A cliché becomes a cliché because at one time it was accepted as irrefutable fact. The sport of baseball has always been an abundant spring of those eventually hackneyed phrases that have a lasting, even comforting, ring of truth. A particularly rich source, of course, was Yankees catcher Yogi Berra, that great Zen-poet-who-didn’t-know-it, who gave the world “It ain’t over till it’s over,” among other chestnuts. Were Yogi not given to his singular brand of malapropism – and faulty mathematics – gems such as “Baseball is 90 percent mental; the other half is physical” would never have entered the sport’s lore or the English language.

Lately, however, there is one professional baseball player whose feats have cast doubt on Yogi’s most famous aphorisms, especially the one about the precise moment that the conclusion is conclusively, well, concluded. That player is Éric Gagné, and since the 2002 season, he has been the Los Angeles Dodgers’ closer, the relief pitcher brought in when his team is ahead in the final innings to ultimately shut the door on opposing batters. Whenever the Montreal native takes the mound at Dodger Stadium and the opening riffs of Guns N’ Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle” blast from the speakers, those in attendance can say with near certainty, “It’s over .” In just three years, Gagné has emerged as the most intimidating stopper in the National League and, arguably, in the major leagues. In 2003, he became the second Canadian in history to win the NL Cy Young Award, given at the end of each season to the league’s best pitcher.

Wondering why so few Canadians make it to the upper echelons of baseball stardom, I initially figured that it was all Jacques Cartier’s fault. Had he zigged instead of zagged upon reaching the Gulf of St. Lawrence, he’d have given future generations of aspiring Canuck ballplayers a few extra months of warm weather every year. They need that time to hone their skills scratching around on diamonds and sandlots across the country, the boys and girls of our ever-so-brief summer (who become dedicated rink rats in winter.) So how is it that Gagné, who grew up in Mascouche, an ordinary Canadian town northeast of Montreal, has not only made it to The Show but has quickly become such a dominating presence there? I’m here to ask that question, now that I’m installed in the kitchen of his brand new, not-quite-furnished suburban home outside Phoenix, Ariz.

One glance at the ample biceps and wide, square shoulders across from me, and I’ve already got part of my answer: The man has obviously been gifted by nature and genetics. And by chance, apparently – nobody else in his family has ever excelled at sports. Don’t talk to him about destiny, though. “Destiny is for losers,” he announces decisively, his verbal delivery as quick as his motion off the mound. “Whoever invented the word must have been coming off a loss.”

Gagné is the first to admit that his physical build and prowess, while certainly advantages, only partly explain his success. Which means he’s pretty much in agreement with Yogi’s other maxim (the not-quite-mathematical one), although his own take on the ratio doesn’t quite match. Hand-eye coordination is important and can be worked on, acknowledges Gagné, but “the rest is all mental,” he insists. Then he specifies, most emphatically, that he figures “the rest” accounts for approximately 99 percent of the game. Realizing that the key to his success must lie there, I ask him to describe the mental process that he goes through before delivering a pitch.