First Game, Bunting to get on base

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.

 

Uncounted Events Part 3

The previous season should now be put to rest – in this blog and in my mind – with the realization that amateur baseball is not recorded nor recordable history. There is no history to the amateur game, it is not even witnessed by anyone except the players.

Digging up the truth of the past is impossible if the events of the past are not recorded. And even if they are recorded, they would be incomprehensible. The scoresheets are either missing or not accurate. The past makes no sense – neither when it happened in the first instance nor afterwards under any retrospective point of view.

The point of this article is that Power hitting is not useful when there are large amounts of errors, passed balls, wild pitches, stolen bases, and careless judgements. All bets are off in understanding the outcome of such games. Count the people on base, count the number of errors, and you’ll get the best prediction. A homerun is equal to a walk.

Uncounted Events Part 1

I want to keep this article as simple as possible so as not to lose the point. I will follow this up with another article that investigates the conclusions of this article.

It turns out that in an environment where baserunners advance too easily because of errors, passed balls, wild pitches and stolen bases, the value of the extra base hit is almost neutralized.

My team lost a 4-run game and yet there were more similarities than difference in offensive stats between the two teams. This could lead one to question the value of statistics.

18 Feb 2012, We’re going to throw the ball today

He was speaking their language but sprinkling it with words from his own. The subject was American. Baseball to be precise. The season begins on the French terre.

The winter is not over and this we can’t control – cold days behind us and more cold days to come. But on a relatively warm winter morning we all stood listening to our new coach, our old friend Charlie.

« We’re going to throw the ball today. First time for many of you since last season. So take it easy. » he warned.

« We’re going to throw the ball correctly. This way » he said as he held the ball out in front of him, extending his hand and wrist parallel to the ground, level with his chest. His gloved hand rested against his blocked torso.

« I’m going to show you what I learned before I was aware that I was learning it. » he said without actually saying it, but it’s what I began to hear in every phrase. « This is what you do because this is what I do. »

We also have an athletic coach who hops around like a rabbit and we all want to imitate him. He’s teaching us how to run. Is hitting a baseball as simple as running, I thought to myself? I thought running was simple until I spent some time with the rabbit. Now he’s got me convinced that I was not moving my arms correctly. And now I’m faster.

« Throwing a ball is like running, » Charlie explains. « You put one foot in front of the other. »

I understand now that when we run we have both feet in the air at the same time. They call it double-floating. It’s how running specialists define the difference between walking and running: our gait on the run consists of a leap of both feet in the air.

Charlie didn’t say any of this, thank god, but I can’t help thinking he did.

But do we also have both feet on the ground at the same time?

« Each of you are going to field grounders and throw the ball back to me and then sprint to the glove over there. It all needs to be fluid. But first, a seven minute mile will do you good, don’t know the kilometers. And then we’ll throw the ball. »

We listened to Charlie. This year’s going to be different. And that’s all that will be said about the last two years. This year will be different.

12 Feb 2012

 I don’t even hit with my head glued to the ball. I hit with reaction, I snag the ball in mid flight before it gets to me, I meet the ball, I don’t follow it.

The first pitch I saw – let me see, I’m trying to remember. I am watching the Diamondbacks losing by a run in the seventh inning against the Giants. Joe Saunders, the Diamondbacks starting pitcher has just gotten hit hard by two screaming line drive singles pulled into right field and the Giants now have runners on first and second with no outs. Once again I marvel at the beauty and yet useless beauty of the hard hit liner in which runners move quickly but advance only one base at a time, the same results of a walk, a bunt, and an error. Saunders and the Diamondbacks quickly get out of this inning with a double play and a third out on a pretty dance in which the third baseman, Ryan Roberts, two-steps to his left to snag a grounder but can’t reach it, and the shortstop, John McDonald, comes up behind him to swoop the ball and throw a kind of blooper over the third baseman’s head to get the runner out on first. No runs scored.

