The problem seems so obvious in outline: something terrific, the apogee of batting performance, was once reasonably common and has now disappeared. Therefore, something profoundly negative has happened to hitting in baseball, I mean, how else could you possibly read the evidence? The best is gone, and therefore something has gotten worse. I devote this chapter to the paradoxical claim that extinction of 0.400 hitting really measures the general improvement of play in professional baseball. Such a claim cannot even be conceived while we remain stuck in our usual Platonic mode of viewing 0.400 hitting as a "thing" or "entity" in itself—for the extinction of good items must mean that something has turned sour. I must therefore convince you that this basic conceptualization is erroneous, and that you should not view 0.400 hitting as a thing at all, but rather as the right tail in a full house of variation.
7
Conventional Explanations
More ink has been spilled on the disappearance of 0.400 hitting than on any other statistical trend in baseball's history. The particular explanations have been as varied as their authors, but all agree on one underlying proposition: that the extinction of 0.400 hitting measures the worsening of something in baseball, and that the problem will therefore be solved when we determine what has gone wrong.
This chorus of woe maybe divided into two subchoirs, the first singing a foolish tune that need not long detain us, the second more worthy of our respect as an interesting error reflecting the deeper mistake that made this book necessary. The first explanation invokes the usual mythology about good old days versus modern mollycoddling. Nintendo, power lines, high taxes, rampant vegetarianism, or whatever contemporary ill you favor for explaining the morally wretched state of our current lives. In the good old days, when men were men, chewed tobacco, and tormented homosexuals with no fear of rebuke, players were tough and fully concentrated. They did nothing but think baseball, play baseball, and live baseball. Just look at Ty Cobb, sliding into third, spikes high (and directed at the fielder's flesh). How could any modern player, with his high salary and interminable distractions, possibly match this lost devotion? I call this version the Genesis Myth to honor the appropriate biblical passage about wondrous early times: "There were giants in the earth in those days" (Genesis 6:4). I don't think that we need to take such fill urinations seriously (I shall give my reasons a bit later). For salaries in millions that can last for only a few years of physical prime and be lost forever in a careless moment, modern players can muster quite ferocious dedication to their craft; modern ballplayers certainly take better care of their bodies than any predecessor ever contemplated in the good old days of drinking, chewing, and womanizing.
The second, and more serious, approach tries to identify a constellation of factors that has made batting more difficult in modern times, and therefore caused the drop-off in leading averages. I shall argue that, while several of these explanations correctly identify new impediments to hitting, the premise of the entire argument—that disappearance of 0.400 hitting can only be tracking the decline of batting skills (either absolute or only relative)—is flat wrong. The extinction of 0.400 hitting measures the general improvement of play.
The Genesis Myth finds greatest support, unsurprisingly, among the best hitters of a more disciplined (and less remunerative) age who must suffer the self-aggrandizing antics of their modern, but now multimillionaire, counterparts. Ted Williams, the last 0.400 hitter, told reporters why his feat will not be soon repeated (_USA Today_, February 21. 1992): "Modern players are stronger, bigger, faster and their bodies are a little better than those of thirty years ago. But there is one thing I'm sure of and that is the average hitter of today doesn't know the little game of the pitcher and the hitter that you have to play. I don't think today there are as many smart hitters."
In his 1986 book, _The Science of Hitting_, Williams made the same claim, and explicitly embraced the key postulate of the Genesis Myth by stating that, since baseball hadn't altered in any other way, the decline of high hitting must record an absolute deterioration of batting skills among the best:
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After four years of managing . . . the one big impression I got was that the game hadn't changed . . . . It's basically the same as it was when I played. I see the same type pitchers, the same type hitters. But after fifty years or" watching it I'm more convinced than ever that there aren't as many good hitters in the game . . . . There are plenty of guys with power, guys who hit the ball a long way, but I see so many who lack finesse, who should hit for average but don't. The answers are not all that hard to figure. They talked for years about the ball being dead. The ball isn't dead, the hitters are, from the neck up.
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In 1975, Stan Musial, Williams's greatest contemporary from the National League, echoed similar thoughts about declining smarts in an article titled "Why the .400 Hitter Is Extinct” (in Durslag, 1975). "In order to be successful... batters must have a quality that isn't too common today. They must be able to go to the opposite field. Somehow, this art hasn't been mastered by too many of today's players."
And lest one wrongly conclude that such thoughts circulate only among dyspeptic old warriors, consider a journalist's opinion written in 1992, as Toronto's John Olerud made a credible bid, but fell short (Kevin Paul Dupont in the _Boston Globe_): "Too few smart hitters. Too many guys looking for the baddest pair of wraparound sunglasses rather than sharpening the shrewdest hitting eye."
