The MVP Machine

by Ben Lindbergh

  On April 10, Travis wrote an article for FanGraphs entitled “The Astros Might Have Another Ace,” which chronicled Cole’s breakout in Houston. Cole’s underlying traits showed something more curious than the usual Astros intervention. While his velocity held steady from 2017 to 2018, Cole’s spin rate jumped.

  From 2015 to 2017, Cole’s four-seam spin rate averaged 2,163 rpm with a 96.1 mph velocity. Through April 14, 2018—a period encompassing three dominant starts in which Cole allowed three runs in twenty-one innings, striking out thirty-six batters and walking only four—his four-seam spin rate averaged 2,322 rpm and 95.9 mph. His fastball’s whiff/swing rate of 41.3 percent led the majors, nearly double his 2017 rate (21.6 percent). (On the season, Cole’s four-seamer averaged 2,379 rpm and 96.5 mph.) That increase in spin rate produced an extra inch of vertical movement.

  According to those most familiar with the nature of spin—Driveline Baseball researchers, Bauer, and perhaps University of Illinois physics professor Alan Nathan, an MLB consultant—such a sizeable increase is unlikely to occur naturally with such consistent velocity. “It’s probably pretty hard to change that [fastball spin] ratio for an individual,” Nathan told FiveThirtyEight. “A fastball is pure power. There is no finesse.” While spin increases with velocity, Driveline discovered that pitchers have natural rpm/mph fingerprints, which they dubbed Bauer Units in order to normalize and compare pitches and performance. Only Diamondbacks and Cubs reliever Jorge De la Rosa had a greater year-to-year rpm/mph improvement on his fastball (+2.31 rpm/mph) than Cole (+2.01) in 2018.

  The only method that Bauer and Kyle Boddy identified of increasing rpm/mph rates on a fastball was applying a sticky substance to a pitcher’s hand or ball to improve the pitcher’s grip, thereby increasing spin. Boddy responded to a tweet Travis sent to publicize the story on Cole by accusing Cole of applying such a substance. “Fuck it, I’ll say it,” Boddy tweeted on April 11. “It’s pine tar and/or Firm Grip. Use them if you want a higher spin fastball or slider.”

  Bauer, in turn, tweeted that “pine tar is more of a competitive advantage in a given game than steroids.” It sounded hyperbolic, but he had data to support his claim, showing the league-wide difference in results on four-seamers bucketed by spin. During the 2018 season, batters hit .270 with a 7.5 percent whiff-per-pitch rate against fastballs with spin rates ranging from 2,000 to 2,299 rpm, .245 against fastballs between 2,300 and 2,599 rpm (9.8 whiff percent), and .226 against fastballs with a spin rate of 2,600 rpm or greater (11.9 whiff percent).

  MLB Rule 6.02(c) states that applying a “foreign substance of any kind to the ball” is prohibited. In theory, pitchers who violate it receive an automatic ten-game suspension. But the rule is rarely invoked unless the offense is egregious, as in cases like that of former Yankees pitcher Michael Pineda, who was ejected and ultimately suspended for having pine tar visible on his neck in a 2014 start. Managers rarely ask the umpire to check an opposing pitcher, partly because they know they likely have offenders on their own roster. It’s mutually assured sticky destruction. (Red Sox manager Alex Cora did ask umpires to check the glove of Astros catcher Martin Maldonado during the 2018 ALCS, and Maldonado’s glove was cleared.) Sticky-stuff usage is believed to be widespread in the majors.

  In the past, pitchers have justified their use of sticky stuff on safety-related grounds, arguing that it gives them better control, thereby preventing hit by pitches. But the advent of spin-tracking technology revealed its considerable impact on movement and performance. Spin started to become king, more prized than even velocity.

  From 2015 to 2018, the Astros ranked third in rpm/mph gains as a staff (+0.90), trailing only two fellow analytical powerhouses, the Yankees (+1.47) and Dodgers (+1.12). It was clear that some teams were hoarding and/or teaching spin; the Astros targeted pitchers with extreme spin rates, like spin-rate outliers Justin Verlander and Ryan Pressly. Pressly’s spin rate didn’t increase in Houston, although that doesn’t mean he wasn’t benefiting from a sticky substance. In August 2018, television cameras caught him spraying a substance on his left forearm in the visiting bullpen in Oakland. He then touched the forearm between nearly every pitch after he entered the game. It’s common to see pitchers touching their caps, gloves, forearms, and pants while they’re on the mound, but this was a more brazen display.

