Just before the top of the ninth, with the Astros trailing the Tigers, 5-2, in the second game of the AL Wild Card series, something caught my eye. Several somethings, actually. Will Vest, who despite his more than 200 career appearances has just five saves, was taking a moment on the back of the mound to rub the baseball and breathe. The low third base camera found him, and it was hard to differentiate between the routine, meditative acts that Vest always uses to calm himself before an appearance, and the twitches and tics that might only be surfacing now, during the biggest moment of his career.

When Vest determined that the ball had been sufficiently rubbed, he put his glove back on and tossed the ball into it. He adjusted the left shoulder of his jersey, then his hat, then the right shoulder. He rubbed his fingertips against his thumb and his palm to disperse the sweat, and then rubbed his whole hand against his pants leg. He took shallow breaths as he gently worked his foot into the dirt in front of the rubber. He dumped the ball from his glove back into his pitching hand, then pressed it against his right hip in order to wedge it securely into a changeup grip. He brought his glove to his belly and briefly touched the back of his hand to his butt before nesting it in his glove. He came set, then lifted his left leg ever so slightly and came set again.

I didn’t catch all that the first time; my attention was focused on the background. Those several somethings were flickering in gold, setting off tiny lens flares all around the screen, but because Vest was the hero of the shot, they were out of focus and blurred. I puzzled over what they might be, wondering at first whether the Houston fans were shining their cell phone flashlights, holding some sort of vigil for the team’s flatlining season. It took me a moment to remember the King Tuck crowns. Read the rest of this entry »

One of the fun things about the new Wild Card format is that after the first day, every game is an elimination game. On Wednesday, all four games could have ended with one team heading home and one team punching its ticket for the next round. Three of them ended that way, and the one game left on the docket Thursday will end that way too, after the Brewers beat the Mets to even the National League Wild Card Series at one game apiece.

That kind of pressure is nothing new for the Mets, who spent pretty much the entire season dancing on a knife’s edge, but it’s certainly an unfamiliar feeling for the Brewers, whose playoff odds hadn’t dropped below 75% since May or below 90% since early August. “I’m going to be honest with you: It’s hard to be tired when you’re playing playoff baseball,” New York third baseman Mark Vientos said following Tuesday’s Game 1 win. “I had a bunch of energy. I know all of us did.” The Mets certainly didn’t come out flat on Wednesday night, but they did come out horizontal.

I’ll explain what I mean by that in a moment, but I shouldn’t bury the lede any longer: This was the Jackson Chourio Game. Or at least it was the first Jackson Chourio Game; we could be in for a lot more Jackson Chourio Games over the next decade or two. The 20-year-old, who entered the season as the no. 5 prospect in baseball, has already emerged as one of the game’s best young talents, and now he’s made it clear that he’s absolutely nails in the playoffs. In Wednesday’s NL Wild Card Series Game 2 (Jackson Chourio Game 1), the Brewers left fielder ripped two game-tying home runs in a 5-3 Milwaukee win. Read the rest of this entry »

Last night, the Royals finally won a baseball game. In doing so, they snapped a seven-game losing streak that very nearly burned up their 5.5-game cushion in the Wild Card standings. The only reason they’re still in position for the third spot this morning is that the Twins have lost five of their last six. Even so, the Royals did everything in their power to avoid getting the win last night. They stranded nine baserunners over the first four innings and squandered a brilliant start from Cole Ragans. They took a scoreless game into the 10th inning, and they scored (for the first time in 27 innings) only because the Nationals did everything short of driving the zombie runner around the bases in the bullpen cart. The Manfred Man scored when the Nationals threw the ball away in the top of the 10th. In the bottom of the inning, with a runner on third base and two outs, the Nationals did the Royals another favor, removing Nasim Nuñez, who has a .386 on-base percentage, in favor of Joey Gallo, whose OBP is more than 100 points lower. In the most Joey Gallo plate appearance of all time, the slugger was one pitch from walking, then 10 feet from wrapping the game-winning homer around the right field foul pole, before finally striking out.

Now that the Royals have finally won a game, it’s time to investigate what exactly went wrong. The numbers weren’t great, but they weren’t terrible either. During the streak, they ran an 88 wRC+, which ranked 20th over that period. Their 3.24 FIP was the second best in baseball, and their 3.79 ERA ranked 14th. They hit 10 more homers than they allowed and their strikeout differential was up above 40. No matter. Six of those seven losses were decided by either one or two runs. They just kept finding a way to lose, because they were cursed. At a certain point, that’s just the simplest explanation. In order for Kansas City to break its streak, the team required the good fortune of running into a Nationals team that had lost six of its last seven, had already clinched its fifth consecutive losing season, and played as if it badly wanted to throw away a ballgame. In other words, the only thing that saved the accursed Royals was running into a team that was somehow even more despised by the movers of the universe. After all, if there’s one thing the baseball gods love, it’s whatever fits neatly into a baseball writer’s pre-existing narrative.