The more reasonable, and partly correct, second category—the claim that changes in play have made batting more difficult (the Genesis Myth, on the contrary, holds that the game is the same, but that batters have gotten soft)—includes two distinct styles of argument among its numerous versions. I shall call these two styles "external" and "internal." The external versions maintain that commercial realities of modern baseball have imposed new impediments upon performance.[3] This theory of "tougher conditions" features three common arguments, always fervently advocated when this greatest of all statistical puzzles hits the hot-stove league: too much travel within too grueling schedules; too many night games; and too much publicity and constant prying from the press (particularly when a player threatens to reach a plateau like 0.400 hitting).
[3. I do recognize, of course, that these claims also play into the Genesis Myth of former Elysian fields versus modern palaces to Mammon—but my argument hinges on distinguishing the pure Genesis Myth that batters havc gotten absolutely worse from a more re a son able claim that players are just as good (or better), but that batting has become relatively harder for some reason.]
The internal argument holds that aspects of the game opposed to hitting have outstripped the power of batters to compensate and respond in kind—in other words, that batters have not been able to keep up with increased sophistication in other aspects of play. This "tougher competition" theory also features Three arguments (each with several subcategories)—rather obvious in this case, as representing the three institutions of baseball that might challenge good hitting:
1. Better pitching (invention of such new pitches as the slider and split-fingered fastball; the establishment of relief pitching as a specialty, with a resulting requirement for facing new and fresh arms in late innings, rather than a tired opponent seen several times before in the same game).
2. Better fielding (conversion of gloves from tiny protective coverings to much larger, ball-gobbling machines; general improvement of defense, particularly in coordination among fielders).
3. Better managing (replacement of intuitive, "seat of the pants" leadership with modern, computer-assisted assessments of strengths and weaknesses for each individual batter).
In supporting the external theory of "tougher conditions," for example, Tommy Holmes stressed the subtheme of "harder schedules" in his article "We'll Never Have Another .400 Hitter" in the February 1956 issue of _Sport_ magazine:
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They [0,400 hitters of yore] started all of their single games in mid-afternoon, doubleheaders a little e
arlier. They never played later than sundown and usually were finished hours before dark. They did not play in the hot sunshine of one day and in the heavy damp night air the next. If they did not get the proper rest and eat proper food at regular hours, it was nobody's fault but their own.
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For the other two subthemes, my colleague John J. Chiment of the Boyce Thompson Institute for Plant Research at Cornell University polled the large contingent of baseball fans in his lab, and sent me the following in defense of the nocturnal theory (letter of April 24, 1984): "The consensus at BTI favors 'Night Games' as the real problem. You just can't hit'm if you can't see'm. Which is not to say that 'The rise of the specialty relief pitcher' and 'Modern moral turpitude' don't have their adherents."
Finally, in June 1993, Colorado Rockies manager (and former savvy player) Don Baylor upheld the "intrusive press" theory when his star Andres Galarraga and Toronto's John Olerud both exceeded 0.400 (before their predictable decline later in the season): "Can you imagine the pressure there'd be nowadays, the press conferences that would he held alter every game? If a guy is hitting 0.400 in August?" As Olerud continued to flirt with 0.400 in August, George Brett blamed the same source—and he should know, for his average stood at 0.407 on August 26, 1980, while he finished that season at 0.390. Brett remembered the journalistic assault:
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It was the same damn questions over and over and over. Gees, it was monotonous, and boring. In 1961, when he was chasing Babe Ruth [for the record of home runs in a season] Roger Maris lost his hair. In 1980, I got hemorrhoids. I don't know what will happen to John, but I imagine it will be something.
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The internal theory of "tougher competition" also enjoys wide support in all three major versions:
1. BETTER PITCHING. During my lifetime as a fan, pitching has changed more dramatically than any other aspect of the game. In my youth, during the late 1940s, most pitchers relied on curves and fastballs and they expected to work a full nine innings unless seriously shelled and tired. Relief pitching didn't exist as a specialty; if the starter tired, the manager just put in the next man available. Now, nearly all pitchers have expanded their repertoire, with sliders and split-fingered fastballs as favored additions. And relief pitching has become an essential component of all good teams, with recognized subspecialties of middle relievers (good for several innings of work when starters falter) and closers (all-out throwers for a crucial final inning, day after day).
Better pitching has therefore figured prominently in attempts to explain the disappearance of 0.400 hitting, Stan Musial, for example, stated (in Durslag's article, cited previously, on "Why the .400 Hitter Is Extinct"):
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Two things have pretty much taken care of the .400 prospect. One is a thing called the slider . . . It isn't a complicated pitch, but it's troublesome enough to take away the edge that batters used to have. A second reason is the improvement of the bullpen.
