The More Things Change, Part II

 Seven-Inning Double-Headers

As a result of the pandemic, the 2020 baseball season didn't get underway until late July.  Rather than a 162-game slog, the season was a 60-game sprint.  Realizing, though, that some games would still be rained—or, as in fact often happened, quarantined out, Major League Baseball decreed that missed games would, as usual, be made up through double-headers, but that, not as usual, each game of the double-header would be only seven innings.

Now, this obviously shaves some time off games and so could be seen as in keeping with MLB’s attempts to speed up the pace-of-play.  And the rule either benefits or hurts teams in pretty much equal measure: A team that loses a seven-inning game by one run could reasonably complain that they were "cheated" out of a couple of opportunities to mount a comeback, but they are just as likely to find themselves winning a one-run game that could be frittered away by a shaky bullpen.  In the grand scheme of baseball, those things tend to even out over time.

Some things, however, don't even out.  This season, for example, the New York Mets have already had a ridiculous number of games postponed.  Their very first series of the year was postponed when several Washington players tested positive for Covid.  Subsequently, foul weather in the New York region forced several more postponements.  By the end of May, the Mets had already experienced ten postponements, and as I write this, they are playing in their 62nd double-header of the year. Yes, I’m exaggerating, but only slightly.

Think about what this means: Even if the Mets "only" had those ten postponements, then that would mean they would play twenty seven-inning games (the ten games being made up, plus the ten additional games forming the second half of the double-header).  At the end of the season, then, the Mets would have played 40 fewer innings than they were scheduled to play (assuming no need for extra innings in these games)—or the equivalent of more than four fewer games than in a standard season.  At the same time, teams that play in domed stadiums or in generally delightful climates like San Diego might see no postponements.  So if, say, San Diego faces the Mets in the post-season, the Padres' players will have four-plus games more worth of wear and tear, bumps and bruises, arm strain and exhaustion.  That hardly seems fair.

Seven-inning games raise other questions of fairness: If a pitcher throws seven innings and gives up no hits, should he be credited with a no-hitter? Does a starting pitcher still have to complete five innings to qualify for a win (as he would in a standard game)?

And here’s some REAL chutzpah. Most double-headers are scheduled in the classic “single-admission” format: One ticket gets you into both games. So, even though the game you would normally be seeing is shorter than usual, you’re still getting two games and at least 14 innings of baseball for the price of nine. SOME of these games, though, are scheduled as “split” double-headers with, say, one game starting at 1:00 and the second starting at 7:00. In these cases, fans must buy tickets to each game separately—but each game is only guaranteed to be seven innings. You will not be too shocked to hear that the teams don’t cut the price of each ticket by 22%.

MLB commissioner Rob Manfred has decreed that double-headers will revert to nine innings next season. Unless the inequities outlined above are addressed, then the seven-inning version does, indeed, need to go.

Up next: Designated hitters.

The More Things Change. . . . (Part One)

With the second half of the season underway, as we barrel into the dog days of August, now seems as good a time as any to share our thoughts on the changes adopted by Major League Baseball over the last couple of years,

Baseball is often romanticized as some never-changing artifact of Americana.  This image, though, has never been accurate.  Baseball gloves have grown from, essentially, the size of standard gloves one might wear on a chilly day to large, webbed contraptions in which even the screamingest of line drives can be easily handled.  Batting helmets have presumably saved many a life--or at least prevented many a concussion--since their introduction in the 1940s.  Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier long after Ty Cobb broke the racist barrier--I kid, I kid: There were ALWAYS racists in baseball.  Still, certain fundamental aspects of the game have never changed: The pitcher's mound (or, more specifically, the rubber thereon) has always sat 60 feet, six inches from home plate.  The distance between bases has never shrunk from 90 feet.  The Yankees have always been despicable.  This bedrock of unshakable tradition has allowed the game to evolve around the edges and so to remain just as exciting--or, to haters, boring--as ever.

The last two years, though, have seen some major changes, mainly adopted in response to the pandemic-forced shortening of the 2020 season.  Apparently, some of these changes are to be discarded after this year, but let's take a moment to review them and consider which worked well and which should rightly be eliminated.

We begin our discussion today with:

The Three-Batter Rule

Many changes recently adopted by the lords of baseball concern efforts to accelerate the "pace of play."  MLB feared that fans were turned off by lengthy games, and so sought ways to speed things up.  There are now rules about how long a pitcher can take between pitches--rules which I've never seen actually enforced--and limitations on the number of times the catcher or manager can visit the pitcher's mound during a game.  Perhaps the most significant rule-change of this type, though, is one requiring any pitcher brought into a game to face at least three batters.

This is a good rule.  It prevents a manager from, say, bringing in a right-handed pitcher to face a right-handed batter, and then replacing that pitcher with a leftie to face a leftie. . . and then replacing that leftie with another rightie. . . .and on and on ad infinitum as the viewing audience slowly dies.  And yes, this sort of thing would frequently happen, while announcers inevitably--and futilely--tried to sell us on the beauty of this time-honored baseball strategy.  So while the three-batter rule has somewhat diminished the market for that most fabled of baseball professionals, the left-handed specialist, it has sped up this one aspect of the game.

