The 2025 Major League Baseball season began at 6:10 a.m. Eastern on Monday in the Tokyo Dome. After tuneups against NPB teams, the Cubs and Dodgers played a game that counted, though it still featured telltale signs of mid-March rust. Below, some notes on the game (and, more importantly, managerial eyewear).

First Inning
The first pitch of the game, Shota Imanaga to Shohei Ohtani, is a four-seam fastball for a called strike. The K-Zone graphic says it’s way too high. Statcast says it’s perfectly located at the top of the zone. Ohtani doesn’t challenge. This isn’t spring training anymore.

Both the Chicago and Los Angeles broadcasts have the crowd noise dialed way down, which is a shame. For all the talk of the electric atmosphere, the crowd registers as faint background noise, an oscillating fan in the other room.

Second Inning
In the top of the second, Imanaga walks the first two Dodgers and shakes his head in anger. In the dugout, Craig Counsell reaches for his spectacles.

Yoshinobu Yamamoto is having trouble locating too. In the bottom half, Dansby Swanson stays back and drives a curveball back up the middle. It’s the first hit of the season. Miguel Amaya doubles him home with a liner to right center. It’s the first run of the season. Yamamoto gets out of the inning by dotting a curve at the bottom of the zone to freeze Jon Berti. It doesn’t quite seem fair.

Third Inning
Imanaga leads Ohtani off with a high, hanging sweeper. It stays inside, and Ohtani tries and fails to let his elbow drift into it. “This has gotta be a splitter right here,” says Clayton Kershaw up in the booth when the count gets to 2-2. It’s another high sweeper, and Ohtani smashes it right at the second baseman for a lineout. Kershaw feels vindicated; he didn’t predict the pitch correctly, but the pitch he didn’t predict got crushed.

Ian Happ chops Yamamoto’s first pitch straight into the ground. A backpedaling Yamamoto reaches up and biffs it with the tip of his glove, slowing it down just enough that the second baseman can’t catch Happ.

Michael Busch’s bat looks like it’s as old as he is. The black finish is all nicked and scuffed, like he spent the offseason using it to knock the side of the TV when the reception got fuzzy. It’s the only thing on the screen that isn’t shiny and new. He grounds out on a splitter just like everyone else.

Fourth Inning
A giant screen behind home plate advertises a company called dip, all lowercase. If we’re lucky, we will never have to think about this company again.

Imanaga walks two more batters. Pitching coach Tommy Hottovy, a dark horse contender for the best name in baseball, walks out to say hello. Enrique Hernández lifts the first fly ball of the game, a deep out to center field.

Counsell picks up the phone. The Dodgers still don’t have a hit. Imanaga’s night is done.

Fifth Inning
The center field camera is lower than usual. It gives a nice view of the strike zone, and it has the added benefit of making the pitcher look larger than life. Ben Brown appears to be releasing the ball approximately eight inches from home plate.

The action picks up. Strikeout. Walk. Ohtani rips a single into right field. First and third, first hit of the game for the Dodgers. Ohtani and first base coach Chris Woodward lean in close, turn, and gently touch helmets.

Tommy Edman sends a dying liner into left. Happ lays out but can only trap it. First and second, tie ballgame. Teoscar Hernández hits a chopper to Matt Shaw at third. He throws to second to get the force, but Berti makes the turn and throws the ball away, allowing Ohtani to score from second. Will Smith chops one through the left side, and it’s a 3-1 game. Hottovy returns to the mound. Brown has a moustache as fine as cornsilk.

Max Muncy’s bat is painted industrial gray. He chases a big curveball in the dirt, then drops the bat in the dirt.

Yamamoto induces a couple hard groundballs. Miguel Rojas makes a nice play deep in the hole at short. Enrique Hernández makes a nice play deep in the hole at first, which isn’t something you get to say very often. Yamamoto punches Happ out with a fastball on the corner.

Sixth Inning
Yamamoto receives congratulations in the dugout. His night is done after five innings: one run, three hits, four strikeouts, one walk.

Ohtani comes up with two on and two out. You can finally hear the crowd for a moment. Brown strikes him out on three pitches. The crowd gasps.

With lefties due up for the Cubs, Anthony Banda replaces Yamamoto. There’s a little bit of Roy Hobbs in his delivery; it’s the way he swings his arms upward at the beginning. Three up, three down.

Seventh Inning
Brown is still out there, and when the Dodgers aren’t hitting him, he looks unhittable. But he’s profligate, requiring 65 pitches to get through 2 2/3 innings. He issues a two-out walk, and Counsell emerges from the dugout, glasses hooked on the collar of his jersey. Eli Morgan is everything Brown isn’t: short, dark-haired, economical. Muncy chops his first pitch to second base and the inning is over.

The crowd murmurs when Swanson lifts a Ben Casparius fastball into the right field corner, but Teoscar Hernández eventually drifts over to make the play. Pete Crow-Armstrong whiffs and sends his bat cartwheeling back toward the dugout.

Eighth Inning
With one out in the eighth, umpire Bill Miller stops the game because of a fan with a laser pointer in the left field stands. After play resumes, Michael Conforto drives a ball down the left field line for a double. For the third year in a row, the Dodgers are celebrating their doubles with the Freddie Freeman dance. Freeman was a last minute scratch with a rib injury. Attempting his own dance would probably leave him in agony right now.

“Day-O,” sings Harry Belafonte. Halfway through the crowd’s response, whoever’s in charge of the sound mix finally turns up the crowd noise for a moment. They dial down the fun again as soon as the call and response has finished.

Blake Treinen hits Berti on the forearm and the ball ricochets into Smith behind the plate for good measure. All of a sudden, the Cubs have the tying run at the plate. Berti steals second easily. Seiya Suzuki, 0-for-3 on the night, comes to the plate with two outs. He could be the hero. The crowd roars when Suzuki fouls a fastball into the stands on the first base side, but Treinen catches him way out in front on a sweeper, resulting in a weak liner to third.

“Thank you,” says Treinen to his God as he walks off the mound. Miller meets Treinen on the third base line and chats him up as he pats his pitching hand.

Ninth Inning
Ohtani hooks another base hit down the line, this one a line drive double off a Ryan Brasier slider. As is so often the case, Ohtani looks awkward, completely off balance, like he just reached out to poke the ball, but it comes off the bat at 107.8 mph. An Edman groundout and a Teoscar Hernández single bring Ohtani home, extending the lead to 4-1. Brasier gets into more trouble, gets out of it.

The Dodgers have chosen to forgo the gold trim with which World Series champions are allowed to accent their uniforms. The only gaudy touch is the MLB logo on the back of the jersey, which has had its white negative space gilded.

The other indicator of the Dodgers’ dominance, the addition that takes them from great to downright decadent, comes in from the bullpen. Tanner Scott sets the Cubs down in order, and just like that, Los Angeles is in first place once again.

Cincinnati Reds

A baseball cap begs to be broken in
It’s not just a matter of style
The human body features few straight lines
So nothing straight will sit flush
Nothing rigid will stay in place
Form-fitting requires hugging
Which is hard to do without bending
In one place or another

I think I learned late how to hug properly
How to smile in such a way
That people know you’re glad to see them
I still have to think about it sometimes
And I hate that
It should come naturally I think

I can never curve my brim just right
I’m always fiddling with it
Trying to make it fit me
Because I’ll never fit it Read the rest of this entry »

Stop me if you’ve heard this before: This was supposed to be the year for Francisco Alvarez. He had an electric rookie season for the Mets in 2023, putting up 3.0 WAR thanks to excellent framing numbers and a power-heavy approach that balanced 25 home runs with a .209 batting average for a 97 wRC+. Coming into the 2024 season, he was poised to go from breakout rookie to full-blown star, but he got off to a slow start and suffered a torn UCL in his left thumb in April. Alvarez returned in June and took a few days to get going, but put up a 112 wRC+ over his last 78 games and finished the season with 1.9 WAR. He’s now 23 years old, and once again, 2025 was supposed to be the year that he put it all together. Instead, Mets manager Carlos Mendoza told reporters on Sunday that Alvarez fractured the hamate bone in that same left hand during live batting practice on Saturday. He’ll have surgery today and be out for six to eight weeks, missing the first month or so of the season.