What did the Royals do to anger the baseball gods so? That’s what we’re here to find out. The baseball gods can be hard to please and even harder to understand. They’re vindictive. They’re unpredictable. Sometimes they like bunting, and yet other times, not so much. So let’s focus on what we know. Clearly, this infraction occurred on September 14, the date of Kansas City’s last victory before the freefall. In order to figure out what went wrong, I went back and watched the game closely, taking detailed notes about any and all possible transgressions. Surely, one of these infractions had to be the reason for the skid.

First Inning

Well, here’s a gimme right off the bat. This team is literally called the Royals. They’ve got crowns all over their uniforms and their stadiums. Ever heard of hubris, Kansas City? You’re claiming the divine right of kings; no wonder the almighty wants to see you laid low. Maybe dial it down to the Kansas City Nobles. If you want to be extra safe, you could go with the Kansas City Miserable Wretches. Just like the rest of us, the baseball gods love an underdog.

As if that weren’t enough, the second batter of the game, Bobby Witt Jr. crushed a majestic home run. If this isn’t hubris, I don’t know what else to call it.

He’s flapping his wings like a bird. What do the Royals call this celebration, the Icarus Dance? All season long, Witt has been flying too close to the sun (which in this tortured metaphor is Aaron Judge, I guess), and now his wax wings have melted and he’s fallen into the ocean to be devoured by the Detroit Tigers. Like I said, this is just the simplest explanation.

Second Inning

This is the final pitch of the second inning. It’s a four-seamer to Yasmani Grandal that’s supposed to be on the outside corner but instead ends up low and inside. It’s a mistake, but it’s still a good location. Starter Michael Wacha marches off the mound, certain that it’s strike three. Grandal thinks it’s ball four, and he starts toward first base and winds up to toss his bat over toward the dugout. When he finds out he’s instead been called out on strikes, he shouts, “No, man,” followed by a 70-grade F-bomb. But watch catcher Freddy Fermin behind home plate. He winds up to throw the ball back to Wacha before realizing that it needs to go to the first baseman.

It’s not clear whether Fermin thought the pitch was a ball, didn’t realize that it was strike three, or didn’t realize that it was the third out. Either way, he’s tempting fate. There’s one player on the field who’s always supposed to know the situation, and it’s the catcher. If it’s enough to make old-school baseball men weep into their beer, it’s enough to tempt the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing.

Third Inning

Nothing to see here. Just a normal popup, right? Take a closer look, and this time keep your eye on Wacha. He doesn’t shout, “Up!” He doesn’t even point toward the sky in order to help any fielders who somehow made it to the big leagues despite lacking the spatial awareness to remember which direction up is. He’s violating one of baseball’s iron-clad laws. It’s in the rulebook. It’s in the unwritten rules. I’m pretty sure it’s in the Constitution. When the batter hits a popup, the pitcher points up and yells, “Up!” It’s the only thing that keeps the sky from falling.

Two innings earlier, Wacha remembered to point when he induced a popup from the exact same hitter. What makes this omission even weirder is that Wacha is especially well-suited to this easiest of tasks. If you watch the play again, you’ll notice that he does raise his right hand pretty high. It’s part of his follow-through, and he does it after every pitch. All he needed to do was extend his index finger. There’s nobody in baseball for whom this effort could’ve be easier, and yet Wacha couldn’t be bothered. Three Finger Brown is rolling over in his grave.

Fourth Inning

Do the baseball gods hate bat flips? It’s hard to say. I’d like to think that they keep up with the times, and that while celebrating a home run was once the kind of trespass that could get you demoted to Paducah for the rest of your living days, the mysterious beings who balance the scales of hits and errors have learned to enjoy a nice bat flip just as much as the rest of us. But if they do hate bat flips, then the only thing they hate even more is a bat flip that comes on a routine flyout. So MJ Melendez just might be to blame for this whole thing.

Fifth Inning

Look, this one isn’t Kansas City’s fault. The team was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Adam Frazier is about to lead off the inning with a triple, but first he needs to take a warmup cut and get situated in the batter’s box and — oh. Oh no.