  On May 1, a Twitter user asked Boddy about the Houston spin-rate increases of Cole, Verlander, and Charlie Morton. Boddy tweeted that the findings were “a weird coincidence,” accompanied by a “thinking face” emoji that suggested he thought it was anything but. Bauer replied with many emoji of his own and then added, “If only there was just a really quick way to increase spin rate. Like what if you could trade for a player knowing you could bump his spin rate a couple hundred rpm overnight.… Imagine the steals you could get on the trade market!”

  Boddy and Bauer’s May 1 tweets lit the fuse on SpinGate, perhaps the nerdiest controversy in baseball history—not least for being conducted largely on Twitter. The festivities started when Astros third baseman Alex Bregman, who trains with Bauer in Texas for part of the off-season, fired back at Bauer with a taunting tweet that said, “Relax, Tyler [sic]… those World Series balls spin a little different.”

  Then, Astros pitcher Lance McCullers Jr. suggested that Bauer was envious of Cole’s success. “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you my man,” he wrote. “You have great stuff and have worked hard for it, like the rest of us, no need for this.”

  Bauer responded that his issue wasn’t with any Astros pitcher, but with “the hypocrisy of MLB for selectively enforcing rules when it suits them.” Bauer said he would be perfectly fine with everyone being allowed to use sticky stuff if baseball would just legalize the practice and place, say, a can of Cramer Firm Grip on the back of the mound next to the rosin bag. He acknowledges that the rule is difficult, if not impossible, to enforce.

  During the Indians-Astros May series, Cole told Travis that his four-seamer improvement was tied to working with the Astros’ analytical staff on how to optimize the pitch’s effectiveness, as well as help from Verlander.

  “I remember a day playing catch with Justin,” he said. “And we were talking about the four-seam, ’cause [the Astros] showed me videos of ones that they liked, and I told him that. He obviously is the four-seam master… so he knows what he’s looking for.… He’s like, ‘I’m gonna look out for true rotation and hop.… And I threw him like three or four, and he nods his head yes. I call him over and I’m like, ‘Dude, I’m yanking those.’ And he’s like, ‘No, you’re not.’… I’m like, ‘OK, so that’s what I need to [get] chase?’ And he’s like, ‘Yeah. That’s what you need to [get] chase.’”

  That’s Cole’s story. As for suspicions that only a sticky substance can create spin-rate gains?

  “Other people’s opinions aren’t my business,” Cole said.

  And the issues between him and Bauer?

  “I’m not going to talk about personal issues,” he said.

  In a meeting with reporters, Bauer acknowledged that he and Cole “had a rocky relationship in college, because he told me that I had no future in baseball and he insulted my work ethic as a freshman. I don’t take kindly to those couple things, so we had our issues.” But he added that those feelings “have long since faded.”

  In the middle of May, Bauer said Cole had brushed off his theories when they were college teammates.

  “I’m not shy about telling people that they are wrong,” Bauer said. “Or that they are behind. I get a lot of arrows. I could very easily not advertise that I go to Driveline. I could not advertise that I do anything differently. Not talk about it with the club. Just talk about it privately. Play the game. No one would have any clue that I’m any different than anyone else. But that’s not who I am. That’s not true to myself.”

  Before the Astros traveled to Cleveland, Terry Francona apologized to A.J. Hinch for the SpinGate controversy. Hinch also addressed the controversy with reporters leading into the Ma
y matchup.

  “I roll my eyes at it,” Hinch said. “I do think people need to sweep their own front porch and deal with their own situations more than throw allegations around that are unfounded. I don’t know if it’s a personal vendetta or if he’s got a problem with things.… It’s time to get to baseball.”

  But Bauer may have conducted an experiment that confirmed the claims he made about the power of sticky stuff.

  In the first inning of his April 30 start against the Rangers, Bauer threw nine fastballs. They were unlike any fastballs he’d thrown before or would throw after in 2018.