As the injury affects the meat of Alvarez’s catching hand, it would be reasonable to expect the absence to fall on the longer side of that range. However, Baseball Prospectus’ Recovery Dashboard lists two catchers who fractured their hamate bones early in the season – Francisco Cervelli in 2016 and James McCann in 2022, when he was playing for the Mets – and neither missed more than 44 days. Just to muddle our expectations even more, hamate injuries are thought sap a hitter’s power upon their return, but a 2022 study from Jason Collette reveals no such pattern. As power is the cornerstone of Alvarez’s game, losing it would pretty much crush his offensive profile, but it’s worth noting that, despite the thumb surgery, he actually put up higher max and 90th percentile exit velocities in 2024 than he did in 2023. The injury is obviously unwelcome news, and the last thing Alvarez needs is yet another surgery on his catching hand. Moreover, he’ll lose half of his spring training ramp up and have to jump into major league action after a rehab assignment. Still, this is not normally a major injury and there’s a decent chance that he won’t return in notably diminished form. Read the rest of this entry »

As you well know, this is the time of year when we talk about how projection systems are inherently conservative. Why isn’t Shohei Ohtani projected for a 12-win season? Because while that’s possible, it’s not the likeliest outcome once you’ve considered all the many factors that go into a baseball season. Projections aren’t meant to be thrilling. They’re meant to predict the future with the smallest margin for error possible. They’re regression machines. They crunch the numbers, they look to the past to see how similar scenarios have played out, and then they stop and say, “Hmm, we should probably hedge our bets here.” They don’t predict crazy edge cases. They don’t predict all-time records. Except apparently, this year they do.

If you stroll over to the ZiPS Depth Charts projections, you’ll find two Cincinnati Reds pitchers at the top of an extremely important column: hit-by-pitches. ZiPS DC expects Nick Lodolo to lead the league with 21 HBPs and Hunter Greene to be right behind him with 19. That part’s not particularly surprising. Greene led baseball with 19 HBPs in 2024, and even though he hit the IL four different times, Lodolo tied for second with 18. But Greene and Lodolo are not alone. Back in November, the Reds traded for Brady Singer, who hit 10 batters with the Royals last season and is projected to hit 10 more in 2025, tied for the 13th-highest projection. They also added Nick Martinez, one of three Reds projected to hit six batters. Then there are another five Reds projected for five HBPs. That’s eight different pitchers projected to hit at least five batters. According to Stathead, only 26 teams have ever accomplished that feat, rostering eight different pitchers who hit at least five batters. In all, ZiPS DC expects the Reds to hit 124 batters. The all-time record is 110, set by the 2022 Cincinnati Reds. The 2024 Cincinnati Reds are tied for 12th all-time with 93 (though they trailed the Mets for the NL lead by one).

Now, I need to back off this claim for a minute. If you’ve looked closely at ZiPS DC, you’ll know that the system projects more innings for each team than are actually available. The projections have the Reds throwing 1,753 innings, but over the past couple years, the average team has thrown right around 1,440. For a counting stat like this, we need to cut all our numbers by roughly 18%, and that brings the Reds’ projection down to 102 HBPs. That would still be the third-highest total in baseball history – truly a bonkers number when you consider that it’s merely their 50th percentile projection, meaning they’re just as likely to go over it as they are to go under it – but it would no longer be a record.

With 102 HBPs, the 2025 Reds would still trail the 2022 versions of themselves; back when they were so young and hopeful, and maybe even still dabbing occasionally. They’d also trail the 1899 Cleveland Spiders, whose starting rotation featured five different pitchers with at least 10 HBPs: Frank Bates (23), Jim Hughey (22), Charlie Knepper (15), Crazy Schmit (14), and Harry Colliflower (11). The Spiders Hit (by Pitch) Squad is pictured below, and I think we can all tell which one is Schmit.

We all know the case for the why the Reds might not hit their projections: injuries. Lodolo has struggled with more than his fair share of ailments, and Greene battled elbow soreness in August and September. If those two can’t combine for something like 220 innings, the Reds aren’t going to hit the record. On the other hand, nobody would call you crazy (Schmit) for expecting the Reds to blow past both the projection and the record. For starters, ZiPS DC pegs Lodolo for only 126 innings, and we’re reducing it by 18%, which brings his workload down below 104. He threw more innings than that last season, even as he made those four different trips to the IL. If Lodolo can make a full 30 starts, this thing’s in the bag, but for our purposes, he doesn’t even need to be fully healthy. If he can just be marginally healthier than he was in 2024 – and you’ll be shocked to hear this, but he’s apparently in the best shape of his life – he’s going to get a lot more innings, and no one hits more batters on a per-inning basis than Lodolo. After all, his name is literally Spanish for “I hurt it.”

Lodolo is projected to hit 1.5 batters per nine innings. Not only is that the most among all starters, it makes him one of just four starters projected to hit more than a batter per nine. The others: Chase Dollander, José Soriano, and, you guessed it, Greene. Between Hunter and I Hurt It, nominative determinism says the Reds are the team to beat (or rather, to be beaten by).

Using our fancy new historical ZiPS projections, you can also go back and look at that record-setting 2022 Reds team. You’ll find that those Reds also were projected for 124 HBPs. It’s kismet! However, if you dig down, you’ll notice that their projections were actually based on 2,439 innings; nearly a thousand more than a typical team’s workload and nearly 700 more than the 2025 Reds are projected to throw. Once you prorate their numbers for a normal 1,440-inning season, the 2022 Reds were projected to hit just 73 batters! They had to massively overperform their projections in order to plunk their way into the record books. ZiPS thinks these 2025 Reds are much, much more bloodthirsty.

The Reds are the first and oldest professional baseball team. Since 1882, Baseball Reference credits them with hitting 5,897 batters, 123 ahead of the second-place Phillies. ZiPS projects Philadelphia to plunk a paltry 58 batters this season, 44 fewer than the Reds. Even if the Reds disappoint us all and throw the ball over the plate at a non-record-breaking pace like a bunch of boring, competent belly itchers, they’re almost certain to add to their all-time lead. At least that’s what the projections say.

In 2024, after an injury to Kodai Senga, Jose Quintana was the Mets’ Opening Day starter, facing the Brewers. Now, after a list of injuries that’s way too long for an introduction paragraph, Quintana will be joining the Brewers rotation. On Monday, the Brewers and the 36-year-old left-hander agreed to a one-year deal worth $4.25 million. Robert Murray of FanSided reported the deal, and MLB.com’s Mark Feinsand broke the contract terms. As the Mets signed former Brewer Frankie Montas in December, the two teams are effectively performing their own second-hand pitcher swap.

