What's in a Slump

Almost a month into the 2008 season, there are some players who aren't exactly living up to expectations. Here in Kansas City the talk is about the futility of Jose Guillen, who signed a contract for 3 years, $36 million. He was supposed to bring a proven productive veteran presence to the Roayls' lineup, but so far, his bat has been absent. It's still early in the season, so there is still plenty of time for an offensive turnaround.

He's not the only slugger who has started the season with less than stellar results. ESPN.com has a good article here that lists a slumping player at every position from around the league. I was surprised at some of the names in that group. Coincidentally, over half of the players listed had new big-money deals during the off-season.

It's hard to say how a slump begins, but whatever the cause, they can easily and quickly snowball. The harder you try to hit, the harder it becomes. The same goes for pitching or fielding. Baseball can sometimes be counter-intuitive that way. This phenomenon is usually referred to as "pressing."

It easy to tell when a hitter is pressing. He looks a little too anxious, a little stiff, and swings at a lot of pitches outside of the strike zone. It might start with a game when a player goes 0-4. In his four at-bats he hits the ball hard, but right at the defense. The next day, maybe he has to face a really good pitcher, and goes 0-3. The next day, maybe he loses concentration in his first at-bat and strikes out, and suddenly he has trouble remembering the last hit he had. It's at that point that it switches from a physical problem to a mental problem. Joe DiMaggio says in his book Baseball for Everyone, "The emotional progress of a slump is approximately as follows: simple wonder, prolonged bewilderment, dawning realization, horror, grim determination, helpless rage, self-pity, relaxation, cure."

Hall of Fame member Tony Gwynn says this about slumps in his book, The Art of Hitting: "When you start thinking, you usually start guessing. And if you're guessing, and you're wrong, you're making a lot of outs... You enter a slump because even though you might know what you're doing wrong, you just can't seem to correct it." That goes hand in hand with a comment Prince Fielder of the Milwaukee Brewers made in an article by the Sporting News. "Mentally, I try to be not there at all," he says. "Whenever I'm going good, it's when I'm not thinking about anything, kind of like in a daze. Still focused on what I'm trying to do but not worrying about the outcome, what the count is, what the score is." Not thinking about hitting is tough to do when friends, fans, and especially media won't let you forget that you're not hitting.

Being the good-hearted person that I am, I've done a little research and found some resources that may help Mr. Guillen and the other slumping sluggers to break out of their ruts. There is this article, which apparently provides A Scientific Hitting Slump Cure...That Works. Or, if you're into a more psychological approach, you could fork out a little money for some Hypnosis, Visualization and Mental Toughness Training. According to this site, Pete Rose offered his proven remedies during a radio program. Or, you could try what Richie Ashburn would do -- "To cure a batting slump, I took my bat to bed with me. I wanted to know my bat a little better."

Despite some of the... mmm... promising solutions I've found, I tend to agree with DiMaggio's comment, "There is no handy cure for slumps, any more than there is a reasonable explanation for them. If anyone ever finds a slump cure, he can sit back and get rich on consultation fees, for he'll find lots of clients wherever baseball is played."

Judging from the websites I saw today, no one is getting rich yet.

Revisiting the Knuckleball

I found this video over at ESPN.com of one of their writers in full catcher's gear (a.k.a., the tools of ignorance) attempting just to catch R.A. Dickey's knuckleball. Dickey gives some great insight about some of the minute details involved with throwing the pitch, such as the way he trims his fingernails. And Jim Caple's question towards the end is classic. If you missed my earlier post on knuckleballs, along with the "how to" video, click here.

Divided Attention

Thou shalt not commit adultery. It's one of the Ten Commandments--or if the Bible offends you, it's at least good advice. Cheating on your spouse is pretty cut and dry. You vow to love and honor only him or her forever. If you don't, you're in big trouble (unless, of course, you're a character in a prime time series on ABC, or a slick former President whose wife needed you for future political aspirations). But, with this basic law in mind, is it right for a person to pledge allegiance to both the Boston Red Sox and the Los Angeles Dodgers?

