I was shocked yesterday when the news broke that Dwight Gooden had been sentenced to a year and a day in prison for using cocaine, a violation of the probation to which he was sentenced for speeding away from policemen who had pulled him over for drunk driving last year. Not by the sentence – it’s hard to keep track of Gooden’s various legal and personal troubles, and I’d half assumed he was already in jail anyway. I was shocked to read that Gooden is still only 41.

Twenty years ago, Gooden was the best pitcher in baseball. Everyone knows what he did – his 1985 season, when he went 24-4 with a 1.53 ERA in 276 2/3 innings, is arguably the greatest pitching season in history. He was 20 that year, and while he had a few more good seasons, he was never again an ace-quality starter. There isn’t a fan in New York who hasn’t wondered what might have been if not for the cocaine and the drinking.

It’s not hard to imagine a 41-year-old Gooden as the fifth starter for this year’s Mets – the prodigal son returned on the 20th anniversary of his greatest triumph to lead his team to yet another victory. It’s not even all that hard to imagine him as a Roger Clemens-type, a living legend to fans and his teammates alike, winning his umpteenth Cy Young Award and lining up beside Pedro Martinez as part of the most dominant 1-2 punch in the game.

In truth, though, it probably wasn’t Gooden’s lifestyle that did him in, but throwing so many innings at such a young age and being forced by the Mets to dial down his fastball and concentrate on getting groundballs rather that strikeouts. The huge workload he endured as a teenager and the tinkering with his motion almost certainly would have reduced his effectiveness even if he’d spent his entire career enjoying flavorful glasses of Ovaltine and watching game film in his hotel room after every game. He would still have been one of the greats, though.

There aren’t all that many pitchers to whom you can compare Gooden; it’s been incredibly rare since the 19th century for anyone to pitch at anywhere near the level he achieved before he was 21. Among those who have done it are Bob Feller, Vida Blue, Frank Tanana, Bert Blyleven, Dennis Eckersley, and Fernando Valenzuela – two Hall of Famers, one future Hall of Famer in Blyleven, and a whole lot of incredible pitching.

Superficially, Gooden doesn’t compare badly to this group; his .634 lifetime winning percentage dramatically exceeds their collective .548, his 194 wins aren’t far off their average of 229, and his 3.51 career ERA compares well to their collective .342. This points out that no matter how much potential he wasted, Gooden had a superb career-194 major league wins are evidence of success, not failure.

The drugs and the injuries surely did cost him, though. His 2,800 2/3 lifetime innings are far off the other pitchers’ average of 3,757 1/3 – a total that’s brought down by the many years Eckersley spent in relief and by the three prime years Feller lost to World War II. Being a Cy Young-caliber starter before you’re old enough to drink might not be enough to put you in the Hall of Fame by itself, but it’s a hell of an indicator that you’re in for a long, durable career. Gooden didn’t have one, though. He was out of baseball at 35.

Another, more damning indicator is a simple count of quality seasons. To take a relatively low standard, Feller, Blue, Tanana, Blyleven, Eckersley, and Valenzuela averaged seven seasons apiece after the age of 21 in which they pitched at least 200 innings with a park- and league adjusted ERA that was at least average. To take a more demanding standard, they had three seasons apiece in which they pitched at least 200 innings with an adjusted ERA 25% better than average – comparable to Jon Garland or Jose Contreras last season. After he turned 21, Gooden had two seasons that met the less demanding standard, and none that met the more demanding one.

What could Gooden have done in better circumstances? It was never in the cards for him to be an ace his whole career. Most likely, his career would have turned out much like that of Tanana, who was never a pitcher of Gooden’s caliber, but was similar in that he lost his fastball to an arm injury due to pitching too much too young. Tanana was able to become an effective, durable control pitcher, and while he never fulfilled his early promise, his seasons of frustrating, injury-plagued mediocrity alternated with seasons in which he was among the better pitchers in the league.

The difference between Tanana and Gooden is basically that rather than missing whole seasons due to injuries and personal problems, Tanana would have seasons in which he’d pitch 160 poor innings. He was also able to pitch until he was 39. These are not insignificant considerations – over the course of his career, Tanana was something like a third again as valuable to his teams as Gooden was to his. Gooden certainly could have done more, though; if he was never going to be Roger Clemens, he could have been Curt Schilling.

In the end, though, that’s baseball. Gooden’s life hasn’t been a tragedy because he wasn’t as good as Frank Tanana, it’s been a tragedy because despite being given opportunities others with his problems could never even imagine, he’s been unable to get his life straight and live clean and sober.

As long ago as 1985 was, though, Gooden is still only 41 – ancient by baseball standards, but a young man in the real world. There’s plenty of time for him yet, and it’s quite possible that the next thing I hear about Dwight Gooden will be something wonderful and inspiring.

tmarchman@nysun.com