19
The year escapes me but it was the late 1980s or early 1990s. I had begun working with the Texas Rangers. Manager Bobby Valentine had invited to spring training arguably the greatest pitcher in history, Sandy Koufax.
One day I was standing in the hallway drinking my morning coffee and talking with Valentine. Soon one of the team’s top pitchers walked in and noticed Koufax sitting in the coach’s office reading a newspaper.
“Who is that?” he asked.
Valentine rolled his eyes.
“That’s Sandy Koufax,” I replied incredulously.
“Who is that?” repeated the pitcher.
Koufax was like Dick Clark—he never seemed to age. His playing career had ended a quarter-century earlier but he looked like he could still be firing peas from the mound. I wondered at first how he was not recognized. Then I was shocked that any major league pitcher would not know his name. Ultimately I was saddened by what I saw as an indictment of the modern-day player.
Times had changed. It was not just baseball. The lack of appreciation among athletes for the history of their sport had become apparent. It grew at the same rate salaries grew. Most players in my era did not bother asking, “What’s in it for me?” because before the advent of free agency they knew the answer. They received a contract from the club in the mail and signed it or, on rare occasions, held out for a bit more. Thanks to Marvin Miller—today’s players should be whispering thanks to him daily but many probably don’t recognize his name either—salary figures soon began exploding to the point that now some guys earning $15–$25 million a year are considered underpaid. I would never blame any player for maximizing his earning potential. But the negative effect on the game itself makes me a bit sad.
What negative effect? The drive for the almighty buck has greatly impacted how a hitter approaches his at-bats and, in turn, the mindset of the pitcher. The change has proven monumental. Player agents, who have tremendous influence, stress that only the big boppers make big money. They strongly encourage their clients to swing for the fences. I have witnessed, first hand, players ignoring calls for sacrifices from their manager and swinging away. The pecking order in major league baseball has changed along with the salary structure. Established players not only try to hit for power, they have more power than their managers. And pitchers, all of whom realize that hitters practice far less plate discipline, use their split-finger fastballs and downward breaks on sliders to induce swings and misses on balls that do not even reach the catcher.
Major league baseball was forced to look itself in the mirror after the labor dispute and work stoppage of 1994 that wiped out the World Series and turned off the nation. Resentful fans were staying home in droves. Then, with steroids legal and even after they became illegal, behemoths on the field began luring folks back to the ballpark and creating interest in the game again by slugging pitches deep into the night at a prodigious rate, shattering single-season and career home-run records set by players who had achieved them without performance-enhancing drugs.
The league has been accused of urging Rawlings in recent years to manufacture baseballs that will travel farther in the belief that fans love the long ball, which seemed true in the steroid era but not necessarily anymore. What fans want is action, and the home run concludes with hitters simply jogging around the bases. When teams hit three hundred home runs in a season, as did the Twins in 2019, it becomes monotonous.
And pitchers know when and why the ball has been altered. When one handles a baseball thousands of times every season, he gains a sensitivity to the touch in his fingers and fingertips. One must understand that every ball is hand-stitched, and they are going to be different. Pitchers can feel it. I recall that raised stitches were ideal for throwing a sharper curve because they offered more friction. Smoother balls with inverted stitching were better for fastballs. Some balls had bumps in the cover or stitching. During my active career I knew of two pitchers who had balls examined and both times the balls were found to be altered. Baseballs can be harder or softer or lighter. But what has become obvious since the 1990s is that they are wound tighter and therefore are easier to blast out of the park. Major league baseball claimed before the 2021 season that steps had been taken to make baseballs less lively. Here is hoping that their efforts are effective.
The hitters do not need that help. The league has done all it can to assist them. It lowered the mounds after the Year of the Pitcher in 1968. New fan-friendly ballparks feature shorter home-run distances. The strike zone has shrunk by perhaps one-half since I pitched. The high strike is no more. Basically, pitchers must serve their pitches up on a silver platter or entice hitters to swing at balls out of the zone. And hitters often comply by hacking at high fastballs that were once strikes or at breaking balls darting outside or in the dirt. Plate discipline is practiced by far too few major league hitters today.