Quintana’s deal, such as it is, makes it the big-money transaction of the offseason for the Brewers. It’s definitely not enough to make fans forget about owner Mark Attanasio’s recent comments: “Is my job to win a World Series,” he said, “or is my job to provide a summer of entertainment and passion and a way for families to come together?” (Not that it’s the purview of this particular article, but the answer to both questions, of course, is yes.) Until yesterday, Milwaukee’s priciest addition was a $1 million deal for reliever Tyler Alexander, but the team’s biggest move of the offseason is still the one that sent closer Devin Williams to the Yankees in exchange for one year of lefty starter Nestor Cortes and infield prospect Caleb Durbin. Christmas only comes once a year in Milwaukee. Read the rest of this entry »

Reader, I gasped.

Sorry, I’ve just always wanted to write that. I’ll tell you later on why I gasped. Let’s start here. Last Tuesday, while making his Grapefruit League debut with the Blue Jays, Max Scherzer challenged a pitch. Then he challenged the challenge system. Scherzer’s start against the Cardinals marked his first experience with the automated ball-strike system, which is being rolled out in some spring training facilities this year, continuing its inexorable, years-long creep toward implementation in regular season games. Scherzer, for one, does not welcome our new robot overlords.

On his 11th pitch, Scherzer fired a 1-0 fastball to Lars Nootbaar, just clipping the outside corner, at least according to home plate umpire Roberto Ortiz, an organic life form who uses an inefficient pair of weird, goo-filled orbs to assess pitches. Nootbaar – who, we should note, played some rehab games in Triple-A last season, and so was at least somewhat familiar with the challenge system – immediately patted his head. That’s the official way to request a challenge (though I would strongly encourage the league to require the player to rub their stomach with their other hand too). Scherzer, never a fan of waiting around when there’s pitching to do, canted his head from side to side like a racehorse in the starting gate. The machines spoke: The pitch was 2.3 inches off the plate, or as the humanoid Buck Martinez put it, “way outside.”

Just like Scherzer, this was my first experience with the challenge system, and I found the graphic adorable. That’s the point, I guess: implement an all-seeing eye that judges everything and everyone with detached, ruthless precision, then soften it with a lovable cartoon face. Scherzer recovered to strike out Nootbaar, then made his own challenge in the second inning. The right-hander, who tracks his pitches using the same goo-based technology as Ortiz, didn’t agree that he’d missed low with a 1-0 curveball to JJ Wetherholt, and he pounded the top of his cap like a bongo drum.

Reader, that’s when I gasped. Then I laughed. I gasp-laughed. According to the delightful ABS graphic, the pitch was hilariously low. It was nowhere near the strike zone. This pitch was in the Cactus League. It was so far away that Social Distortion wrote a song about it called “So Far Away.”

In fairness, we should acknowledge a few things. First, one of the consensuses that emerged during last year’s test of the challenge system was that team’s should disempower the pitcher from making them. Catchers are right there, and they have a much better sense of the actual location of the pitch. Second, Scherzer indicated after the game that the challenge was more an experiment than an expression of his certainty that the pitch had clipped the zone. “That was a rare occurrence for me, with a curveball down, to actually see if that’s actually a strike or not,” he said. You’re allowed to take that notion with a grain of salt. Part of me believes Scherzer, but, uh, he was bopping himself on the head with a lot of conviction.

We should also note that the steep shape of a curveball makes it hard for the pitcher in particular to judge the exact spot where it crosses the plate. The really interesting thing is that curveballs are actually relatively easy for umpires to judge. That’s not necessarily intuitive. Curveballs approach the plate at such a steep angle that they hit the catcher’s glove (or the dirt) far lower than they cross the plate, which might fool the umpire into thinking a pitch was lower than it was. And curveballs that come in at the very top of the zone leave the pitcher’s hand so high and possess such a loopy shape that they also might be hard to recognize as strikes. Where a fastball or cutter pushes straight through the zone cleanly, a breaking ball slices through it at an oblique angle, and it just seems logical that the more of the zone a pitch catches, the more likely it is that it will be recognized for doing so. But apparently that’s wrong. I broke down the 2024 stats for curveballs and fastballs (four-seamers, sinkers, and cutters) in three areas of the zone: the heart, the top and bottom of the shadow zone down the middle, and the top and bottom thirds of the zone down the middle. I’ve highlighted those areas in pink.

In all three areas, Curveballs had higher strike rates than fastballs. On pitches over the heart of the plate, it was a matter of a few tenths of a percent, but in the middle graph, curveballs were ahead 83% to 80%, and on the right it was 83% to 81%. Maybe it’s just that curveballs are easier to judge because they’re slower, but umpires are better at recognizing when they’re strikes, so in that sense Scherzer picked a bad pitch to challenge. However, much like Scherzer’s curveball, we’re drifting away from our main objective here. We’re focusing on how far the pitch was from the zone, and just to reiterate: It was far.

However, you might notice something about that graphic: There’s no distance measurement. When Nootbaar challenged in the first inning and earned his Nootbaal, the graphic zoomed way in to show us the exact size of the miss down to a tenth of an inch.

When Scherzer challenged, no measurement popped up, and I suspect that I know why. I think this is a deliberate decision made to avoid embarrassing a player who challenges a pitch that’s not particularly close. Nearly all challenges that end up as balls will show the miss distance. But if the pitch doesn’t even touch the shadow zone – that is, if it’s not even within one baseball-width of the strike zone – the graphic leaves off the exact distance so as to avoid blowing up the pitcher’s spot. Max Scherzer, trailblazer that he is, has showed us that although robots don’t feel, they can still be programmed to blush.

Don’t worry. We’re still going to blow up Scherzer’s spot. Because of all the cool graphics, it’s still really easy to get an exact measurement for pitches that land in the Zone of Embarrassment. We know the measurements of just about everything else on the screen. We know the strike zone is exactly 17 inches wide and the ball is approximately 2.9 inches wide, and through the magic of Statcast, we know that because Wetherholt is 5-foot-10, his strike zone is roughly 18.55 inches tall. I threw a screengrab into Photoshop, measured each of those constants, then used the ratio of pixels to inches to calculate the distance. The ball was 3.98 inches from the strike zone. It missed the shadow zone by more than an inch. It crossed the plate just over a foot off the ground.

That looks pretty damning, but allow me to blow your mind for a moment. If we’re being fair to Scherzer, we need to acknowledge that the pitch was actually much closer to the rulebook strike zone than Statcast makes it look. Let’s think about it under the rules of the current, non-computerized strike zone. Keep in mind that this was a curveball breaking downward. Now let’s look at the way that the Hawkeye cameras measure a pitch, courtesy of an MLB.com explainer by Anthony Castrovince.

Keep your eye on the diagram on the right. Statcast’s strike zone is two-dimensional, and it’s measured from the very center of home plate. That’s a perfectly reasonable way to design an ABS system – an earlier version was 3-D, so it seems safe to assume that this 2-D version is, for some tangible reason, an improvement upon it – but it’s not the way the strike zone has worked for the entirety of baseball history, including right now. The rulebook definition starts like this: “The STRIKE ZONE is that area over home plate…” and that’s really all we need to know. The strike zone is three-dimensional. It’s seven-sided, a pentagonal prism, and the ball just needs to clip any part of it in order to be a strike.

At The Athletic, Jayson Stark had the good fortune to be present in the clubhouse after the game, when Scherzer found out that the robo-zone didn’t match the rulebook zone: “Wait, I thought it was the whole plate,” he said. “So now we have to redefine what the strike zone is? You said it was a 3-D zone. Now we’ve got a 2-D zone? Hasn’t it always been a 3-D zone?” The answer to that question is yes. It has always been a 3-D zone and it still is, but now there’s also a 2-D zone. There are two strike zones. We’ll dig into the philosophical implications of this dichotomy later, but for now, that’s how umpires are judging pitches, so why don’t we try measuring things that way?