Apparently umpire Chad Fairchild needs to get situated too. The best part is what happens after Fairchild wraps up downstairs. Frazier steps back out of the batter’s box and heaves the world’s biggest sigh. It’s hard to blame him for needing a second to refocus after what he just witnessed.

Later in the inning, Kyle Isbel got hit in the shin by a pitch. Disobeying the rule shouted by every high school baseball player in American history, he leaned over to rub the spot where he got hit. Still, I think that offense pales in comparison to Fairchild’s. I know I feel cursed after watching it.

Sixth Inning

I noticed two things in the sixth. First, it turns out that Adam Frazier has his own hip issues. I don’t know if this is enough to anger the baseball gods. Maybe they’re into this sort of thing. Either way, it is my solemn duty to bring any and all pelvic gyrations to your attention.

Just so we’re clear, I’m not looping the same video over and over. These are different pitches in the same plate appearance, all in the sixth inning. Frazier really needs to keep that pelvis good and limber.

The second thing seemed much more likely to cause a curse. All game long, there were two Royals fans in the fancy seats behind home plate. (This is off topic, but in that section, the snacks that go for Armageddon prices in the rest of the stadium aren’t just free, they’re tossed to you by a vendor who walks around in a full Pirates uniform. Sometimes you’ll see him winding up to throw a water bottle and you’ll think for second that one of the perks of sitting in the fancy seats is being waited on by an actual big leaguer.) I had my eye on that pair the entire time. The fan on the left had some glorious facial hair and a cool vintage hat. (He also kept pouring the free water on his neck to beat the heat, and considering what those water bottles cost in the rest of the stadium, it was the most conspicuous consumption I’ve ever witnessed in my life.) The fan on the right was wearing ear buds the entire game and looking down constantly, either because he was checking his phone or because his left leg just happened to be really interesting.

In the bottom of the sixth, however, the best buddies switched seats. And just to make sure we all knew about it, ear buds guy waved directly at the camera.

Same seats, guys. Same seats! We’re trying to make the playoffs here.

Seventh Inning

Salvador Perez and Aaron Judge are the only current players in baseball who have attained the rank of captain. Judge doesn’t wear a C on his uniform because the Yankee pinstripes are sacrosanct and it would be a crime against nature to alter them in any way (unless it’s to add an enormous Nike swoosh). But look at Perez’s C when he comes up in the seventh. Where did they even find a C that small?

It’s minuscule, and I mean that in the most literal possible sense: It’s a lowercase C. It’s honestly so small that it seems disrespectful. It’s so tiny. Did they just run out and buy it from a Michael’s? It looks like it’s just the copyright symbol for the swoosh. When Jason Varitek captained the Red Sox back in the 2000s, he wore an enormous C. It was actually the same size as the team name emblazoned across his chest.

That thing needed its own parking spot! Don’t tell me nobody in the Kansas City clubhouse was capable of finding a big chunky C for their big captain. They definitely have one, and you know how I know? Because it’s right there on the jersey! Just take that one. Problem solved. Curse broken. You’re welcome, Kansas ity.

Eighth Inning

Fermin singled to lead off the top of the eighth, at which point first base coach Damon Hollins helpfully gave him some tips about the new pitcher on the mound. Before he could do so, however, Hollins needed to consult his notes.

That’s right, Hollins apparently doesn’t use one of those cool little positioning cards that the players get. He just walks out onto the field every inning with several sheets of computer paper folded hot-dog style and flapping around in his back pocket. When the situation calls for it, he pulls them out and searches for the proper page like a best man about to give the world’s longest, sweatiest toast. How is it possible that Hollins has so many notes that it requires multiple pages? Has he never considered folding the pages a second time so that they fit comfortably into his pocket without threatening to fall out? This whole situation is an affront to any number of gods.

Ninth Inning

Look, I came into the ninth inning thinking that I’d round things off with a classic blunder; some egregious, old-school infraction tailor-made to anger the baseball gods. And I got one too. David Bednar walked leadoff batter Maikel Garcia, who promptly stole second and third, and then Isbel, who promptly stole second. The Royals had runners on second and third with no outs, and then they couldn’t manage to scratch out a single run. The next three batters went: strikeout, intentional walk, double play. If only they’d hit the ball the other way or executed a safety squeeze, the baseball gods would have squealed with delight and showered them with championships.

So that should’ve been the end, but before it all went down, I saw something even more egregious. I saw something much more petty and not at all relevant to the game of baseball. But it was also so bizarre and outré that I couldn’t go without mentioning it. Behold, Tommy Pham’s snake-skin belt buckle, complete with a miniature American flag. I had to see it and now you do too.

