Chipper Jones Thinks Your Pitch Is Outside

I feel like I am an open-minded individual. I can accept that the baseball world is in a constant state of flux: circumstances change, attitudes are reformed, technology evolves. It comes as little surprise, then, that a sportswriter would fire this bottle rocket into the window of tradition:

TIME TO FIX BASEBALL'S MOST BASIC ELEMENT

Next week: can we really trust that the Sun is at the center of the solar system?

Anyway, Chipper Jones recently got all hot and bothered over balls and strikes in a game against the Phillies, throwing his support behind the notorious QuesTec laser targeting system. Dayn Perry is there to take this idea all the way down the rabbit hole.

However, on a larger level Jones is spot on: the quality of home-plate umpiring these days is simply not acceptable. As such, it's time for sweeping changes. Specifically, it's time — past time, actually — to automate the calling of balls and strikes.

Hasn't somebody already automated Chipper? I find it ironic that one of the few things that gets Larry the Affable Automaton into a lather is a robotic GPS system.

Here's the thing: the game of baseball, on a fundamental level, is about the strike zone. All of it — the home runs, the strikeouts, the bunt singles, the walks, the groundball double plays — flows from each hitter's and each pitcher's ability to command the strike zone.

Agreed.

When that zone is called inconsistently, it corrupts the competitive integrity of the game.

Yep.

That's what's happening now, and that's what's been happening for a long time in baseball.

Funny you should mention that...

To put a finer point on it, watch any major-league game and ask yourself whether, say, 25 percent of the ball-strike calls look incorrect after replay or imaging. Over the course of an entire game, it adds up, and that level of inaccuracy makes a mockery of the game.

A lot of things make "a mockery of the game." Phantom tags make a mockery of the game. Greaseballs make a mockery of the game. This sure as hell makes a mockery of the game.

But in regards to cheating, fudging, and bending the rules, well, this kind of stuff has been going on for a long time, and nobody really seems to have a problem with it. Perry is simply doing his best Captain Renault and he is shocked--shocked--to find that people are gambling in the back rooms at Rick's Place.

No doubt, those resistant to such measures will meow about the loss of the nebulous "human element."

Now, I have no feline predilections, but when you are making up "citing" specific statistics like "25 percent of the ball-strike calls look incorrect after replay or imaging," then that human element isn't very "nebulous" by your own definition.

Besides, there's no reason that, in an aesthetic sense, the game need change at all. You'd still have your home-plate umpire suited up and in his usual position. He'd have the computer calls relayed to him by a wireless indicator, and then he'd relay those calls with his typical flair.

Thank the Lord that even though we'll be eliminating the bulk of the umpire's craft, we will preserve the "flair" of the grandstanding officials who so rightly believe that they, not the famous athletes, are the main attraction.

The foundation of sports is fairness

No, no, no, no, no.

The foundation of sport is camaraderie, teamwork, and equanimity. The foundation of professional sport is greed, exclusion, and specialization--especially in baseball, where part of the impetus for forming the first professional leagues was to concoct a profitable business model for team owners and to gradually remove all brown people from the first-tier clubs.

and without a ruthlessly consistent strike zone baseball simply isn't fair.

Things that are also not fair: rainy Saturdays, the U.S. tax code, the continued prominence of Nickelback on mainstream radio, life.

With all the talk about steroids and competitive imbalance and the like, something as mundane and taken-for-granted as the strike zone isn't likely to inspire much in the way of activism.

Maybe because steroids and that old bugbear "competitive imbalance" (whatever that means) are actual problems.

It's time for baseball to repair itself at the most basic level: take ball-strike calls out of the hands of umpires.

And while we're at it, let's take game-calling out of the hands of catchers, plate discipline out of the hands of hitters, and command of the strike zone out of the hands of pitchers. Hell, we could even do away with pitchers entirely, substituting the finest pitching machine technology (which, coincidentally, would still be superior to Jose Mesa). That might finally make Chipper happy.

Or we could recognize that the purpose of these computer targeting systems is to merely evaluate--not replace--the consistency of an umpire's strike zone. It is a tool, not the means to some pie-in-the-sky end where arguing with any umpire is a thing of the past and everyone passes up the most convenient of opportunities to gain a competitive edge.

Like I said, I'm an open-minded person.

Wish You Were There

As I watched the Eagles' season opener slip away in the Crisco hands of J.R. Reid and Greg Lewis, Fox's B team of commentators wistfully reminded the audience that championships are not "won" (and very rarely "lost") during the first game. And though it seems like things shake out pretty quickly in the NFL, year after year there are usually multiple playoff spots up for grabs right until the last weekend of the season. Thus, a unique mix of a short schedule and a relatively small percentage of competitive difference between even the best and worst teams means more teams--and most importantly, more fans--are invested in the season until the very end.

I restate the obvious only because there is a major disparity between the psyche of the Eagles fan throwing himself under a bus for a few flukey special teams plays (the Packers were doing absolutely nothing on offense) and the Phillies fan patiently and loyally awaiting another playoff run thwarted by a bad bullpen, mental mistakes, swarms of locusts, whatever.

Truly, breaching the subject of the Phils' lack of achievement despite stretches of more-than-mediocre seasons elicits an eclectic mix of optimism and ambivalence. Why, then, is the mere idea of contendership exciting to the Phaithful? These are sports fans who coincidentally have a lot of contempt for professional sports (one championship in over 120 years kind of gives them the right).

Once again I turn to the prodigious wisdom of my father, who, when pressed for an explanation for the Phillies' lack of accomplishment in eras where they were relatively accomplished for a Major League Baseball team (i.e. the mid-70s until the mid-80s) could only offer the following nugget:

"Aaaah, they were right there in '81."

Indeed, Philadelphia made it into a four-team National League playoff during the 1981 split-season. It created in situation in which you could legitimately claim the Phils' success really was achieved in only half a season, their postseason spot guaranteed by virtue of the best "first half" record in the NL East. Naturally, they sleepwalked through the second half and wound up falling to the Montreal Expos in a best-of-five division series.

These Phillies have done their best to emulate what now seems like an annual tradition--the skittish, wildly fluctuating month-to-month inconsistency of the clubs of the late Carlton/Schmidt Era. A .500 team on July 8, they are eight games over the break-even point since the All-Star Game, a swing that brings to mind the torrid/tepid dichotomy of 1981, the inception of the wild card replacing a midseason strike as an excuse for the occasional incompetence of a so-called serious pennant contender. Except that now this happens almost every year. Thanks, Commissioner Selig.

They are doing exactly what it takes to remain in the pennant race without looking like they really have what it takes to make it. They exist in the deeper end of the talent pool but still often find themselves an arm or two short (paging John Ennis), looking sharp but ultimately treading Perrier. They are the hype and hoopla of Snakes on a Plane culminating in something that's neither solidly scary nor funny. They are the "Also Receiving Votes" in the AP Poll, Miss Congeniality at the beauty pageant, and the recipients of the "Participant" ribbon at the Pinewood Derby--they are the quintessence of the also-ran.

They are the dreaded moment when I may someday have to explain to my own children that, even with a league MVP, a potential MVP, a potential Cy Young, and one of the best offenses of the decade in a hitter's park, the 2007 Phillies were "right there."

And with apologies to Harry Kalas, if that's where the Phils plan on staying while waiting for the dam to burst, I'd rather be outta here.