Page 17

163

I missed Opening Day. I was traveling with my family, on an island far from where any game was being played, and did not have the opportunity to partake in any of the pomp or pageantry.

Because of that, there was no way I was going to miss “Closing Day.” I made sure I was in the park – Anaheim Stadium, as it turns out – to watch the sun set on the regular season. And what a way to end it: the pre/early/mid/late season phenomenon named Shohei Ohtani led off the bottom of the ninth with a rocket single to center. He then flew around the bases to score from first on a double to left, making it a one-run game. And then, when a Mike Scioscia-led team would normally have made the rookie shortstop bunt the tying run to third, we come to find out that Scioscia relinquished his managerial duties for the final game in his 19-year run. So whoever was calling the shots in the Angels dugout threw caution to the wind, tossed out that two decade-old playbook, and let the kid hit. And hit he did. Taylor Ward is no Freddie Patek or Tim Foli or even David Eckstein. So it wasn’t a massive surprise when Ward hit a game-winning, season-ending, walk-off two-run homerun and was met at home plate by a mob of teammates and two buckets of Gatorade.

The Angels’ celebration was a much needed final image in what was yet another disappointing (some might say wasted Mike Trout) season. What a joy to watch two rookies being interviewed on the field in two different languages, while one of the last old-school managers was being interviewed for the final time. The cycle of baseball life.

But for me, I was thwarted. It turns out that I wasn’t at “Closing Day.” While the Angels were rallying to beat the A’s, the Dodgers (15-0) and the Cubs (10-5) were beating their hated rivals; and the Rockies (12-0) and Brewers (11-0) were destroying the Scherzer-less Nationals and the hapless Tigers, respectively. Put another way, all the teams that had to win on Sunday did so, by a collective score of 48-5. The lack of excitement on Sunday meant we would get a ton of excitement on Monday with not one, but two Games 163. To paraphrase the great Jayson Stark: Do you know how many times that has happened before? You would be correct…none!

Now I had to make new plans; I had to get to a Game 163. Lucky for me, there was a one being played down the street. So I sat in the 90-degree sun and watched yet another rookie, pitching sensation and potential heir apparent Walker Buehler throw 6-2/3 innings of one-hit ball; and watched the 28-year old breakout success Max Muncy launch his 35^th homerun; watched Kenley Jansen hold a lead he simply could not lose; and watched as the Dodgers celebrated their sixth straight NL West title. As you know, the Brewers knocked off the Cubs earlier in the day, so when Gerardo Parra struck out on a high cutter, Games 163 were in the books, and so too was the 2018 regular season.

To be perfectly candid, there was something anticlimactic about the Dodgers’ win. Sure, winning six division titles in a row makes it seem almost rote. But I think it was the fact that both teams were going to the playoffs, regardless. The game had stakes – the winner got two days off and a guaranteed five-game series while the loser had to hop a flight to Chicago for a one-game playoff. But it seemed inevitable that the Dodgers, with their payroll and their stars and their lineage and their home field advantage, would get the W. And, in Hollywood, things tend to follow the script. We watched the players celebrate on the field, but they had already celebrated when they were assured a playoff spot; and they had already celebrated when they were assured a chance to win the division. How many bottles of champagne does it take just to get to October?

Now the real fun begins. Two do-or-die games for the right to play the Brewers and the Red Sox, respectively. An A’s team that no one saw coming. The Braves at least one year ahead of schedule. The Astros trying to defend their title. The Indians hoping to erase 70 years of futility. So hang onto your hats, as per usual, October should be a wild ride.

So how do we follow two 163s? Well, we have two single elimination games; four potential Games 5; and three potential Games 7, including a finale on Hallows’ Eve! A boy can hope…

PLAY BALL!!

Role Models

Charles Barkley famously once told the world: “I am not a role model.”

In that iconic Nike ad, Sir Charles went on to say that just because he dunks a basketball, he shouldn’t raise our kids. Fair enough, but there has been enough blowback about that commercial and his misguided sentiment in the 25 years since it first aired, that there is no need to go any deeper into the inanity of the assertion here. Suffice it to say, athletes, whether they like it or not (and some, apparently do), are role models.

The term “role model” is a funny one; and we, as a society, unwittingly and unnecessarily and unconsciously, consistently attach the word “positive” before utilizing it. However, Merriam-Webster defines the term as “a person whose behavior in a particular role is imitated by others.” Putting aside that Merriam-Webster used a word in the definition of a word it sought to define, nowhere in that definition to you see the word “positive.” We just imply it.

I do agree with Mr. Barkley on the following concept: we are responsible for raising our children – that responsibility most certainly should not be left to professional athletes. But it would be wholly naïve to believe that our children are not influenced by what they see, they read, they hear. Watch a Little League baseball game, or a Pop Warner football game, or an AAU basketball game, and tell me you don’t witness many of the same actions you see on your nightly edition of SportsCenter. Hell, I know I mimicked my favorite athletes growing up, and for part of that time, I only had George Michael’s Sports Machine as a reference point.

As a parent, I always look for teaching moments. Allow the kids to screw up, sit them down, and teach them the way forward. Show them the error of their – or someone else’s – way, and how to avoid that outcome in the future. And for that, athletes often prove to be an amazingly fertile resource. For that, athletes, and people around athletes, are incredible role models. Not a week can go by without us opening the newspaper (an antiquated concept, I confess) and read about an athlete giving us a perfect example of what not to do. And because their flameouts are often public and ignominious, these role models present us parents with wonderful teaching moments.

Over the past few weeks we have seen this happen time and again. In the first few instances, it was regarding social media.

In the span of just a few days around the All-Star break, three Major League baseball players learned the potential pratfalls of social media. First there was Josh Hader. A second-year pitcher having an incredible season. So much so that he was actually on the mound at the All-Star game in Washington, D.C. when his racist, homophobic, and generally despicable tweets from many years ago were first reported. Instead of a post-game celebration reveling in his achievement, he was forced to answer for his actions, and apologize to his friends, family, organization, teammates, and community. That is probably not how he wanted to remember his first All-Star game.

Then, a few days later, Sean Newcomb was throwing the best game of his life: one strike away from no-hitting the Los Angeles Dodgers in front of the home crowd in Atlanta. It was just about then that his racist, homophobic, and generally despicable tweets from many years ago were first reported. Again, the joy of the moment was lost in a haze of apologies and “stupid kid” justifications.

That same day, at roughly the same time, Trea Turner, the fantastic young shortstop for the Washington Nationals had his racist, homophobic, and generally despicable tweets from many years ago reported. Trea hadn’t done anything special on the day his idiotic past came to light, so at least no celebration was interrupted when he was forced to issue the following statement:

“There are no excuses for my insensitive and offensive language on Twitter. I am sincerely sorry for those tweets and apologize wholeheartedly. I believe people who know me understand those regrettable actions do not reflect my values or who I am. But I understand the hurtful nature of such language and am sorry to have brought any negative light to the Nationals organization, myself or the game I love.”