Let’s start with how curveballs work. Their path gets steeper and steeper as they approach the plate. There are plenty of reasons for this. Curveballs actually leave the pitcher’s hand traveling slightly upward; the classic way to recognize a curveball is seeing it jump up out of the pitcher’s hand. The magnus force created by the ball’s topspin pulls it downward, and that force compounds upon itself over the length of the pitch. Here’s where it starts. The baseball is traveling horizontally, and the topspin interacts with the air to start pulling it down.

Now it’s traveling at a steeper angle, but guess what? The topspin is still pulling it downward, so its angle is going to keep getting steeper and steeper as it goes.

Moreover, gravity amplifies this effect for a pitch that’s always breaking downward. Air resistance slows the pitch down as it nears the plate, but gravity is pulling the pitch downward at a constant rate. So say it takes a tenth of a second for the ball to travel the first 10 feet toward home plate, and in that time, gravity pulls it down five centimeters. By the time it reaches the plate, it’s going slower, so over the last tenth of a second, it only travels eight feet, but gravity is still pulling it down five centimeters. All the numbers in this example were completely made up, but you get the point; the ratio of downward movement to horizontal movement is increasing. A curveball’s approach angle keeps getting steeper. You can see it in Statcast’s 3-D pitch visualizations.

These are two actual Scherzer curveballs from last year. We’re going to focus on the bottom one, which came in a bit below the plate. The red line shows a straight line between the position of the ball when it crosses home plate and the position when it’s 50 feet away.

Now, let’s zoom in and look at the path of the pitch over the last few feet of its journey. As you can see, our new purple line is significantly steeper.

None of this should be particularly surprising if you’re familiar with Alex Chamberlain’s primer on vertical approach angle, but the point is that curveballs, with their sharp downward movement compounded by gravity, are the steepest pitches of all. According to Alex’s pitch leaderboard, Scherzer’s curveball averaged a vertical approach angle of -9.9 degrees last season. For now, let’s assume this pitch had the same VAA. With help from our friend Pythagoras, we can calculate that a pitch traveling at an angle of -9.9 degrees would be 1.48 inches higher when it crossed the front of the plate than when it crossed the middle of the plate. Here’s how that works.

OK, so measuring at the front of the plate, the pitch comes in 1.48 inches higher. It’s now missing the zone by just 2.50 inches. It’s well within the shadow zone. That certainly makes it sound a little closer, don’t you think? Here’s what that looks like in our original diagram.

You know what? It’s still pretty far away from the strike zone. Stark’s article mentioned that after the game, reporters told Scherzer that his pitch would have been a strike according to a 3-D zone. They were way off base. In order to do so, the pitch would have had to arrive at the plate with an absurd VAA of 25 degrees. That ain’t happening. This pitch is still unequivocally a ball. There’s no system – goo-based, camera-based, vibes-based, none – in which this pitch hits in the strike zone. It was so far away that Carole King wrote a different song about it, also called “So Far Away.”

That said, I do suspect that this particular curveball actually had a steeper VAA than -9.9 degrees, making it a bit closer than the graphic above indicates. Just using the old-fashioned goo-orb test, it looked sharper than the typical Scherzer curveball. Second, I was talking things over with Michael Rosen, our resident pitching genius, and he got curious and pulled data for a Scherzer curveball, just one random curve from 2023. That pitch had a VAA of -10.1 degrees over the last 10 feet.

That VAA would move Scherzer’s pitch a few hundredths of an inch closer to the zone, and this one solitary, particularly sharp curve could’ve been even closer. It’s still not a strike according to any definition of the strike zone, but it highlights the disconnect between the two current competing versions.

So far we’ve only been talking about the front of the plate, but this would also be true of both the back and the sides. A pitch with a steep horizontal approach angle can clip the corner of the plate before it reaches the midpoint. The back gets tricky because of the plate’s pentagonal shape, but it’s still possible; the closer to the center a high pitch is located, the better a chance it will have of dropping down and catching a piece of the rulebook zone. ABS would tell you that every one of the pitches illustrated below is a ball. But according to a normal three-dimensional strike zone – which is what umpires are calling – that’s not actually true. It’s smaller than the rulebook zone.

As things stand, when the league does implement an ABS challenge system for regular season play – and at this point, that seems like a virtual certainty, though which regular season is still undecided – then the game will officially have two different strike zones. It’s possible that the league could change the rulebook definition for umpires so that it matches the Statcast zone, but that strikes me as unlikely for many reasons, chief among them it would essentially turn the iconic shape of home plate into a vestigial appendage. In the two-zone world – the world that Triple-A players have been living in for a while now – a pitcher would be able to throw a strike, get robbed by the umpire, challenge that incorrect call, and lose the challenge because according to the robot umpire, the pitch really was a ball. Even crazier, the pitcher will throw a strike, the umpire will get the call right, and then the batter will challenge it and that correct call will get overturned! The umpire and the computer will make two different calls, and both will be correct because they’ll have two different zones.

As the numbers from our curveball example show, we’re not talking about a couple of unlikely edge cases. The differences in movement from the front and back of the plate to the middle aren’t minuscule. Some pitchers’ curves average above 11 degrees of VAA, and the sweepiest sweepers average more than six degrees of horizontal approach angle. We’re often going to be talking about well over an inch of difference. This is going to happen all the time. I’m not the first person to notice this. On Wednesday, Baseball Savant’s Tom Tango crunched the numbers and announced that in 2024, one percent of all takes would have fallen into this category, just for issues with the front and back of the plate.

As things look right now, baseball will soon officially have a human strike zone and a robot strike zone. The robot strike zone will be so thin as to be non-existent, while the human strike zone, as it always has, will be shaped like an infinite number of infinitely thin home plates. Honestly, I don’t know how any pitcher who’s had it fully explained to them will avoid succumbing to paralysis halfway through their windup and toppling off the mound simply because they’ve exhausted their ability to process the disjuncture of the situation.

I mentioned earlier that setting up the robo-zone in two dimensions rather than three was a perfectly reasonable choice. The more I think about it, however, the more I think it might be the only reasonable choice. Calling balls and strikes is incredibly difficult. I’ve had to do it before, and I’d approximate that I felt 100% certain on about 30% of the pitches I called. But even then, I doubt I was really thinking about the strike zone the way the rulebook demands. The rulebook zone doesn’t have four corners; it has 10 corners. And it doesn’t have an edge; it has 15 edges. The difference between a two-dimensional plane and a three-dimensional space is the difference between a topographical map and a mountain.

On the one hand, this makes me wish the robo-zone were three-dimensional, just because I’m imagining how much more fun the challenge graphics would be. We’d see in precise cartoon glory not just whether the ball nicked the corner of a box, but one particular corner of a 10-cornered pentagonal prism. It would rule. On the other hand, it’s absolutely preposterous that we ask human beings to process information with anything approaching this level of precision. Wherever you’re sitting right now, try to imagine a pentagonal prism floating in the air next to you. Now try to picture yourself deciding whether a Tarik Skubal fastball nicked one of its seven sides. Now do it again, but first squish your prism down a bit because Nick Madrigal is up next. So maybe it does make sense to have two zones; we’ve just got them reversed.