I cannot place all the blame on the modern player. The minor league system has undergone a transformation. Decades ago each club boasted many farm clubs in which to groom and nurture their young talent. The rules later stipulated a limit on the number of minor league organizations allowed. But aside from bonus babies who were catapulted through organizations, most players received five years of seasoning or more during which they learned the finer points of the game.
Perhaps the most pronounced difference today is the disappearance of the art of bunting. Even thirty years ago every minor league player learned how to sacrifice a runner over. Now a successful bunt should inspire a parade down Main Street. The drag bunt, which has become extinct, was especially important at one time to get runners on base in tight games. Many players of the modern era seem to have no concept of a taut battle in which just one run is sacred. They live and die instead by the home run. Players rushed to the major leagues either do not have the time or do not feel the motivation to learn their craft. They fear that they need to show something or they will be released three or four years after joining the professional ranks. And bunting is not on their priority list.
So the long ball has become the holy grail for a huge majority of hitters, even those boasting little raw power. The small ball that infused the sport with action has disappeared. The hit-and-run, sacrifice, and drag bunt have all but gone by the way of the dinosaur. One can imagine fans never again experiencing the exhilaration of watching great base stealers like Maury Willis, Lou Brock, Tim Raines, and Rickey Henderson tear up the base paths.
The science of analytics and sabermetrics has also produced radical shifts that hitters try in vain to beat rather than practice the bat control that would allow them to accept an opposite-field single or double. Pitchers are throwing harder and batters are swinging harder than ever. Split-finger fastballs and late-breaking sliders, combined with a shocking lack of discipline by bat-wielders, result in more swings-and-misses on balls in the dirt in one year than I witnessed throughout my career. Players striking out nearly two hundred times in a season have become common, whereas those in my era who fanned half that often were chastised for it. The sad result is longer and duller games.
So major league baseball and its organizations have worked to add excitement at the ballpark artificially. Loud rock and hip-hop music are blasted through the sound system between innings. Team mascots clown around and lead cheers. Restaurants and bars have been built within the stadiums. Full meals are offered when once fans were satisfied with a simple hot dog. I have no problem with any of this. I understand that the presentation needed to evolve so the game could compete as a major form of entertainment. But such diversions should add to the enjoyment of the game rather than serve as the greatest attraction in an otherwise boring event.
And I do not believe the excitement level of a ballgame need be based on the number of runs scored. A taut, 1–0 pitching duel can be thrilling—if not to the younger generations, but there is a reason for this. Such battles ran about two hours in my day. The pace was lively despite the lack of offense. In the modern era, games can last well over three hours as managers yank one pitcher after another, batters step away from the box for an inordinate amount of time, and pitchers wait thirty seconds or more between offerings to the plate. Although no one I know of has ever wanted to hurt a fellow player, if a hitter during my career had gone through all the gyrations they do today, the first pitch would have put him on the ground. Rounding the bases while showing up a pitcher would have resulted in that player sitting on his ass the next time up to the plate. I was never accused of being anything close to a headhunter, but I would not accept being shown up.
Times have indeed changed. When I arrived in the major leagues in 1961, baseball was the national pastime. When I drank myself out of the sport in 1975, it still was. In fact many believe that the game reached its peak in popularity that year, greatly because of the tremendous World Series between the Reds and the Red Sox that featured so many memorable moments, including the Carlton Fisk home run to end Game 6.
That title, “national pastime,” had been earned. It was no phony boast. Baseball remained America’s game for generations for a myriad of reasons, including its rich history and uniqueness. For a century its legends were revered more than their counterparts in football or basketball. Babe Ruth remains the most mythical figure in the history of American sports. And unlike those two sports, baseball used no clock. Nobody complained about the length of games because nine innings were generally completed before bedtime. Now it has become an issue, and those demanding twenty-second limits between pitches and enforcing the rule have a legitimate complaint.