But if we thought the teaching moments were done, hang on to your hat. Unless you follow baseball closely, and/or you live in the greater Toronto area, you are fortunately unaware that a 23-year old flame-throwing closer named Roberto Osuna was suspended 75 games back in May under Major League Baseball’s Joint Domestic Violence, Sexual Assault and Child Abuse policy. This is the second longest suspension under this policy ever issued. Osuna is set to return to action this week; and it is highly likely that you, the casual baseball observer, would never have heard of Osuna and his checkered past had the Blue Jays not traded him before the July 31^st trade deadline. The Houston Astros acquired Osuna, for, in the words of Jeff Sullivan, “a prospect or two, and much of what remained of their organizational integrity.”

Osuna was due in court last week, but only his attorney appeared. In an effort to make certain that fanbases in two countries equally despised his client, the attorney issued the following statement after the hearing:

“My client is not remorseful of being guilty of any criminal activity…he’s obviously remorseful of the circumstances.”

Sure, this is lawyer-speak, but sometimes lawyers (present company included) shouldn’t speak.

Upon receiving a massive amount of criticism over their acquisition of the batterer (I could say “alleged,” as he not yet been proven guilty of any crime, but he did accept MLB’s suspension without appeal, so there is something to the charges), the world champion Astros issued the following anodyne statement:

“We are excited to welcome Roberto Osuna to our team. The due diligence by our front office was unprecedented. We are confident that Osuna is remorseful, has willfully complied with all consequences related to his past behavior, has proactively engaged in counseling, and will fully comply with our zero tolerance policy related to abuse of any kind. Roberto has some great examples of character in our existing clubhouse that we believe will help him as he and his family establish a fresh start and as he continues with the Houston Astros. We look forward to Osuna’s contributions as we head into the back half of the season.”

In short, “We, the Houston Astros, value winning above all else, and we will not hesitate to field players of questionable moral character if the end result is another World Series title.” Reasonable minds can differ (can they?) on this approach to #winning, but the Astros left little doubt as to which side of that divide they land.

So what does all of this have to do with Charles Barkley? All of these examples, four athletes and a sports team, are, in fact, role models. They have given us great examples of what not to do.

We can tell our children to be careful on social media, knowing that what you tap on that little screen can come back to bite you nearly a decade later. And then we can point to Hader, Newcomb, and Turner and say: “See what I mean.”

We can teach our children that hitting women is wrong – always. And that doing so can cost you your job (at least temporarily), and your income (nearly $2.5M in Osuna’s case), and your standing in the community. And then we can point to how the baseball world has reacted to Osuna and say: “See what I mean.”

We can explain to our children that winning isn’t the only thing (despite what Red Sanders may believe). That seeking an advantage at the cost of your integrity can have long and lasting implications. That society won’t look favorably upon people who put success above everything else. And then we can show our kids Jeff Luhnow juking and jiving to put a positive spin on his steaming pile of shit that was this deal and say: “See what I mean.”

It seems that we wake up each morning and find ourselves living in a world with few consequences for outrageous behavior. It is enough to make us all borderline nihilists. But then a few dumb athletes and at least one ruthless deal-maker bring us back to Earth. Through their conduct we learn that there are, in fact, costs to bad deeds. And because these bad acts and bad actors are in the news and in our feeds, they present perfect teaching moments.

And just like we were able to teach our kids about the treachery of drinking and driving when Sir Charles was arrested for DUI; and just like we were able to teach our kids about the risks of gambling when Barkley admitted to losing at least $30M in Las Vegas over the years; so too can we teach our kids these life lessons. They are brought to us by athletes (and executives) who are, in fact, role models.

PLAY BALL!

Fathers (Day) and Sons

Last week I spoke as part of a lecture group on the topic of fatherhood. When it was over, the speakers and audience members gathered in the lobby to discuss the show, to recount how we all related to the stories, and to share the impact they had on everyone in the theater.

When I made my way to my father, he had tears in his eyes. Insofar as I spoke first, nearly ninety minutes earlier, I knew it wasn’t my story that had welled his emotions. Rather, he told me, it was all of the anecdotes combined that made him wistful, that caused him to think about his father. Feelings don’t dissipate in your eighth decade – sometimes they are heightened.

My father’s reaction to the readings made me think about my Grandpa Max, who would have been a cool 108 years old this year – one year for each stitch on a baseball. Grandpa Max (and Grandma Betty, to be fair) was one of my biggest fans, and was cheering me on when I hit my first career homerun. While that moment still brings a smile to my face, it occurred many years after Grandpa Max made his first contribution to my ultimate love of baseball: he taught my dad to love baseball. With that as the foundation, I, in-turn, taught my son to love baseball. I am unable to go back any further on the genealogical depth chart, but I know we have at least four generations covered.

My grandfather grew up in Boston a Red Sox fan; and my father grew up in Boston, a Red Sox fan. Grandpa Max was born about nine years before the cursed Red Sox World Series championship (1918) and died about nine years before the curse was broken (2004). I find some kind of weird symmetry in that.

My father moved from the east coast to Los Angeles in 1958. That is the same year, coincidentally (or not), that the Dodgers also headed west. I am not sure, but I think there is something to that as well.

Max, Saul, Dan, Jake. For well over a hundred years, we have been, and continue to be, a baseball family.

In the summer of 2009 we took a three-generation trip to Boston, and were brought onto the field at Fenway Park. My son led the way, followed by me, and then my dad. I said to our guide: “I don’t know who is more excited, Jake, me, or my dad.” My dad quickly shouted: “Me! Because I am excited for Jake, you, and myself.” Chris Rock says dad gets the biggest piece of chicken; I guess granddad gets the biggest thrill in the moment. Seems perfectly fair to me.

Baseball is a game of fathers and sons (and grandsons). With apologies to Jim Nantz, it is a tradition unlike any other.

The Major Leagues have seen five father-son-grandson families – with the most notable being the Boones (Ray, Bob, Aaron/Bret) and the Bells (Gus, Buddy, David). And there have been countless father-son combos (at some point this summer there will be another, when Vladimir Guerrero, Jr. makes the leap from Double-A to third base in Toronto).

Hell, there is even a three-generation umpiring family (Ed, Paul, and Brian Runge).

For these families, baseball is literally in their blood.

But for the rest of us, baseball resides in the heart. Our fathers teach us the game; they sit with us on the couch and point out the sport’s intricacies; they play catch in the backyard and explain the difference between a four-seam and a two-seam grip; they take us to the stadium and protect us from foul balls. Fathers show us how to keep score and where to stand to get an autograph. They demonstrate how to properly dress a hot dog, and what true fandom looks like. And fathers do it as much for themselves as they do for their sons. It is truly a labor of love.