Scherzer was candid and engaging with reporters, and after processing all of this information, he closed with the takeaway that most of us saw in the headlines: “Can we just play baseball?” he asked. “We’re humans. Can we just be judged by humans? Do we really need to disrupt the game? I think humans are defined by humans.” When he puts it that way, it’s a pretty reasonable request. Right now, umpires and batters track pitches using the exact same equipment, and that makes plenty of sense. If the game is played by humans, it’s certainly not laughable to feel that human eyes and brains should be deciding what’s a strike and what’s a ball. I don’t mean to say that there’s wisdom in every mistake simply because it’s made by a human, but once a computer is making the decisions, the objective of the game becomes slightly less fun, for the same reason that playing chess against the computer isn’t particularly enjoyable. It becomes less of a game and more of a problem solving exercise.

These days, there’s no end to the ways that computer programs are judging us – CAPTCHA requests, Spotify recommendations, suspicious login emails, targeted advertising, personalized search results, automated insurance denials, the artificially indiscriminate firings going on throughout the federal government – and with vanishingly few exceptions, the people being judged would like nothing better than to smash all of these robot judges with a hammer.

Don’t get me wrong, I would love to smash the computers that turned Google into such a joke with a hammer, but the difference here is that many of those systems were designed as shortcuts, either to save time, to replace human workers, or to shift accountability away from the person instituting a crappy policy and onto the circuit board that implements it. On the other hand, the challenge system is a particularly elegant solution to the problem at hand. It will introduce an extra layer of accountability into umpiring without replacing the umpires or undermining their centrality to the game. It won’t obliterate the value of pitch framing, but it will hopefully reduce the amount of shouting umpires have to bear. Now that we have the ability to know the exact location of every pitch, it’s probably not completely defensible to just ignore that knowledge. Instant replay was instituted for the same reason. “I like it when somebody screws up and somebody gets screwed over” is not exactly a winning campaign pitch.

Let me hit you with one last disconnect. The really funny thing is that depending on how you look at it, Scherzer is both the best and worst messenger for this argument. He’s a sure-fire Hall of Famer and a longtime union rep. He’s not afraid of a fight, and his standing in the game ensures that when he speaks, people will listen. His comments warrant plenty of counterarguments, but “Max Scherzer doesn’t know what he’s talking about” is not among them.

On the other hand, Scherzer has never had that much use for umpires in the first place. Since Sports Info Solution started tracking pitches in 2002, 328 pitchers have thrown at least 800 innings. Scherzer’s 14% swinging strike rate ranks ninth among them and his 27% whiff rate ranks 19th. His 17% called strike rate, however, ranks all the way down at 212th. Scherzer has always succeeded by racking up whiffs, pumping his fastball by hitters and tempting them into chasing sliders and curves. Relying on the umpire for called strikes has never remotely been his game. In fact, since 2008, Statcast says he’s had 1,262 would-be strikes stolen from him, third-most in all of baseball. Few players have relied less on human umpires or accumulated more reasons to be fed up with them than Scherzer. Maybe we should tell him that after his next start. I’m sure he’ll have something interesting to say about it.

I haven’t been to a spring training game since 2011. I don’t remember the game as well as I remember the events that led up to it. I’d spent two years temping at a bank depository near JFK airport, tracking the transactions of gold, silver, platinum, and palladium bars. Losing track of a gold bar worth half a million dollars wasn’t really an option, so it was a pretty high-pressure job for a 25-year-old making $19 an hour. Because we had to know the market price of gold at all times, I can tell you that for each month I worked, I earned the equivalent of a single gold coin. I gave my notice in January, and in February I took my meager savings and booked a trip across the country by Greyhound bus. After I wore out my welcome with my sister in California, I visited my friend Alex in Arizona and we caught a Reds game at Goodyear Park. Yesterday, I dug up an email exchange from when I was planning my escape. Alex asked how long I expected to be gone; were we talking days or weeks? “We are talking weeks,” I wrote back. “We are talking about quitting my job and getting the f*** out of here.”

This long walk of a lede is intended to introduce two themes. The first is that most fans don’t get to see much of spring training. We’ve only got so many vacation days, and most of us don’t live near Florida or Arizona. All the games are day games, and even when they’re televised, we can’t exactly watch them in the middle of a work day. I’d venture to say that I’m a pretty big baseball person, and it took a minor existential crisis to get me to my one and only Cactus League game. As a result, spring training is both the time when we’re thirstiest for baseball news and the time when we’re most dependent on beat writers for it.

As always, beat writers are watching the games we can’t and talking to the players and coaches. They’re also getting a much more expansive view than they have during the regular season. They’re observing on the backfields during bullpen sessions, infield drills, live batting practice, and the occasional cabbage race. You might hear through a team spokesman that Rafael Devers has started taking grounders, but a beat writer like Jen McCaffrey, who covers the Red Sox for The Athletic, can put you right there, watching Devers scoop balls off a strip of turf tucked behind a metal fence, with Kristian Campbell looking on and Vaughn Grissom shooting baskets while he waits his turn.

“I knew that Devers would be doing some of his separate,” McCaffrey told me, explaining how she prepared to get that shot. She left the team’s clubhouse availability early to make sure that there was a spot from which she could film him. Given the awkward location, she couldn’t do much about the quality of the video, but she knew that any news about Devers would be welcome. “I figured people are probably interested. What’s he doing? How’s he preparing? People have a lot of questions about him.”

That brings us to our second theme, which is mission creep. I’ve been thinking about it a lot during spring training, specifically because of videos like that one. I first heard the phrase in a book about the space shuttle program – astronauts trying to keep their schedules from getting so overloaded with experiments that they wouldn’t be able to keep up – but mission creep can come in many forms. I think about it most often in a work context. You start a job with a certain set of responsibilities, but somehow, you just keep accumulating new ones until you’re completely buried. When I started at the bank depository in 2009, my job was to help out with the paperwork on trades. I was just an extra pair of hands, and not a particularly busy pair. “You should probably bring a book,” my boss told me on my first day.

Sitting at my desk – a plastic folding table that generated enough static electricity to solve the global energy crisis – I read the complete works of Shakespeare cover to cover. I read the “Iliad” and the “Odyssey” and Infinite Jest, but I also started to get busier. By the time I gave my notice, I had been told to knock it off with the reading. I was using four redundant systems to track the thousands of bars and coins that entered and exited the warehouse. I tracked them on paper, and on a creaky — literally — IBM ThinkPad from the 1990s, I tracked them in a gargantuan Excel spreadsheet, a 1970s computer program straight out of Apollo 13 mission control, and a new, web-based program that didn’t quite work yet.

For beat writers, technology and social media are huge sources of mission creep. Over the past several years, it’s become standard for writers to respond to fan questions on social media, as well as to post pictures and video from batting practice, live play-by-play of the game, and the most interesting quotes from their pre- and post-game interviews. It’s a huge amount of work, and it steals time away from the core job of writing about the team. This article is specifically about pictures and videos from spring training, which have proliferated in recent years. When Blue Jays pitchers and catchers reported to Dunedin, MLB.com’s Keegan Matheson posted long videos of bullpen sessions from directly behind the catcher. Curious how Max Scherzer would look coming off an injury-riddled 2024 season? You could judge the break on his changeup and see the life on his fastball for yourself, because Matheson was willing to stand there keeping his phone’s camera lens perfectly aligned with a hole in the chain link fence as 93-mph heaters bore down on him.

After growing in popularity of for years, this kind of video has reached critical mass. For the last two weeks, my Bluesky feed has consisted of two things and two things only: soothing videos of ballplayers beneath blue skies, tuning up for the season on quiet backfields, and frantic missives documenting the collapse of American democracy. I reached out to several writers to talk about these videos, both because I can’t get enough of them and because this is more fun to talk about than the second thing.