That problem has contributed to pro football clearly bypassing baseball as the national pastime particularly if the definition one embraces is “the most popular game in the United States.” Younger generations who crave fast-paced action reject baseball as too slow. Even passionate fans complain about the long stretches of inaction between pitches and innings that extend typical games well over three hours. And that inaction has filtered into the game itself, which has been in recent years plagued by a soaring number of strikeouts, which exceeded the number of hits for the first time in the history of the sport in 2019.
And that is a shame because major league baseball remains a great game. I am proud and thankful to have been involved in it for these many years of my adult life. My experiences have been rich and the friendships I embrace have proven to be a wonderful bonus. I received an opportunity as a player and counselor to get behind the scenes and understand the inner workings of the sport.
Among the lessons I learned first hand is that despite a drive to win, there are few secrets in baseball about players. I was surprised to discover that scouts from different teams constantly talk to each other freely about players in various organizations. They seek to find out anything and everything about personnel on other clubs.
It is quite an intriguing dance. I stayed in the same hotels as scouts during my years working with individual franchises and I also sat among them during games. You could not miss them—they were the folks holding radar guns. Scouts at the major league level evaluate opposing hitters by charting strengths and weaknesses, determining how they should be defended against based on where they are most likely to hit the ball. Any pitcher scheduled to face that club is charted as well. Velocity, late movement, and location are all noted. The scout then reports back to his team, including its pitchers, who can benefit from the data gleaned about the opposition. But what is most fascinating about the entire process is that the scouts return to their hotels after games, meet up in the bar, and openly discuss what they’ve seen. Discussions continue late into the night.
The same lack of secrecy played out in team management meetings I was asked to attend. I was shocked at the amount of material that flowed during these discussions. They shared gobs of information, not just about players’ on-field talents and tendencies but how their family background, behavior, attitude, and any personal problems might affect performance. The thoroughness of their knowledge about opposing players in particular allowed me to gain an insight into who needed help with their personal or professional life.
During my playing career I knew about scouting reports and some of the inner workings of team management. But I had no idea just how involved and complex were the processes. I was clueless about the level of intrigue and depth of investigation involved in player evaluation. In later days I was extremely proud of the respect I had earned to even be considered a participant in some of those meetings. They trusted that what was discussed would remain confidential. I used information to find out if a player on another club was in trouble but I never shared a word that an opponent could use to aid them competitively on the field.
Despite my role in employee assistance and as a counselor that gave me a specific role to play within a major league organization, I became involved in all aspects of the team. That included the hiring and firing of coaches, managers, and trainers. I was far less involved in personnel decisions involving the minor leagues. Not all franchises make such determinations with equal seriousness. Texas and Toronto, the two teams I worked with most extensively, certainly scrutinized carefully. Some organizations hired and fired at the lower levels based more on financial concerns.
Many hires are completed without research. Among the most blatant examples are sports psychologists. I am honored that my work in that field set the wheels in motion for a trend that resulted in every team employing one. The problem is that many sports psychologists deal in straight knowledge rather than applied psychology. I have talked to some who had no clue what a professional athlete is all about. They were not giving players any help. And that is a shame. A sharp sports psychologist today can prove vital to a club.
The proof is in the pudding. Those within the game of baseball know when a player is improving. Players recognize when they are improving. The result is that athletes who study psychology are often more effective than psychologists with no sports background who have earned their doctorates. I know two former players who indeed delved into that realm and applied what they learned to help many pursuing their own baseball careers. But they do not go around philosophizing or expounding on their greatness. They let their results speak for themselves.
A similar scenario has played out regarding what are known as sabermetrics and analytics. Are experts in these fields hired by major league franchises valuable as player evaluators and strategists? Can their input be used by managers and coaches as tools in seeking to maximize performance? Yes. But is everything they sell to management beneficial? No.
