arm health, baseball history, coaches and trust, Deadball Era, low arm angle, pitchers of short stature, pitching, pitching velocity, submarine pitching

More on Yesteryear’s Pitching: The Lower Arm Angle

At the moment, I can neither throw a ball nor swing a bat a full speed without risking re-aggravation of strained ligaments.  It’s frustrating, because I have a lot of experimental craft on the runway that I’d like to give a trial flight.  My problems began when I hit the weights too hard after returning from five weeks of very successful cancer therapy.  That pulled something in my right arm.  I wanted to do a pitching video, so… well, I decided simply to throw lefty and thereby put my ideas to a even better test (since natural coordination wouldn’t be able to come to the aid of bad theory).  The only trouble there was that the test involved throwing the stride-leg powerfully open while having the lead arm trail it a bit: the “stretch the rubber band” dynamic.  I appear to have stretched a rubber band high up in my right thigh rather too vigorously.

Some of you will recall reading about Dizzy Dean’s ill-advised effort to return too soon after the 1937 All Star Game where Earl Averill smacked his toe with a line drive.  Through favoring the sore foot, Diz placed inordinate strain on his throwing shoulder… and one of the great pitching careers of the pre-war generation came to an abrupt end.  We should all be mindful of that cautionary tale.  It happens over and over in the baseball world.  Injuries just pile up like cars in a train wreck because of trying to work around the initial tweak.

It’s probably just as well that I discuss pitching indoors now when I make videos.  My demonstrations on the subject aren’t particularly dazzling, anyway.  I did an indoor shoot this past weekend (well, it was actually filmed out in my driveway) which pursued further the topic of the low overhand angle.  As I try to apply to pitching the techniques I used in earlier years to research hitting (digging up old newsreels, isolating clues in old photos, etc.), I find myself more and more convinced that, before World War II, throwing from a low angle—almost sidearm—was the norm.  Commentators of yesteryear often don’t remark upon the degree of that angle.  Overhand is overhand.  Because the almost-sidearm slot was so common, in any case, I doubt that many who observed it would have considered it worthy of note.

Excuse me if the rest of this column repeats in places my comments of two weeks ago. The repetition isn’t intentional. I think I’m going a little loony in my confined-to-quarters state (which compounds our whole nation’s confined-to-quarters state, of course). I believe a good bit of new also nestles in the old. Eventually, I’d like to work this research into a book.

Here are some names you didn’t see before: Robin Roberts, Johnny Sain, Preacher Roe, Eddie, Lopat, Max Lanier… those are a few exemplars of the style whom I’ve identified from film footage taken after the war.  Even in still shots, such as those taken for baseball cards, I can amass reasonably reliable evidence by keying on four giveaways corresponding to the pitcher’s four limbs: 1) his front leg strides out to the side rather than straight toward home plate; 2) his trailing front arm also flops out to the side rather than folding into its driving shoulder; 3) his throwing arm obviously comes through at a low angle; and 4) his rear foot may be left dangling in the air and somewhat to the side rather than dragging the mound’s dirt, this because so much momentum is carrying him off to the opposite side.

Now, Items 1 and 2 above get almost universally flagged by today’s pitching coaches as bad form.  I agree, by the way, that stepping to the side can be bad news.  It can cause the pitcher to arch his back and follow through with over-emphasis on his throwing shoulder (and, yes, I discussed that extensively in the earlier post).  You might say that, in siphoning his thrust away from the plate, the hurler has to make up for that lost energy from the back side.  Eventually, this can lead to career-ending damage of the rotator cuff.  No, not good.

But… but if the front arm trails the striding leg in a low, broad sweep (i.e., what I was trying to do from the left side when I strained a ligament somewhere in my thigh), it keeps the head down.  With that arm extended and low, the back cannot arch; and with that arm continuing sidewise in a sweep, the energy flow is held in a channel that runs somewhat skewed to the rubber-to-plate line.  Everything is working together now: all movement is traveling roughly in the same plane.  You’re not drawing and quartering yourself as this leg goes here and that arm goes there.