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2. BETTER FIELDING. Holmes (1956, pages 37-38) cites "the tighter defenses that are rigged against the hitter today" as the primary reason for why (as his title proclaims) "We'll Never Have Another .400 Hitter." Holmes views more efficient gloves as the primary culprit (and he was writing in 1956, when gloves were downright diminutive compared with today's baskets and snares):
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Probably the sporting-goods manufacturers made an even greater contribution to curbing batting averages by producing gloves and mitts vastly superior to the ones old-timers wore . . . . The player actually did catch the ball with his hands, and his gear served to reduce the numbing impact. Now a glove is an efficient magnetic trap for the ball . . . . Today the glove, not the hand, makes the catch, with the deep pocket between the thumb and first finger doing the work.
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3. BETTER MANAGING. Computers and boardroom tactics now permeate managerial staffs. Charters and number-crunchers scrutinize every swing, trying to locate a batter's weakness. Richard Hoffer (1993, page 23) cites more "scientific" managing as the main reason for the demise of 0.400 hitting. Speaking of Williams's last success, in 1941, Hoffer writes, "He didn't have to cope with the constant charting, the defensive structure that managers routinely call into place now."
Many writers roll these conventional explanations into one large hall, and then pitch the whole kaboodle all at once. Dallas Adams, writing in the _Baseball Research Journal_ for 1981 on "The Probability of the League Leader Batting .400." states:
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The commonly held view nowadays is that night ball, transcontinental travel fatigue, the widespread use of top quality relief pitchers, big ballparks, large size fielders' gloves and other factors all act to a hitter's detriment and make a .400 average a near impossibility.
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Even though exhaustive repetition has enshrined these explanations as true, I believe we can conclusively debunk both versions (tougher conditions and tougher competition) of the claim that 0.400 hitting died because changes in play have made batting more difficult. The theory of tougher conditions makes no sense to me. Is transcontinental flying more tiring than those endless train trips from the East Coast to Chicago or St. Louis? Are single, air-conditioned rooms in fine hotels more conducive to exhaustion than two in a room during an August heat wave in St. Louis: Why do people continually claim that schedules are now more grueling? Modern teams play 162 games and almost no doubleheaders; during most of the century, teams played 154 games in a shorter season filled with twin bills. So who worked harder?
William Curran (1990, pages 17-18) underscores this point in writing about the conditions that a Wade Boggs (our most recent serious contender for 0.400) would have laced in the 1920s:
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First let's deprive Boggs of the services of Ted Williams as a special batting coach. Rookies of the 1920s rarely received individual instruction at any stage of their careers, and. in fact, had to fight for a chance to get into the batting cage to take a few practice swings at the ball. Next we'll take away Wade's batting helmet and batting gloves . . . . And while we're at it, we'll have Boggs play three to five consecutive doubleheaders in the afternoon heat of September. After the games let him try to get a night's rest in St. Louis or Washington at a hotel equipped with a small room fan, if any fan at all. You get the drift.
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The testimony of many players affirms the unreality of "tougher conditions" as an explanation. For example, Rod Carew, the best 0,400 prospect since Williams (and a near achiever at 0388 in 1977), listed the litany of usual explanations and then demurred (Carew, 1979, pages 209-10):
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I don't buy much of that. I imagine that train travel was as rough as jet travel... and I prefer hitting at night.... During the day you squint a lot, and then there's a lot of stuff in the air—especially in California—and it burns your eyes. There's the glare of the sun. And in some places the artificial turf smokes up and your legs are burning. Then the perspiration during the day is running down your face. I like nighttime. You're cooler and more relaxed.
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Tougher competition seems more promising because the basic facts are undoubtedly true: pitching, fielding, and managing have improved. So why shouldn't the extinction of 0.400 hitting record the relative decline of hitting as these other skills augment? All the other arguments can be refuted by the weight of their own illogic, but "tougher competition" must be tested empirically. We need to know if improvement in hitting has kept pace with opposing forces of pitching, fielding, and managing. If these three adversaries have undergone more improvement than hitting (or, even worse for batters, if hitting has stayed constant or declined as the other three factors ameliorated), then the extinction of 0.400 hitting will be well explained by "tougher competition."
But the mere fact of better pitching, fielding, and managing doesn't prove the "tougher competition" theory by itself—and for an obvious reason: hitting might have improved just as much, if not more. Why should hitting be uniquely exempt from a gene
ral betterment in all other aspects of play? Isn't it more reasonable to assume that batting has improved in concert with other factors of baseball: I shall show that general improvement in hitting has not only kept pace with betterment in other aspects of play, but that baseball has constantly fiddled with its rules to assure that major factors remain in balance. The extinction or. 0,400 hitting must therefore arise from other causes.
8
A Plausibility Argument for General Improvement
However tempted we may be to indulge in fanciful reveries about dedication during "the good old days," the accepted notion that decline in batting skills caused the extinction of 0.400 hitting just doesn't make sense when we consider general patterns of social and sports history during the twentieth century. This context, on the contrary, almost guarantees that hitting has improved along with almost anything else we can measure at the apogee of human achievement. Consider just three of many arguments that virtually cement the case, even before we examine a single baseball statistic.
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