The Sports Tinkerer: New MLB Rules - Part I
seriously? a new rules piece? now? the season's already started for christ's sake...
Welcome to the second installment of my world renowned yet terribly named recurring feature: The Sports Tinkerer. And like the stupid name suggests, in these pieces I'll be examining aspects of certain sports and seeing how they might be enhanced with a bit of tinkering. Because in the immortal words of Larry David, I’m not an inventor, but I am an improver.
If you missed the first installment about NFL playoff seeding, you can check it out here. You’ll notice it was released last summer and might be thinking “playing a little fast and loose with the term ‘recurring,’ no?” Fair, but you just gotta trust me on this one—if one thing is true about making a new bit stick, it’s that you should only go back to it every ten months or so.
Anyway, this installment is about the new MLB rules, and will probably end up being somewhere between three and five parts. Now is it overkill to put out a five-part deep dive into something everyone was tired of reading about in February? You bet your sweet ass it is. But I’m plowing ahead anyway, because when it comes to being a successful writer apparently I have abysmal instincts.
Baseball, a sport that typically avoids change like I avoid eye contact at the supermarket, has, quite astonishingly, undergone a massive overhaul this off-season. Yes, from a more-balanced scheduling format to the updated ruleset, there's going to be a lot for longtime fans to get used to in 2023. If you followed the coverage of the league this winter, though, this might be the first you're hearing of it. You’d think a major story like this would garner some attention, but it's been complete and total radio silence.
I’m kidding, of course, every reporter for every publication has weighed in by this point. For what seems like months now, I've been getting daily (and sometimes even more frequent) notifications about explainers and think pieces for the new rules, so I doubt there's anyone that cares about the MLB who hasn’t been sufficiently beaten over the head with this very content. But rather than find something novel to write about, I intend to flog this dead horse with everything I got. Because, and this is my solemn promise to you, dear reader, you can always count on me to weigh in on something well past the point when it was relevant in the most long-winded and deeply unsatisfying manner possible. Always! Not only is it the niche I've carved out for myself, but, honestly, it’s this Substack's only reason for existing.
In all seriousness though, it wasn’t really the number of articles that caught me off guard, as we’re pummeled with a million takes on every conceivable topic every single day. No, what I found a bit odd was how unanimously pro-change the surrounding commentary appeared to be. Not exactly the uniformity itself, mind you, as we’ve pretty much always seen that with baseball journalism. Just twenty or thirty years ago, baseball writers had quite the hivemind, as well. But back then their goal was to simply prevent the game from evolving—ever, at all, full stop. If they even caught a whisper of a proposed update, they'd merge together to form a Myrmidon-style super shield around the sport. An impenetrable bulwark standing between the cherished institution and those intending to mutilate it, with no suggestion too minor or ornamental to avoid their vigilant monitoring.
The most comical example that springs to mind is the hologram Spiderman logo debacle. Baseball writers countered this utterly inconsequential, totally meaningless cash grab with a torrent of such vitriolic rebukes, you'd have thought someone suggested they make a mascot out of Babe Ruth's exhumed corpse. The league, as a result of this journalist-driven blowback, unsurprisingly tucked its tail and reversed course immediately. “A thousand apologies, you wise sages of the diamond,” the subtext of their action screamed. “We were everso foolish to even consider this travesty.” And thus, writers were successful in what they believed their core mission to be, ripping out any budding changes root and stem, protecting both this great sport and its proud fan base from surefire ruin that would result from egregious missteps like hologram spidey.
Fast forward to the present, and that annoying brand of uniformity of opinion remains—it's just that the takes have undergone a directional 180. If not for the drastic overcorrection, I'd be quick to celebrate that we’re no longer treating every proposal as is it might start WWIII. Except writers now seem to act as if baseball’s storied history is just some vague set of ramshackle guidelines that can be chucked aside whenever convenient. And for those with the most extreme perspective, it’s less about convenience and more about necessity, as they’ve convinced themselves the sport is on death’s doorstep, with drastic intervention needed to prevent it from tumbling into the oblivion of the vast sports league unknown.
And this grave outlook might help to explain why some adopt such a haughty, self-serious, know-it-all tone in their explainers, just relentlessly hand waving those who dare to object to these new rules being shoved down our collective throat. They get right to it, too, typically opening these pieces with something to the effect of, “If you're too backwards and dumb to understand how dire the situation is and why these changes are all so necessary, nothing I say could possibly get through that thick skull of yours.” Sure, along the way they'll broach some valid length of game (LoG) and pace of play (PoP) concerns, but they never go too long without peppering in smug little potshots against their perceived opponents. And so by the time they’re wrapping up, they’ve turned anyone even the least bit hesitant over the new rule set into a caricature of a sports talk radio lunatic. A simple-minded luddite, an out-of-touch reactionary, too blinded by the mythos of the sport to even realize what’s at stake or how much of a fool they’re making of themselves. Which in turn reinforces their own self-image, that of a forward-focused visionary intent on rescuing this distressed damsel of a league.
