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Randy Jones never threw a pitch that frightened a radar gun, but he built a career that could humble even the most electrified arms of his era. He grew up in southern California, a left-hander whose fastball wasn’t exactly the sort of thing scouts sprinted to see twice. What he did have—and what would eventually make him one of the great artisans of 1970s pitching—was a stubborn belief that there were other ways to get hitters out. When he talked about it, even decades later,

If you’re a Mets fan of a certain age (translation: you still have VHS tapes labeled “Family BBQ” that are actually Game 6 of the ’86...

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where we brush aside the...