San Diego Padres Legend Randy Jones Dies At 75
The San Diego sports world is a little dimmer today. Randy Jones, the lefty with the “everyman” charm and the first Padre to ever hoist a Cy Young Award, has passed away at 75. The Padres announced his death on Wednesday, and for a city that he adopted as his own, it’s a tough loss. Jones wasn’t just a player; he was a San Diego institution.
Jones wasn’t built like a baseball god. He wasn’t some 6-foot-6 flamethrower. He was just a guy who happened to have a sinker that could make the most fearsome hitters on the planet look absolutely silly. His fastball barely scraped 80 mph, which, even in the 70s, wasn’t exactly intimidating. But velocity? Jones didn’t need it. He had guile, intelligence, and a ball that dipped more than a chip at a Super Bowl party. They called him the “Junkman,” and he wore it like a badge of honor.
His peak was a thing of beauty. In 1975 and 1976, Jones was untouchable. He went 42-26 for a Padres team that wasn’t very good. He threw 43 complete games in those two seasons.
Randy Jones: San Diego’s Favorite Son
In 1976, when Jones won the Cy Young with 22 wins, he became more than a pitcher. He was a sensation. Attendance at San Diego Stadium would surge whenever he was on the mound. Fans would rise to their feet as he made his walk to the bullpen, a pregame ritual that became legendary. He was one of them, a regular guy doing extraordinary things, and they loved him for it. He even landed on the cover of Sports Illustrated.
Even after an arm injury in late ’76 robbed him of his top form, his connection to San Diego never faded. After his playing days ended with the Mets, he came right back. He was a fixture at Petco Park, running his famous Randy Jones BBQ stand and always ready to talk ball with anyone who stopped by. He was a true ambassador for the team and the city.
When he announced he had throat cancer in 2017, a likely result of a career using chewing tobacco, the city rallied around him. And when he declared he was cancer-free a year later, San Diego breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Losing a legend like Randy Jones hurts. He was more than just his retired No. 35 or his plaque in the Padres Hall of Fame. He was the heart and soul of a franchise for decades, a reminder that you don’t need to throw 100 mph to be a giant. You just need a little bit of junk and a whole lot of heart.
