I’ve been repeating two things in my pitching videos (including one I made yesterday—the first after a six-month layoff): 1) I do not pretend to be a pitching coach or to have been an effective pitcher at any level of competition; and 2) I know more than most pitching coaches about living in a relatively short, broad-framed body. Because of the first fact, I wouldn’t dream of trying to countermand the advice of a Paul Reddick, a Brent Strom, or the gurus at Sidearm Nation. Yet because of the second fact, I don’t allow the coaching fraternity to shut me up entirely on the subject of pitching.
A lot of what I say about hitting (where I do profess some degree of knowledge, thanks to decades of research and experimentation) applies here. Today’s pitching instruction is mostly fashioned for tall, slender body types that enjoy several natural advantages when it comes to achieving high velocity. Since those types will fill about 90 percent of any high school or college pitching roster, why be concerned about the 5’7” walk-on who throws a mean slider? Yeah, you trot him out there once in a while to eat up some innings. He gets people out. But you also know that he has already hit his low ceiling. Coaches at the next level are not going to woo him with scholarship money, and scouts are not going to blow him away with a signing bonus. Statistically, he doesn’t exist.
I’ve actually written before, if only in making a brief reference, about Coach Reddick’s public advice to a dad who queried about his kid’s becoming a submariner. The word Paul chose to use was “gimmick”—this was his estimate of the sidewinding delivery and other low arm angles. The advice was essentially, “Don’t do it. Persist with tried-and-true methods. Don’t fall for some gimmicky quick fix.”
Now, I’ve seen many a boy slinging pitches from down under in tournaments who was cruising a direct course for serious elbow damage. Odd angles can be effective because the hitter never sees them in ordinary play; and, because they don’t appear in ordinary play, coaches don’t know what to teach about them. Advice can be very bad, if any advice at all is offered. So “stay away” is certainly not the worst thing you could tell a parent who’s looking to lower his boy’s release point radically.
At the same time, some of us are so designed by Mother Nature that slopping the ball from belt-high or lower just seems right. We don’t need minute instruction—and we’re less likely to hurt our arm sidearming than we are by trying to come straight over the top. I was always that way. I could imitate Willie Mays’s underhand flick of the ball back to the infield without any particular rehearsal. (The basket catch was another matter: I never could carry my Willie impersonation that far.) I’m convinced that the reason for this was simply my broad frame. Look at any photo of Mays and you can tell that he, too, was very broad-shouldered. Wide-framed people actually have to work at coming over the top more than “normal people”, whereas coming around the body can often be a very fluid motion for them.
I don’t recommend, however, doing what coaches call “throwing over your body”: typically vague coach-speak for cutting off your straight path toward the plate by landing with your front foot angled toward third base (for a righty). This is another recipe for arm problems. Even I, pitching-coach interloper that I am, grow shocked at the number of ex-Major Leaguer color commentators who extol how Jake Arrieta or some other horse enhances his effectiveness by slinging the ball over his body. I’d never recommend that.
But in trying to work out the ideal sidearming motion for broad-framed guys, I encountered a terrific amount of trouble removing the “over the body” approach from the equation. Especially for a low submariner, landing on a front foot that goes straight to the plate almost means landing in a face plant.
I still think that the low angle is specially suited to wide frames, which also tend to be shorter than average. I would dare to disagree with my son (who threw sidearm-submarine very successfully for a D2 university) that his build really wasn’t best fitted to the motion. Yes, the lanky guys can make up for some of the velo lost through “over the body” motion when they slingshot with their gangly arms… but they’re also, I continue to maintain, taking the quick route to joint damage. Shorter, broader frames appear to me to execute these movements more naturally and less riskily. Just last month, I saw a short submariner on the Single A Rome Braves look very smooth and effective.
Nevertheless, my son Owen was convincing enough that I decided to dedicate my next experiments to lifting the arm angle just above sidearm—to what might be called the 9:30 slot (where sidearm is 9:00 and an impossibly perfect overhand would be high noon). This plan seemed the more logical in that my review of yesteryear’s best pitchers, brief though it has been so far, shows many of them using exactly the 9:30 slot and avoiding the true sidearm position. I had downplayed the evidence for a while that was staring me in the face through the examples of Dickie Kerr (5’7”), Dolf Luque (5’7”), Art Nehf (5’9”), Bobby Shantz (5’6”), and others…. but I always end up regretting any act of brushing evidence under the rug. I did that occasionally when I was analyzing Deadball Era swings: “Ah, that can’t mean anything, and it looks so awkward… let’s just ignore it.” Always a bad idea.
So… in future months, as I get settled in my new home, look for me to investigate the 9:30 angle with much greater thoroughness. It has a pedigree of success from the old days, it was popular with pitchers who “weren’t allowed” to have sore arms and had to grind away like huskies in the traces, and I persist in thinking that it must work especially well for broad body types. These are the coordinates of my newly corrected course.