The first thing I learned is that this particular form of mission creep is not mandatory. Everyone told me that while finding new ways to engage with potential readers is obviously a good thing, it’s not something they’re asked to do, and several mentioned that Twitter doesn’t generate much traffic for their publications anymore. Still, the practice has become standard. Spencer Nusbaum, who covers the Nationals for the Washington Post, told me in an email that he started taking videos as a way to reinforce his handwritten notes, but “started posting (some of them) because other people were doing it.” Said McCaffrey, “When I started covering the team 10, 11 years ago, I think it was out there, but I feel like over the past decade or so, it’s definitely become a thing that beat writers have leaned into.” Andy Kostka, who covers the Orioles for The Baltimore Banner, called it “a practice I do without stopping to wonder why.”

The obvious appeal is that after a long offseason, people really want to know what’s going on with their team. “It’s mostly a spring training thing for me,” said Peter Abraham, the Boston Globe’s baseball columnist, in an email. “People seem to like seeing the players for the first time in a while, the new guys especially.” Beat writers tend to hear plenty of criticism about their coverage of the team, so the opportunity to deliver something that people are truly excited to see is gratifying. “Especially at this time of the year,” Kostka said in a DM, “the dopamine hit of sending a video and seeing fans super amped for a rudimentary task is pretty great. Video of someone lightly tossing a baseball? Some guy replies: ‘This gave me life.’ … It helps me a little remember that I’m pretty lucky to do this.” Dan Hayes, who writes about the Twins for The Athletic and has been covering spring training since 2007, reminded me in a DM that, like most baseball writers, he started out as a huge fan: “I’m afforded access that most fans will never experience. Not only does the company send me to Florida at a time where 99 percent of my followers are freezing, but I’m allowed into certain areas of the park that [are] restricted to fans. Giving them a sense of what goes on here is fun.”

As Hayes mentioned, the videos also show us a part of the game that we just don’t get to see. The jobs of players and coaches look very different during the first few weeks of spring training, and we only glimpse them through this particular form of media. “The access is great,” said Nusbaum, who noted that he’s sometimes so close to the action that he has to be careful about blocking the view of the coaching staff. “The press box at Nationals Park is a million feet in the air when the games are going on. Also, we’re typing away as the action is happening during the season. We can be a few feet away from the action here, unencumbered by laptops. We can see, for instance, what the pitching coach is trying to teach 15 feet away. It’s fun to document that visually.”

The access doesn’t always mean that the videos are easy to get, however. Sometimes phones break or run out of memory. Sometimes it’s just awkward. “Trying to record through holes in the fence from a pretty bad angle,” Nusbaum said. “Yeah, that’s absolutely the worst part.” The extra work that goes into this also presents an extra opportunity for critics. “I’ve had fans yell at me more so for quality,” said McCaffrey. “One guy was like, ‘You need to do horizontal instead of vertical video,’” she said, laughing. “I was like, ‘OK, alright. Calm down, buddy.’”

During the regular season, a player can make 600 plate appearances, but as the pictures and video demonstrate, spring training is its own kind of pressure cooker. During live BP, it’s not at all uncommon to see the entire coaching staff, prominent members of the front office, and a cadre of players posted up directly behind the catcher, watching intently through the legs of the extra-large tripod that holds the portable Trackman unit.

Said McCaffrey, “I don’t know how other teams do it, because obviously I’m following the Red Sox throughout the spring, but every time a guy pitches, pretty much the entire pitching staff comes out and watches him. It’s kind of interesting and a camaraderie thing.” At Jet Blue Park in Fort Myers, she stayed zoomed out for several videos of live BP. The skewed angle allowed her to capture the action on the field, some of the prominent spectators, and the live Trackman feed on the right field scoreboard. Not only could you watch Garrett Crochet dispose of Roman Anthony, but six days after pitchers and catchers reported, you could see that he was already in midseason form, his four-seamer hitting 97 mph with 15 inches of induced vertical break. “That’s also something I like to try to get in there too,” she said, “so fans that are into the analytics side of the game can see some of the numbers of what guys are working on in practice, and how pitches are landing or moving.”

At the same time, there’s so much going on throughout the complex that writers also have the chance to catch something no one else sees. “You never know when something is going to add some color to your story,” Nusbaum said. “In spring training, because of the access, because you can head over to a backfield that no one else is at or talk to the prospect that you might only see once during the actual season, you can get some truly unique scenes.” He often keeps those moments off social media, stashing them in his back pocket for use during the grind of a long season. “That might seem counterintuitive, vis a vis engaging with fans. But at the end of the day, my primary job is to write, and sometimes I want to save a video until the story is out. Because there’s probably context there that fits with a story rather than a tweet.”

What I personally love the most about these videos is the fact that they look like what they are: cell phone videos taken by regular people. “I don’t have the best technology,” said McCaffrey. “It’s just my iPhone, so it’s not like I can do too much about that.” I think we tend to forget about how beautifully baseball is packaged most of the time. The picture at the top of every article was selected by an editor from a dozen competing options, all of them taken by a ridiculously talented professional sports photographer with a shelf full of awards at home. The same goes for the camera operators who shoot the games for television, and they’re just part of a production team brandishing the latest technology to make the game look gorgeous. John DeMarsico, who directs Mets broadcasts for SNY, is fond of saying that baseball is cinema, and that’s never been more true. But for these few weeks during spring training, we get to see it through a less cinematic, more personal lens. We see it in 12-second clips with the wind whipping in the background, shot on whichever phone a reporter has in their pocket, from whatever odd angle they can finagle.

For a couple weeks, we get to see the game through a completely different lens, both literally and figuratively (or as the kids say, flitteratively). I don’t mean to say that the gorgeous version of baseball that we see for most of the year isn’t real, but it is undeniably stylized. Even on a quiet getaway day, it’s presented with grandeur. It feeds into the mythos of the game, the idea of baseball, the one you can’t not be romantic about. I just enjoy seeing the scruffy edges. Sure, baseball is an idea, but they make it feel more real to me, more personal.

Even when I explained it to them, people had trouble wrapping their heads around my job at the bank depository. When you think about investing in gold, you probably just imagine clicking a button on the computer or asking a financial advisor to click a button on the computer. An extra graph appears on your Charles Schwab splash page; now you’ve invested in gold. To you, it’s just the idea of gold. But it’s also real, and not particularly glamorous. You have to buy it on the commodities exchange and pay a storage fee. I sat in a gross, windowless office next to a gross, windowless warehouse stacked high with pallets of tarnished 1,000 ounce silver bars. For a couple years, when your financial advisor clicked that button, I would end up getting a fax, writing a transfer order, logging it in four separate places, and handing a carbon copy to Sylvia, who handed it to Garry, who handed it to Mike, who carried a specific gold bar from one part of the vault to another. “It’s sort of like if you traded for Derek Jeter on your fantasy team,” I’d explain, “and then a clubhouse attendant had to load him up on a cart and wheel him over to the other side of the locker room.”

“There are two types of realist,” Robert Frost wrote. “The one who offers a good deal of dirt with his potato to show that it is a real potato. And there is the one who is satisfied with the potato brushed clean. I am inclined to be the second kind. To me, the thing that art does for life is to clean it, strip it to form.” I’m inclined to be the first kind. I can’t help it. I like hearing the strings squeak as the guitarist’s fingers scramble up the fretboard. It makes me feel like I’m there in the room. I love that there’s a little window of time when baseball’s acres and acres of dirt don’t get cleaned up. “I’m certainly not a good photographer,” Abraham said. “If I like a photo I’ll post it. That’s really about it. Once the games start and people can watch NESN, I’ll dial back unless it’s something unusual.”

