Justin Verlander: 3,500 Strikeouts, Age 42, and the Wind That Speaks of Legacy

HOUSTON — The dugout had emptied, the crowd at Minute Maid Park still humming in the afterglow of history. Forty-two-year-old Justin Verlander had just recorded his 3,500th career strikeout — a milestone only 18 pitchers in Major League Baseball history have ever reached. Cameras were still flashing, teammates were still offering backslaps and grins.

And yet, minutes later, Verlander wasn’t holding court in front of microphones. He wasn’t popping champagne. He was in the clubhouse tunnel, phone to his ear, speaking softly to his wife, Kate Upton.

“She didn’t even say congratulations,” Verlander said with a faint smile. “I just let her listen for a second. The wind was picking up through the open gate. It’s hard to explain, but it felt like… baseball talking back to me.”

It was a strange answer for a man whose career is defined by the tangible: velocity readings, strikeout totals, and postseason rings. But for Verlander, the game has always been as much about feeling as it is about numbers. And on this night, the wind — not the scoreboard — was what mattered.

The milestone that almost never came

Three years ago, 3,500 strikeouts felt impossible. In 2020, Verlander tore his ulnar collateral ligament and underwent Tommy John surgery. At 37, many assumed the injury would be a career-ender.

“I thought that might be it,” admitted former Astros pitching coach Brent Strom. “Not because he couldn’t still pitch, but because most guys, after what he’s done, they just walk away.”

But Verlander is not “most guys.” He attacked rehab with the same competitive fire that has fueled his career since his rookie season in 2005. When he returned in 2022, he didn’t just pitch — he won the AL Cy Young Award.

“That’s what separates him,” Astros manager Joe Espada said. “It’s not just the talent. It’s the ability to live in the uncomfortable space — the grind no one sees.”

The number, the moment, the meaning

Strikeout number 3,500 came in the sixth inning, a high-rising four-seamer that froze a rookie hitter. Verlander didn’t pump his fist. He didn’t shout. He simply walked off the mound with that steady, unshakable gait that’s become his trademark.

“I knew I was close, but I didn’t know it was that pitch,” he said later. “When they put it on the board, I thought about all the guys who caught me, all the coaches who believed in me, all the bullpens where my arm felt dead but I kept going.”

The fans roared. His teammates clapped in unison from the top step. But Verlander seemed to store the moment rather than spend it.

A call home — and the “wind”

After the final out, he moved quietly through the clubhouse. Reporters waited. The team’s PR staff asked him to hold for interviews. Instead, he stepped outside into the tunnel and dialed home.

“I could hear our daughter playing in the background,” Verlander said. “But I didn’t say much. I just held the phone up for a second so Kate could hear what I was hearing — the wind through the concourse. To me, that’s baseball saying, ‘It’s not over yet.’”

It was a curious image: the game’s elder statesman, still in uniform, standing in the shadows, letting the night air carry meaning only he could truly understand.

The fight to stay relevant

At 42, every start is a negotiation with time. The fastball that once sat at 99 mph now hovers around 94–95. The margin for error is thinner. The recovery is slower.

“I’ve had to re-learn how to pitch,” Verlander said. “I can’t just overpower guys for nine innings anymore. I have to think three pitches ahead. I have to understand hitters better than they understand themselves.”

Teammates notice. Younger pitchers, especially, study his routines — the extra stretching, the meticulous bullpen sessions, the film study late into the night.

“People think he’s a freak of nature,” said Astros starter Framber Valdez. “But he works for it. Every day. He’s obsessed.”

Chasing the inevitable

Verlander has nothing left to prove. Three Cy Young Awards. A Rookie of the Year. Two World Series titles. A career ERA that still glistens under 3.30. And now, 3,500 strikeouts.

But he’s not done.

“I’m still curious,” he said. “I still want to see what happens if I keep pushing. That’s the only reason to play this long — to keep writing the story.”

When asked if he’d thought about 4,000 strikeouts, Verlander laughed. “That’s a long way off. Let’s just say I’m not ruling anything out.”

A legacy written in more than numbers

The stat sheet will eventually fade into history, as it does for every player. But the small, quiet moments — the call home, the sound of the wind after a milestone — are what Verlander will keep.

“That’s the thing about this game,” he said. “It’s not just about what you do. It’s about what it leaves with you.”

On a night when he joined one of baseball’s most exclusive clubs, Justin Verlander didn’t celebrate with champagne. He let the wind speak for him. And in its unspoken way, it said what everyone already knew: the legacy is still being written.