I don’t know what’s going on here, but I have never seen with my own eyes an object that was more certainly cursed. Still, Pham wore this abomination last night, when the Royals finally failed into a win, so now this accursed accessory might just be team’s lucky charm.

It’s entirely possible, dear sir, that I simply misheard you given the permeating hubbub in this, our fair city’s modern-day Colosseum, but just a moment ago I was left with the odd impression that you might have pronounced me out. At the risk of contravening such an esteemed authority as yourself, I aver that I must have misheard you, owing to the fact it surely was clear to one and all that the only sensible course of action under a circumstance such as this one would be to adjudge the ball foul. The only fair call is a foul ball (if you’ll forgive the indulgence), but as I say, these ears love nothing so much as to play their little tricks on me from time to time, so if the issue at hand is a simple case of misapprehension, then simply say the word and off I’ll scurry. It would be my genuine pleasure to gather my lumber, as it were, and assume once more the ready position here in the right-hand rectangle, for I do adore a tussle. Read the rest of this entry »

I was writing from the heart. When the Nationals designated Victor Robles for assignment back in May, I wrote about what it was like to wait for him to make it to the big leagues; and then, once he arrived, to wait for him to turn into a star; and then, when it became clear that he wasn’t going to turn into a star, to wait for him to turn into a solid contributor; and then, as the likelihood of that outcome grew more and more faint, just to wait.

Fans reserve a special kind of affection for players like Robles. They don’t do it on purpose; it’s just how people tend to work. Superstars, with their reliable excellence, are easy to love. They’re big, warm Labrador retrievers with their tails waggling like Gary Sheffield’s bat as they wait impatiently for you to open the front door every night. They give you exactly what you want, and the love they inspire is beautiful and simple. When they move on to another organization, the loss you feel is deep, yes, but its edges are clearly defined because something pure has been taken from you.

When you’ve been watching and waiting and hoping for a player to figure things out for the better part of the decade, the feelings involved are a lot messier. Even if your love and your loss aren’t as profound, their edges are a lot more ragged. You’ve spent years pinballing between highs and lows, hopes and fears, anxiety and joy and despair, sometimes all at once. In other words, it’s a lot more like real life and real love. By the time a player like that moves on, you’ve invested way too much of your well-being in them to simply stop caring. It’s hard to imagine a single Nationals fan anywhere who wasn’t rooting for Robles to finally figure things out once the Mariners gave him the change of scenery he so clearly needed, who wasn’t truly happy to see him get off to a hot start in Seattle. But we all have our limits.

Back on August 6, over at Baseball Prospectus, Mikey Ajeto broke down all the mechanical adjustments that Robles has made since he joined Seattle. (Yes, the same Mikey Ajeto who writes exclusively about pitchers. Honestly, the biggest miracle that Robles has performed isn’t magically going supernova the moment that he turned the W on his hat upside down; it’s getting Ajeto to pay attention to a hitter for once.) He’s dropped his hands, ditched his leg kick, and added a scissor kick and a mini-squat before the pitch. Because Ajeto covered those more technical topics, I can continue to focus on the surface-level numbers. And you know what happened to the surface-level numbers after the publication of that article, which was entirely devoted to documenting Robles’s sudden improvement as the plate? They didn’t just keep getting better, they exploded.

I was wishing as hard as anyone for Robles to succeed with the Mariners, but I didn’t mean like this. I was thrilled to see him land a two-year extension worth a guaranteed $9.75 million, but he wasn’t supposed to instantly turn into the best player in baseball, like moving moving from a district named Washington to an actual state named Washington was all it took to break a powerful curse cast by some old Issaquah-based witch who fell into the Reflecting Pool during her mock trial team’s trip to DC in ninth grade and never got over the humiliation. And no, I’m not exaggerating. From June 5 to August 17, Robles turned his season around, running a 118 wRC+. Since August 18, Robles has literally been the best player in baseball: He’s put up a 230 wRC+ and accrued 1.8 WAR, more than whichever Cooperstown-bound MVP candidate you’d care to name. Sure, it’s fair to point out that he’s running a comically high .527 BABIP over that period, but his .386 xwOBA still ranks 19th among qualified players during that stretch. It’s starting to look like the simplest explanation for why Robles never lived up to his potential is that cherry blossoms are his personal kryptonite.