On my last day at work, my colleagues Chubby and Sylvia gave me a going away present: a one-ounce bar of silver. I’ve still got it. At Goodyear Field, Alex and I were excited to see Aroldis Chapman throw a ball faster than anyone else on earth could throw a ball, and, if my memory’s right, I think we did. I remember walking across the grassy parking lot. I remember eating chili dogs in the shade of the concession stand, so focused on not spilling anything on our clothes that we didn’t notice the foul ball coming until it landed right at our feet and caromed off the wall right in front of our faces.

Spring is the time of year when we wax poetic about possibility. “Behold,” we say to ourselves as we remember the feeling of the sun’s warmth on our skin, “we have once again foiled the earth’s attempts to murder us with subzero temperatures and an unceasing barrage of unrelentingly cheery and/or horny Christmas songs. The time for survival is past; now is the time to thrive.” Among baseball players, pitchers stand alone in their capacity for reinvention. They have the chance to add a new weapon, and in so doing level up into an entirely new pitcher. After all, what are we if not a collection of our attributes? Maybe you used to be a sinkerballer, but once you added a slider, you evolved into an entirely new species: the sinker-slider guy.

I spent Wednesday afternoon trawling through search results and Jeff Zimmerman’s indispensable Mining the News feature looking for reports of new pitches. The fruits of that labor populate the table below, and they are legion. As it turns out, even MLB: The Show has finally added a sweeper. Beneath the table, I will spend a sentence or three on each of the 21 pitchers who is reportedly working on a new offering. Not all of these pitches will actually make it into a regular season game. Fewer still, possibly even none, will have a discernible impact on a player’s season or career. But that shouldn’t keep us from dreaming on them. There are some really big names here. Maybe Kevin Gausman’s new cutter will run interference for his four-seamer, returning him a while longer to the fraternity of undisputed aces. Who are we to deem any future unreachable before even attempting the journey? Read the rest of this entry »

Geraldo Perdomo is not leaving Arizona any time soon. On Monday night, Mike Rodriguez reported that the Diamondbacks and their switch-hitting shortstop had agreed to a contract extension, which is for four years and $45 million, includes a club option for a fifth season, and starts in 2026, according to ESPN’s Jeff Passan. The 25-year-old Perdomo has just over three years of big league service time, so the deal will buy out his final two arbitration seasons and at least the first two years after he would’ve reached free agency. Perdomo was an All-Star in 2023, and he put up 2.0 WAR in 2024 despite an April knee injury that limited him to 98 games. He’s now set to spend the entirety of his 20s providing the Diamondbacks with a throwback blend of solid shortstop defense and an absolute refusal to swing the bat.

Perdomo got a cup of coffee in 2021 and played his first full season in 2022, running a 59 wRC+ that limited him to just 0.3 WAR. In 2023, he earned an All-Star nod on the back of a torrid, BABIP-fueled start that saw him with a 200 wRC+ on May 3. He quickly came back to earth, but ended up running a 117 wRC+ in the first half and a 74 wRC+ in the second half, for an overall mark of 98 and 2.3 WAR. Perdomo missed just over two months due to a torn meniscus in 2024, but he put up a 101 wRC+ and his second straight two-win season. Essentially, he’s been a bit better than league average for two seasons now, and that was enough to convince Arizona to lock him down for the entirety of his prime. Perdomo and the Diamondbacks had already avoided arbitration by agreeing on a $2.55 million salary for 2025, and the new deal will add a $5 million signing bonus to that. He’ll receive a $5 million salary in 2026, then $8 million in 2027, $11 million in 2028, and $13 million in 2029. The Diamondbacks also have a $15 million club option for 2030, with a $3 million buyout should they choose not to exercise it. There are also incentives for a top-10 finish in the MVP voting.

That’s a pretty big commitment, even bigger when you consider the fact that the Diamondbacks have shortstop Jordan Lawlar, whom Eric Longenhagen just ranked our 14th overall prospect. Let’s talk about why the Diamondbacks feel Perdomo is worth extending, even if it means blocking the best prospect in their system.

Personally, I think Perdomo is one of the most fascinating players in the game. He came up as a glove-first shortstop prospect, and he certainly looks the part, but the advanced defensive metrics have been split on his performance for his entire career.

For his first two seasons, DRS thought he was costing the Diamondbacks runs. Then in 2024, the season when he missed time due to a major leg injury, it thought he was one of the best shortstops in baseball. Statcast has pretty much seen him as neutral throughout his three-year career, while DRP thinks he’s been great with the exception of 2023. Clearly, though, the Diamondbacks believe in his defense.

On offense, Perdomo is just plain weird. I know I summarized his overall offensive performance earlier, and those numbers are pretty standard – he’s been right around league average for two straight seasons – but it’s important to understand how he got to those numbers. For starters, Perdomo cannot stop bunting. Over the past three seasons, Perdomo has laid down 66 bunts, the most in baseball. His 33 sac bunts are also the most in the game; only three other players have even reached 20. His 15 bunt hits rank eighth, but among the 61 players with at least six bunt hits over that period, his 23.8% bunt hit rate ranks dead last. Even more damning, he leads baseball with 52 foul bunts. According to Baseball Savant, those fouls have cost the Diamondbacks four runs. That’s the worst number in baseball.

The bunting is genuinely a problem, but it fits perfectly with Perdomo’s overall approach at the plate, because that approach could be best summed up as “Try with all your might to avoid swinging.” Perdomo is one of the most passive players in all of baseball. Our database goes back to 2002, and since then, Perdomo’s 39.2% swing rate ranks 48th out of the 1,129 batters with at least 1,000 plate appearances. That puts him in the fifth percentile. Over the past three seasons, it’s the sixth-lowest mark in the game. Perdomo is the exact kind of player whom Robert Orr’s SEAGER metric was built to expose. In 2024, SEAGER had him in the 77th percentile in terms of selectivity, but it put him in the second percentile in terms of taking hittable pitches. In other words, Perdomo’s unwillingness to swing at strikes is way more extreme than his ability to lay off balls.

Keep in mind that SEAGER was meant to assess a player’s ability to do damage, and, well, that’s just not Perdomo’s game. He runs some of the lowest contact quality numbers in baseball. However, he makes tons of contact. Not only that, but over the past two seasons, he’s run a foul rate of nearly 43%, one of the higher marks in the game. It’s nearly impossible to get him to swing and miss, even when he swings and doesn’t put the ball in play. So even though pitchers attack the zone like crazy, he runs excellent walk and strikeout rates. If I’m making it sound like every single part of Perdomo’s game is at one extreme or another, well, yeah, that’s pretty much how it is. His Baseball Savant sliders are either bright red or bright blue. He’s all patience, no power. He’s the rare player who runs an incredible squared-up rate but an unimpressive line drive rate. Because Perdomo puts tons of balls in play, he’ll always have the chance at posting a great BABIP and putting up a three- or four-win season, but unless he decides to try attacking the ball, there’s not much ceiling here.

I am so, so curious to see what it would look like if Perdomo were to start attacking the ball. He’s still young, and I really do think it’s possible that he has the capacity to be more than an average hitter. I’m sure the Diamondbacks remember clearly how well it worked out when he was pulling everything in sight at the beginning of the 2023 season, and maybe they’ll try to help him become that player again. Still, I don’t think we should expect that going forward. I think the Diamondbacks are paying for floor rather than ceiling. However he gets there, if Perdomo keeps performing like a two-win player, the contract will work out well for both sides. If he can remain a solid defender and a league-average bat, he’s a really useful player, even if he pushes Lawlar to third base. In the meantime, we all get to enjoy watching Perdomo live at the extremes in order to perform right at the mean.

