Small Ball

I watched some of 2 different baseball games (a Yankees/Marlins game and a Red Sox/Orioles game). One was on Prime and one was the free game on MLB network. What follows are thoughts inspired by watching the games:

I experienced a weird emotion. I watched a player who used to be on "my" team and is now playing for another. Which is the proper feeling?

A. Pride at the player's success because I knew him way back when.

A sub 1. Secret happiness when the player fails

B. A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think about another great player who got away and I consider what might have been.

C. Righteous anger aimed at the player because no matter the truth of the situation, in my mind, this guy's sub par performance sank my team, or his super performance before a trade deadline showed a lack of loyalty, or his attitude wasn't appreciative enough and we wasted good money on him and I hopt god strikes him down with a lightning bolt full of chlamydia. Amen.

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So I watched the game and the camera, before every pitch, switches to an angle from center field, aiming at the batter from behind the pitcher. Pretty standard. And also to be expected is the technologically superimposed (or otherwise inserted) rectangular box representing the strike zone so we can all feel superior when we second guess the umpire because a computer informs us that the human is human. Now, as far as i recall, the strike zone is variable -- as it relies on the physical dimensions of the batter, it should appear distinct and in proportion with each sized person who comes to the plate. Additionally, even within an at bat, as a player stand more upright or bends, the zone should change to accomodate that new physical reality. Bottom line is, the zone representation should not be static on the screen, but dynamic. But what did I see?As the batter moved around, up and does and such, the strike zone remained exactly the same. This seems wrong to me.

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I'd like to tell you a little story about a baseball player from a bunch of years ago. He was a cocky kid for sure but with the skills to back up the swagger. He wore his hate off to the side, thumbing his nose at convention as he blazed a trail through high school and college. The next step was the MLB draft and with the right agent and the words of praise from all his coaches, he was snapped up early and sent through the minor league system. So far, his life was batting a thousand.

And he continued his rise, stopping for only a cup of coffee in single-A and not much more than a pastry in AA. Upward through triple AAA and then the call to the Show. The Bigs. How big? SHOW BIG!

July 2nd was a glorious and clear day. His first start on an 83 degree sun-fest. He was steady as a rock as he went through his pre-game ritual, with the same confidence as ever. No false bluster, but the well earned bluster from a lifetime of success. He walked to the mound, hat askew and chains swinging, his own man.

Quickly, he loaded the bases. He was wild and overcompensated by forcing very hittable strikes. So now one out and the bases jammed. Finally, the manager walked slowly to the mound. The pitcher figured that he had burned this bridge and he was on his way out so he prepared to argue his case even though he knew that ultimately he would surrender the ball. The manager just stood there staring. The pitcher sighed and held the ball out, seeing that no words were going to change anything.

"Whatchoo doing?" the manager asked quietly.

"I thought that after that last walk --"

The manager cut him off. "Nope. This is the majors. Clean up your own goddam mess. You're only screwing up your own rookie stats at this point."

Now the pitcher was confused. "So why'd you come out, skip?"

"Well, it looks like we're going to be here for a while so I wanted to recommend that you fix your hat before you end up with a stupid looking tan line." And he turned around and walked away. Slowly.

The pitcher was left hand outstretched, mouth open enough to catch well hit line drives with mustard on them. He took a beat, fixed his hat and proceeded to strike out the next 3 batters and have an historic year.

And that player was me.

I'd like to tell you that story but I won't, because it isn't true. I wasn't that player and none of that ever happened because I just made it up. Life doesn't work like that. Grow up.

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I just misheard the commentator -- I thought he described the call strike three as "he struck out yelling."

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Rules question:

In the case of a dropped 3rd strike, is the batter still safe until the catcher does something actively to make him out (so the play is live) or is he assumed to be out if he doesn't run, or returns to the dugout, making the play dead from that moment?

Here's the case -- bases loaded and a dropped third strike. If the batter is live until actively put out even if he doesn't run then the catcher simply has to pick up the ball and touch home because the batter's live status means the player on 3rd must advance a base and is therefore a force out at home. In fact, a catcher can then choose to drop a third strike and force an out at home if the runner on third is particularly fast. If the catcher intentionally doesn't throw to first, he can then touch home and THEN throw to any base for a second force out on the same play. In fact, if he throws to second or third, and then the ball is relayed to first, he can effect three force outs on one play after an unhit ball.

Or not -- experts please let me know.