A Too Familiar Ring

Is there anything more tiresome in baseball than a pitching change? The team at bat gets into a flow, the game gets into a flow, and all of a sudden, some sexagenarian starts a slow walk from the dugout to “have a chat” with his pitcher. If I wanted to see an old man “have a chat” with a struggling youngster, I’d watch the Pax Network. This is baseball, not a Quaker Oats commercial.

In the past decade, however, the “call to the bullpen” has become a too-familiar ring. It’s now as much a part of the game as the home run trot or the obligatory salute to God (more on that another day). We can thank Tony LaRussa for this development. LaRussa, a lawyer when he’s not screwing up the flow of a baseball game, discovered some time in the early 90s that you didn’t have to have a decent bullpen if you had enough guys who could get out certain kinds of hitters.

So he packed his pen with lefty and righty specialists and used all of them practically every night. It was a loophole that few managers had taken advantage of up until that point—imagine that! A lawyer taking advantage of a loophole—and it worked, forming a bridge between Oakland starters like Bob Welch and Dave Stewart and closer Dennis Eckersley. In fact, the notion of a “closer” dates to that era. Before Eckersley and LaRussa redefined the reliever’s role, a team’s top reliever often pitched two or maybe three innings in a game.

Because it worked, every team followed the model, and now it is the rare starting pitcher who lasts more than seven innings, and the rare reliever who throws to more than a few batters.

But the effect on the game has been awful. What was once a two and a half hour affair now drags on for three-plus hours, with five-minute lulls in the action every time a new Christian comes in to face the lions. Then there are the “trips to the mound.” Outside of family vacations where you fought with your sister in the back seat about who was over the middle line, I can’t think of a more horrific trip. Their saving grace is that they’re not followed by a new pitcher throwing his 8 warmup tosses before the game can begin again.

In last night’s Dodger game, Felipe Alou used six pitchers, including three in the eighth (one batter each!) and two in the ninth. Jim Tracy, not to be outdone, used five pitchers in eight innings. And they’ll continue to do it because it works. Neither pen gave up a run.

The situation won’t change without unilateral action from higher up. In case anybody’s listening, let me suggest two possible solutions.

1) Limit trips to the mound. Under the current rules, each pitcher is entitled to one visit from the coaching staff, but must be replaced on the second trip. That made sense in the era of starters who went nine innings, and a well-placed word to keep the fastball down might get him through an arduous fifth inning. But these days, a conference on the mound is about as productive as a Congressional hearing.

Instead of two mound trips per pitcher, how about two mound trips per inning (or per game?) This would return some strategy to the game, with managers hoarding their visits like football coaches saving their timeouts until the end of the game.

2) Raise the minimum. Currently, pitchers must face a minimum of one batter. Why not double it to two batters, or raise it to a full inning? That would rid the game of the lefty specialist who can’t get out righties and the left-handed pinch-hitter who can’t hit southpaws. The beautiful thing about baseball is that players must have multiple skills. The designated hitter has allowed fat guys who can hit the tar out of the ball but can’t field to remain in the game. That has created additional scoring, which pleases the offense-happy owners , but it has been an overall scar on the game.

Raising the minimum would create just as much offense as the loathsome DH, but especially so in the late innings. That means fans might stick around until the completion of the game, knowing that it isn’t truly over until it’s over.

NOTES:
What’s the Korean word for Strikeout? According to my Korean-English dictionary, it’s Hee Seop Choi. I’m surprised there isn’t a K somewhere in his name. The Seoul Man with the Olé swing had two more whiffs in last night’s game, giving him a total of 27 for the year. If you’re keeping score, his hit total is still above his strikeout total, 32-27, but it’s a horse race.

The game against the Giants fit the stencil—scratch out a lead, blow it, watch it all come undone in a single inning, bring in relievers to stanch the bleeding, but fail to mount a comeback. But unlike the losses of the past few weeks, last night’s episode came against a bad team. Without Barry Bonds and now Marquis Grissom, San Francisco’s offense is punchless. Yet Jeff Weaver somehow managed to give up home runs to the eight and ninth place hitters (yes, pitcher Jason Schmidt did more damage with the bat than with his arm).

Even Jeff Fassero held the Dodgers scoreless for two innings. Jeff Fassero! He’s older than my dad! Wasn’t Fassero the opposing pitcher during Don Larsen’s perfect game? Weren’t he and Walter Johnson teammates? Didn’t he once strike out the Babe?