This is my first We Tried Tracker update since December, and I have missed you. I have missed who we were in that simpler, infinitely less cruel time of, you know, two months ago. A lot has happened on the We Tried front, far too much to cover in one article, but with Alex Bregman and Nick Pivetta coming off the board this week, all but one of the first 45 entries on our Top 50 Free Agents list have been signed. (No. 33 Andrew Heaney is the exception.) It’s time to reflect on the state of effort in major league front offices. First, I need to beg for your help once again. I have missed some We Trieds. I’m sure of it. If you see any out there in the wild, or if you notice any omissions in the tracker, please let me know on Bluesky or email me at WeTriedTracker@gmail.com, a real email address that I really check. (I even check the spam folder, which today contains an email from the daughter of the late Libyan dictator Muammar Gaddafi. She needs a trusted investment manager/partner for her $27.5 million fortune. I’m about to be so rich, you guys.)

From the very beginning of this exercise, the Red Sox have paced the league. As of Thursday, I have them credited with 12 different We Trieds in nine different categories. That’s nearly 18% of all We Trieds! No other team has notched more than six. The Red Sox are fully lapping the field. And until Wednesday evening, what did they have to show for all that effort? A trade for Garrett Crochet and a couple of one-year deals for pitchers in various states of recovery from Tommy John surgery. Well, all that has changed. Apparently, practice really does makes perfect, because the Red Sox have landed Bregman, our third-ranked free agent, on a three-year, $120-million deal with two opt-outs (and enough deferred money to lower the total present value to $90 million). Amazingly, Bregman is the first position player Craig Breslow has signed to a major league deal since the Red Sox hired him in October 2023. That’s why we keep trying. You never know when lucky number 13 is going to pay off. If you just stick to your guns, keep lowballing free agent after free agent, one of them will eventually be so beaten down by the process that he will accept your terms. It’s truly an uplifting tale of hope in these bleak times.

The moment Bregman signed, we got two very detailed We Trieds. Evan Petzold of the Detroit Free Press reported that the Tigers had offered six years and $171.5 million, including some deferred money, while USA Today’s Bob Nightengale reported that the Cubs offered four years and $120 million. MLB.com’s Jordan Bastian clarified Chicago actually offered $115, with opt-outs after the 2026 and 2027 seasons. Regardless of which Cubs offer is more accurate, Detroit’s and Chicago’s offers involve a lower AAV than what Bregman got from Boston, but more money and more years. The Red Sox offered something those two teams didn’t: the ability to leave immediately. If Bregman has himself a big 2025 in Boston, he can try again next offseason. If he doesn’t, he’ll have 120 million reasons not to feel too bad about how things turned out. Sometimes trying the hardest to sign a player means being the most willing to let him leave.

With nearly every notable free agent spoken for, I should probably reflect on what I learned during this exercise. I’ve never paid attention to the hot stove season this intently, and certainly not with this kind of odd, specific focus. I guess the biggest lesson is what a We Tried can tell you about how a team wants to be perceived. Unless I missed something, nine teams haven’t notched a single We Tried: the Astros, Brewers, Cardinals, Dodgers, Marlins, Pirates, Rockies, Twins, and White Sox. That’s a very eclectic group. The Dodgers haven’t felt the need to leak it to a reporter when they failed to land a player, because why would they? They’re actually improving their team, so they don’t need to keep up appearances. The White Sox, Marlins, Pirates, and Rockies are barely playing the same sport. They’re not competing for impact free agents and would never want their fans to get that impression, lest it raise expectations above their current level of negative infinity. The Twins and Brewers have spent the offseason trying to pull off a balancing act: trying to remain competitive without raising payroll. Unfortunately, they came into the offseason with a solid team and real expectations, and the silence has been deafening.

As for the Cardinals, I don’t really know where to begin. They are, in theory, starting a rebuild, but if there’s been any progress on that front, they’ve done a great job at concealing it. They haven’t signed a major league free agent. They haven’t even hinted that they’ve spent a moment considering the possibility of signing a major league free agent. Instead, they have tried so, so hard and so, so publicly… to get a little bit worse. The Cardinals have spent the entire offseason absorbed in an ill-fated attempt to trade Nolan Arenado, despite the fact that doing so wouldn’t make the team better in the short run (because Arenado is still a solid player) or in the long run (because his contract is so underwater that it’s not worth real prospect capital). The Cardinals were engaged in the noblest attempt of all: saving a few million dollars for the purpose of saving a few million dollars. On Thursday, lame duck president of baseball operations John Mozeliak essentially admitted that this lofty dream was dead. The Cardinals will spend the 2025 season furious that Arenado is still — if the projections are right — their second-best player, rather than what he could have become: a medium-sized pile of money.

Then there are the teams that have been out there trying like crazy. The top four teams are all in the AL East: the Red Sox with 12, the Orioles with seven, the Blue Jays with six, and the Yankees with five. The Cubs and Padres each have four. To some extent, this is just a reflection of reality. The AL East is a monster division where winning is expected. The Yankees play in the biggest media market in the country. They have the loudest fans in the country, and those fans expect them to sign everyone. Silence probably isn’t an option. The Red Sox have similarly demanding fans, and their front office has been publicly promising to break the bank for two straight offseasons now. They didn’t deliver at all during the 2023-2024 offseason, and until the Bregman signing, the only multi-year deal they’d handed out this offseason was still, in a sense, a one-year deal, as it went to Patrick Sandoval, who will be recovering from internal brace surgery for most of the 2025 season. In retrospect, it’s easy to see their We Trieds as assurances that they were acting in good faith.

The Orioles and Blue Jays are in a similar position: They want it to be known that they’re out there attempting to improve their teams. If they’re not trying as hard as fans might like, at least they’re trying loudly. However, there’s an insidious undertone, as all this trying comes while owners are publicly softening up the ground for a death march toward a salary cap. They’re getting ready to lock out the players, and toward that end, they’re getting an early start on painting the players as greedy millionaires. Through that lens, it’s easy to see each We Tried as an attempt to portray the billionaire ownership class as generous and benevolent, willing to go out and sign all those players you want them to, if only those players weren’t quite so expensive.

Rather than end on such a cynical note, let me tell you about my favorite We Tried. It came from Anne Rogers, the Royals beat writer for MLB.com. On February 4, Rogers reposted an MLB Trade Rumors article about Randal Grichuk’s signing with the Diamondbacks. “Royals tried to get Grichuck (sic) but he returns to Arizona,” she wrote. I clicked on the link to the article to find the part about the Royals trying. But when I read the article, I saw that the part about the Royals trying was just a link to that same post from Rogers. You can just keep clicking back and forth between the two links forever. It’s a We Tried ouroboros, and crucially, of the 69 We Trieds I’ve recorded so far, it’s the only one that uses that exact terminology. There’s no “We were in on,” or “We were in the mix,” or “We made a competitive offer.” It’s pure and simple: “Royals tried,” with absolutely zero further information.

This is also the funniest We Tried of the offseason simply because of the terms. Grichuk signed for one year and $5 million (technically it’s $2 million, with a $3 million buyout on a mutual 2026 option). Every other player who was the subject of a We Tried signed a contract that was at least twice as big as Grichuk’s. At least one player I can think of signed a contract that is 153 times bigger than Grichuk’s. There is no such thing as a major league team that can’t afford a one-year, $5 million contract. Hell, several little league teams could probably swing that deal if the right 12-year-old should come along. The Royals truly lowered the bar here. This is what minimum effort looks like.