I would remiss if I didn’t mention that there are a great many moms out there who do all of the above, and do it out of devotion to the game, and love for their boys. I have no doubt that Helen Callaghan taught her son baseball – and probably more and better than any of us have. She played in the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League (made famous in a little movie called A League of Their Own), and guided her son to the Major Leagues (check out Casey Candaele in those sweet Expos blues, to the right). I am certain there are countless moms out there who have cried in baseball while imbuing their sons with the splendor of a suicide squeeze, or the sublime brilliance of a perfectly executed hit-and-run. I am sure that there exists a mom named Mary whose appreciation of an immaculate inning cannot be matched.

But Ms. Callaghan and the other baseball-loving females in our lives aside, the job of baseball parent customarily falls to the dad. And boy are we lucky for that.

I was recently in New York with my son, and after touring CitiField, we went to the Bergino Baseball Clubhouse. If you ever find yourself in the East Village, I highly recommend it. The proprietor, Jay Goldberg (who couldn’t be a nicer guy), told us about a project he is working on: Remember Your First Game. What a brilliant idea. My son and I stood in that store trying to recall, and we think we know, but we cannot be certain (a high-class problem to have been to so many games that you cannot pinpoint the first). I think mine may have been a Double-A game in Bristol, Connecticut in 1976. We are pretty sure Jake’s was – fittingly – the Red Sox vs. Dodgers at the L.A. Coliseum in 2008. But the teams and locations are unimportant…what matters is that the father took the son. They shared that moment, which begat another moment, which begat thousands more moments, all built around baseball.

My son’s mother passed away about six weeks before his first coach-pitch season. By that time, he already had the “bug.” But I often wonder if he would love baseball as much if the other parent had died. Sure, it is a dark – and probably unnecessary – line of thought, but it fits with my narrative about balls and strikes, about baseball and love, about fathers and sons.

Each year we comb the racks at the local department store, we search online, we ask for guidance, looking for the perfect Father’s Day gift. And after much deliberation, we usually land on a tie, a pair of socks, or a book.

This year, try something different. This year, give your dad the gift of thanks. Thank him for introducing you to baseball, for educating you about the game, for showing you how to love it unconditionally; thank him for explaining the infield-fly rule and teaching you the phrase “there is always next year.” And thank him for instilling in you an adoration for a sport that transcends time, a sport that, by its very nature, requires patience, persistence, and perseverance; a sport that, like a cherished watch, must be passed down from generation to generation. Wrap up and put a nice little bow on a very simple, “Thanks, Dad!”

And if your father is no longer with us, tell your son about a time you went to the ballpark with your dad. If you believe – as I do – that your father is listening, he will be grateful for the reminiscence, and your son will appreciate the memory.

As they say in Hebrew, l’dor vador.

Happy Father’s Day.

PLAY BALL!!

Bryce Harper is NOT a Superstar

I am not trying to be provocative; this is not a “hot take”; I am not in the business of taking unnecessary shots.

Bryce Harper is good, very good. Harper may, in fact, be great. But Bryce Harper is not a superstar. Now, past performance is no guarantee of future results. As such, Mr. Harper may become a superstar. He may start his ascent this season, keep getting better into his mid and late twenties, and retire as one of the best to ever play the game. Who knows? But with all of this talk of $300M, $400M, $500M contracts in the ether as Bryce heads into free agency, I think it is important to step back and look at the facts. And by facts, I mean numbers.

About eighteen months ago I wrote an article comparing Harper to Mike Trout (who IS a superstar; and who, barring injury, will be (if he isn’t already) one of the best to ever play the game). Nothing has fundamentally changed since that analysis was completed after the 2016 season.

What has changed is that Harper had another good, but not great, season; and Trout had another brilliant (if injury-shortened) one.

When people speak of Harper, they do so in hushed tones. They hearken back to the teenage phenom on the cover of Sports Illustrated and the reported 570-foot homerun in Las Vegas at age 15. And then, inevitably, the conversation turns to Harper’s 2015 season in which he led the league in homeruns, runs, slugging, OBP, OPS, and WAR. With those numbers, he was the league’s Most Valuable Player.

Every season Harper is a perennial MVP candidate. And every season – save for 2015 – something happens to dash those hopes. In 2013 it was a knee injury; in 2014 it was a thumb injury; in 2016 it was a slew of walks by the Cubs in May that through him off the scent; in 2017 it was another knee injury. And this season – which started with a lot of promise with eight homeruns and a 1.265 OPS in his first 17 games – it seems like impending free agency is causing him to press, expand the strike zone, thus leaving him hitting .232 (albeit with a tie for the league-lead in homeruns with 13 and a .931 OPS*).

But if we break down Harper’s first six years, we see the following:

	fWAR	OPS	RUNS
2012	4.4	0.817	98
2013	4.1	0.854	71
2014	1.6	0.767	41
2015	9.3	1.109	118
2016	3	0.814	84
2017	4.9	1.008	95

These numbers are fine, but they are not half a billion dollars’ worth of fine.

And let’s take a look at that illustrious 2015 campaign – the one that is always referenced to reflect Harper’s potential, the reason people believe he is a superstar.

Harper had an 1.109 OPS that season, which ranks 79^th all time. Here are the names of a few players who have recorded higher single-season OPS numbers:

Jeff Bagwell
Larry Walker (three times)
Todd Helton (twice)
Albert Belle
Carlos Delgado
Luis Gonzalez
Kevin Mitchell

Now, these are great players. And yes, some did this in the steroid era. But, numbers are numbers.

How about that 9.3 fWAR, which is Harper’s best season by nearly 200%? In the last 20 years, there have been 31 individual seasons of 9.3 fWAR or better. In fairness, that list is filled with Hall of Famers, future Hall of Famers, and should-be Hall of Famers (save for PEDs). But Jacoby Ellsbury is also on that list (a 9.4 season); and Kevin Brown recorded a 10-win season. Those numbers make a 9.3-win season, if not pedestrian, at least less stratospheric.

In any given year (again, save for 2015), Harper’s conventional stats are lumped in with the likes of:

Mark Reynolds and JJ Hardy (HRs in 2012)
Adam Lind (OPS in 2013)
Trevor Plouffe (Slugging in 2014)
Dexter Fowler and Jayson Werth (Runs in 2016)
Didi Gregorius and Kyle Seager (RBI in 2017)

If it seems like I cherry-picked those specific stats for those specific seasons, I did not. You could go year-by-year (excluding only 2015) and find Harper bunched with other good ballplayers in each column of his baseball-reference page. Last season Harper once again showed his potential, finishing in the top six of slugging, on-base, and OPS – but only if you set the parameters at 100 games. Harper played in only 111 games in 2017 due to the aforementioned knee injury. While stepping on a slick bag may not have been his fault, maybe running into a wall at full speed is; and diving head-first into a base definitely is. Regardless, we live in a no-fault world – and if you are paying a ballplayer $30M, or $40M, or (gasp) $50M per year, he needs to be on the field putting up those numbers over 150+ games. Harper has played that many games only once in his first six seasons.

Quiz time. Below is the average output of two different players through their first six years^ in the Big Leagues. Which would you choose?

