Cleveland “No-Hit” Again, Continues Circling Drain

We have speed limits for a reason. Excessive speed is a factor in more than a quarter of automobile fatalities and is particularly deadly when combined with other dangerous behaviors behind the wheel. And yet, the idea that we can drive 5-10 mph over the limit without repercussion is so entrenched in our collective psyche — and so effectively decriminalized in most American cities — that most people hardly think twice about driving 35 in a 30. Behind this normalization lies an unexamined, exceptionalist belief: “This speed limit may be a good idea, but I have the ability to exceed it safely.”

There are a number of behaviors that fit into this category of exceptionalism: I’m the one who can get away with not flossing, I can spend hours on social media without consequence, I can stay cool into my 40s. Narcissism lies at the end of this road, but most of us don’t make it nearly that far. In doses, it’s entirely normal to think that general principles don’t apply to you personally. The contradiction at play is just part of the human experience, and it’s not always unhealthy: from this wellspring comes hope and ambition, among other traits and emotions.

As far as baseball is concerned, a no-hitter is perhaps the most wholesome embodiment of this form of individual exceptionalism. In the modern game, chasing a no-no is a retrograde “screw you,” not only to the opponent, but to the conventions of our time. “Take your third time through the order penalty and shove it,” and all that. Understandably, there was a bit of no-hitter fatigue swirling through the audience earlier this season. For me though, even with the increased frequency, the no-hitter remains a rebellion, and it’s as badass as ever.

Except when it’s not. This is hardly an original observation, but with rare exception, a combined no-no lacks much of the drama, most of the excitement, and every bit of the spice that a solo effort inspires. The relationship between the crowd and the tiring pitcher they’re rooting on is severed too early; like a steroid, the injection of fresh relievers reduces the degree of difficulty and spoils the accomplishment. One pitcher throwing nine hitless innings is a masterpiece; nine pitchers throwing a hitless inning is just another Wednesday.

Inevitably, team no-hitters will happen, and five Tampa Bay Rays managed to turn the trick yesterday, blanking Cleveland 4-0 in the second game of a double header. It’s the second combined no-hitter of the last fortnight, after Chicago’s back on June 24. That this one occurred in a seven-inning game with no one pitcher carrying even three innings of the load only dampens the significance of the occasion. I hate being the old man yelling at clouds, but even the teams themselves seem to feel this way. Craig Kimbrel didn’t know he’d put the final touches on the Cubs combined no-hitter two weeks ago, and after Vidal Brujan’s running catch sealed yesterday’s, the chuckles and grins in Tampa’s post-game handshake line seemed like the reward for an amusing novelty, not a historical feat.

In the other locker room, this was just the latest indignity in a growing list of them. The club will escape notoriety in the record books because yesterday’s contest was only seven innings (per the Elias Sports Bureau, MLB’s official statistician, the game’s seven inning nature pushes it into the realm of “notable achievement” rather than no-no, though Madison Bumgarner would surely disagree), but this was nonetheless Cleveland’s third hitless game in 84 tries. The hopefully-soon-to-be-Spiders dropped both ends of yesterday’s twin bill, dropping them to .500 on the season. Just two games out of first place on the morning of June 25, Cleveland has dropped 11 of 12 since, including their last nine, and has fallen entirely out of the race. And while toothless offense has been a problem — they’ve only scored 24 runs in the nine-game slide, a third of which came in Monday’s walk-off loss — it’s actually the pitchers who have torpedoed Cleveland’s postseason chances.

It’s mostly the rotation’s fault. With Shane Bieber, Aaron Civale, and Zach Plesac on the shelf and Triston McKenzie struggling to throw strikes, Cleveland has been forced to rely almost exclusively on reinforcements for weeks now. None of the aforementioned four have started a game since Civale went down with a finger injury on June 21, and not coincidentally, Cleveland has only won twice since.

Theoretically, the club was fairly well-positioned for this problem, as no team has spun more straw into gold on the mound than Cleveland over the last decade. But after underwhelming (and hitter-centric) returns for Francisco Lindor, Carlos Carrasco, Trevor Bauer, Corey Kluber, and Mike Clevinger, Cleveland’s depth was stretched to a breaking point and the replacements haven’t risen to the occasion:

Together, Hentges, Morgan, Allen, and Mejia have been unplayable this season, and Quantrill has struggled since his promotion to the rotation. In these past 12 games, this crew has notched a 10.53 ERA and a FIP over 7.00 despite working fewer than four innings per outing. All of that sounds bad enough, but when you look at these outings consecutively, you can see just how deep of a hole the rotation is digging this team every night:

This is a problem for a team that wasn’t exactly built to win slugfests. Even if Civale and Bieber return swiftly, the damage of the last two weeks won’t easily be undone, particularly since there would still be at least two holes at the back of the rotation.

The shame here is that a better staffed or less banged-up team could have made a credible charge for the division. Eight games behind the White Sox and sinking fast, Cleveland will not make the playoffs in 2021 (our Playoff Odds give them a 5.5% chance). Were they just a little closer and a little healthier, Chicago’s walking wounded would look vulnerable. As is, Detroit of all teams is the only other club within 15 games of first place; the pennant race in baseball’s worst division promises all the excitement of a jayvee window washing contest, whether the next no-hitter goes the full nine or not.