Those toiling in the new science study the spin rate of pitches and the launch angle of batters. In recent years, sabermetricians have convinced those in baseball management that the ideal swing features a launch angle that results in a lot of home runs rather than one on an even plane that promotes consistent, hard contact. The strategy then becomes one that would make legendary Orioles manager Earl Weaver happy. And that is winning with pitching and three-run homers.
At one time each team had a reputation for boasting either great hitters or great pitchers. It was all based on the dynamics of the scouting system and general manager. One example was Cleveland, which featured tremendous pitching. The Yankees were known for their bashers during their dynasties. Baltimore for a short period had an ideal mix. General managers would seek managers with an understanding of his team’s scouting dynamics and pick one with a reputation as an expert working with his club’s weaknesses. Then the era arrived in which premier managers could handle both dynamics. Among them were Tony LaRussa, Joe Maddon, Cito Gaston, Joe Torre, and Jim Leyland.
The problem with that theory as we launch the third decade of the twenty-first century is that no team in baseball boasts the same level of pitching talent that the old Cleveland Indians had in Bob Feller, Mike Garcia, Bob Lemon, and Herb Score as well as the Indians of my era that included Steve Hargan, Sonny Siebert, Stan Williams, and Luis Tiant. My former batting practice and bullpen catcher Tom Tomsick in his book titled Strike Three! claimed, based on statistical data, that our rotation was the best in baseball history. Nobody can show me modern rotations that boast such depth or that of the 1971 Baltimore twenty-game-winner quartet of Jim Palmer, Dave McNally, Mike Cuellar, and Pat Dobson.
Old-school managers are smart and tough enough to use the analytic data they see as helpful and discard the rest even if it has been promoted by a general manager and his sabermetric experts. Less-experienced or -bold managers do whatever is suggested in fear of ruffling the feathers of management. But what must be known is that there is more to managing and coaching than putting statistics and research into play. There is so much more to the makeup of a player.
It all reminds me of a movie starring Brad Pitt called Moneyball that captured the start of the analytics movement in baseball through the travails of the 2002 Oakland Athletics. The crux of the story is that general manager Billy Beane, a former top draft pick who failed to blossom in the major leagues, angers his scouts by embracing a computerized approach to building a roster based on analytics. The film seeks to make the point that the rebuilt As thrived offensively because of their revolutionary methodology. What the writers ignored was that in reality the team finished a mediocre eighth in the American League in runs scored that season and won because of a tremendous trio of starting pitchers in Tim Hudson, Mark Mulder, and Barry Zito and lights-out closer Billy Koch. Those hurlers are conveniently never mentioned in the flick.
I have no qualms with in-depth statistical analysis that dictates where a batter is defended and how he is pitched or when a hitter should look for a slider as opposed to a changeup. Analytics certainly has its place. Has the guy at the plate made consistently hard contact against the split-finger fastball? Should the defense shift against a batter who uses the whole field because their pitcher throws a lot of off-speed stuff that results in hitters being out in front? Over the past half-century and especially lately, baseball minds have become quite interested in complex and now computerized studies to maximize competitive advantage.
But just as our societal weaknesses have taken politics to an extreme in recent years, so have the analytic forces in sports. I have met with and studied experts in disciplines such as kinesiology, engineering, and physiology on action versus reaction and other aspects of their sciences as they relate to baseball. I know managers and coaches who have done the same in an effort to better understand the human body and how it works as well as specific aspects of the game such as pitch velocity, bat speed, arm movement, hand movement, and the coilspring effect of a pitcher. They have come to conclusions that refute those made by analytics. In my work in baseball over the past four decades and in my discussions with managers and coaches it has been inevitable that they would raise the issue of management meddling in how they manage or help a player, especially lately in regard to analytics. Certainly in a few cases it may be their ego as manager or coach being infringed upon, but for the vast majority they have experienced serious interference.