	GAMES	RUNS	HR	RBI	OBP	SLUG	OPS	fWAR
Player A	135.5	86.2	13	60.2	0.344	0.429	0.773	4.1
Player B	128	84.5	25	76.7	0.383	0.512	0.895	4.55

They are pretty close, and if you squint, I think you would prefer Player B. Player A – also known as the aforementioned Jacoby Ellsbury – got a 7/$153M deal when he entered free agency at age 30, and that deal has been derided in the Bronx since the ink dried.

Does Player B – also known as Bryce Harper – look like he is worth two-times Ellsbury (based solely on performance to date)? Three-times?

Does your answer change if I told you that Harper would sign this deal at age 26 (rather than age 30)? Do those four years of production make him $150-$250M more valuable? One could argue that, at $11M per each single WAR, those four years (assuming Ellsbury is a zero-win player during the same period) make Harper worth about $50M more than Ellsbury. But $50M is a far cry from $150M, let alone $250M or $350M. Add $50 million to Ellsbury’s deal, round it up so the AAV looks good, and Harper could (should?) get 7/$210M. That seems reasonable.

Numbers are numbers, and facts are facts. Bryce Harper is not (yet) a superstar. Can we please dispense with that talk; and can we please dispense with the idea that Harper should get anywhere between one-third and one-half of a billion dollars when he signs next off-season?

Now, if we start talking about Manny Machado? Well, that would be an interesting conversation…

PLAY BALL!!

*All stats current as of May 17

^Ellsbury’s 2010 season was omitted as he played only 18 games that year.

Let It Slip Away

Watch sports long enough, and you know.

Your football team is down four with three minutes to go and they give up a first down on third and long. You know.

Your favorite golfer has a five-foot birdie putt to go one back with two to play, and it lips out. You know.

Your basketball team has made a furious comeback to cut the lead to two in the last seconds, gets a loose ball, and then misses a wide-open three. You know.

Watch enough sports and you can just sense when a team had their chance, and let it slip away.

“There is a lot of baseball left to play.” I cannot count how many times I have uttered those words. My wife makes fun of me because she knows better than to assume a win any time before the 27^th out is recorded. If she so much as attempts to assuage my anxiety, I will hit her with: “There is a lot of baseball left to play.”

And yet, even though we are only in the second week of May, and even though we are only 25% of the way through the schedule, and even though anything can happen between the time spring turns to summer which turns to fall, and even though “there is still a lot of baseball left to play,” in a 24-hour period earlier this week, both of my teams let it slip away. And I know. I know that my teams are now playing for second place. History may prove me wrong, but I believe – in my soul – that the NL West was lost on Tuesday, May 8^th and the AL East was lost on Wednesday, May 9^th. Allow me to explain.

National League West

The Los Angeles Dodgers were the prohibitive favorite to win their sixth consecutive NL West title this season. Their only real competition was the Arizona Diamondbacks, who lost their best player to free agency and lost their second best pitcher to Tommy John surgery. It should have been a cakewalk. But then a funny thing happened: they started playing the games.

The Diamondbacks began the season 24-12, and won their first nine series – including two against the Dodgers (they went 5-1).

Meanwhile, the Dodgers started the season 16-20, lost their best player to Tommy John surgery and their best pitcher to tendinitis. As of this writing, the Dodgers find themselves in fourth place, eight games behind the D’Backs.

Tuesday night could have changed things. The Dodgers had a two-game home set against their rival, hoping to reduce their deficit to six. Trailing 5-2 in the bottom of the 5^th, the Dodgers scored two runs to cut the lead to one. And then, with one out in the bottom of the 9^th, Kike Hernández hit a dramatic game-tying homerun. With one swing of the bat, the momentum shifted.

In the bottom of the 10^th, the first two Dodgers reached base, and Matt Kemp came to the plate with a chance to win the game. Kemp proceeded to hit a bomb just to the right of centerfield. Off the bat it seemed like a walk-off three-run homer, and a happy night at Chavez Ravine. But the cool air held the ball up, and A.J. Pollock corralled it at the wall. Pinch-runner Ross Stripling (yes, you read that correctly) moved to third, but for reasons that pass understanding, Cody Bellinger went halfway* and didn’t move to second. Luckily for Cody, the D’Backs walked Joc Pederson to load the bases with one out. All Kyle Farmer had to do was lift a fly ball and the Dodgers would be seven games back. Alas, he struck out on splitter in the dirt. And with the bases still loaded, Old Man Chase Utley struck out looking to end the inning.

(*Coaches Note: With the winning run tagging at second, Bellinger’s run meant literally nothing, so he had no reason to go halfway. Rather, with the winning run moving to third, Bellinger had value in precluding a potential inning-ending double play. With a ball hit to the wall, he should have been tagging all the way and cruised into second base, forcing the Diamondbacks to walk Pederson, and thus creating what we eventually got: a bases loaded, one-out situation. But the Bums got there by chance, not by choice.)

Hope continued to spring eternal in the bottom of the 11^th, as the first two Dodgers reached base. Alex Verdugo struck out, failing to move the runners over; Kenta Maeda pinch-sacrificed, and now the winning run was 90 feet away. But Cody Bellinger flew out to end the threat, and we played on.

The Diamondbacks, after averting disaster the prior two innings, got two on with one out in the top of the 12^th. Daniel Descalso brought them all in with a three-run homer. The Dodgers went meekly in the bottom half, ending the game, and, for all intents and purposes, the NL West race. The Dodgers fell to nine back; but worse, they seemed to have lost their luster. If Arizona plays .500 baseball from here on out (doubtful), the Dodgers will need to go 74-53 the rest of the way to win the West. Not inconceivable, but not likely either.

When the teams left the field Tuesday night, you just knew. The Dodgers had let it slip away.

American League East

This one in trickier, but stay with me. The Boston Red Sox got off to a blistering start, winning 17 of their first 19 games; while the New York Yankees started a pedestrian 9-9. On the morning of April 21^st. the Yankees were 7½ games behind the Red Sox; but then they started winning, and they really haven’t stopped. There was a blip against the Astros on April 30^th, but other than that, they have been perfect. 17-1 over that span, passing the Red Sox for first place on Wednesday night. And that is when it was over.*

The Yankees and Red Sox entered Wednesday night tied for first place, and played a back-and-forth affair, with four lead changes through seven innings. In the eighth, leading 6-5, the Red Sox had runners on second and third and no outs. This was the moment; this was the Red Sox’ chance to put the Yankees away. A ground ball or a lazy fly ball, and the Red Sox have an insurance run. A base hit and they have two. What transpired over the next four batters ended the AL East race: K, K, IBB (to Mookie Betts), 6-3. Bases left loaded, no runs scored. What made this considerably more painful was that the third out was a shot by Andrew Benintendi right up the middle that could/should have scored two. But it was hit into the teeth of the shift, and Didi Gregorius made the easy throw to first to retire the side.

You know – even if you don’t know – what happened next.

