Dave Roberts Shouldn’t Have Taken Brandon Morrow’s Phone Call

A SOUTHWEST FLIGHT HIGH ABOVE THE MIDDLE WEST — While waiting to board my return flight to Cleveland from Houston on Monday morning, I scrolled through the news on my phone, reading about the madness I’d witnessed at Minute Maid Park the night before. In the process, I came across something of interest, a comment made by Brandon Morrow following Game 5.

The Dodger reliever was candid and contrite in the wake of his club’s Game 5 loss. In the clubhouse afterwards, speaking to Yahoo! and other reporters, Morrow shouldered the blame, as some standup athletes will do. While elaborating on the reasons for his guilt, he produced a comment worthy of greater examination.

“We had a plan,” Morrow said. “And we’re very plan-oriented and try to stick to that. I made them deviate away.”

See, Morrow wasn’t supposed to be available Sunday night. Dodgers manager David Roberts had said before the game that he wouldn’t be available, having pitched in every game of the series following his emergence as one of Roberts’ most trusted relievers.

But as Morrow watched Clayton Kershaw stumble, as he watched a four-run lead evaporate, as he watched the first member of the Dodgers relief corps, Kenta Maeda, depart the right-center field bullpen and fail against one of the game’s all-time great offenses — while throwing a ball that might be juiced and slippery — Morrow picked up the bullpen phone and placed a call.

“He called down and said that he felt good,” Roberts told reporters after the game. “He was throwing today, he felt good. And he called in the middle of the game, and he said, ‘Hey, if we take the lead, I want the ball, my body feels good.’ So in the seventh inning, you can’t turn him down.”

Well, you could.

Roberts, that is, could. He holds that authority.

Roberts is a smart man and has done an excellent job with the Dodgers this season. Dave Cameron wrote in defense of Roberts — and rightfully so, I believe — when Roberts permitted an otherwise effective Rich Hill to go only twice through the order in Game 2. Roberts demonstrated a willingness to make an unconventional, perhaps unpopular, decision then.

Managerial decisions in this type of charged environment can become complicated, and Minute Maid Park was electric: rock-concert loud in one of the wildest World Series games of all time. There’s a reason the Astros wanted the roof closed. When Jose Altuve launched his three-run homer, the ballpark become so unhinged, so loud, I looked over at SBNation’s Grant Brisbee, who was a couple seats down from me in the auxiliary press row (yes, FanGraphs is in the auxiliary press class), and we were both laughing maniacally at the absurdity and insanity of it all. I didn’t have a rooting interest, necessarily — unless you consider chaos to be a rooting interest — but I enjoyed it nevertheless. I have no doubt that it’s difficult for managers to avoid the influence of their emotions under such circumstances. For writers, it was more difficult to write about Game 5 than a wild game in, say, May.

Still, I wrote about how I thought A.J. Hinch went away from the plan in Game 4. And we know for certain Roberts went away from the plan a game later.

As I wrote in the referenced piece, it was way back in May, in the Progressive Field visiting dugout, when I asked Hinch about decision-making, about how he tried to avoid becoming a prisoner to the moment, how he protected himself from the fear of being second-guessed when making an unconventional choice in real time.

Hinch said he tries to make most decisions at “2 p.m.” — that is, in advance of a typical night game. He tries to think through all the potential matchups and scenarios then so that his judgment and decision-making is not clouded by the moment, by emotion. The Dodgers are similarly plan oriented.

I thought Hinch managed exceptionally well in Game 7 of the ALCS and in Game 3 of the World Series. But in letting Morton face the lineup for a third time in Game 4, even Hinch seemed to deviate from the plan.

And now we have Roberts and Morrow on record saying that they did, indeed, depart from their own blueprint. Perhaps there ought to be something like a sealed order that a manager writes to himself before the game, places in a capsule, and then opens after his starter has gone through the lineup twice. Then he could follow the plan from there as closely as reality will allow.

Roberts didn’t abide by his own orders, though. The result? A four-run outing from Morrow, including two home run — even after Morrow hadn’t allowed a single homer all season. Morrow didn’t retire a single batter on Sunday. He pitched like he was tired. His recorded an average fastball velocity of 95.1 mph after posting a 98.1 mark in Game 1 and 96.4 in Game 3.

Sure, Morrow didn’t know he was throwing an exploding baseball, but it was a mistake to throw Springer a pitch center-in. Morrow didn’t want to know where the ball landed, instead looking dejectedly toward the first base. Perhaps, in that moment, we see Morrow realizing his error. Second thoughts are ever wiser.

“It’s a credit to him to be used like he has been and want the baseball,” Roberts said.

Remember, kids, discretion is the better part of valor. Bravery can be misguided.

From the Yahoo! piece by Mike Oz cited above:

In five minutes of talking with reporters, [Morrow] called himself “selfish” no fewer than three times.

“Probably a selfish move on my part … ” he said at one point

“It was a little bit selfish … ” he said at another.

Again, pitchers often look great until they do not. This was true of Morton in Game 4 up until the third time through, true of Morrow through the series until Sunday. Preventative measures can be hard to sell but they matter.

Morrow took the blame but this decision ultimately is that of the manager. It’s the manager’s call. The manager has to be strong enough to resist even the most impassioned pleas from a player. I’m sure that’s not easy. Protections ought to be in place, like a scripted series of plays in football. Roberts shouldn’t have listened to Morrow. Maybe Roberts shouldn’t have even taken the phone call. Roberts should have stuck to his plan. And, yes, maybe Plan A wouldn’t have worked either, but at least Plan A was created in a more sober state.

Minute Maid Park was not sober.

The power of a moment, the power of persuasion, won the day. The Astros won the night.