Somehow Robles left this ragged hole in the hearts of Nationals fans, but arrived in Seattle a gleaming superstar. The chaos has only reared its head lately. Robles is playing through a hip issue, and left his last two games due to different injuries: leg soreness on Sunday and a right hand contusion after getting hit by a pitch to lead off last night’s game, an 11-2 loss to the Yankees. Before Robles was removed against New York, his wildness on the basepaths finally caught up with the Mariners, with whom he’d previously gone 25-for-25 on stolen base attempts. He was caught stealing home in the bottom of the first inning, taking the bat out of Justin Turner’s hands with the bases loaded, two outs, and a 3-0 count.

I’m not saying all this is going to last, no matter how much Robles loves the Puget Sound. Since he arrived in Seattle, he’s run a 34.4% hard-hit rate and an 86.7-mph average exit velocity. The former is much better than Robles has put up in any previous season, but the latter isn’t and both are still well below league average. The real change is his barrel rate of 8.6%, which is miles above anything he’s accomplished in previous years. But keep in mind that we’re talking about just 13 barrels out of 151 balls in play, and neither his launch angle nor his GB/FB rate represents much of a departure from his career numbers. We’ve moved past any-batter-can-do-just-about-anything-over-60-plate-appearances territory, but we’re not all that far off either.

Robles has made some honest-to-goodness adjustments to his swing that have had an immediate, dramatic effect — frankly, the effect was so immediate and so dramatic that the Nationals should be looking closely at every single one of those adjustments and asking themselves what the Mariners saw that they didn’t — and we should probably adjust our priors going forward. But I haven’t seen anything (yet) to convince me that he’s going to keep running a BABIP above .500 from here on out. Further, Robles has been dealing with a hip issue in addition to the leg soreness (which is a separate ailment) and the hand injury that forced his early exit from the last two games. As someone who spent something like a quarter of my life rooting for Robles to finally put it all together, I sincerely hope his nagging injuries turn out to be no more than just that, and that when Robles finally does come down to earth, he finds a comfortable spot that’s situated well above sea level. But as long as he’s spending whole months with a wRC+ above 200, I reserve the right to be a little jealous.

Before I started researching this article, I assumed that Cal Raleigh had been an All-Star before. I was wrong. Raleigh is in just his third full season as a big leaguer, but he’s spent all of that time as one of the best catchers in baseball, so I was surprised to find out that the last time he won an award of any kind was 2019, when he was named the California League’s Rookie of the Year as a member of the Modesto Nuts. Now that I know, I feel even stronger about the premise of this article, so please forgive me for stating it so baldly: Cal Raleigh is a star, and it’s about time we all acknowledged it.

Raleigh has turned on the afterburners over his last nine games entering Wednesday, slashing .314/.390/.629 with three home runs for a 187 wRC+. With that, he pushed his WAR to 4.3, tying his total from the 2023 season. According to WAR, he was the sixth-best catcher in baseball in 2022, the fourth best in ’23, and he’s now the second best in ’24. Unless my pattern recognition skills have fallen off since elementary school, next year he’ll have to find a way to be number zero.

Here’s what Kevin Goldstein wrote in June 2021, just a bit over a month before Raleigh made his big league debut:

Teams were almost universally enamored with Raleigh’s bat in the 2018 draft, but the Florida State product fell to the third round because most had big concerns about his ability to stay at catcher, projecting a quick move to first base, where the pressure on the player to hit increases exponentially. The Mariners decided to at least try to keep him behind the plate, and to the player’s credit, Raleigh has put an incredible amount of work into his defense, and suddenly looks like an average defensive catcher.

As it turned out, Raleigh struggled mightily at the plate during his 43-game rookie stint with the Mariners, but his defense graded out great. In that short sample, both FRV and DRP rated his framing highly, and DRS would hop on board the following season. This year, in an uncommon bit of perfect harmony, all three of those advanced defensive metrics agree that Raleigh is having his best season ever behind the plate. DRP says he’s saved 17.5 runs, DRS has him at 17, and FRV at 13, all of which are good enough to rate him the best defensive catcher in the American League and second best in the game, behind Patrick Bailey.

Raleigh has paired that defensive excellence with the classic profile of a power hitter. He strikes out too much, but when he does make contact, look out. That’s not to say that he’s out of control: This year, he’s been especially aggressive on pitches over the heart of the plate, so despite his elevated chase rate, he ranks in the 80th percentile in Robert Orr’s SEAGER metric, which measures selective aggression. Opposing pitchers, hopeful that they can induce a chase and terrified of what might happen if they hit the zone, are throwing Raleigh a lot of balls, and he’s running a career-high 10.8% walk rate despite striking out nearly 30% of the time.