While I find this reversal interesting on one level, I guess it shouldn’t really be that surprising. All sorts of things—societal shifts, media trends, clickbait incentives—can begin to explain it. Not to mention the simple fact that those old writers are mostly retired and we’re reading the work of completely separate human beings. And with a new set of writers comes new viewpoints and beliefs and writing styles. Still there’s something undeniably curious about all of it, though.
Don’t mistake me, I’m not clamoring for the prior generation’s approach. I don’t need to read a bunch of pieces referencing the dimensions of the bags Jackie Robinson and Stan Musial we're sliding into. And it’s not that I begrudge anyone their opinion, either—I’m not trying to call out any specific writer’s specific take. Really, it’s not even the existence of pro-change articles I’m lamenting, but the lack of pieces1 which take a measured look at both sides of the argument.
Because you'd think, law of averages, and all, that there’d be a single national writer coming at the changes from a different angle. Either genuinely skeptical or at least attempting to engage with an opposing viewpoint. But that's not what we've seen. And isn’t it a tad puzzling that for a game with such deep, resonating ties to the past, the people who cover it are acting like the rulebook is some sort of open source living document that we all should be able to modify whenever it suits us. And that the most recent spate of changes are all so obviously necessary that in-depth analysis and criticism on the topic can be completely written off and ignored. I honestly struggle to wrap my head around it.
But one thing I am certain of: This new breed is not speaking for the average baseball fan but rather to the average baseball fan. Because whenever MLB even tweaks something minor—be it the number of alternate uniforms a team can wear or the brand of chalk used for the foul lines or anything else—a giant number of baseball fans throw a full-on conniption, some bordering on a complete mental breakdown. And again, that’s how they react to the totally insignificant stuff! These new rules are far from minor or cosmetic changes, so I simply refuse to believe that a majority of fans are as unwavering in their support as those covering the sport are. Because regardless of the avalanche of agreement they try to bury us under, most baseball fans are just not the type to blindly and gleefully jump on board with sweeping updates.
Ironically, though, I don't even think these fans are totally against improving the sport from a holistic standpoint. I bet if you asked the simple question of “Do you think the sport can be improved?” most of these guys would answer in the affirmative. It’s just that, much to Fred Manfred’s dismay, they don’t want a single fucking thing to change to bring about that improvement. And if there’s even the threat, the whiff of any modifications, they’ll crow about it until their blue in the face. They’re basically those old muppet bastards in the balcony, demanding the best experience possible, yet never actually letting the show happen before voicing their disdain and braying their criticisms.
So for as incredibly annoying as the past writers could be at times, they were at least capturing the thoughts and feelings of this, in my estimation, quite sizable portion of baseball fandom. These people did in fact hate hologram Spidey on a visceral level. And so when MLB caved to the loudest voices in the press section on that issue, they were actually getting a two-for-one discount—mollifying both groups, annoying fans and annoying writers, with one single act of chicken shit cowardice. Sure the league probably pulled an ocular muscle rolling their eyes at this asinine demand, but there's an undeniable benefit when all your harshest critics are in total agreement.
A benefit Fred Manfred no longer has the option of cashing in on. Instead he now finds himself in an unenviable and borderline impossible spot, being pulled apart by these diametrically opposed forces. Trying to appease such a bull-headed and schizophrenic group like the muppet bastards while also hoping to placate the faux revolutionary media types enough so that he can read one article about his sport that doesn’t predict it’s forthcoming demise. He's basically Lilibet, with every waking moment spent deliberating over a host of zero-sum, tradition-vs-modernity collisions.
Which brings us to MLB's off-season Sophie's choice. Surely they'd prefer to have it like the good old days, just show their belly and have writers and fans alike satisfied. But that ship has sailed. As we now know, they ultimately opted to side with the writers and were rewarded with months of fawning press coverage—a stark contrast from last winter's constant chorus of exploitative labor rights accusations. But every deal with the devil has a hefty cost, and for this one it was the risk of alienating their most die hard supporters. The perpetual fear that they’ve thrown a progressive-minded rock at a nest full of crotchety hornets.
Which likely explains the quixotic mission MLB.com has recently embarked on, attempting to win over these prickly malcontents with a full court press charm offensive. Even stooping as low as to weaponize America's universal love of Brian Cranston against this obstinate horde.
Sadly for Manfred, I don’t think award-winning actors and everyman comedians are going to be enough to sway this group. No, my gut says their consternation shall abide. Personally, I’m still torn. Because while I could care less about, say, a hologram spidey, when significant changes like this new ruleset arise, I do find myself trapped in a fraught position—caught between the two halves of myself.
On the one hand, I am that annoying, curmudgeonly fan that I’ve been so quick to mock thus far. I’m just a total, 100% sucker for all the hyper-concentrated nostalgia and romanticized lore that the game steeps itself in. And I truly do believe this game is special, and that attending a baseball game is a uniquely pleasurable and hard-to-replicate experience. That, even though the sport has never been less relevant to the day-to-day happenings of Americans, it still has the ability to strum the nation’s heartstrings in a way almost nothing else can. And that haphazard, poorly thought out changes could potentially undermine these remarkable qualities, could kneecap the significant role this game plays in our culture.