I should state at this point that I, myself, am unconvinced that "pace of play" really is a problem.  Certainly, baseball games can often last far longer than any disinterested observer would consider necessary, but why must baseball pander to the disinterested observer?  To those who enjoy baseball, the comparatively languid pace--when measured against, say, basketball or hockey or high-speed mouse-tossing--is a feature, not a bug.  Baseball will never be a high-velocity sport; no need to try to make it into one.

Still and all, though, constant pitching changes, with pitchers accompanied by the  "Final Jeopardy" theme music as they stroll in from the bullpen, with strategy conversations with the manager and infielders, with the (at least) eight warmup pitches--these can get kind of tedious even for the most dedicated baseball enthusiast.  Plus, it is interesting to watch left-handed pitchers who haven't faced a right handed batter since the Clinton administration suddenly, unavoidably, staring down the likes of Mike Trout or Pete Alonso in a high-pressure situation.  

Good rule!  Keep it!

On deck: Seven-inning double-headers

Shakespeare in the Park? Get Off My Lawn!

I’m not old, OK! Middle-aged, at best—or worst—or something! Leave me alone! My mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be. But I’m. Not. Old.

Only, sometimes I certainly FEEL old.

I work with this theatre company. Every summer, we do Shakespeare in the park. This year, after a Covid-forced shutdown in 2020, we’re doing The Tempest. I play Sebastian, and despite my desperate entreaties, they’re refusing to allow me to burst into a rousing rendition of “Under the Sea,” but that’s another story. I enjoy working with this group, but inevitably I find myself surrounded by considerably younger people. A lot of college students or recent college grads seem to end up in the annual troupe. In the past, it hasn’t bothered me that much, but this year, perhaps because I’ve lost a year to virtual house arrest, the younguns just seem that much younger.

I’ve found myself utterly bemused by their cultural references. I think the main source of dissonance has to do with the fact that these people draw much of their cultural capital from the internet—from YouTube and Tik Tok and the like. Like, they actually watch YouTube, as if YouTube is something you watch.

I don’t get this. YouTube isn’t shows. . .YouTube is just. . .I don’t know… random clips of more or less entertaining value… Like, I’ll go to YouTube if I’m looking for something in particular, like a music video or Colbert’s last monologue or reassurance that Trump actually won the last election! Make America great again!!! Who actually goes to YouTube for, like, destination programming? And then my castmates will make references to YouTube “celebrities” (or “YouTubers” as I’m told they’re called) as if I’m supposed to know what they’re talking about!

Don’t even get me started on Tik Tok.

Maybe I am old.

Reconcilable Differences

Shortly after Congress passed President Biden’s $1.9 trillion pandemic rescue bill earlier this year, Mississippi senator Roger Wicker issued a celebratory tweet about the bill’s provision of nearly $30 billion to support the restaurant industry.

Here’s the thing, though: Wicker and every other Republican had voted against the legislation. His tweet and similar statements from his GOP colleagues can and should of course be written off as typical political hypocrisy, but they suggest a likely preview of how the current political debates over the President’s latest spending proposals will play out—and also why Republicans should, frankly, not worry too much about them.

Since these bills, through the magic of a parliamentary maneuver called “reconciliation” (which we’ve all had to learn way too much about), can pass with simple majority support, they are likely to squeak through Congress with only Democratic votes. Once this happens, feckless Republicans can brag to their constituents about all the goodies they’re receiving while still proudly proclaiming their anti-Biden credentials. Win-win.

And while I hate to be giving Republicans any advice, I take comfort in the fact that the “win-win” alluded to above includes the country as a whole.

Solipsistography: “Democrats Push a Budget to Fulfill Biden’s Aggressive Economic Ambitions”

The Lord Giveth in Mysterious Ways

This week, the biggest American poverty-relief program to be created in generations will begin delivering financial aid to families with children. An expansion in the child tax credit will send cash payments of $250-300 per month per child to the vast majority of American families. Almost everyone thinks this is a good idea. Even reliable conservatives like Mitt Romney have offered little in the way of criticism. 

Still, there are those who continue to stamp their feet and advocate against their own interests. A Louisiana parent who has been out of work for over a year and who, with four children, would stand to receive over $1000 a month from the government to, you know, help feed them, is considering not accepting the money because, as he says, “I’m a Christian believer—I rely on God more than I rely on the government.”

Here’s my question for people who invoke God to resist governmental programs: Did it ever occur to you that the governmental program might just be God’s mysterious way of helping you? Or were you just expecting money to literally fall from the sky? And if so, why is accepting mysterious welfare from some unseen deity inherently better than just taking a check from Uncle Joe?

On Vacation

 See you in a couple of weeks!

Global Warming, Schmobal Warming

Sure, climate change is scary, and this week's record-setting--not to say, insane--temperatures in the Pacific Northwest bode ill for continued human existence on the planet.  But look at it this way: We start to worry when we hear about temperatures "10 to 15 degrees" above normal.  If global warming continues, though, this normal will gradually increase as well.  In other words, before long, what we now consider record heat will just be average, and then we can look at the panting, sweating, gasping population of Juneau, Alaska, as a sign that all is right with the world.