Even with the higher walk total, Raleigh’s profile still depends much more on power than his on-base ability. First, as befits a catcher nicknamed Big Dumper, he doesn’t beat out too many hits, which drives down his batting average. More important is the way Raleigh swings. He doesn’t just have the profile of a classic power hitter; he’s got the elevate-and-celebrate profile of today’s power hitters. He specializes in barrels, hitting the ball hard and lifting it like few others. His 53% fly ball rate is second among qualified players, and for the third season in a row, he’s in the 94th percentile or better in pulled fly ball rate. If you take a quick glance at his spray chart, you’ll see home runs to all fields, and you’ll think, “What a balanced batted ball profile.” And then you’ll remember that he’s a switch-hitter. Raleigh is looking to lift the ball and yank it from both sides of the plate. His 30 homers are tied for 12th in baseball, but his 25 pulled homers are good for third. On the left is a spray chart that shows all of Raleigh’s career homers to the pull side and straightaway. On the right is a chart that shows his opposite field home runs.

This year, Raleigh’s 30 homers lead all catchers. He led all catchers with 30 last season too, and despite appearing in just 119 games and playing through a broken thumb and a torn ligament in his catching hand for more than a month, he also led all catchers with 27 in 2022. Only eight players have ever put up three 27-homer seasons while catching at least half the time. Here’s the list of players who have done it three times in a row: Lance Parrish, Mike Piazza, Johnny Bench, and Cal Raleigh. If you’re keeping score at home, that’s one eight-time All-Star, two inner-circle Hall of Famers, and Cal Raleigh, who again has never had a full season when he didn’t hit at least 27 homers. Among catchers with at least a thousand career plate appearances, Raleigh’s .227 ISO ranks fifth all-time, and his 144 ISO+ ranks 13th.

Put all that together, and Raleigh combines first-rate defense with a homer-heavy 109 career wRC+ (115 over the last three seasons). That’s a pretty compelling package, and it’s made Raleigh the second-best catcher in baseball no matter what timeframe you look at.

Our entire database shows 278 four-win seasons from 106 different catchers. Along with Raleigh, I counted just 20 who had put up three in a row, and the list once again reads like a who’s who of Hall of Famers, along with more recent framing standouts.

I’m not trying to say that Raleigh is destined for the Hall of Fame. I’m just trying to demonstrate that what he’s been doing doesn’t happen all that often, especially right out of the gate. From the moment he became a full-time starter, Raleigh has been one of the best catchers in baseball, and despite playing through injury at times, he’s been hands-down the most consistent. There’s no guarantee that this will continue. It’s hard to stay on top defensively, especially because catching techniques have changed radically in the last few years. Look at J.T. Realmuto, who was one of the league’s premier defenders for years, and then suddenly saw his framing fall off out of nowhere last season. It also looks more and more likely that the ABS system will be coming soon in some form to erase at least part of a catcher’s framing value. If nothing else, that just means that we should appreciate Raleigh’s current greatness all the more. He belongs in any conversation about the greatest catchers in the game right now, and it’s time he had the hardware to prove it.

The last time Luis Arraez struck out was August 10, a full month ago. He struck out the day before that as well. As of Tuesday morning, Arraez has played in 42 of the Padres’ 46 games during the second half of the season, and he has struck out exactly twice. No other qualified player has struck out fewer than 15 times since the All-Star break. Please take a moment to think about that. It means that the player with the second-fewest strikeouts has struck out 7 1/2 times more than Arraez. Nearly 75% of qualified players have struck out at least 30 times. Arraez, once again, has done so twice. Here’s what that looks like in a graph. Each bar represents a qualified player and Arraez is the tiny green one all the way to the right. I’ve added a dashed line to give you a sense of how far below everyone else he is.

Arraez currently has 26 strikeouts over the entire season. If he can stay below 30, he would be just the ninth qualified player in this century to accomplish the feat, and the first since Jeff Keppinger did so in 2008. Even if you do count 2020, despite the fact that Arraez has made 340 more plate appearances (and counting) than any player in that season, he currently has fewer strikeouts than all but five of the 142 qualified players. Here’s a chart of the whole 2024 season, just for good measure. Read the rest of this entry »

When you write about sabermetrics, the word jump is your best friend. There are only so many ways to explain that a number got bigger from one period of time to the next, and the word increase carries a vanishingly small amount of sex appeal. On the other hand, jump is an action verb that can lend some verve to, say, a dry passage about Jurickson Profar’s expected weighted on-base average, just to pick one completely random example off the top of my head:

Today is the rare day when we actually get to use the word jump to talk about a jump, because on Tuesday, when Rangers third baseman Josh Smith hit a towering chopper to first base, he didn’t just jump — he jumped.