There are some combinations that can never exist. You can't be both a Cubs fan and a Cardinals supporter. You definitely can't own team gear for both teams from the Windy City. In the Big Apple, you're either for the Mets or the Yanks. And can you even begin to imagine the blasphemy of a person devoted to both the the Bombers from the Bronx and the Boys of Beantown? Me neither.

But what about less intrusive duos? What about the Seattle Mariners and the Cincinnati Reds? It could be kind of a Griffey thing, you know? Or maybe some of you root for the Cubbies and the Sox (Red, of course). Up until a few years ago, that was me. I find it fun to cheer for underdogs, and before 2004, neither had held a championship trophy for a combined 182 years. I also liked the Angels because of watching their AAA team in Salt Lake City, and having attended a game in Anaheim with some friends.

But my days of promiscuity are long gone. I can no longer publicly wear my Angels t-shirt in good conscience. I haven't worn a piece of Red Sox clothing for well over a year. When we moved to Kansas City, I already followed the Royals, but now I'm fully vested in the home team. And, when you are that devoted to one team, there's no room for any other.

There are exceptions to every rule, of course. The biggest loop hole for team fidelity is also the first law of real estate: location, location, location. Not living in a Major League city allows for all sorts of variation. Take Utah, for example. In basketball, there's the Jazz. For college sports, you're either Blue or Red (unless you cop-out and align yourself with Utah State). But for baseball, the door is wide open. Geographically, there are the Rockies and the Diamondbacks, but realistically, I never felt like those clubs really took root in Utah. Many people just follow teams back East or on the West coast. With the Cubs always on WGN growing up, many kids were big Andre Dawson and Ryne Sandberg fans. The Braves also gain a good following because of their exclusive cable deal with TBS. So, if you're in a place like North Dakota and the only professional baseball around is the Fargo-Moorhead RedHawks, feel free to pick and choose.

The Dance of the Knuckleball

Watching a little of Game 4 of the American League Championship Series (ALCS) last night at a friend's house, I was able to see Tim Wakefield pitch for the Boston Red Sox. Unfortunately, he wasn't doing so well when we tuned in, so he didn't stay on the mound for long. But, seeing him pitch and seeing the frustration of many of the Indians' hitters made me think about the Knuckleball. Having pitched myself, I know how difficult it is to throw a knuckleball and how it is even harder to catch, much less hit. Many times the action on a knuckleball is described as dancing, fluttering, or dipping and diving. It is difficult to get a real sense of just how much movement is on that pitch if you're just watching the game on television. But trust me, I've played catch with an outfielder in college who could throw a good knuckler, and I was always worried that I would miss it and it would hit me in the face.

With most pitches, pitchers are trying to increase the amount of spin on the ball, as well as the direction. But with a knuckle, the pitcher is actually trying to minimize the amount of spin on the ball. By decreasing or eliminating the spin on the ball, the movement of the pitch becomes random and somewhat unpredictable. If you've ever played volleyball at a family picnic, you may have experienced a knuckleball effect. When a volleyball is served with little or no spin, the seams of the ball as well as the ridges and valleys of the ball causes it to "float," or to knuckleball.

Here's a good connection to a past posting: In the recent post about baseball movies I talked about "Eight Men Out," a story of the 1919 Chicago White Sox and how they were bought off in exchange for throwing the World Series. One of the pitchers, Eddie Cicotte, is widely credited as the first knuckleball pitcher, and finished his career with 221 wins. Some say he may have been elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame had he not been (spoiler alert) banned from baseball for his involvement in the Black Sox scandal.

So, would you like to learn how to throw a knuckleball? Me too. I could actually explain how to throw it, but I can't really do it myself (Actually, there are quite a few things about baseball that I could explain mechanically, but I can't actually do well... Maybe coaching is in my future). But I found this video tutorial to help you learn. Notice the sudden movement of the ball back to your right just before the ball crosses the plate.

