washington Nationals, a man who found new confidence last season when he became a valuable set-up man for closer Chad Cordero, a man who found new meaning in his life with the birth of his first child, daughter Aubree, last December. But whatever Rauch accomplishes on the field, whatever he goes through off of it, he will carry one label: tallest player in major league history.

"Nothing you can do about it," he said Wednesday at Osceola County Stadium before the Nationals' 5-2 loss to the Houston Astros in which he pitched a scoreless inning.

Rauch prefers to discuss the things he can control, and those include backing up his strong 2006, one that featured a career-high 85 appearances and a 3.35 ERA. He has recovered from two shoulder surgeries, the first in 2001, the second in 2005, and is renewed and reassured now that he no longer has to grapple with how starting games affected his arm.

All those peripheral issues -- his health, his role, his confidence -- have changed since Rauch was drafted in the third round by the Chicago White Sox in 1999, then traded to the Montreal Expos in 2004. But he can never escape his height. He was 6-3 as a freshman in high school, around 6-7 when he graduated and 6-10 by the time he was drafted after his junior year at Morehead State in his home state of Kentucky. After he entered pro ball, he grew an inch more.

So when Rauch reached the majors for the first time in 2002, he officially one-upped legendary 6-10 left-hander Randy Johnson as the tallest player the majors had ever known. He is not overpowering, with a fastball that tops out around 93 mph. But he presents a different look.

"You probably want to take a couple pitches when you come in against him," said Nationals outfielder Austin Kearns, who faced Rauch when Kearns was with Cincinnati. "The only guy you can compare him to is Randy, who's coming from the other side. You kind of got to get ready quicker, just because he's releasing that much closer to you than someone who's normal size."

Rauch has no real explanation for his height. His father is 6-2, his mother 5-8. He said his father's parents were 6-4 and 5-10, and his mother's brothers all were tall. But he prefers other reasons.

"I grew up under power lines," he said, smiling. "I swam in the Ohio River. Ate a lot of peanut butter."

That Rauch can joke about such things is an indication of his place in the Nationals' clubhouse these days. "You want to put people in the position where they're comfortable," General Manager Jim Bowden said, "because that gives them the best chance to have success."

Rauch, though, was a starter in the minors, and he started 11 major league games from 2002-05. In fact, it was in one of those starts -- Aug. 13, 2004 -- when he provided a quirky signature moment. He faced Houston's Roger Clemens in just his third major league at-bat. Tony Batista, then an infielder for the Expos, called him over. He told Rauch that Clemens would throw a fastball, and that he should "swing as hard as you can."

Clemens came with the fastball. Rauch swung ferociously. "I didn't know where the ball went," he said. But then he heard catcher Brad Ausmus yelling: "Run, dummy." Rauch had hit a cue shot down the right field line. It snuck over the wall, just the second home run ever hit off Clemens by a pitcher.

"A total fluke," Rauch said.

He hopes people don't say the same about his 2006. He would like to issue fewer walks (36 in 91 1/3 innings) and allow fewer homers (13, tied for second-most among National League relievers). But he knows Manager Manny Acta won't change his role, and that puts him at ease.

"The biggest part of it was mentally knowing that I can go out and be healthy and not have to worry about my arm and not have to worry about breaking down like I had in the past on a day-to-day basis," he said. "Every day, it seemed like I felt good and I was happy to be there. As a starter, I knew that it was always in the back of my head coming back from my first surgery: 'Oh, gosh, I'm going to screw up, or I'm going to do something to my arm, and I'm never going to be able to play again.' "

But even if those thoughts haunt him again, he said he has a different attitude about it all now. "When I go home," he said, "the last thing I think about is baseball."

Instead, it is Aubree. He has her feet tattooed on his calf. And when the tallest player in major league history arrives home, he immediately scoops up his tiny daughter and watches her smile at him.

"People can say whatever they want," he said. "That's what matters most."