In the bottom of the eighth, Yankees pitcher Tommy Kahnle dotted a changeup on the corner of the zone, and Smith rolled over it with an awkward swing that sent the ball right into the ground. It bounced up toward the roof and came down headed almost directly for the bag, where the waiting DJ LeMahieu lost it in the lights. The ball hit him in the glove, then bounced right into the base path, whereupon both Smith and Kahnle, who had heretofore been drifting nonchalantly toward the base, instantly shifted into top gear. Kahnle made a sliding play to barehand the ball, but the slide took him into the basepath. In a daring display of both initiative and inertia, Smith managed to hurdle the turtling pitcher and step on the base without breaking stride:

It was a remarkable play, and after my eighth or ninth viewing, I started to notice the little things. Actually, that’s not true. First, I noticed one extremely big thing. Check out Josh Smith’s quadriceps muscle:

Good Lord. That quad needs its own post office. The next time somebody tells you that all baseball players are slow and out of shape, show them this picture and take a few steps back so that they have space to react. No wonder Smith was able to leap over Kahnle without breaking stride. I’m surprised he came back down to earth.

The biggest thing I noticed, though, was how differently the players on the field reacted based on their proximity to the play. Perspective changes everything, and the closer a player was to the play, the more concern they exhibited. I’ll show you what I mean. Here’s Kahnle’s body language in the split second when Smith was right over his head:

This is what fear looks like. Less than a second ago, this extremely muscly man was going all out for a baseball. Now he’s trying to set the world record for fastest assumption of the fetal position. No pitcher has ever been so thoroughly posterized. Smith is literally making the Jumpman logo on top of Kahnle’s head. Kids all over the country should be hanging this on their bedroom doors:

Speaking as someone who has taken the business end of a baseball cleat to the face before, I’m not trying to make fun of Kahnle’s reaction. When you find yourself helpless on the ground beneath a stampeding Josh Smith, cowering in fear is the appropriate course of action.

That was the person at the epicenter. Now let’s take one step back. Here’s the next-closest person to the play, DJ LeMahieu. He wasn’t in as much immediate danger as Kahnle. As such, he never quite looked like he was fearing for his life, but the first baseman went on his own roller coaster ride, and it’s fun to watch the video both forwards and backwards. That way, you can watch LeMahieu go back and forth between concern for his teammate’s safety and concern for his own:

You don’t have to be an awkward person to spend an inordinate amount of time wondering what your hands should be doing, but I’m pretty sure that you can’t be officially recognized as awkward without spending an inordinate amount of time wondering what your hands should be doing. Those of us in the club will recognize that LeMahieu is putting on a master class of manual expression. First, he reacts to his error by bringing his hands to his chest, a move so classic that it’s literally the defining gesture of the guilt-ridden Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale in The Scarlet Letter. Next, he reacts to Kahnle’s close call by reaching toward him. It’s what you do when you want to help, but you’re too far away to actually do anything. I personally find myself doing it from across the room any time my tiny nephew wobbles down the stairs without any regard for his own life. Lastly, if you slow the video to just the right speed, there’s a moment where it looks like LeMahieu is afraid that Smith is going to land directly on top of him, and he raises his hands as if to catch the plummeting third baseman. With nothing more than a first baseman’s mitt and one free hand, LeMahieu tells a compelling tale.

But travel just a few yards farther away and the play carried much less immediacy. Over at second base, Gleyber Torres crept toward first base, but he didn’t seem particularly concerned. Maybe it didn’t look quite as scary from his angle, or maybe he just had more pressing matters to attend to:

You know what? That’s a fun shot, what with Kahnle all blurred from the do or die dive and LeMahieu oozing concern, but let’s actually zoom in a little closer so we get a better look at Torres:

Yeah, that’s much better. Torres was definitely paying attention to the play, but he wasn’t so locked in that he couldn’t do a little multitasking. What makes this shot even better is that at the moment it appeared on the Rangers broadcast, color commentator Dave Valle was in the middle of a sentence that went, “…does a pretty nice job of grabbing this barehanded.” No, I’m not making that up. I’ve zoomed in on Torres, but otherwise the clip below is completely unedited:

Indeed he does, Dave. Indeed he does. Torres is paying attention to the play, but he’s also far enough from the action that he doesn’t look particularly concerned and he isn’t willing to forego his own comfort. Let’s close out by checking in on the people farthest from the action. Here’s how the New York outfielders reacted as Kahnle was risking his life:

Sorry, did I say “reacted?” I meant to say “stood there like statues.” Not one of them moved a muscle. Based on their complete disinterest, I can only assume that if you’ve spent as much of your life in the outfield as Alex Verdugo, Aaron Judge, and Juan Soto have, when you see a weakly hit ball to the infield, you instantly recognize it as a chance to take a 15-second standing nap and power down completely. This was a thrilling play, but all three of them look like they’ve been waiting in line at the post office for so long that when they finally get called up to the window, they’re not even going to remember why they were there in the first place.