Chews You Up & Spits You Out

No... This post doesn't have anything to do with chaw or "Big Tobacco's" devious attempt to addict little baseball fans everywhere with shredded chewing gum that comes in little foil-lined pouches that look an awful lot like expensive tobacco packaging. Nope. But, that might not be a bad idea for a future post.

Today I thought we'd talk about the nature of the game. If you didn't play much growing up, you might not fully understand. Then again, there were plenty of kids that quit when they were seven years old because baseball was too hard. Sometimes they quit because the ball itself was too hard. Ever wonder where the term "Hard Ball" comes from? Baseball is hard ball. Soft ball, and I'm talking here about the leagues full of has-been's and never-were's (one of which I'll be happily joining this fall), might as well be called Easy Ball just to accentuate the difference.

Consider this: The current Major League leader in batting average, Magglio Ordonez, is currently hitting .353. So basically, the man most likely to hit safely in the Majors only gets a hit less than 4 times out of 10. He's out more than 6 times out of 10. The infamous Ty Cobb, the all-time batting average leader at .367 over his career played for 24 season and collected 4191 hits. He got out 64% percent of time, but as far as hitting goes, Cobb was and still is the benchmark. Can you imagine doing anything day in and day out and succeeding about 30% of the time? There are plenty of good, everyday ballplayers in the pros that succeed less than 30% of the time.

Sure, there may be hot streaks where a guy may hit .450 for a few games, but not for long. One of the interesting things about the 162 game-season played in the majors is that everything usually evens outs. Guys that should hit about .250, but start the season red-hot, batting .375 over the first month, will usually hit a dry-spell later on, and then even out and finish the season about where his talent says he should be. Then, there are guys who go through the entire season, play maybe every other day for a while, and then maybe only about twice a week, and never pull out of their slump. The back-up catcher for the Royals has a total of 20 hits in 52 games this season. It took Alex Rodriguez 14 games to reach the 20 hit mark. And, after 52 games A-Rod had 19 homeruns.

And it's not just individuals who take a beating in baseball. Look at team records. I tried a search, and then I sorted the all-time team pitching statistics, so, if anyone out there has better data, please share. According to what I found, the team that has won more games than any other is the Giants, obviously including their time in New York. However, the team with the best all-time winning percentage is the New York Yankees with an astounding .569. Over their long history, they have won 9,242, and lost 6,997 games. By the way, this won't come as a surprise to anyone, but if you're looking for a team to root for, don't spend much time considering the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. They are owners of the league's worst all-time winning percentage at an abysmal .396.

The point of all of this is whether you play or follow baseball, you have to expect some disappointment. And, when it comes, don't beat yourself up about it. So if you're in a slump, keep trying to hit the ball hard, and sooner or later they'll start to fall. After all, you can't win them all -- and you won't lose them all either.

By the way, if you're having an unproductive moment, check out "Pinch Hitter 2" at the very bottom of this page.

Radar Guns in Baseball

About a month ago I read an article in the Sports section of the Kansas City Star. I would have posted a link to it, but it has been "archived," so I would have to pay for it; and since no one likes to click on the advertisements on the left, I'm not making a dime on this blog. It was written by Joe Posnanski, recently voted the best sports writer in America. I've always enjoyed his stuff, but this particular article held special meaning for me. It was entitled, "You Can't Always Judge a Pitcher by His Fastball" -- Amen.

There were two questions that he addressed in his article: First, what has been the impact of the radar gun in baseball, and second, is Rowdy Hardy a real, bonified prospect for the Kansas City Royals. As it turns out, it was pretty much the same question, just stated differently.