The Yankees got two one with one out in the bottom of the 8^th; closer Craig Kimbrel came in for the five-out save; Brett Gardner hit a two-run triple (fifth lead change); Aaron Judge hit a ball about as hard as you can (117 MPH exit velocity/429 feet) to the monuments in dead center. And just like that, the Red Sox trailed 9-6. Boston went meekly in the top half of the ninth, ending the game, and, for all intents and purposes, the AL East race.

Sure, when the teams left the field there were still 126 games left in the season, including 14 head-to-head.* But I have watched sports long enough. I know. I know that in that eighth inning, the Red Sox let it slip away.

(*Panic Note: The Red Sox beat the Yankees in a nail-biter on Thursday night, so that, as of this writing, the teams are tied for first place with 125 games (13 head-to-head) left to play. That fact does not change my view on the matter.)

PLAY BALL!!

A Deal Fit For a Kingery

When we last met, we were discussing the Philadelphia Phillies and their deft contracting for a seasoned veteran. In today’s installment of the Matt Klentak diaries, we will look into the Phillies’ deft contracting for an unproven rookie.

We begin our tale as Spring Training was winding down. The Phillies multi-faceted prospect Scott Kingery was preparing himself to head down to Lehigh Valley for Triple-A opening day. For various reasons – more on those below – Kingery didn’t think he would be breaking camp with the big club.

Kingery was a drafted in the second round in 2015 out of my alma mater, the University of Arizona. At 5-10/180, Kingery came into professional baseball playing multiple positions, with a great hit tool and plus speed. At his size, no one expected him to hit for power. But last year, Kingery hit 26 homeruns, stole 29 bases, and had a .889 OPS across two Minor League levels. Such production allowed Kingery to rise quickly up the ranks of the Baseball America and MLB prospect charts. And yet, no one expected young Scott to be wearing a Major League uniform on March 29^th.

Kingery came to Florida in March and knocked the ball all over the yard. He hit .411, with 5 dingers and a 1.226 OPS during the spring. And yet, even with that performance, no one expected young Scott to be in the Majors on Opening Day.

As previously discussed here and elsewhere, even if the Phillies wanted Kingery with the big club, they had a financial incentive to keep him in the Minors for the first few weeks of the season. By doing so, the Phillies would delay Kingery’s service-time clock, giving the club an extra year of player control. In short, the Phillies planned to purposefully make themselves worse for a short period of time (three or four weeks) in order to potentially save some money six years down the road. The merits of this practice have been openly debated in many fora, but until the players change the CBA, teams are incentivized to take advantage of the rules, and disincentivized to bring young players to the big leagues – even when they are ready (see, Trout, Mike; Bryant, Chris; Acuña, Ronald; etc.). That, however, is a discussion for another day.

So, in order to avoid this “lose-lose-maybe we win some time in 2024” proposition, Klentak and Kingery’s reps at PSI Sports Management elected to negotiate a long-term contract for a youngster who had never played a Major League game. The Phillies and Kingery agreed to a deal that potentially runs for nine years, worth no less than $24M, and possibly as much as $65M (if the team exercises its three options). Here is an overview of the deal:

Year	Salary
2018	$1,000,000
2019	$1,500,000
2020	$1,750,000
2021	$4,250,000
2022	$6,250,000
2023	$8,250,000
2024	$13,000,000 (Team Option; $1,000,000 buyout)
2025	$14,000,000 (Team Option)
2026	$15,000,000 (Team Option)

Why would the Phillies do that? And why would Kingery?

From the Phillies’ perspective, this was a no-brainer. If everything goes sideways, and Kingery is an all-time bust, they have a player on their roster through the 2023 season at an AAV of $4M. If you consider that the going rate for Wins Above Replacement (WAR) is $11M, Kingery could be a .06 WAR player for each of his six seasons and the Phillies still break even (Note: this math does not account for the price/value of WAR going up between now and 2023, which means Kingery could be even worse and the deal would still make dollars and sense).

And if Kingery is the real deal, the Phils have him under control for nine years at an AAV of $7.2M, which would rank him as the 180^th highest paid player in the league (at current levels). To take this to its illogical conclusion, using 2018 values, if Kingery is worth exactly $15M (i.e., making him a 1.4 WAR player) in his ninth season (which begs the question as to why the Phillies would continue to exercise their options, but bear with me), the contract would still be a good value. If Kingery’s worst case is that he turns into Trevor Story or Max Kepler – by Year 9 – the Phillies will have won the deal.

One last thing: the Phillies got to bring Kingery, his wheels, his Swiss Army knife versatility, and his promise to the big leagues on Opening Day. They got a young ballplayer his baptism by fire, with a chance to help the club right away; he didn’t have to languish in the Minors, waiting for the sands in the hourglass to run out before getting “the call.”

So now we know why the Phillies would sign this deal, but why would Kingery? Why would a player with future “star” (if not “superstar”) written all over him give away not some, but all, of his negotiating leverage – three years of arbitration and three years of free agency – for a deal that, as shown above, is most likely way below market? One thing is certain, the MLB Players Association tried to talk him out of it. But the MLBPA doesn’t get to balance Scott’s checkbook or plan for Scott’s future (the MLB Pension notwithstanding, which kicks in if Kingery plays 43 days in the Majors).

Kingery was set to start the season in the Minors, and earn about $2,150/month. By signing this deal, he gets a first-year salary of $1 million, or $166,666/month (players are paid over a six-month schedule). A pretty nice raise. Sure, Kingery probably would have been in the Majors by May, and thus would have received the MLB minimum ($91K/month) for the remainder of the season. But that total salary would still be less than 50% of what he will make this year under the new contract.

What about Evan Longoria, people are yelling from the empty bleachers at the Trop? For those of you who don’t recall, Longoria signed a 6/$17.5M deal in 2008 after playing only six games for the (then) Devil Rays. Longoria protected himself with life-changing money, and played well enough to garner another 6/$100M deal four years later. Sure, Evan left a lot of money on the table by giving up three years of arbitration eligibility, but he still stands to make roughly $150M over the course of his career. That’s nothing to sneeze at.

To those screaming “Longoria”, I (and maybe Kingery, too) would scream “Singleton.” In June, 2014, Jon Singleton, a first base prospect in the Astros’ system (the third best prospect in the organization) got the call, and elected to sign a 5/$10M deal before he even put on his jersey. Singleton hit .168 in 95 games with the Astros in 2014; and .191 over 19 games in 2015. And that, my friends, is the sum total of Singleton’s Major League career. Singleton would have made a prorated MLB minimum over those two seasons, or about $320,000. By signing that contract – by mitigating his risk – Singleton made more than 30 times what he would have made otherwise. He protected his family and his future by signing early. If he not signed, do we believe that the MLBPA would be helping with grocery money today?

