Let’s run around the Internet today.
First and foremost: The Congressional hearings. Originally I was going to write about this, but it’s covered well at other places, so I’m not going to. Instead: Baseball Musings is giving updates as we go, the AP is releasing quotes and The Catbird in the Nosebleed Seats has quite a number of articles on the hearings, one of which is on Mark McGwire.
There’s been a lot of talk, and I have been watching the hearing, which is fascinating. Some observations is that Jose Canseco is now saying steroids are bad. While I’m still defending the book, I’ve decided I should not have defended it as vicariously. There’s a little too much swirling around Canseco to be valid. Mark McGwire is playing dodgeball here, and he just doesn’t realize that by not coming out and saying no, he’s basically admitting he used steroids. And he is by refusing to say no because then he’d commit perjury.
Okay, moving on.
A comment by Arizona Phil on The Cub Reporter was so fascinating I wanted to bring it to you right here.
The idea of “pitch counts” was invented after Kansas City Royals ace Steve Busby suffered a torn rotator cuff about 30 years ago and had a new type of surgery that allowed him to pitch again. (A torn rotator cuff was normally a career-ending injury). Busby’s doctor prescribed pitch counts merely as a way to monitor his recovery & rehab, since it was a new type of surgery and there was no way of knowing how it would turn out. (Maybe his arm would fall off?).
Additionally,
Four-man rotations were standard through the 1960’s into the 1970’s. Starting pitchers had three days off between starts, and threw in the bullpen on their middle day off between starts. Most teams had nine or ten man pitching staffs, including four “rotation” starters, one “spot” starter (for the relatively frequent Sunday and holiday double-header, or if a starter could not pitch due to injury, or if a starter got “knocked-out” early in the game), a “fireman” in the bullpen (to “save” a victory), a second back-up somewhat less-talented “short reliever,” and a couple or three “middle relievers” to pitch a couple of innings each when the team was behind and after the starter had been removed from the game, usually by a pinch-hitter.
Starting pitchers were expected to pitch nine innings, and from the first day of Spring Training, they prepared for this. It was not unusual for a Ferguson Jenkins or a Bob Gibson to pitch nine innings in his last start of Spring Training.
Through the 1960’s, “relief pitchers” were usually older guys who no longer had the stamina to start, or younger guys still learning the art of pitching. If a team was lucky, they would find someone in this group who could slam the door and protect a lead. He was called a “Fireman,” and a firemen would be used whenever needed, which could be in the 7th, 8th, or 9th inning of a tie game or a game where the team was trying to protect a lead but where the starter had to be removed (by pinch-hitter to get the team back into the game, or if the starter was “out of gas”).
Once in the game, a fireman pitched as many innings as necessary to secure the victory, sometimes as many as three inings or even more if the game went into extra innings. There were no 8th inning “set-up men” or “lefty specialists.” Some teams had two firemen, the second used if the #1 guy was tired from pitching too much the previous day or days.
So a starting pitcher was expected to pitch as many innings as he he could, and was not removed unless the team was behind (the pitcher would usually be removed for a pinch-hitter) or if he just plain “ran out of gas” (evidenced by a loss of velocity or control or “bite” on the breaking ball).
Pitchers like Bob Gibson, Juan Marichal, Fergie Jenkins, Don Drysdale, Warren Spahn, et al knew how to “reach back” in the 8th & 9th innings and “close” the game. As the game came down to the wire, these pitchers were almost impossible to hit. They were like Eric Gagne in the 9th inning with a lead. That’s why when a manager needed three outs in the bottom of the 14th inning of a hard-fought game and his fireman wasn’t available, he might be inclined to bring-in a starter on his middle day between starts. That’s why starting pitchers on their middle day off between starts would usually hold off getting their “side” work (bullpen work) until as late in the game as possible, in case they might be needed to “close” the game.
Five man rotations started with the New York Mets circa 1970. The Mets had four young “drop & drive” (or “power”) starting pitchers in their rotation (Tom Seaver, Jerry Koosman, Gary Gentry, and Nolan Ryan), and it was considered the best young starting staff in baseball. Tom Seaver let it be known that he felt stronger and believed he and the others were more effective pitching on FOUR days rest instead of THREE days rest. Since Tom Terrific was one of the best pitchers in baseball, the Mets listened and went to a five man roation with four days off between starts so their four prized drop & drivers could get more rest between starts. Naturally, this gradually spread to all teams, because eveybody wanted a stud staff like the Mets, except nobody bothered to ask why it was done in the first place and why it was peculiar to the Mets.
