I’ve almost completed a lightning-quick video series on bunting. (The one subject I have yet to cover is drag- and push-bunting, which may be two subjects and two videos: not sure yet.) Perhaps I feel a bit guilty about rushing through the project so quickly. I certainly didn’t mean to imply any contempt for it. I think the bunting game can become a very real and effective dimension of play, I think it’s exciting when executed well, and I think current play at all levels miserably neglects it.
But since I have nothing more than a Personal Pitcher that spits out golf-sized Wiffle balls to assist me in my experiments, I feel that there’s only so much I can learn and pass along. Unlike routine hitting, which can be adequately simulated whenever you have an object in lateral motion to swing at, the bunt can be refined into so many distinct kinds of non- or semi-swing that a real pitcher throwing real baseballs on a regulation-sized field would be required to reach confident conclusions. My series, then, is just intended to draw attention to this important subject and to offer aspiring “stick artists” a few ideas. I believe the videos work if viewed in that context.
The one I completed yesterday and posted just today—“The Baltimore Chop, a.k.a. “Butcher Boy”—put me into such uncomfortable contortions that I actually ended up on camera advising against its use. We know that Deadball hitters did precisely this sort of thing, beating the pitch so directly into the dirt around home plate that it leapt high in the air and allowed the crafty batsman time to leg out a bingle. (I don’t know why they called them “bingles”… but that’s not a typo.) It’s well worth retrieving some of the history of our game, but perhaps not all of what we dig up is still usable.
One question that took me by surprise in filming the series was this: what exactly is a bunt? The official rule book offers the following terse definition:
A BUNT is a batted ball not swung at, but intentionally met with the bat and tapped slowly within the infield.
Okay. Well, it’s obvious that if you attempt to drag or push a bunt with two strikes and it rolls foul, you’re out on strike three. The ball was “not swung at”. But what about what I called in my third video the Fake-and-Throw-Down? This is something very like a slap bunt (I suppose you could say it’s a species of slap bunt)—and the slap is a swing; so if that one goes foul, you’re still alive. But what, then, about the maneuver which I gave no name in the fourth video, but which might be called a Trail-the-Barrel? This differs from a push bunt in that both hands slide to the extreme end of the bat, with the bottom one indeed clutching the knob… yet a very weak swing is also going on. You’re not so much pushing the pitch toward third (from a lefty’s perspective) as you are raking it anemically toward short. As long as you get the ball past pitcher and third baseman, you’re likely to reach first safely. Ty Cobb did this sort of thing a lot. So did Ichiro.
That’s not a bunt, is it? The swing is faint… but the barrel does cross the plate and move toward the pitcher, even though you want your body to be exiting the box before it finishes its sweep. So a foul ball with two strikes would be… just a foul ball.
As far as I can tell, yesteryear’s hitters had so many tricks like these in their bag that they probably strained the boundaries of many official definitions. More than anything about them, I admire that willingness to experiment with new approaches—to take the defense wholly by surprise. In an era when computer printouts are telling defenders exactly where to stand and where one hard-hit ball after another goes right to a glove, you’d think that our cleverest performers might be willing to recover some of these neglected tactics.