Had Singleton lived up to his potential, he may have been in line to be compensated like another Astros player who signed a similar contract a year earlier. A light-hitting second baseman secured his retirement by signing a 4/$17M deal in 2013. He then outperformed the deal, won some batting titles and an MVP, led the Astros to a World Series championship, and this off-season Jose Altuve was rewarded with a 5/$151M contract. But those riches were but a pipe dream in 2013 for a guy who, in 2006, had to sneak himself into a second tryout with the team. Altuve had no way of knowing that nine figures awaited him, so he took the sure money, and then earned the rest.

Other players, including Mookie Betts, Bryce Harper, and the aforementioned Ronald Acuña, have all been offered long-term deals at team-friendly prices, only to bet on themselves. And that is their right.

But more than a handful of players took the insurance policy that a long-term contract provides, and then bet on themselves to get even more money down the road. Among those who have done so: Salvador Perez (5/$7M initially, 5/$52.5M later); Troy Tulowitzki (6/$31M initially, 10/$157.5M later); Ryan Braun (8/$45M initially, 5/$105M later). And the following guys are in line to make plenty of money in the coming years: Paul Goldschmidt (5/$32M, expires after 2019); Madison Bumgarner (5/$35M, expires after 2019); Anthony Rizzo (7/$41M, expires after 2021).

We think we know these players, but we don’t. We don’t know their financial situations; we haven’t run around the bases in their cleats; we don’t know what motivates, drives, or frightens them. None of us – not the yahoos sitting in the stands, the MLBPA officials in New York, or even teammates in (theoretically) similar situations – can pass judgment on any other human being who accepts an offer of generational money, an eight-figure fortune – with no guarantee that any more will ever be available – just for the privilege of playing a kid’s game in a park six months of the year.

Not to be overlooked is the dearth of free agent signings this off-season. Was this year merely a blip on the radar, a bump on the road to riches; or was it a sign of the times? Many players (Jose Bautista, Melky Cabrera, Andre Ethier, Matt Holliday, John Lackey, Brandon Phillips, Mark Reynolds, Jayson Werth, and more) found this year’s free agent waters quite choppy, and, as of today, only a few have found buoys. Maybe Scott Kingery looked to the horizon and didn’t like the view. Maybe he chose safety and security over luck and the lottery.

As a baseball fan, I hope Kingery lives up the contract, becomes a star, and signs a massive deal the next time around. But on the off-chance that he flames out and finds his name on the list of all-time flops, I will be happy for him and his family that, if nothing else, he has financial security and the ability to buy a round drinks while he regales everyone at the bar with his stories of what might have been.

PLAY BALL!!

Playing Checkers

There are very few things more satisfying than the “jump” in checkers. And it’s rare when you can incorporate a kids’ board game into Major League Baseball, but Phillies GM Matt Klentak and uber-agent Scott Boras did just that in March when they negotiated for free-agent pitcher Jake Arrieta. Unless you were deep in the weeds of the Hot Stove (which was considerably cooler this winter), you may have missed the unique deal the Phillies and the right-hander closed a month into Spring Training (a deal unlike any I’ve seen before).

Before we get into the deal, a little background. Arrieta, the 2015 Cy Young winner, coming off four-plus successful years on the north side of Chicago, was arguably the most coveted starting pitcher on the open market this off-season. His agent, the aforementioned and inimitable Scott Boras, was looking for a five- or six-year deal of at least $200 million.

But as Thanksgiving rolled into Christmas, and the new year begat pitchers and catchers reporting to camps in Arizona and Florida, Arrieta found himself unemployed. This was a point on consternation for baseball fans and writers, but apparently not for Arrieta himself. If I were a betting man, I would wager that Boras assured his client that he – Boras – would pull another rabbit out of his hat, as he had so many times before.

When position players reported to Spring Training in March, however, it seemed as if the Copperfield act was getting stale. The Yankees and the Dodgers elected not to spend money and stay within the Competitive Balance Tax; the Cubs signed Yu Darvish; the Braves are still rebuilding; the Rangers elected to take a year off from contending; the Astros have a World Series title, two Cy Young winners (Dallas Keuchel and Justin Verlander), and landed Gerrit Cole in a trade; the Tigers are still in tear-down mode; the Angels won the Shohei Otani sweepstakes; and the Mets are chock-full of starting pitchers. The curtain was about to rise, and Jake didn’t have a ticket to the show.

The potential landing spots for Arrieta eventually narrowed to Washington and Philadelphia. The Nationals seemed like a natural fit, as Boras and Nats owner Ted Lerner have a great relationship. And this is “the” year for the Nationals, with Boras client Bryce Harper going into his walk season. It is win now…or potentially never.

The Phillies were an intriguing home, but they are not yet in win-now mode. Their rebuild is still in process, and are about two years away from contention. That said, one could argue that signing Arrieta would give them a rotation anchor who could lead them into their future. But one could just as easily argue that signing a 32-year old pitcher to a long(ish) deal does not comport with modern analytics and the conservative approach recently taken by the Phillies.

There has been very little reporting about any actual negotiations between the Nationals and Arrieta. And since neither Ken Rosenthal nor Buster Olney made mention of it, it’s plausible none ever occurred.

As a result, Boras found himself stuck with Klentak and the Phillies.

With but one buyer, Boras needed to be creative. For starters, Boras is well known for inserting opt-out provisions into his clients’ contracts. These give the player leverage if he over-performs his deal. In fact, just a few weeks earlier, Boras negotiated a contract for another client, J.D. Martinez, which gives the slugger not one, not two, but three opt-outs over a five-year period. As such, it stood to reason that if Arrieta wasn’t going to get a $200 million guarantee, Boras would want as much flexibility, and as many outs, as possible.

But Klentak and the Phillies understand market forces as well; and they could count the number of chairs available when the music stopped on Opening Day. They knew they potentially were the only game in town. Additionally, Klentak didn’t want to find himself paying a pitcher to (re)build his value, just to lose him – or be held hostage for huge dollars – right when his team is vying for the post-season.

So, Boras and Klentak decided to play checkers, and negotiated what, on its face, looked like a simple, front-loaded 3/$75 million contract. The deal would have $30 million payable in Year 1, $25 million payable in Year 2, and $20 million payable in Year 3.

But a deal like this had two problems for Boras: (1) If Arrieta performs in accordance with his pedigree, an average annual value (AAV) of $25 million is below market; and (2) Even if Arrieta performs, Arrieta will have earned only $75 million over the course of the contract, and will find himself a free agent as a 35-year old pitcher.

This deal had one major problem for the Phillies: They could lose their ace right when they become a force in the National League East.

It thus became time to start moving pieces around the checkerboard.

Boras bought himself protection. He, in my parlance, “jumped” Klentak by negotiating an opt-out after Year 2. Doing so made this a 2/$55 million deal ($27.5 million AAV), which is more in line with what other pitchers of Arrieta’s ilk make, and would allow Arrieta to go back into the market as a spry 34-year-old, not an old-timey 35-year-old.