But that’s juxtaposed against another side of me. The side that likes to promote smart improvements for the sports that I love (I am, after all, trying to brand myself as The Sports Tinkerer™2). And that pro-tinkering side wholehearted agrees with the ‘adapt or die’ mantra and concedes that the world doesn't owe it to anyone—individual, company, sports league, anyone—to slow down and wait for them to get their shit together. Because markets, or fans of your sport, in this case, aren’t obligated to provide you their unconditional allegiance just because their grandfathers did. It is up to you to satisfy them, not the other way around. And so eventually, MLB is going to have to figure out a way to appeal to twenty- and thirty-somethings of today and tomorrow, not 1958.
All which means that baseball, and baseball more than any other sport, honestly, needs to navigate this past/present divide with the greatest of care. It needs to constantly strengthen its ties to its own venerated past, never jeopardizing them for meager, short-sighted gains. But also needs to, when market or other external factors call for it, modify, grow and evolve the sport, as to not let it atrophy and waste away into irrelevance. MLB can never and should never get complacent or forget they’re building and maintaining a bridge between eras. But they can also never blindly assume people in 2050 will want to consume the exact same product in the exact same way as people did in 1880. Threading this ripple-in-time needle is a complicated undertaking, to be sure, and only made more so by the swirling, contradictory demands of the recently change-mad press cohort versus some of its more intransigent fans.
But, though occasionally shrouded by insane levels of hyperbole, there is undoubtedly a nugget of truth trapped within each side’s biddings. And as such, even though it may prove impossibly difficult, when it comes to evolving the sport, MLB’s paramount concern should be to always, always, always find a healthy balance between these two poles. To alter the game in a way that will entice the next generation, without wholly antagonizing the core, loyal audience which they so desperately and reliably depend on. And luckily one surefire way to find this balance is my #1 rule for approaching rule changes in any sport (baseball in particular): Avoid the gimmicky.
Now, admittedly, ‘gimmicky’ as a term is somewhat nebulous—it’s going to mean different things to different people in different contexts, so I'll at least attempt to provide a useful definition. Gimmicky, in this regard, means anything done to capture attention in the short term, without due consideration (or even intentionally discounting) long-term stability, feasibility and existing fan satisfaction.
What exactly separates gimmicky from non-gimmicky? It's difficult to put into words, for sure. But for me, bad changes go against baseball’s core conception, while the good ones leave it unaffected or even enhance it. Yes, in some respects, it's a fine and mostly subjective line, perhaps even a moving target. But when you strike it exactly, it's golden.
Of the recent changes, I think adding the DH to the NL is a great example of a good change. Honestly it got to the point where watching pitchers hit was the gimmicky part. I can’t imagine anyone ever envisioned one out of every nine hitters being an automatic out, so this isn't some slap in the face to the founders. And with the 40+ some odd years of A/B testing with the AL, it was safe to assume it wouldn't doom the sport or turn it into something unrecognizable. So they made a smart change that will likely improve the fan experience significantly in the long run. Kudos to them for that.
On the other side of the spectrum you have playoff expansion, which does fundamentally alter what we’ve come to expect from the sport. And it was clearly done with the short term goal of enticing more fan bases with a potential playoff spot, with little to no consideration as to what watering down the playoff field—and by extension the regular season—would mean for the league as a whole. I plan to tackle this more in depth in the future, but the quick version: Letting almost half your league’s teams in after a marathon season makes no sense. Since bad teams can easily beat good teams twice in a row in this sport, you’ve turned what should be a hard-earned contest between two deserving teams, each rewarded for sustaining a consistently excellent level of play over a long season, into a crapshoot. Crapshoots are fine for short-season sports, but it really makes no sense with long-season ones, because there’s no reason to watch May baseball if it’s all a crapshoot in the end. And I’m confident that when we start regularly seeing teams that have won 95 or 100 regular season games get bounced because they lost a best of three to a team that was barely .500, people will start to acknowledge this is gimmicky as all hell.
I know neither of these examples are overly scientific. Frankly, the whole premise is the dictionary definition of subjective, but we need a way to discuss these things. So, that's the lens I'll be evaluating all these updates through—gimmickiness. And I’ll be using one of the greatest and most well-known comedic gimmicks of all time as a metric: Gallagher's sledgehammer. So join me over the remaining parts of this piece as I examine these rules one by one, while tinkering, both of the major and minor varieties, along the way.
Stay tuned for Part II where I’ll be tackling the schedule, the bases and probably some other small shit that slips my mind at the moment…coming soon (or possibly never).
And if you liked this article, you may enjoy my book, Wells View. It’s only 99¢ on Amazon.
Maybe their have been. I typically only read ESPN, CBS Sports and MLB which, unless I completely blacked out the other type, have been extremely in favor of all the changes.
Was hoping it would grow on me, but still such a bad name