  The spin rate of those first-inning fastballs against Texas averaged 2,597 rpm (at 93.5 mph). During the rest of that start, the figure fell to a much more typical 2,302 rpm (93.2 mph). For one inning, Bauer had increased his fastball spin rate nearly 300 rpm. What happened?

  “No comment,” Bauer told reporters the next day, when people pointed out the rpm spike and asked if he’d applied a substance to the ball.

  Bauer went on to make additional comments to a swarm of reporters that gathered around him as the SpinGate controversy blossomed.

  “There is a problem in baseball right now that has to do with sticky substances and spin rates,” Bauer said. “We know how it affects spin rate and we know how spin rate affects outcomes and pitches and movement that have a big difference in a game, a season, and each individual player’s career.… The people who choose not to do it are at a competitive disadvantage.”

  So why doesn’t Bauer cheat if so many others are?

  “At the end of the day, I want to know that everything I achieve is 100 percent me,” Bauer told us.

  Major League Baseball declined to comment on whether it was investigating the issue. But in contrast to the steroid era, MLB now has a tool in Statcast that can identify rule breakers or at least raise red flags. Bauer blew the whistle on a subject that everyone seemingly wanted to keep quiet. And in the process, he proved again that by understanding the factors that result in success, players can get more out of their ability, whether by legal or illegal means.

  In June 2018 in Seattle, we enlisted the aid of Matt Daniels, Driveline’s then pitching coordinator—who was hired by the Giants to fill the newly created position of coordinator of pitching analysis in January 2019—to test sticky substances to see firsthand whether they make a measurable, immediate impact on spin. For the sticky-substance experiment, Daniels turned on an iPad and connected to the Rapsodo. Before applying any substance, Daniels delivered a dozen pitches from the mound in the R&D building at Driveline. This was his control sample. He threw at perhaps 80 percent effort, registering velocities in the low 70s mph range. After several throws, he examined the velocity and spin data. His natural rpm range is 1,700–1,750, and his natural rpm/mph range is between 24.0 and 24.4. The MLB average in 2018 was 24.2.

  After establishing those baselines, Daniels tested two products. First, he sprayed his right hand with Firm Grip. He laughed, amused at its sheer stickiness. Then he fired off several more 80 percent throws. The Rapsodo data said his spin rate had spiked. His first three throws with the Firm Grip resulted in Bauer Units of 26.3, 25.7, and 26.7. His raw spin rate jumped up to the 1,850–1,900 rpm range, and the vertical movement of his pitches increased due to the greater Magnus effect generated by the ball’s faster revolution.

  Daniels tried to remove most of the Firm Grip. Then he dipped his right index and middle fingers into a jar of Pelican Grip Dip, some of the stickiest goo ever concocted. It had been a while since he’d tested the product. “Holy shit!” he said. “This is so bad.”

  With the Pelican applied, we could actually hear the ball come off Daniels’ hand with a sound akin to a Band-Aid being ripped off skin. Daniels spiked some of his next pitches into the ground as the sticky substance dramatically changed the angle at which his fingers released the ball. With help from Pelican, Daniels’ rpm/mph readings spiked to 27.5 and 27.9.

  “Dude, I literally have baseball on my fingers!” he said. The small crowd gathered around his outstretched hand for further inspection. Sure enough, traces of white residue—baseball leather—had adhered to his fingers. He’d been pine-tarred and leathered.

  The following November, Bauer further experimented with sticky stuff at Driveline. On one series of throws, he threw five pitches for the Rapsodo tracking optics at about 80 percent effort, applying Pelican before each one. The results:

  82.6 mph/2,500 rpm (30.2)

  82.8 mph/2,428 rpm (29.3)

  81.3 mph/2,421 rpm (29.7)

  80.5 mph/2,518 rpm (31.2)

  80.5 mph/2,561 rpm (31.8)

  Those were extreme spin rates.

  Bauer then applied Pelican once before a set of pitches, as if applying it between innings in the dugout (or in the tunnel) during a real game. He did not apply Pelican again.