But Klentak wanted and needed some protections as well, and this is where things get very interesting. He “jumped” Boras by giving the Phillies the right to “buy out” the opt-out by locking in Year 3 at $20 million (thus trumping the opt-out) and also extending the deal for two additional years at $20 million each. If Arrieta performs, and the Phillies are contending, they would have Jake on a 5/$115 million contact ($23 million AAV). And even if Arrieta under-performs in Years 4 and 5, that deal is below market and doesn’t crush their payroll.

But Boras can do math as well as I, and he understood that if Arrieta performs well enough for the Phillies to lock him in for three additional years (five in total), then Arrieta would be worth more than a $23 million AAV. So Boras needed to “jump” Klentak by building $5 million escalators into the deal based on (a) the number of starts Arrieta makes in 2018 and 2019, and (b) how Arrieta fares in Cy Young voting those seasons. If Arrieta lives up to his past level of greatness, he can add up to $20 million to the deal, making it 5/$135 million, and back to a $27 million AAV. And if that is how it ultimately ends, the Phillies will be more than happy with the deal.

With those final moves, all of the checker pieces were off the board, the game was over, and the parties signed the contract.

One last note: As we look ahead to a slowing free agent market, as teams become more cognizant of Competitive Balance Tax implications, and as front offices become ever more risk-averse, look for more contracts with this level of creativity. I may even dissect another one soon.

PLAY BALL!!

Skullcaps and C-Flaps

About four years ago I was pitching batting practice to my then 11-year-old son’s team. One of his teammates, a nearly fully-grown 12-year-old (who, in his sophomore year of high school, already committed to play at Vanderbilt) hit a line drive back through the box that nearly decapitated me. I have played baseball my entire life, am pretty athletic, and have decent reaction time. And yet, it was just dumb luck that I didn’t end up in the hospital – or worse.

When we got home that night I told my son that if he wanted to pitch that season, it was not his arm I was worried about – it was his head. And then I informed him that I was invoking my “father’s prerogative” and requiring him to wear a skullcap when he took the hill. You can imagine how that went over. But I could not, in good conscience – after seeing what had happened at the Major League level (watch below), what had happened in the Minors, and what nearly happened to me – allow him to take the mound unprotected.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQyJ01qT94I

There was some confusion in the league the first time my son donned the skullcap, but it soon became his “thing.” He then took pride in being the first to do it. (After my son’s debut, another parent bought one and forced his son to wear the helmet on the mound, so now my son was a trend-setter.) My kid wore the skullcap all season and through all-stars. But, truth be told, the concept didn’t hold, and I did not require him to wear it the next season. And, truth also being told, I regret that decision.

It was with that as the backdrop that I found myself in the garage a few weeks ago affixing a C-Flap to my son’s batting helmet. If you don’t know the C-Flap by name, you certainly know it by sight – they are ubiquitous this season. The history of the C-Flap is set out in this great Paul Lukas article, with much more background and detail than I could muster. An interesting fact, found about halfway through the piece, caught my unprotected eye: the C-Flap has not yet been approved for high school baseball. This insanity can be filed under the “bureaucracy run amok” heading, and is putting our children at risk. Personally, I don’t care about the regulation, and have thrown caution to the batter’s box. If my son’s school or league wants to ban his helmet, let them tell me that to my face (to date, there have been no issues).

I imagine that, with literally the best players in the game (Trout, Harper, Stanton, Correa, Cabrera, Lindor, and more) now wearing C-Flaps, it won’t be long until our kids are begging for the C-Flap. In the not-too-distant future, your preseason trip to the local sporting goods store (do they still exist?) will include batting gloves, multiple Evoshields, cleats, and a C-Flap-adorned helmet. As Paul states in his article, Rawlings and Easton are already working on prototypes; and we all know that where there is demand, there most certainly will be supply.

What is shocking to me is that no leagues require kids to wear skullcaps on the mound or C-Flaps at the plate.

What is shocking to me is that we all watched a pitcher at the Little League World Series almost have his life forever altered, saved only by the happenstance of less than a ¼ inch of plastic and wool. And yet, no rules were changed.

What is shocking to me is that we don’t allow our kids to play Pop Warner football for fear of head injury, but we allow our kids to stand 54 feet (closer after release) from post-pubescent 12- and 13-year-olds-with metal bats in their hands. We teach our kids to turn away from an inside fastball while also imploring them to “wear one” for the team, but we don’t think about the impact (both long and short term) of taking a fastball to the orbital bone.

Sure, I am soft; we as a society, are soft.

I can already hear the Don Drysdale, Bob Gibson, Goose Gossage, Roger Clemens, Randy Johnson, skirt-wearing, softball-playing shots coming my way.

Fine. I will “wear” those. Just know I will be wearing a skullcap and a C-Flap as those shots come in.

PLAY BALL!!

Too Soon…To Panic?

I worked on a movie that came out last week (note: you should see it, it is really funny). The premise of the film is that three parents venture out to stop their daughters from losing their virginity on prom night. As we confront this over-protectiveness, we are forced to grapple with the question: “How soon is too soon?”

For reasons that at this point need no explanation, this question got me thinking about baseball. And for me, this year, the answer was “about two hours and thirty minutes.” That’s how soon is too soon…to panic.

A little background: March 29^th was Opening Day. Yes, I capitalized it because this year, Opening Day was akin to a national holiday, with all thirty teams scheduled to play on that Thursday – none of this ESPN Sunday Night Baseball; no mid-Spring Training-but-all-too-real games in Australia; no Reds getting the first crack at the new season. No, this was a genuine Opening Day for everyone (which, of course, was thwarted in Detroit and Cincinnati because it is often snows in late March).

Although I was invited to attend Opening Day, my plans were thwarted not by weather, but by travel. I essentially missed all of the bunting-filled, flyover-honored, banner-raised festivities. My only outlet was the MLB App.

As my family and I packed our bags and headed to the airport, I was treated to my beloved Red Sox getting a Chris Sale gem, an inside-the-park homerun, and a 4-0 lead going into the eighth inning. I am a Red Sox fan and a pessimist (is that redundant?), so I certainly didn’t feel confident going into the last two frames, but I did allow for a glimmer of hope. What a fool!

After one last check of the hotel room for the wayward toothbrush or wet swimsuit, I was informed the BoSox were trailing 5-4 (they would eventually lose 6-4). Upon hearing the news that my team had blown a four run lead with five outs to go, in the very first game of the year – with 161 (and hopefully more) to go – I declared: “I’m done. I cannot watch this team this season. I cannot have my heart ripped out every night.”

That declaration was approximately 150 minutes into a season that will last roughly seven months. How soon is too soon? Well, I think 150 minutes may qualify.

All the Red Sox did over the next week and a half was win eight straight, including a 5-run comeback in the eighth inning of this past Sunday’s game – all with two outs. It was clearly “too soon.”

