When Tim Lincecum took the mound earlier this month hoping to bring his career back to life, it had been a year-and-a-half since his final game in 2016. It was a cold, gray Thursday afternoon in Kent, Washington, at a warehouse just south of Seattle, and there were questions whether he would once again perform like the man nicknamed The Freak—the 5'11" flamethrower with long brown hair, who for a long time had a face that didn't need a razor, who racked up two consecutive Cy Young Awards and three World Series rings. A year-and-a-half ago, his fastball had slowed to the mid-80s—hardly the 99 mph that he threw as a rookie—and now Tim wanted to see whether he could be, if not his old self, at least something close to it.
Where Tim Lincecum Has Been Hiding