  78.4 mph/2,486 rpm (31.7)

  78.8 mph/2,412 rpm (30.6)

  80.3 mph/2,401 rpm (29.9)

  81.5 mph/2,444 rpm (29.9)

  80.9 mph/2,312 rpm (28.5)

  80.8 mph/2,409 rpm (29.8)

  81.8 mph/2,334 rpm (28.5)

  81.6 mph/2,278 rpm (27.9)

  81.1 mph/2,228 rpm (27.4)

  82.8 mph/2,223 rpm (26.8)

  His rpm/mph units declined as the substance gradually wore off his hands. This was another way that MLB could potentially identify substance users. Some pitchers are thought to apply substances between innings, which wear off as they perform. A dramatic decline in rpm/mph over the course of an inning would be another red flag, indicating an artificial peak followed by a return to the natural rpm/mph footprint. Although pitchers could claim, if anyone asked, that Statcast was mislabeling pitches or that they had found a natural way to improve their spin rates, explaining away mid-inning Bauer Unit declines is more difficult.

  After the test, Bauer shared a picture of his index and middle fingers. Like Daniels’, they were covered in white baseball leather.

  In the absence of an MLB investigation, Hardball Times writer Bill Petti analyzed publicly available Statcast spin-rate data from 2018. According to his previously unpublished research, the team with the biggest average intra-inning drop-off in four-seam fastball Bauer Units between the first and last four-seamer of an inning was—plot twist—the Indians, at 2.6 standard deviations above the mean. The Astros ranked 10th, although admittedly Petti’s method wouldn’t detect more regular application between pitches, and it’s impossible to isolate the impact of sweat on mph/rpm rates within an inning. (In 2017, the Indians and Astros ranked 2nd and 18th, respectively.) According to Petti’s numbers, Bauer ranked 169th out of 178 pitchers with at least 50 five-fastball innings in 2018, more evidence that he was pitching a clean (nonsticky) game. Cole ranked 27th, up significantly from previous seasons.

  There was nothing abnormal about Bauer’s spin rate on May 27. He struck out thirteen Astros in 7 1/3 innings. The Indians won in extra innings. Through the season’s first two months, Bauer had established himself as one of the best pitchers in baseball—and he was doing it without bending the rules.

  11

  AMATEUR BALL

  I ain’t afraid to tell the world that it don’t take school stuff to help a fella play ball.

  —SHOELESS JOE JACKSON

  In the spring of 1948, each morning at Dodgertown brought the same curious sight. Long before most of the Dodgers’ prospects reported to practice, the sixty-six-year-old Branch Rickey sat on a stool next to home plate on one of the facility’s fields, wearing his habitual bowtie and chewing an unlighted cigar. With him was hitting coach George Sisler, a Hall of Famer who had broken into both college ball and the big leagues on teams managed by Rickey. On the mound was instructor and scout John Carey, a retired minor-league pitcher, and behind the plate was a player recruited to catch Carey’s pitches. At the plate was the reason for the ritual, a twenty-one-year-old, left-handed-hitting center fielder who would, more than thirty years later, join Rickey and Sisler in Cooperstown: Duke Snider.


  Snider, like Jackie Robinson, had debuted in the big leagues the previous year. But unlike Robinson, who had won the Rookie of the Year award, Snider had struggled in his forty games with Brooklyn. Of the 245 players that year who made at least eighty trips to the plate, only 6 recorded a worse strikeout-to-walk ratio than Snider’s eight-to-one. Five were pitchers, and the other never played in the majors again. “Many players who come up to the big leagues but don’t stay are failures because they never learn the strike zone,” Snider wrote in his 1988 memoir, The Duke of Flatbush. In 1947, it looked like he might be one.

  As a raw rookie, Snider found curveballs and high fastballs too enticing to let pass. So Rickey went to work, devoting an hour a day to Snider’s instruction. For the first fifteen minutes of each hour, Snider recalled, Rickey had him stand at the plate and call each pitch—where it was and whether it was a strike or a ball—without taking the bat off his shoulder. For the next fifteen minutes, Snider would swing at every pitch he thought was a strike and, whether he swung or not, tell Rickey where it was, after which Rickey would ask the other three to say where they thought it was. In the third fifteen minutes, Snider hit off a tee with the ball placed in the strike zone. And for the final fifteen minutes, he swung at pitches again, but Carey threw only curveballs and changeups, and (like Hornsby before him) Snider was forbidden to pull the ball to the right side of second base.