Rowdy Hardy is currently pitching in A-Ball for the Royals' organization, and pitching well. His numbers rival any pitcher in the minor leagues. 14-4 on the season, 84 strikeouts, and only 14 walks. His ERA (Earned Run Average) is well under 3.00. But the numbers that keep him in Single-A are 81-82 -- which is about how hard he throws his fastball. If he threw 91-92, with the same numbers, the Royals wouldn't be able to move him up fast enough. As it sits, however, they're not exactly sure what they have in Hardy. Dayton Moore, the General Manager for the Royals, has said that next year he will play on the Double A squad, and that he will continue to move up in the organization until guys start to hit him.

Earl Weaver helped to pioneer the use of the radar gun in baseball. A legendary, hall of fame manager for the Baltimore Orioles, Weaver was obsessed with statistics and information. His purpose for using the radar gun wasn't to see how hard guys were throwing, but to better judge the difference between his pitchers' fastballs and off-speed pitches. For example, if a guy throws a fastball at 85 mph and his change-up comes in at 80 mph, it's really just a fat fastball, and he won't fool anyone with it. But, if someone was throwing their fastball 85 mph and the change-up at 69 mph, that was something they could work with and get guys out with. Weaver understood that pitching is much more than just how hard you can throw. The trick to pitching well is to keep the batter off balance, and you can do that by changing speeds and location. If a batter knows you throw a curveball that loops in there at about 65-67 mph, and your change-up looks just like your fastball, but it makes its way to the plate at about 70 mph, it makes your 80-81 mph fastball seem that much "quicker" to the plate. It's like Einstein said -- it's all relative.

So, while it is not necessary to throw the major league average 91-92 mph, it really is. Radar guns have changed the way scouts evaluate pitching prospects, and in most cases, unless a guy has a good, major league fastball, they could care less about any other abilities you may possess. But, every now and then a little left-hander like Rowdy Hardy takes their formula and throws it out the window -- at a blazing 82 mph.

Pass It On

There are many things that are passed on from generation to generation. There are bad things, like abuse. There are annoying things, like male-pattern baldness or the shape of your nose or ears. And, there are good things, like an old pocket watch, Grandma’s wedding ring, the Du Pont family fortune, and baseball.

More specifically, the love of baseball.

Baseball is a game that must be passed on from father to son. Kids at recess won’t play baseball. There is too much equipment involved, not to mention, you would need 17 of your best buddies to properly fill the lineups for both teams. Everyone would need a mitt, unless they all trade off between innings, in which case, you could get by with eight—the right fielder doesn’t need a glove in elementary school. It just gets in the way. It’s easier picking dandelions with both hands.

We no longer live in a Sandlot world. Nope -- kids don’t usually pick up a love of baseball in the schoolyard at recess. Another reason for this is the game is filled with failure. It’s too hard. Can you think of a professional quarterback that only completed 30 percent of his passes in his career? Or a basketball player who only made 30 percent of his shots? Even Greg Ostertag shot 48 percent for his career. Can you imagine if a baseball player hit .480 even for one fluke season, let alone over an entire career? It is a very difficult game to play. The very best players at the highest level are only going to hit safely three times in every ten at bats. It can be frustrating, especially for kids, which is probably why they invented the wiffle ball.

The game is most often first learned in the backyard. Dad starts off by purchasing your first mitt. He also buys a ball – probably not a real ball, but something a little softer. He takes you out back after the sun has gone down, but before it’s too dark, and tosses you the ball. His glove seems enormous compared to yours as you toss it back. When he returns from retrieving your errant throw, he flips it back to you, but now he’s aiming for your glove. It’s pretty hard to make it into a little boy’s mitt when he flinches at the ball every time it comes his way, but that doesn’t stop Dad from trying. After all, you have never seen anyone as excited about anything as a boy catching his first few balls. For that matter, Dad can’t help but get a little excited himself.

Next thing you know, you’ve been signed-up for t-ball. Dad sets up a baseball tee in the backyard and now you practice swinging. If you are the first child, maybe it’s not the highest quality sports equipment, and after a dozen or so swings that miss well below the ball ends up breaking the tee, Dad realizes maybe next time he’ll buy a stronger one.