My hometown team, the Dodgers, started the season 3-6, and were a duck-fart away from starting 2-7, with Clayton Kershaw 0-3, despite a 2.39 ERA*. With the winning run 90 feet away from another loss, it was looking pretty bleak for the Bums. I am certain that after losing the first two games of the season 1-0 (both on Joe Panik homeruns); after being swept by the Diamondbacks; after losing the first game of their series with the Giants; after the bullpen couldn’t hold Kershaw’s one-run lead in the eighth; after the winning stood on third base; after J.T. Chargois moped off the hill with a blown save; many a diehard Dodger fan was on the “too soon” bandwagon. (*To be clear, the Dodgers stranded that runner on third, scored in the tenth, won the game, and kept Kershaw’s ERA at 1.89.)

And how about Yankee fans after the team started 5-5, with a bullpen ERA of 4.89, and Giancarlo Stanton registering not one, but two five-K games in the first ten (Sunday was a doozy: his last strikeout capped an 0-7 day with two outs in the bottom of the 12^th and the tying and winning runs on base…ouch!). Too soon?

Or fans of Joey Votto, the guy who has led the league in OBP six of the last eight seasons and led the league in walks five of the last seven, has a total of two walks (and one run) in the Reds’ first nine games. Too soon?

There is one “too soon” that is definitive. Towards the end of Spring Training, a hot takein the baseball world was that Shohei Ohtani was not ready for the Bigs, and that he might be better suited to start the year in Triple-A (or lower). Since that time, he has recorded a base hit in his first MLB at bat; hit three homeruns (including one in his first home at-bat, and one off Corey Kluber) in between two pitching appearances; won two games and took a perfect game into the seventh inning of his home pitching debut; has a 9/1 strikeout-to-walk ratio; and is batting .389 with a 1.310 OPS. So yes, naysayers, it was too soon!

Now, the Red Sox could get swept by the Yankees at Fenway Park this week; the Dodgers could lose three to the lowly A’s; Votto could continue to swing at pitches outside the zone; Stanton could whiff in more than 40% of his plate appearances; and Ohtani could come crashing back to Earth. All of those things could happen just in the next few days. And guess what, even if they do, it still would be too soon.

PLAY BALL!!

California Tie-Breaker: Not the End of the World

If you have ever coached a youth tournament game, you are familiar with the California Tie-Breaker. The genesis of the name is unknown, but one must assume it got its moniker on the fields of the Golden State because more youth baseball is played there than anywhere else.

For the uninitiated, the California Tie-Breaker works as follows: If, at the end of regulation (6, 7, or 9 innings), the game is tied, each team begins their half of the extra inning(s) with a runner on second base. Customarily, the last out from the previous inning is the runner placed on second. Of course, there are many ways to manipulate this system, but at the youth level, there are rarely enough players, or enough variance in players, to make this truly feasible.

But what happens when you implement the California Tie-Breaker on a larger stage? We are about to find out. In an effort to improve the pace of play (one of Rob Manfred’s biggest issues), Minor League baseball has elected to utilize the California Tie-Breaker for the coming season. (This rule is in addition to (a) a 15-second pitch clock with no runners on base, and a 20-second pitch clock when runners are aboard; and (b) the six mound visits per game limit that will be used at in the Majors as well.)

Now, there are many Cassandras out there (Michael Wilbon, anyone?) who will tell you that the use of the California Tie-Breaker is the end of baseball as we know it. These are the purists who believe that any change to “the way the game is played” means the downfall of Western Civilization. Putting aside that the President is doing that on his own, this is merely an experiment. There is no need to lose your mind, or too much sleep, about this – at least for the time-being.

For starters, how many of you dear readers have ever stayed for extra innings of a Minor League baseball game? My guess is the number is somewhere less than Pi. We don’t stay because we don’t care. The outcomes of these games don’t matter; the health and welfare of the players do.

Sure, we have all read “Bottom of the 33^rd” by Dan Barry. It is a great story. But that was also nearly 40 years ago. A lot has changed in sports; a lot has changed in fandom; and a lot has changed in baseball in that time. Sam Miller of ESPN recently wrote an article about a 50-inning game – truly a great piece of writing and story-telling. And, for the foreseeable future, this thought experiment could still happen in a Major League game.

But in the Minors, where the players get a shower, a PB&J sandwich, and a ten-hour bus ride between games, playing for more than three hours on a given night doesn’t make sense for anyone involved.

Let’s start with the players, who, on average make somewhere between $1100-$2150 per month (yes, that breaks down to about $4/hour, and doesn’t look like that will be changing any time soon). Staying on the field until all hours of the night is neither fair nor prudent. The longer a player plays, the later the night gets, the more the temperature drops, the more likely a player gets injured. And that is good for neither the player nor the organization.

The more innings played, the more pitches thrown. Again, neither good for the players nor the organization. This one actually has a tremendous domino effect, as each level of the Minors feeds the level above. So, to the extent a team expends their available pitching (say, to finish an 18-inning game), the more stress it puts on the level below, as that team will be required to send pitchers “up” to fill holes for a day or two. Throw in the cost of additional travel, the wear and tear on the players, the clubhouse chemistry disruption, and this does nothing to help achieve the ultimate goal of a World Series championship.

How about the owners? Although many corporate groups own a slew of Minor League teams (as of 2014, nearly 40% of the 160 affiliated clubs were controlled by groups that own two or more teams), the vast majority are individuals and family-owned. They pay most of the ballpark crew on an hourly basis. And, most city ordinances proscribe how late they can sell beer. So, when a game rolls into its fourth or fifth hour, and the players are still on the field, but there are only thirty fans left in the stands, this would be the opposite of “free baseball”, and more like “expensive baseball.” There is no benefit to team owners to have the lights glow late into the night; to have the soda vendors working double shifts; to have the buses driving in the wee hours of the morning. The cynic might claim that if the game goes late enough, a team could save money on hotel rooms by arriving at the next city after daybreak, but I doubt anyone is looking for that type of efficiency. In short, the later a Minor League game goes, the worse it is for everyone.

Now, if this rule were to worm its way into the Big Leagues, then we would have a different conversation. At that level, the games mean something; the statistics mean something; the sanctity of the sport means something. Some will tell you that this is a slippery slope, and if they are experimenting with it at the Triple-A level, it is only a matter of time until we see Dee Gordon hugging second base as Matt Bush takes the hill in the top of the tenth. Yes, it could happen. But before we bring out the pitchforks, let’s take a minute and enjoy the subtle craziness of Minor League baseball. Books have been written about the weird stuff that happens at those games that doesn’t happen in The Show.

So live a little. You already know that when you go to a Hartford Yard Goats game, you are going to see something you won’t see 100 miles down the road at Yankee Stadium. Revel in the oddity – including a runner on second to start the top of the tenth.

Just for kicks, I am going to a few Minor League games this summer with the hope that one is tied after nine innings. After coaching the California Tie-Breaker, I want to see how it works when you can actually employ a little strategy. And yes, I know, it will almost always be sacrifice bunt, intentional walk, and then…something. But that won’t always happen or always work. And then what? That is what I will pay to see.

PLAY BALL!!