For the last five weeks or so, it seems like I've had an adopted brother playing in the postseason.

A 6'10", lefthanded-throwing brother whom I've spoken to maybe 10 times in my life.

I'm talking about Randy Johnson, of course. And the reason he has seemed like an adopted brother to me is because my real brother, Scott, used to catch Randy back in the Mariners' Kingdome days (in fact, he caught Johnson's one and only no-hitter), and still talks to him regularly.

And after my brother talks to Randy, he has been calling me to tell me how "proud" he is of the Big Unit -- not only for how Johnson is pitching, but also for how he is handling himself.

"I just thought his answers, when people were grilling him about losing seven straight post-season games, were great," Scott said. "He never got angry ... and at the same time, he didn't deny that it bothered him."

I think in his heart, Scott was still trying to be Randy's catcher, trying to help him through the rough spots in a game, trying to work the umpires (meaning me, as a member of the media) a little bit. I wrote a story about Luis Gonzalez this year, and in that piece I referred to Johnson as "often ornery." Without telling me my choice of words was wrong, Scott did say to me a few times, "Randy can be shy until he gets to know you better."

"Have you seen what he's been saying lately?" Scott would ask me over the phone. "I think he's come a long way, don't you?"

"A long way" doesn't even begin to explain how far Johnson has come since I first laid eyes on him, back when he was traded from Montreal to the Mariners back in 1989. Back then, he was Nuke LaLoosh, as capable of launching a 100-mph fastball into the press box as he was of hitting the catcher's glove.

But I remember Scott telling me how much Randy hated being treated like, well, Nuke LaLoosh. "He wants to be a pitcher," Scott said back then. "He doesn't want to hear people saying, 'Just throw it over the plate.' He wants to go over scouting reports, to move the ball around, to change speeds."

I thought about that when I heard Greg Maddux refer to Johnson as "Jamie Moyer with a 99-mile-per-hour fastball" after their NLCS matchup. Johnson became the pitcher he dreamt he could be.

I remember Johnson's last relief appearance (before Sunday night), when he came out of the pen to beat the Yankees in Game 5 of the '95 ALDS. Afterward, then-Yankees manager Buck Showalter, speaking about the two pitchers who finished up that game, his own Jack McDowell and Johnson, said, "One guy [McDowell] has as much heart as anyone in the game and the other [Johnson] has as much talent as anyone in the game."

When those words were relayed to Johnson, he said, "I think I have a pretty big heart, too."

In the years that have followed, I've gotten a chance to see just how big Randy Johnson's heart is. At the last two Baseball Writers Dinners in New York, where Johnson has been presented with Cy Young Awards, he has asked my brother and sister-in-law to sit at his table. Yeah, that's right, he hasn't forgotten a guy who caught him back before he was rich and famous.

And when Scott, who now coaches baseball at Princeton, asked Randy if he would speak to one of his pitchers, a kid named Chris Young (who just happens to be 6'10"), Johnson said, "Give him my cell phone number and have him call any time. If he has questions about his mechanics or anything, tell him not to hesitate ... us tall pitchers have to stick together."

Before this World Series began, Johnson told my brother that he and Curt Schilling went to Bob Brenly and told their manager they wanted to set up the rotation this way: Schilling for Games 1, 4 and 7 and Johnson for Games 2 and 5 ... so Johnson could close out Game 7 for Schilling if there was one.

When Johnson was held back until Game 6, I thought his chance to come out of the bullpen in Game 7 was lost. I guess it was my turn to underestimate the size of Johnson's heart. Because, hours before the deciding game, Johnson had let it be known that he was available to pitch. On zero days rest.

"He doesn't have to be throwing in the high 90s to be effective," Scott said to me the morning after Johnson became the co-MVP of the Series along with Schilling. "He knows how to pitch and he's a warrior."

That's my brother.

Jeff Bradley is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at jeff.bradley@espnmag.com.