I personally have seen pitchers with real talent get passed over because their fastball did not have the ideal spin rate or velocity. I have seen talented hitters denied promotion for what was perceived as weak bat speed or the poor launch angle of their swing only to find success a few years later with another club wise enough to give them a chance. Many experienced managers have recently bucked the trend and spoken out. The reply from the analytics crowd is that their critics are not knowledgeable in the sciences when the truth is that the statistical gurus are so tied up in computerized spreadsheets that they do not understand the human side of the equation. Analytics cannot judge drive and determination, the ability to rise to the occasion in a showdown sport between pitcher and batter, the focus required to track down a line drive in the gap or a hard smash in the hole.
And think about this. The incredible Greg Maddux, who could hardly throw hard enough to break a pane of glass, would never have received an opportunity today pitching under these requirements. And think of all the pitchers throughout history who would have been cast by the wayside. That would include all-time studs such as Al Oliver, Pete Rose, Tony Gwynn, and hundreds of others who did not boast the upward launch angle the modern game seems to demand. What made those players great in addition to pure talent was their attitude, mental makeup, and objective learning processes. Perhaps they would have adjusted and altered their swing to supposedly beat shifts and add power. But I contend that would have made them less-effective hitters. No team would have dared play three fielders on the right side against those hitters anyway because they used the whole field with devastating effectiveness.
The problem is that upper management has changed over the years. During previous eras, it consisted of former players or scouts. Upper management always embraced a baseball mentality. Today upper-management personnel are often educated businesspeople, many of whom have no clue about the makeup of an athlete and what is required to thrive in the sport. I am not asserting that everyone in management should necessarily be a former player. What I am contending is that what works best is a mix of minds, backgrounds, and philosophies rather than a discounting of what field managers, coaches, and scouts have to offer.
Computer analysis of hitters and pitchers can tell only part of the story. How would modern-day sabermetricians advise club management about a young Maddux? They might rail against his lack of velocity and spin rate and miss the fact that he had the balls of a burglar and could nail a dime sitting in a catcher’s mitt hovered over the outside corner. He was a brain surgeon of pitching. He achieved more with less than any pitcher I have ever seen. I would pay anything to watch him artistically paint a performance. My favorite pitchers of all time were those who countered a lack of velocity and natural talent with guile such as Maddux, Gaylord Perry, and Lew Burdette. This is not to imply I do not appreciate talent. Among the other hurlers I admire are Koufax, Whitey Ford, Nolan Ryan, Bob Gibson, and Roger Clemens. Only steroid charges against the latter have prevented all five from being first-ballot Hall of Famers.
The steroid scandal turned off some fans from the sport forever. But most returned to the ballpark. I find fascinating the timeline of fan attendance and passion for baseball. From the 1940s into the 1970s, the vast knowledge of the fan base did not translate into clicking turnstiles. Some teams boasted of exceeding 1 million in attendance for a season but only the premier clubs fighting for pennants drew well. Crowds of five thousand or less were common among the weaker teams even after the advent of mostly night games provided greater opportunity for folks to attend. One result was that organizations struggled to keep their franchises alive and threatened to move them. The Indians were often reported to be on the verge of relocating during my time in Cleveland.
Franchise owners complained from the 1970s forward that the skyrocketing cost of player salaries would wreck their profit margins. So they began to cater to fans with flashy electronic scoreboards, new stadiums with less foul territory that brought patrons closer to the action, livelier baseballs, smaller dimensions, home-run derbies before All-Star Games, and a variety of inducements at the park.
But larger attendance figures do not necessarily translate into overall popularity. It is more a reflection of ballgames being promoted as entertainment happenings and the continued passion of hard-core fans. I believe it has been contended correctly that Mike Trout, the greatest player in the game today, could walk down most streets in America and not be recognized. Can one imagine Willie Mays or Mickey Mantle not being mobbed in the same scenario in the 1950s or 1960s? Families once talked about baseball in the home constantly. Parents and kids knew every player on the home team and discussed strategy. Young boys bought baseball cards, flipped them, placed them in their bicycle spokes. Now baseball cards are a big business embraced only by adults seeking to maximize their value.
