One thing’s for sure: we all have a lot of time on our hands right now. I need to keep a tight rein on myself beyond this point. I have another blog where I vent my frustration with the Nanny State and with our day’s saturation in unresearched factoids and malicious propaganda. Part of the reason I flee to baseball is so that the acid of those reflections doesn’t dissolve what’s left of my sanity.
So… here’s a thought. If you want to pitch but are of short stature or otherwise limited by unpromising parameters, why not throw left? I know, I know: it’s not like you can just go out and become a southpaw the way you can learn to pick a guitar in a few months of practice… or is it? Are we so very sure it’s not?
I’ve often found that the learning curve involved in preparation for a seemingly impossible undertaking is very steep only on the initial slope. Unlike climbing Everest, which gets steeper as one moves higher, the roughest spots confront the first few steps. Mountain-climbing is itself a good example. Overcoming a fear of heights, learning to keep one’s balance, resisting the natural sense of panic or rush… these are all tasks that might crush the novice. If only he can get past them, then subsequent stages of achievement fit together much more speedily, like a jigsaw puzzle already half-assembled.
I think the heftiest obstacle to throwing left-handed is just the “I can’t do this” feeling which greets your first tries. Be analytical. Why can’t you do this? Why can you do it right-handed: what are you doing one way that you’re not doing the other? Break it all down. What’s your first move from your good side? Are you replicating that move from the other side? Follow Phase One with Phase Two. Where does the train jump the track? Be hyper-aware of how all parts are connected. If your left hand seems to come up and rotate back much earlier than your right, that’s probably because your back is arching—which, in turn, is probably because your head is falling off to the side rather than driving forward, a movement itself caused by the front shoulder’s flopping open immediately rather than mapping out a powerful, fluid path toward the objective. Very, very often in pitiable weak-side endeavors, the hidden culprit is the strong side. When it doesn’t get to take the lead, it wants to pack up its marbles and go home rather than assume a supporting role.
At the very least, acquiring a little dexterity (literally, “right-handedness”) on your weak side will make you better informed about your strong side. I really like the low overhand angle—almost sidearm—that I call “9:30” or “10 o’clock” (with 9 being full sidearm). I throw that way from the right side with very little effort or discomfort, whereas a more overhand delivery puts a strain on my physique (since my frame is quite broad for my height). As a matter of fact, I just posted a video summarizing my current “best advice” about delivering from this arm angle: see “Update of the Low Overhand Motion”.
I would likely never have known the importance of keeping my throwing hand from rising too soon if I hadn’t encountered a little pain when making that error left-handed. Now I know, consciously and objectively, that I want to keep my hand from reaching full cock until my chin breaks away from my front shoulder… and by that point, I’m already far from the up-and-down on the rubber, and am indeed about to leave that perch behind entirely. In the future, if my right-hand mechanics were to get fouled up, I’d have those items on my checklist. In other words, through having made my strong-side successes explicit by trying to repeat them on the weak side, I know pretty much exactly what’s happening when things are going well.
Naturally, this all applies equally to hitting. But switch-hitters, rare as they are, seem a thousand times more abundant than switch-pitchers. Or since switching is in itself a very labor-intensive skill, even if you have good coordination from either side, let’s look at it from a less fanciful angle. Guys who bat with their stronger hand on the bottom aren’t all that rare (George Brett, Wade Boggs, Freddie Freeman… and even the much rarer lefty-batting-right isn’t unheard-of, as in the case of Rickey Henderson or of my hometown hero, Carl Warwick); yet guys who reach for doorknobs with their right while throwing left are one in a million. I can think only of Tris Speaker and Billy Wagner, both of whom became southpaws because of injury to their right wing.
So the insight seems to be this: pitching from your weaker side is a heck of a lot harder than hitting from that side. There are actually several advantages to having the stronger hand down on the bat’s knob; there are none to having the stronger arm driving toward the plate with a glove on.
Why bother learning to pitch left-handed, then, since it’s sure to be extremely challenging? Like the Everest-climber, you could say, “Because it’s there”… but ballplayers have better things to do than accept idle challenges just to prove their character. The game demands exhausting practice even of the most natural skills. No, the basic reason is precisely because so few pitchers throw left-handed. As a result, right-side hitters (about ninety percent of the typical line-up) don’t quite know what to do with offerings that come veering into them. They’re used to crowding the plate in order to rake an evasive slider and be quick on a sneaky inside fastball. When a pitch, especially from the 10 o’clock angle, comes looping under their barrel, they roll over the outside offering and completely whiff on the inside one—or else pull it far foul or smack it off their toe. Our lefty has to keep that inside one low, to be sure: he has to exploit the physical fact that the bat lifts into the hands at a severe angle when it’s trained through the low/inside quadrant. The high pitch is better off staying outside (or else chin-high… or both).
I speak here in the assumption that Lefty is a natural right-hander who (unlike Billy Wagner) has never learned to throw very hard from his weaker side. As long as he has mastered control, he doesn’t really need velocity—or not nearly so much as the right-hander. He’s better off trying to be Whitey Ford than Randy Johnson. Attempting to rush it up there when Mother Nature isn’t sending him a lot of immediate bio-feedback is a good way to become a permanent righty, whether he wants to be or not.
But there’s the dilemma: consistent accuracy from your weaker side poses a tremendous challenge. Well, that’s where practice comes in—that’s why you shouldn’t try this unless you’re willing to grind it out, any more than you should aspire to play flamenco guitar in two weeks. Nevertheless, I think accuracy is a much more desirable target than velocity. Not only will it get more hitters out: it will expose your arm to less risk, since your mind will be better focused on specific movements and less inclined to override your body’s incidental warnings.
Start small—start tiny. Throw indoors, without actually throwing: just rehearse the motion, over and over. When you do throw baseballs at a screen, stand close. Don’t tempt your mind to chase after velocity in the early stages. As long as you’re a mere fifteen or twenty feet from the target, the devil in you won’t be whispering, “Let’s see if we can get this one to pop!”
Well, that’s my crazy idea for today’s crazy times. If you want to see a video that I made just a few days ago on this very subject, click here.