What's Happened to Baseball?

Two great narratives compete for supremacy in the collective memory of the human species. One of them tells how our unique intelligence, embodied in the cerebral cortex, raised us from humble origins in the forests and savannahs of Africa to the very threshold of intragalactic space. The other laments the depressing series of unintended consequences brought about by that very same cortex as it hurtled us down the path to environmental disaster.

Both narratives can be defended. The agricultural revolution in Mesopotamia made it possible to feed far more people than hunting and gathering could, but agriculture provided those people with an inferior diet and condemned those who had to plow and till to a lifetime of hard labor (Diamond, 1999). Eventually, the irrigated fields that grew the wondrous grains eroded and became alkaline. The industrial revolution massively expanded humanity’s productive capacity but created work that humans hate and soon began befouling the air and water. The internet has made information and communication available to everyone with a computer but has also given a bullhorn to those who peddle conspiracy theories and an electronic billboard to destructive movements fueled by self-righteous passion.

Even the recent history of baseball can throw some light on what can happen when the cortex tries to produce a better world. The game we know as “baseball” was once a simple game, derived from European folk games and played mostly by children. As it came down to us in its professional version, its pace was stately with a grace and beauty all its own. If you were big, or fast, or quick or strong—physically gifted—you could be a star, especially if you had the reflexes to smite a small leather ball thrown at 80 to 95 miles an hour. It was a simple game. See the ball, hit it, catch it, throw it. There was no time, and no need, to think.

But a few years ago, the thinkers, Sabermetricians, began to put their minds into the game, and they have produced a revolution—a statistical approach to strategy that upended decades of traditional wisdom. By analyzing the recorded results (box scores) of thousands of games, they figured out exactly which actions provided the best chance of winning.

Since players and managers are always on the alert for anything that might give them an edge, many were quick to adopt the Sabermetric insights. Most of the teams that did won more games. But in the process, the game was changed.

If you wanted to win, said the thinkers, getting hits was overrated. Just get on base, by any means. On-base percentage, they showed, was statistically more important than batting average. So smart batters went to the plate trying to get walks and teams began to look for smart batters. No more “see it, hit it.” Now you had to consider your options.

The thinkers also realized that unlike hits, home runs were even more important to winning than anyone had realized. So batters went to the plate trying to hit home runs—or get a walk. That meant they would refuse to swing at pitches that weren’t right down their alley. They would wait for the perfect pitch—a pitch they could drive out of the park. As a result, pitchers began to “nibble, trying to keep the ball close to, but out of, the strike zone. The number of walks skyrocketed.

The first great practitioners of this approach were the Oakland A’s. Their approach to the game became famous as “Moneyball” because they looked for inexpensive players — hidden gems revealed by the new statistical analysis before anyone else caught on.

The thinkers eventually started to recommend changes in the way batters swung that were designed to produce more home runs. But trying to hit home runs increases the risk of swinging and missing, so the number of strikeouts also began to climb.

The thinkers also realized that statistically, there were things you should not do. Sacrifice bunts, base stealing, and hit-and-run plays weren’t worth the risk. But these plays produced some of the most action-packed and exciting moments in the game.

So what fans saw when they went to a game was athletes walking to first base on a walk, walking around the bases on a home run, and walking back to the dugout after a strikeout. Instead of exciting close plays with people on both teams running all over the field, instead of dangerous slides, acrobatic catches, near misses, and long parabolas etched by a bright white ball against a glowing green expanse of lawn, you got a slow parade of men walking deliberately from one designated spot to another. More pageant than contest.

And of course, with all the walks and long counts, the games slowed down and dragged on. What often used to last less than two hours now often took four. The result is a rather boring game that isn’t as much fun to play or watch as it used to be. Another unintended consequence of the unbound cerebral cortex at work.