Eddie Guardado no longer must fight through pain

SURPRISE, Ariz. -- For years Eddie Guardado stubbornly fought the elbow surgery his left arm he knew was necessary to prolong his career.

Guardado was a gamer. He was "Every Day." He could fight through even the most excruciating pain. He believed every ninth inning of every game belonged to him.

Surgery was for sissies. Surgery was for after his career. And Guardado believed the end of his career was years away.

So, for years, in Minnesota, Seattle and Cincinnati, Guardado pitched past the pain. Now with the Texas Rangers, he survived on guile and location and a fastball that never rose higher than 85 miles per hour.

He was racing time and he thought he could win.

He couldn't.

"Something had to be done. I couldn't sleep anymore," Guardado said.

He couldn't hold his cellphone with his left arm without the arm throbbing. When he reached into his pockets for change, he felt a stabbing pain running up his arm. He would wake up at nights with his left arm throbbing and tingling as if he'd slept awkwardly on it.

Finally he found comfort, sleeping on his stomach and letting his arm hang off the edge of the bed.

Every time he went to the mound last year, Guardado wondered if he could fool the hitter just one more time. If he could get three outs, go home and deal with the pain overnight.

"I'd go to the mound and tell myself, 'Don't mess this up whatever you do,' " said the 37-year-old Guardado. "I'm competitive. I have a lot of pride and want to help my team in whatever way I can. But is it really helping your team if you're not at 100 percent? I don't think so. If you're a gamer, if you get hurt a little bit, you can deal with it. But this was painful, man.

"Really, mentally, you start thinking, 'What the hell am I doing out here? I got to get something done. I got to get this fixed.' But you see a hitter, you're in the moment, you're like, 'By God, I can do this.' Next thing you know you give up a grand slam."

One weekend in Philadelphia in mid-August 2006 finally convinced Guardado to get his elbow fixed.

On three consecutive days, against the Phillies, Guardado lied to Reds manager Jerry Narron when Narron asked him if felt healthy enough to pitch. He blew two saves and gave up four runs and six hits in three innings.

"I came off the mound after that last game in Philadelphia and I'm mad," said Guardado, who saved 36 games for the Mariners in 2005. "I'm not mad because I blew the save. Sure, I wanted the save, but I'm mad because I let the team down by pitching when I'm not 100 percent."

After the last game in Philadelphia, Guardado went into Narron's office, pointed to his elbow and said, "There's something in there. Everything feels torn up. I've got to get it fixed."

Guardado had to make the most difficult admission of his life. He had to surrender to the pain.

"How do you deal with the pain? You suck it up," he said. You try to do it old school and give it your best, but when you're not putting up the numbers you like and not helping the team win, when you're just hurting the team, basically, you got to say, 'It's time to get it done. Get it right.'

"Nobody ever wants to have surgery. Have a big one. Get cut up. Even at this age. But you know what? I got it done. I rehabbed it. And I have an opportunity to come out here and see if I can still do it. And if I didn't think I could do it, I don't think I'd be here."

Guardado returned from the surgery last August, pitched 15 games, blew two saves and finished with a 7.24 earned-run average.

"It took me all August to figure out how to pitch again," he said. "When you come back from this, you have your doubts, but by September I was feeling good again."

Eighteen months after the surgery, the Rangers signed him. And Guardado says he feels healthy for the first time in more years than he can remember.

Although C.J. Wilson is the acknowledged Rangers closer, Guardado is too much of a competitor to concede the job to him.

"It's not my decision, but I love closing," he said. "I love the pressure, competing, coming in with the game on the line. The pressure situation is unbelievable. Closing is what I want to do. But if it doesn't work out, and they name C.J., I'll do whatever they want me to do.

"I want to see how this year plays out. How I bounce back from this. It feels great now, No pain and it's like I don't even know how to throw with no pain. You throw a pitch. You're waiting and waiting for the pain. No pain. It's weird. But going through 162 games, who knows?"

At the end of this month, the Rangers open the season in Seattle and Guardado already has his dream scenario for opening day.

"It's a 3-2 game and I come in and close," Guardado said. "And then I look over at J.J. [Mariners closer Putz] and give him a big smile."

Steve Kelley: 206-464-2176 or skelley@seattletimes.com. More columns at www.seattletimes.com/columnists