And that is a shame because baseball remains better suited to statistical analysis and debate than any sport followed by fans worldwide. What might be achieved by shortening games and creating new rules that liven things up is limited. Baseball is still baseball. It will never match football or basketball as an action sport. Those marketing the game have proven unsuccessful in drumming up excitement, especially among young fans. They can be applauded for ads that feature players slamming home runs and diving for balls or showing legends like Babe Ruth and Willie Mays in an effort to educate and excite kids about the historical greatness of the game, but scheduling playoff and World Series contests that ensure young children will be in bed by the fifth inning because this maximizes primetime advertising dollars does not help.
So here is the Sam McDowell method of enticing fans. Major league baseball should launch a program at every park that enlightens and involves patrons. One example would be flashing a fun trivia question about a home-team player on the scoreboard and allowing fans to text their answers to a team official. The first fan who guesses correctly receives a voucher for a food item or souvenir.
I am saddened by the lack of interest in baseball among kids. Perhaps the fact that one rarely sees children playing pickup games these days is more a reflection of parental fear and the advent of video games that keep kids inside than a rejection of the sport itself. But what is clear is that the shunning of baseball and other physical activities outdoors has resulted in an obesity problem among children unmatched in American history.
Even amateur sports face troubling issues about which I became aware from my work with team physicians, surgeons, trainers, and rehab specialists. Among them was orthopedic surgeon and sports medicine expert Mike Ray, with whom I partnered for two decades working with former and current pro athletes. We both asked those in the field why baseball players were experiencing so many elbow and shoulder injuries at both the professional and amateur levels. For every three specialists I spoke with, I received three different answers.
But one aspect of the sad state of affairs they did agree on is that modern athletes fall woefully short in full-body conditioning. And that is because the emphasis in recent years has been to focus on and maximize talent in one sport. Those in high school and even younger eschew the notion of competing in multiple athletic activities for sheer fun and competition if they do not feel each sport can take them to the next level. As was explained to me, simply by playing different sports throughout the year, one is conditioning the entire body. The body movements in one sport exercise specific muscle groups as they work together for a common result. Those actions in football, basketball, baseball, soccer, tennis, and other sports all condition different parts of the body. As long as one continues to play a variety of sports, he or she is improving the total condition of the muscle skeleton as well as the ligaments, tendons, and connections between the bone and muscle.
The upshot is that when a young athlete conditions certain muscle groups and not others over an extended period of time, the specific movements required cause an abnormal and debilitating strain that can ruin a career. Sports medicine has done wonders in rehab and recovery but cannot produce miracles. Kids today should establish wonderful physical habits by playing pick-up and organized sports for fun and focusing on one sport only after high school.
Shallow people might complain that I am criticizing organized sports and that I am biting the hand that fed me throughout my professional life. What they do not understand is that it is my very passion for baseball and other athletic endeavors that motivates me to speak out. Only a tiny percentage of children and teenagers become professional athletes. The holy grail for amateur sports is to create a healthy, active society. That will not only strengthen professional sports but America as well. Establishing a vigorous lifestyle through well-rounded athletic experiences can carry the youth of this country through a happy and healthy adulthood.
One problem I notice in baseball today mirrors that of society. It is the follow-the-leader syndrome. It has allowed politics to creep not only into my sport but into the entire athletic spectrum, and I think that can be dangerous to the game. What I always believed, even before my baseball career, was that I am my own person. I’ve always refused to follow the gang. I recall in the early 1960s when all the attorneys and businessmen and union experts were soliciting votes to become the new head of the Players Association. During one team meeting, when all were allowed to speak and give their reasons to vote for them, my manager Birdie Tebbetts asked Marvin Miller very loudly if he was a Communist. Tebbetts repeated it later in the clubhouse. As Miller, who later led the charge for player freedom, mentioned in his book, I was the only player who voted for him. It is the same in life and society. The majority of people in gangs, organizations, unions go along with whatever the leaders decide. I reject that gang mentality. A minority of people actually think through and decide what is best for themselves, their country, or their organization. It is seen on all sides of politics today.