Every game of baseball is an argument – an argument about how the game should be played. (Bill James)
we all bunted, all of us almost all of the time
Today we played the game like I never would have wanted to. I wouldn’t have asked my hitters to bunt as often. No, « often » is not the word. We all bunted, all of us almost all of the time – every batter in every part of the order, with runners on base or not, with none out or more, in early innings or late, with a high score or not. Given the result, though, I’m no longer sure what I had against the bunt. We scored something like thirty runs over two five-inning games; the other teams, who were carelessly swinging away, scored a mere two runs in comparison.
Our coach asked our beginners to bunt for hits, and he asked our best to bunt to advance runners. Everybody bunted and got on base. On my first time at the plate, pumped to hit, I was given the sign to bunt and I went after a low, unbuntable ball. I’m not used to bunting. And nobody really asks me to bunt since they like what I do with my swing. The next few at-bats, I learned to pull back the bat and not chase bad pitches with my stationary bat. But on the good pitches, let me tell you, I began to let rip nice slow bunts along the first and third base lines, proudly beating them out for infield hits.
Of course, this kind of strategy works well when the team facing you can’t field the bunt. That’s why the coach put a pause on our bunting when one of the relief pitchers proved himself adept at fielding the bunt. Otherwise, today’s game was an argument in favor of small ball.