The Forgotten Prologue: When Randy Johnson Struggled in Montreal

If you look at the plaque in Cooperstown, the narrative of Randy Johnson is one of absolute dominance. You see the five Cy Young Awards, the perfect game, the 303 career wins, and the terrifying image of a 6-foot-10 left-hander firing fastballs that seemed to defy the laws of physics. To the modern fan, “The Big Unit” was always a force of nature, a finished product of intimidation and precision.

But the record books hold a humbling secret from the late 1980s. Before he was the most feared pitcher in baseball, Randy Johnson was a raw, erratic, and frequently ineffective young arm struggling to find his footing in the National League. Specifically, his tenure with the Montreal Expos serves as a stark reminder that even the greatest legends often start with a stumble.

For those who only know Johnson through his years with the Seattle Mariners or the Arizona Diamondbacks, his time in Montreal is a footnote. However, for students of the game, It’s a masterclass in the volatility of raw talent. During his primary stint with the Expos, Johnson posted a 3-4 record with a 6.67 ERA over 11 games. It was a stretch of baseball that, by any standard, looked like a failure. Yet, it was the crucible that eventually forged a Hall of Famer.

The Raw Material: A Giant in the System

The Montreal Expos drafted Randy Johnson in the second round of the 1985 MLB Draft. At the time, the organization knew they had something physically unprecedented. Johnson wasn’t just tall; he was an anomaly. His leverage and arm slot created a downward plane that made his fastball feel like it was being dropped from a skyscraper. But there was a significant catch: he had absolutely no idea where the ball was going.

In the minor leagues, Johnson’s power was evident, but his control was nonexistent. He was the quintessential “thrower” rather than a “pitcher.” In the newsrooms of the late 80s, the conversation surrounding Johnson wasn’t about whether he could strike people out—it was whether he could ever throw a strike consistently enough to survive a professional lineup.

When he finally broke into the big leagues, the gap between his ceiling and his floor was a canyon. For a global audience watching the evolution of the game, the late 80s were a transition period where power pitching was being refined, but Johnson was an extreme example of “unrefined.”

The Montreal Struggle: 11 Games of Turbulence

Johnson’s time with the Expos was characterized by a frustrating paradox. He could dominate a batter with a 100-mph heater one moment and then walk three batters in a row the next. His 1989 campaign in Montreal is the clearest snapshot of this struggle.

Over 11 appearances, the numbers were sobering. A 6.67 ERA is a figure usually associated with a pitcher on the verge of being designated for assignment, not a future first-ballot Hall of Famer. The 3-4 record reflected a pitcher who often put his team in precarious positions, regardless of how many strikeouts he managed to rack up.

The primary issue was the walk rate. Johnson’s struggle with command wasn’t just a minor flaw; it was a systemic collapse of control. He was fighting his own mechanics, trying to harness a frame that his mind hadn’t yet fully mastered. In Montreal, he was a puzzle the coaching staff couldn’t quite solve, and the patience of the organization was beginning to wear thin.

Note: These figures highlight the volatility of Johnson’s early career before his mechanical adjustments in the American League.

The Trade That Changed Baseball History

By 1989, the Montreal Expos had seen enough. They viewed Johnson as a high-risk asset who couldn’t provide the stability needed for a rotation. In a move that would eventually become one of the most lopsided trades in the history of the sport, Montreal traded Randy Johnson to the Seattle Mariners in exchange for Gene Harris.

At the time, the trade didn’t seem like a heist. Gene Harris was a reliable, if unremarkable, arm. The Mariners, meanwhile, were taking a gamble on a giant who couldn’t find the strike zone. It was a low-risk move for Seattle and a “cleaning of the house” move for Montreal.

This is where the story shifts from a cautionary tale to a redemption arc. In Seattle, Johnson found the mentorship and the environment he needed to synchronize his towering frame with his delivery. He began to understand the art of pitching—the sequencing, the location, and the psychological warfare of the mound—rather than relying solely on the sheer velocity of his arm.

Why the Montreal Failure Mattered

It is easy to dismiss those 11 games in Montreal as a fluke or a meaningless blip. However, from a journalistic and analytical perspective, that period was essential. It represents the “growth pain” phase of an elite athlete.

Had Johnson been a polished pitcher from day one, he might never have developed the hunger or the technical discipline that defined his peak years. The struggle in Montreal forced him to confront the reality that velocity alone is not enough to win in Major League Baseball. He had to learn how to pitch, not just throw.

For current MLB front offices, the Randy Johnson/Montreal saga is often cited as a reason to be patient with “project” pitchers. When a team sees a young arm with elite velocity but terrible control, they aren’t just seeing a struggle; they are seeing the potential for a Big Unit if the development is handled correctly.

Comparing the Eras: From 6.67 to Dominance

To truly appreciate how far Johnson traveled from those days in Montreal, one only needs to look at his peak. Between 1995 and 2004, Johnson wasn’t just a great pitcher; he was a glitch in the system. He transformed from a pitcher who struggled to survive 11 games in Montreal to a man who could shut down entire lineups for nine innings straight.

The contrast is staggering:

• Montreal Johnson: High ERA, erratic command, perceived as a risk, traded for a journeyman.
• Peak Johnson: Multiple Cy Youngs, 300+ wins, the gold standard for left-handed pitching, a first-ballot Hall of Famer.

The physical tools—the height, the arm, the speed—were always there. What changed was the mental application and the mechanical consistency. The Montreal years were the “dark ages” of his career, but they provided the necessary contrast that makes his eventual ascent so legendary.

The Legacy of the “Almost”

For Montreal baseball fans, the trade of Randy Johnson remains a “what if” of epic proportions. Imagine a world where the Expos had found the key to Johnson’s control while he was still in Quebec. The trajectory of the franchise in the 1990s might have been entirely different with a generational ace anchoring the rotation.

But in the broader scope of baseball history, the story is less about the loss for Montreal and more about the journey of the athlete. It teaches us that the starting point does not dictate the destination. A 6.67 ERA in your early 20s does not preclude you from becoming the greatest left-hander to ever play the game.

Randy Johnson’s time with the Expos serves as a vital reminder to fans and analysts alike: do not mistake a unhurried start for a low ceiling.

As we look back at the career of Randy Johnson, we should remember the 11 games in Montreal. Not because they were impressive, but because they make the rest of his career even more impressive. He didn’t just climb the mountain; he started in the valley, fought through the frustration of failure, and eventually reached a peak that few in the history of the sport have ever touched.

The next time you see a young pitcher struggling with their walks in the early stages of their career, remember the Big Unit in 1989. The distance between a 6.67 ERA and a Hall of Fame plaque is often just a matter of finding the strike zone.

What do you think is the most underrated “struggle” period of a Hall of Fame career? Let us know in the comments below or share this story with a fellow baseball historian.