The first pitch I saw I followed into the catcher’s mitt with my eyes, to honor the principal of seeing and not swinging at the first pitch. It was on the inside part of the plate, I saw it rather well and immediately regretted not swinging at it. For one, I had actually failed to follow the pitch, I lost it before it even reached the plate. And I don’t even hit with my head glued to the ball: I hit with reaction, I snag the ball in mid-flight before it gets to me, I meet the ball, I don’t follow it. If I’m going to do this not-swing strategy on first pitches, I ought to know how to do it. I’ve got to not swing the same way that I swing, with a sudden movement of my hips and legs into the rotation, and to imagine how I would have swung to make contact on the sweet part of the bat. What’s worse is that it was a perfect pitch for my new found capacity to hit inside pitches with great force. I knew that I had lost an opportunity and that I had gained nothing useful from the experience. I was still not ready to swing. Next pitch was a ball, a little high and inside. I somehow got to two and one. I was still uncomfortable. What a fucking mental game. Here we are, a softball game, the last of the indoor season. Our team’s got beginners and experienced guys and gals; power and contact; we bunt all the time; there are women and men; youth abounds but there some of my age; there are parents, families, and friends, spectators everywhere; we’re in a gym, I’m batting sixth, designated hitter, we’ve got fifty minutes per game, twenty of us showed up today; my energy’s not yet in the game, its in the artficiality of the setting. There’s a two-year old boy who’s swinging an empty one-liter water bottle better than many players here in the gym. I’m deeply sad that my own son is not here. I am momentarily confused how to hit. I think the third pitch was an outside ball and the second was an inside and high almost strike. Or the third might have been slightly high and outside, a pitch that was both unhittable and possibly a brilliant strike on the outside corner. So with two and one, I’m thinking, here comes a strike and I’m not ready for it. He’s a good pitcher, fairly fast. He seems to have the edge with two and one because two and one gives the batter the impression he’s ahead and he’s hungry to swing at anything that looks good and the pitcher knows this so he throws a kind of pitch hungry batters can’t hit, down. Be patient. But I’m not. It’s the fear of two strikes. The fear of watching a good pitch go down the middle. But if I watch another pitch, I might remember how to swing a bat. The mental game is lost, clearly, and all I can do is hope for a lucky swing. But that’s not about to happen as I dribble a slow grounder to the pitcher. Out. Last out of the inning. My batting average is somewhere near .800, I’ve been on base almost all of the time, and yet I believe all of my outs are the third out of the inning. That statistic is really useless … I think.

Second at bat I get on base with a line drive bunt to the thirdbasewoman which I luckily run out. It was the first pitch. I bunted it with such good contact, it makes me wonder what would have happened had I had swung. But we ultimately score 10 runs and win the game, so I’m not going to waste any time on commenting about bunt strategy. Besides, its getting late, the diamondbacks have just scored two runs on an excellent line drive to the opposite field, a two rbi triple by the righty first baseman Paul Goldschmidt. Now it’s the top of the ninth, the drama continues, Diamondbacks’ closer JJ Putz has just given up a blooper single. There are no outs. Three outs to go. No. Two outs, he struck out pinchhitter Giant Pablo Sandoval, who’s got a chiseled face. The second out was a rather good hit directly to the center fielder Chris Young. One more out to go.

My third at bat came in the second game. That too was a bunt on a zero zero count. The pitcher is throwing slow pitches right over the middle. On my second at bat, I am given the sign to hit and I swing on the first pitch, a pulled grounder that bounded over the third baseman’s head. Kind of cool that kind of hit, but it feels like I missed the contact – I got on top of the ball, too ahead of it, I am not waiting, it was not as solid as I’d like. Third at bat I regain my stance and again I am given the sign to swing and I rip an inside pitch past the thirdbaseman’s head, the ball makes a straight line to the back wall of the gym, it was pulled really well, perfect contact. Silence followed, I’m getting used to people taking notice of my swing. The Diamondbacks win the game and they clinch last year’s division title. We win our second game of the day, first game was ten to three and this one was ten to one. I like this team.