ECKERSLEY MASTERED MENTAL TEST

Dennis Eckersley knows the psychology of relief pitching better than most. That’s because he made 361 starts in his career — and then morphed into one of the greatest closers in major-league history, earning 390 saves.

So he understands the distinctive mental demands of life in the bullpen.

Eckersley also might count as one of the most authentic characters ever to step onto the mound. He always was real, open, vulnerable — fully aware of the heavy responsibility he carried, with his manager and teammates trusting him to protect the lead they built through eight innings.

“There’s adrenaline regardless, but there’s something about the ninth inning,” Eckersley, now 62, said in a recent phone interview. “If it’s possible, there’s more adrenaline. I loved the adrenaline.”

Eckersley, who grew up in Fremont (as a Giants fan), joined the A’s in 1987. That’s when manager Tony La Russa and pitching coach Dave Duncan pointed him toward the bullpen, briefly as a middle reliever and soon thereafter as Oakland’s closer.

The move came with an ample dose of anxiety. One example: Eckersley had a hang-up about Punch-and-Judy, left-handed hitters, as he put it. He didn’t fret about facing mighty power hitters as much as the pesky lefty who might poke a single the opposite way.

Eckersley often talked about this and his other quirks with Harvey Dorfman, whom the A’s hired in the mid-1980s as their mental performance coach. Dorfman helped Eckersley cope with the abundant psychological challenges of pitching the ninth inning.

“It’s all mental,” Eckersley said of life as a closer, “and it’s exhausting mentally.”

He couldn’t ease the tension with a postgame drink: Eckersley was a recovering alcoholic. He became an exercise maniac, mostly because running calmed him — more mentally than physically.

Eckersley doubted himself more than most fans realize. They probably saw his demonstrative antics on the mound — fist pumps, post-strikeout shrieking — and assumed he was another cocky showboat.

Not really. That animation mostly reflected Eckersley’s uptightness as he walked along the edge of baseball’s cliff.

“It was like life or death for me, I swear it was,” he said. “That’s why I let it go at the end. That was relief. I wasn’t cool enough to think I’m going to punch out the side and then moonwalk. …

“A lot of guys don’t admit it, but (fear of failure) makes you go — the fact it’s all on you. That’s what gives you even more adrenaline. It worked for me. It wasn’t like I was scared. I was very concerned.”

Eckersley balanced his concern with a veteran’s wisdom. He was 32 when he became a closer, with 12 years of majorleague experience. He was no kid.

This mattered, because by then Eckersley had learned to harness his velocity on the mound and his wildness away from the ballpark.

“When I was older, I had great control,” he said. “What would it have been like when I was 22 and bringing it? I threw

hard when I came up. It probably would have been difficult, control-wise, to be a closer when I was younger.”

It also helped that La Russa launched the era of specialized bullpen roles, with Eckersley and set-up men Rick Honeycutt and Gene Nelson. Honeycutt and Nelson often extricated the A’s from any messes in the seventh or eighth inning, paving the way for Eckersley.

This eased his mind, knowing he usually began the ninth “clean,” without runners on base. He was not adept at holding them close, to put it mildly.

But, man, he could paint the corners. And his manager did whatever he could to make Eckersley feel good about himself heading into high-stakes situations.

“Tony always said you have to get one guy very confident, and it’s your last guy,” Eckersley said. “Give him a couple easy saves. Don’t let him go through hell.”

He still went through hell sometimes; see Kirk Gibson in the 1988 World Series or Roberto Alomar in the 1992 American League Championship Series. These missteps shadowed Eckersley, reminding him of the perils of life as a closer.

Even when he was sailing along — as he did in 1990, with 48 saves, a 0.61 ERA, four walks and 73 strikeouts — he couldn’t savor his success the way he did as a starter. The mental energy required to be a closer was consuming and unrelenting.

“A save is exhilarating,” Eckersley said, “and then it’s gone.”