I haven’t been following the World Series live, though I know that entrusting it to the DVR is risky. (Dish Network’s software managed to cut off the bottom of the ninth in the final game between the Yanks and the Astros—and I’m a big Altuve fan!) The extra minute of ads (three rather than two) between half-innings and the know-it-all announcers who constantly filter the action for occasions to vomit factoids (I’ll mention no names, T.V.) are really hard to take. I prefer to have a fast-forward button and long decompression breaks at my disposal.
No, I’ve been devoting my baseball life these days mostly to thinking about pitching, which I promised to revisit with a few new submarine experiments. In waiting for the weather to cooperate and my body to acclimatize itself to some irregular motions, I happened to pick up a copy of The Art and Science of Pitching the other night. The title immediately made me think that the authors were implying a fusion of what Ted Williams and Charley Lau did for hitting: science and art all rolled into one. The final word on the subject. And with Tom House, Nolan Ryan, James Andrews, Randy Johnson, and over a dozen others of similar quality on the National Pitching Association advisory board, the final word may just have been said.
Yet House’s name was the only one among the three actual authors that I recognized. (Gary Heil turns out to be a lawyer, and Steve Johnson a baseball lifer who has mostly coached at lower levels.) Besides, this final word was published thirteen years ago (2006). I dimly recall giving the book to my son for Christmas. It doesn’t look as though it was ever so much as thumbed through. I can kind of see why. The language isn’t exactly what an eleven-year-old would have found riveting (e.g., “Set the posting foot on the rubber to optimize the dragline, relative to the center line of the rubber and plate”). Even when clearer, the wording tends to break complex movements down so far that you’d find yourself repeatedly interrupting what you’re trying to practice in a effort to check where the lead shoulder or the back foot is—as if you could! “Rotate your hips forward, roll the back foot over, and release it to drag, while moving your upper body as far forward as possible without causing shoulder rotation….” Yeah, let me work on that… let’s see….
In fairness, the book was probably intended for coaches exclusively—and I don’t want to create the impression that it isn’t full of sound advice. The emphasis seems to fall heavily on doing explosive, mobile drills requiring synergy, as opposed to lots of weight-lifting that builds useless (sometimes inhibitive) muscle for pitching. And I noticed that these fellows had discovered that the up-and-down, frozen-frame “balance point” was a non-starter at least as early as my favorite pitching guru, Paul Reddick, was spreading the news. The body should already be tilting forward before the front leg lifts.
Yes, but… but is the harm of throwing over the body (i.e., letting the front leg land where it cuts off the upper body’s flow toward the plate) really a “myth”? That’s hard for me to buy, inasmuch as my forward knee has always begun hurting whenever I’ve done this for weeks at a time—and I don’t see how any other body could hold up better. The “science” of the book (and I hadn’t realized that Tom House, bless him, is actually “Dr. House”—no Hugh Laurie jokes, please) almost seems to be a bit razzle-dazzle. Just because you’ve geared a guy up with tracers in an otherwise black room and compiled time-lapse shots of his delivery doesn’t necessarily mean that you’ve proved anything. Even if you superimpose a human skeleton on the dot-references (a perfect costume for Halloween!), you’re not really showing that the body in question won’t wake up with new pains.
Okay, okay… I’m being unfair. I finally decided that my inclination to pick at the book’s edges was concealed frustration over its having nothing to say about the odd arm angles we cultivate at SmallBallSuccess.com. In fact, even some of those long-striding drills straight off the rubber that leave our hurler almost in the grass—beautiful things to admire from afar—just don’t seem to me very relevant to a shorter body type. Again, for the umpteenth time, I’m detecting the message, “Shorter people need not apply.”
Now, Tom House is scarcely what I would call the “coaching establishment”. These lines, for instance, leapt out at me: “Therefore, for decades, coaches developed their instruction based on flawed data. Coaching was based on conventional wisdom repeated so often that everyone began to accept it as fact. When combined with information that was wrong, inappropriate, or improperly used as the basis of a teaching protocol, this ‘wisdom’ created an environment in which motor-learning problems become the norm, not the exception.” Not sure I know precisely what every word of that means… but I understand enough of it that I want to jump up and applaud.
I just wish this book’s kitchen drawer had a few more cookie-cutters. Reading Orel Hershiser’s concern about his 6’7” son’s receiving the right mound lessons in the book’s foreword (Hershiser: now, there was a guy who seriously bowed his back!) strikes a general chord with all of us dads; but some of us, you know, don’t have a kid who enters the starting gate at six-foot-anything.