The idea of the “closer” evolved ihn the 1980’s, when managers began to believe that maybe they could use their “firemen” almost every day as long as he didn’t pitch more than one inning. Whitey Herzog (Royals and Cardinals), Buck Rodgers (Brewers), and Tony LaRussa (White Sox and A’s) were big proponents of this philosophy, and as their disciples got managerial jobs, the idea spread (sort of like a messianic religion).
At about this same time, the Steve Busby inspired “pitch counts” for starters morphed into a quasi-scientific method to determine when a starting pitcher should be pre-emptively removed to prevent injury. Even though it had no basis in reality, the arbitrary pitch count of 100-120 somehow (like The Emperor’s New Clothes) became an accepted standard, and this number precluded most pitchers from pitching complete games.
Coupling the chain of pitch counts for starters (which typically limited their outing to six or seven innngs) with the “one-inning closer” made it necessary to create a bridge between the two. Ergo, we saw the invention of the 8th inning “set-up” man. And then additional pitchers were needed for games where the starter could not pitch even six innings, or games where the team was behind and therefore would not want to use its set-up man or closer. This led to the New Age “middle reliever” and lefty specialists and 12 and 13 man pitching staffs.
There is no evidence to support the idea that the “one inning closer” or pitch counts for starting pitchers prevent elbow and shoulder injuries. If anything, there are more arm injuries today than there were 40 or 50 years ago, and that’s with all the advances in sports medicine and prevention. The problem is, nobody has the guts to buck the system, and point out that the Emperor Has No Clothes.
Or it’s like ancient peoples who offered blood sacrifices to the gods to ensure that Winter would end and Spring would arrive. Sure enough, the sacrifice worked, and Spring arrived. Except what they didn’t realize was that Spring would have arrived even if they didn’t offer the sacrifice. Same with elbow and shoulder injuries. With or without pitch counts, they’re gonna happen, because so many pitchers want to be sexy drop & drive power pitchers, and this type of pitcher seems to be the one most likely to develop bad mechanics, which then lead to elbow and shoulder injuries.
The answer is not pitch counts, but rather coaches (like Mike Marshall) who teach proper mechanics that do not lead to elbow and shoulder injuries, and who encourage pitchers to develop cardio-vascular stamina (by long-distance running instead of sprints) and demand MORE throwing on all days off between starts instead of LESS throwing and rest.
Lastly, we have Mr. Snitch’s really good column entitled “The Giant Foam Finger Of Fate Go read it all, but some nice excerpts:
No, the first sting of the Sox’ big win was felt by sportswriters, particularly those in New York. This group had years of cliches at the ready to be mixed, matched, pureed and jello-molded into new-ish prose. The Sox’ loss was prepondered and prewritten, an old story that required only freshening before it was committed to print. The patterns of past Sox’ failures and Yanks’ triumphs merely awaited the insertions of the day’s heroes, villains, and tragic figures before their periodic recycling.
The Red Sox players finally reached the pinnacle of baseball-Zen enlightenment when they let go of their ‘cowboy up’ posturing (which failed in 2003) to embrace the higher wisdom of accepting their fates as ‘idiots’. A cowboy is a model of self-determination, a John Wayne who can hoist himself up by his red sox-straps and summon the slugger within when it really matters. An idiot merely surfs the curls of destiny. Either an idiot or a cowboy might come back from a 3 games to none deficit (the cowboy by summoning greatness, the idiot by not realizing that he was doomed), but only an idiot can get hit in the head with a routine fly ball and still get named series MVP. The idiot can survive anything, the cowboy can survive anything but ridicule.
And of course, Terry Francona announced the other day that Edgar Renteria would bat #2 and Mark Bellhorn #9. I don’t like that. Also, some REALLY good conversation over at my recent column on should the Red Sox rebuild? Join the discussion if you haven’t.
See you Saturday.
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