Keep in mind that LeMahieu dropped this ball. Soto probably should have been backing up first base. Not only that, but this was an extremely dangerous play. Even if you assume that they don’t care at all about Tommy Kahnle as a human being, the guy has a 2.00 ERA over 42 appearances this season. He’s absolutely crucial to the team’s World Series hopes, and Smith came about eight inches from kicking his head clear off his body. Maybe it’s just because of how quickly the play developed, but not one of the Yankee outfielders was moved enough to so much as lean forward slightly.

Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but distance really does make everything seem smaller. If you’re LeMahieu, you’re terrified that Josh Smith and his gargantuan quads are about to grind your pitcher into a pulp right in front of your eyes. If you’re Aaron Judge all the way out in center field, that’s just a tiny problem for all those tiny people in the distance.

You might be a bit surprised to learn just how rare 3-0 counts are. As of Tuesday morning, there had been 155,045 plate appearances in the 2024 season, and just 5,852 of them, or 3.8%, had gone 3-0. That means that each team should expect to see a 3-0 count just 1.4 times per game. That’s a whole lot fewer than I expected. Because of that scarcity, if somebody comes to you with statistics about a batter’s splits in 3-0 counts, you can probably discount them as a small sample size aberration. That’s all the more true when you consider that, ignoring intentional walks, 3-0 counts turn into walks roughly 60% of the time (which in turns means that they account for roughly 29% of all walks). Once the batter gets ahead 3-0, there are very few actual at-bats taking place. So you don’t have to take this seriously if you don’t want to, but once he reaches a 3-0 count, Aaron Judge is putting together the greatest season in recorded history. I know that’s not exactly a shocking lede – Aaron Judge is good at something; film at eleven – but it’s fun, so hear me out.

In this case, recorded history starts in 1988. That’s the earliest year that Stathead lets you pull count-based splits. Those splits are slightly muddied by the fact that as far as Stathead is concerned, 3-0 counts include intentional walks. (That’s understandable, since until very recently, intentional walks still required pitchers to throw four actual balls. Still, it definitely skews the numbers; it doesn’t make a ton of sense to include PAs where the batter never saw a competitive pitch in count splits.) This season, Judge has been walked intentionally 18 times, but four of those passes only happened once the pitcher had fallen behind 3-0, so we’ll leave them and strip out the other 14.

That leaves Judge with 43 PAs that went to a 3-0 count, second in baseball behind Juan Soto, who has 54 (which also gives the Yankees far more 3-0 counts than any other team in baseball). In those PAs, Judge has walked 35 times, for a walk rate of 81.4%. That’s how terrifying Aaron Judge is: Even though he ranks second in this split by PAs, pitchers are so disinclined to throw him a strike that he’s tied for 75th in ABs. Read the rest of this entry »

Ever since Major League Baseball released the first drip of its bat tracking data this spring, I’ve been keeping an eye on a particular leaderboard. I don’t know if anybody else cares much about it, but I’ve been fascinated by the fast swing leaderboard. I haven’t been tracking it religiously; I’ve just been checking in every couple of weeks. Also, I haven’t been looking at it the way you’re supposed to. I’m only interested the bottom of the list. I suppose that makes it not so much a leaderboard as a trailerboard, but I don’t care. I’m interested in it because there’s an honest-to-goodness horse race going on there.

A fast swing is one where the barrel of the bat is traveling at least 75 mph when it strikes or comes closest to the ball. That number was chosen, per Mike Petriello, “because that’s the line where, on a per-swing basis, a swing goes from negative run value for a hitter to average, on its way to positive.” All things being equal, it’s better to swing hard. On an individual player basis, here’s the correlation between fast-swing rate and wRC+. Roughly speaking, five percentage points of fast-swing rate is worth three extra points of wRC+:

Here’s something that may surprise you: Fast-swing rate (R = .48) has a stronger correlation to wRC+ than average bat speed does (R = .41). I assume that this is the case for the same reason that 90th-percentile exit velocity is a more useful stat than average exit velocity. You’re ignoring a big chunk of less useful information and focusing on the swings that can result in real damage. Read the rest of this entry »