Little by little, you start getting better. Dad takes you to games and you start becoming familiar with the game. Familiar enough that something doesn’t make sense. If that player was all the way to second base by the time they caught the ball, why was he out? Your Dad explains the fly ball rule, and you go on absorbing the game from him, someone who loves baseball, and wants you to love it too.

When I was eight and nine years old my Dad would crouch down in the backyard under the walnut tree and I would pitch to him. He bought a left-handed catchers mitt for just such occasions. When I was ten and eleven years old he would still sit under the walnut tree, but he found that it was easier to sit on a bucket. He also figured out that it would be easier if he had a few spare balls at his side so he didn’t need to chase after every wild pitch. By the time I was twelve or so, it hurt his hand when I pitched, so he bought a “pitch back.” The problem was, you never quite new where it was going to pitch it back to. And, by that time, I had grown to love the game as much as he did. You can’t love it more than another person, only just as much. You either love the game, or you don’t. I do. So does Dad.

So guys, start early with your kids. If you love the game, it’s up to you to pass that on to your posterity. You owe it to them. I mean, after all, they inherited your hairy back, so you’ve got to give them something to make up for it.

That's a Stretch

William Howard Taft was born September 15, 1857, to proud parents Louisa Torrey and Alphonso Taft, in Cincinnati, Ohio. He would eventually be elected the 27th President of the United States and would serve one term, 1909-1913. George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and many other Presidents are remembered for their tremendous accomplishments. President Taft, however, is probably remembered most for his weight. Weighing over 350 pounds, he is easily the heaviest President in the history of the United States. In fact, President Taft became stuck in the White House tub so frequently, that a new, custom-built tub large enough to fit the six men who installed it replaced the smaller, problematic tub.

Brother Jasper of Mary, F.S.C was working at Manhattan College in the late 1800s. He may not look like a particularly happy man, but he is credited for introducing the game of baseball to the college—so he can’t be too bad. He became the baseball squad’s first coach, and today, all sports teams at Manhattan College are called the Jaspers. I guess you could say he’s now the school mascot.

If you’re wondering why this post is providing superficial history lessons on two seemingly unrelated figures, you may also be wondering what these two have to do with baseball and The Perfect Game. Or, if you’re like me, you may just be reading and not really retaining anything and by the time you reach the point that you realize you have no idea what you’ve just read, you’ll go back to the top, and start over. Feel free to do so.

April 14th, 1910 was Opening Day for the Washington Senators. President Taft was in attendance that day and is credited for being the first U.S. President to throw out the first pitch. There is no record of how well the pitch was thrown, but I suspect that had he embarrassed himself that afternoon, other Presidents would not have sought the opportunity of continuing the tradition. After the first pitch, he settled in for what became a long, slow contest between the Senators and the Philadelphia Athletics. The game continued to drag and the small, wooden seats at the ballpark became increasingly uncomfortable for the obese dignitary. According to reports, by the middle of the seventh inning, the President couldn’t handle the pain and discomfort any longer and he stood up. Back then, the general public revered the President of the United States, and as was customary, when everyone in attendance noticed that he had risen, they thought that he was getting up to leave, so the crowd also rose from their seats out of respect. After a few minutes, President Taft returned to his seat, the game continued, and another baseball tradition had been born: The Seventh Inning Stretch. One person establishing two long-standing traditions in one day is pretty impressive.

But wait… Manhattan College begs to differ. It was their historical figure, Brother Jasper, who initiated the Seventh Inning Stretch.

This particular story traces the origin of the Seventh Inning Stretch to an exhibition game between Manhattan College and a semi-pro team called the Metropolitans. (Hmm. Metropolitans…That has a nice ring to it, but it’s a little long…Oh! I know! What if we shorten the name to the Mets…Now there’s an idea.) Anyhow, that day, Brother Jasper noticed the Manhattan students were getting restless as his team was coming to bat in the seventh inning, and we all know what can happen when college students get restless. So, in an attempt to stem the tide of unruly fans, Brother Jasper called time-out and instructed the students to stand and stretch for a few minutes until the game resumed. This Seventh Inning Stretch spread to the major leagues because the college played exhibition games against the New York Giants each year. And now, every major league ballpark in the county participates in the Manhattan College stretch.

That's a good story too, but, baseball historians have uncovered a letter home from Harry Wright, a player for the Cincinnati Red Stockings (Red Stockings? Hmm. That’s catchy too—a little cumbersome though. What about this—Red Socks? Huh? Nah, it would probably never stick). Wright wrote home in 1869, which easily pre-dates both the Taft and Jasper accounts, and described what seems to be a Seventh Inning Stretch.

“The (Cincinnati) spectators all arise between halves of the seventh inning, extend their legs and arms, and sometimes walk about.” (http://www.baseball-almanac.com/articles/7th_inning_stretch.shtml)

The real question is which story is true.

It doesn’t really matter, does it? Whatever the origin, kids and adults alike, at ballparks and stadiums all across the county look forward to the Seventh Inning Stretch. Everyone stands, stretches, and sings “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” There are few things better than swaying back and forth with good friends and family, singing that song and substituting “…root, root, root, for the home team” with “root, root, root for the Royals” or the Bees, or the Trappers, or the Jaspers, or whatever your home team is, and then settling back in, grabbing your scorecard and a pencil and taking in the last 15 outs of the game.

By the Numbers

I was 10 years old the first time I can remember choosing my number. At the time, it felt like I had hit the big time. I was playing on my cousin's fall ball team, which, since he was in the "majors" and I was just finishing two years of "minor B," seemed like I had been given a chance to prove myself on a bigger stage. I saw it as an extended tryout. Maybe the bright yellow t-shirts with tropical screen-prints on the front and our names and numbers on the back should have been a clue—it probably wasn't quite the big break I had been hoping for. But at the time, you couldn’t have convinced me otherwise. After all, in minor B my number was given to me according to my t-shirt size—the smaller the shirt, the smaller the number. I think I was #2. But, now I had been given the opportunity to choose my number. So what number does an up-and-coming, not-so-soon-to-be high school state championship role player choose in 1989 at 10 years old? 33, of course.

To explain this pick, I must make a devastating disclosure. And, if any of you choose never to return to this blog again, I will not hold it against you. I am ashamed to say it now, but in my youth, my baseball idol was… Jose Canseco. Maybe you’ve heard of him. He’s the author of the controversial expose on steroids in baseball, Juiced: Wild Times, Rampant 'Roids, Smash Hits, and How Baseball Got Big. Needless to say, now that I’m older and a little wiser than my 10 year-old self, I can understand why my first hitting coach cringed when I answered that my favorite player was Canseco. But at the time, I thought he was crazy. I mean, at the time, the guy was the only person in the history of the game to hit 40+ homeruns and steal 40+ bases in a single season.

Either I moved on from Canseco, or I didn’t hit well with the number 33 on my back. Whatever the reason, the next time I was allowed to choose my number I chose the number 2. I guess I had just grown comfortable with that number. It didn’t take long, however, before I discovered a new idol, one worthy of admiration: Roberto Clemente. I wished that I could add a 1 after my 2 so that I could be 21, just like him. Unfortunately, I was stuck with 2 for a few years. Then, when I was 12 years old, it was looking like I was going to make the all-star team, but only because there was an A-team, and a B-team (I made the B-team). What my number was going to be became a healthy recess discussion with my elementary school buddies. We decided on 18, though I don’t remember why. The next season brought another B-team All-Star opportunity and I decided on 51. Ichiro and Randy Johnson are notable 51s, but I didn’t know that at the time. When I made the choice, it was because of a pitcher that was two years older than me that I “looked up to.” Had I known that he would “pants” me at my locker (which was right next to the sophomore cheerleaders) between classes my sophomore year, I probably wouldn’t have thought so highly of him. Anyway, his number was 15, but since he was left-handed, I used the opposite, 51.

When I finally cracked the A-team, I was given #1. I didn’t get to choose because they had the jerseys pre-made. The regulars got the numbers they’d always had, but I was a last-minute decision. Just happy to be there, I took what they gave me.

By the time I made the high school team I had settled on 16. A teammate, and one that was a little more productive that me, had claimed 15 years ago, so I took 16. It grew on me and the best part was, I never had to complete for that number. It was waiting for me again in junior college.

If you’ve ever played organized sports, then you probably understand how important a number can be. Growing up, everyone wanted the #23 basketball jersey because, thanks in part to Gatorade, everyone wanted to be like Mike. But, there was a time in baseball when players didn’t have numbers.

According to the National Baseball Hall of Fame, numbers on the backs of players’ jerseys became permanent for the first time in 1929. The Cleveland Indians were the first to do so on April 16, and the New York Yankees jumped on the bandwagon two days later. While the Indians only used the numbers on their home jerseys, the Yankees were the first to put numbers on both the home and away uniforms. Speaking of the Yankees, I have been asked to post about how they are the “best professional sports team of all-time.” But, it will have to wait until they can at least pull themselves up to, I don’t know, at least five games over .500, unless you think that’s too much to ask.

But I digress…

Originally, numbers were assigned to players according to their position in the batting order, which is why Babe Ruth was number 3, and Lou Gehrig was number 4.

Prior to 1929, some teams had tried to implement numbers, but the players didn’t really like them. The fans seemed to enjoy the identifiers, but apparently, the players’ felt the numbers made them look like prison inmates. Funny…prison serial numbers might actually work in the NFL.

Scratch That One

Have you ever been watching a major league baseball game and wondered why the catcher gives so many balls back to the umpire, who then throws it out? Every time a pitch is thrown in the dirt, the catcher turns and hands the ball over to the home plate umpire. More often than not, after a brief examination, the umpire will then roll the ball back to the home team’s dugout where an eager ball boy scoops it up and officially retires it from the game. If you haven’t ever noticed this, watch a game this weekend. It’s more noticeable if you actually go to the ballpark because television cameras usually focus on whatever the announcers are discussing between pitches rather than the minutiae of the game. The reason is so that the pitcher cannot gain an advantage with a scuffed or scratched ball.

Back in the good ol’ days, some pitchers would actually take razors, tacks, sandpaper, or anything else they could smuggle out to the mound to scrape and scuff the baseball. Why? It’s basically simple physics.

If you’re looking for an interesting book to read and you are not bored by the finer points of either baseball or scientific study, I recommend Robert K. Adair’s text, The Physics of Baseball. Here, he described the possible result of pitching with an illegally modified ball that has been scuffed on one side:

Scarring or scuffing the ball can produce asymmetric forces on the ball that result in aberrant trajectories. Since it is probably impractical to scuff or scrape the surface of the ball so that the imperfection has as dominant an effect as the stitching, it might seem that such modifications cannot be very important, and that is largely the case for casual throws. But the highly skilled pitcher can throw the ball so that the effect of the stitches is symmetric, but if the ball is scuffed on one axis – and not on the other – unbalanced forces can be realized, which act only in one direction…Properly thrown, the scuffed left-hand side of the ball could induce low-resistance turbulence in the air passing by while the air will pass the smooth right-hand side in high-resistance smooth flow and the ball will veer to the left – toward the scuffed area! Since a deviation of a fraction of an inch can change a home run into a pop fly or a double-play ground ball, the controlled deviations a skilled pitcher can induce by disfiguring the ball are important (p. 40-41).

So, since Major League Baseball has cracked down on illegally modifying a baseball, the only hope for a pitcher who wishes to pitch with the advantages of a scuffed ball is for the scuff to come during regular game play, which is why so many baseballs are thrown out by the umpire – that, and there is enough money to go through 50-60 balls a game.