I’m pretty sure I wrote all that two weeks ago, as well. What I didn’t add is that my infamous “lefty” video is a negative proof of the “dynamic front arm” theory. My left arm, in attempting to throw from a low angle, never got down nearly far enough: my limbs didn’t reach the same plane.  From one perspective, this could account for my injury. I believe the right arm—the front one—was straining both to resist the opening leg for a split second and to pull the pitching arm down into its path. The rubber band probably would have worked fine if I’d stretched it along a true line… but I wrapped its middle around a nail and then had the far end straining upward as well as backward. Ouch! That hurts just to put into words!

Granted, you would tap more energy if you pointed your plane of movement directly at the plate.  This is what our speed-adoring contemporary coaches emphasize to their pupils.  Yet what if your body type just doesn’t have the slender, svelte, supple cut that allows it to “drive through a tunnel” at the target?  What if you’re wide in the hips and shoulders, as a lot of shorter people are?  Might your maximum of energy not be tapped in a more sidewise motion that utilizes your powerful core muscles?  Even if the straight-to-the-plate delivery shows up on the drawing board as more dynamic, another delivery may best harness the horses that happen to be in your personal stable.  Those horses can pull you to pieces, yes, if you ignore physics… but your own physical profile profile needs to be a factor in the formula.

Ah, but then there’s the question of accuracy, protests today’s coach.  It’s much harder to hit a target falling off to the side than striding straight toward the bull’s eye.  I’ve heard this explained as a physical certainty: i.e., that a sidestepping delivery cannot possibly steer balls through the strike zone with consistency.  Yet I find it no less improbable, considered abstractly, that a human arm—which is built to rotate at the shoulder’s side rather than directly over it—should be able to guide the ball exactly where the foot steps.  Face it: hitting the target from any angle requires practice.

And the low-overhand or sidearm angle has this benefit not to be found in “high noon” deliveries: its pitches show prominent east/west as well as north-south motion.  That’s precisely why accuracy can be a problem—but lively movement along two axes can also be a huge advantage.  It’s something more for the hitter to worry about.  I wouldn’t hesitate to say (and I say this from my much broader experience as a hitter) that, if a little velocity has to be traded for livelier movement, then the trade is well worthwhile.  Good hitters will eventually time the best fastball in the world, and sooner rather than later.  It’s the pitch that darts around in two planes which gives them fits.

I know I mentioned before that, because of my personal body type, I was always a natural sidewinder.  So was my son. By the way (warning: “proud papa” moment)… you can see this diminutive submarine slinger finishing off a D-2 rival here if you run the clock up to about 3:30 (that is, three hours and thirty minutes).  The bases are loaded with only one out.  I have a hard time imagining that a flame-throwing reliever could have handled the two bruisers at the plate as well in that situation.  They’re so cranked up to attack the next pitch that they’ve practically unbuttoned their jerseys.  Do you really want to try to beat those fellows with your best fastball as the game teeters on the line… or would you rather let them get themselves out trying to swat a moth?

I would add to this example of practical success the comment that, in a decade of throwing from down under, Owen never had significant arm trouble.  Neither have I, as a sexagenarian messing around with low angles.  Muscle tears, yes, and even ligament damage from the left side… but never in the arm.  As often as people ask me, “But doesn’t that hurt your arm?”, I can only answer, “Not if you do it right.  If you get your whole body in sync, it’s probably much safer than throwing high-overhand.”

When you take stock of how many guys used to pile up innings from the nine-thirty angle and then look at how many elite pitchers are breaking down today, you have to wonder if the lower angle isn’t actually more healthy.  Once again, apologies for recycling the point… but let me add a brilliant example I didn’t use before. Robin Roberts was often given just two or three days rest and almost never relieved: he logged over 300 innings from 1951 through 1955, leading his league in that category every year.  Eventually, later in the decade, something popped in his shoulder (as he reveals in his autobiography), and he had to learn how to retire hitters with pure control and guile.  What sabotaged his arm’s health, however, was the idiotic abuse of his talents so prevalent among managers of the time, and not the angle of his delivery.

As I stress in my videos on this subject, not all of yesteryear’s low-angle pitchers were short… far from it.  Roberts was a six-footer. Even in the Teens of the previous century, a pitcher under six feet in height was fairly rare.  But if you’re short by today’s standards yet are determined to pitch, a lower angle may be your ticket to making the team.  Tall, lanky guys like to drop down, too (look no farther than Randy Johnson).  That’s why I’d suggest the opening of the front leg, which can transfer stress to places where you’re built to bear it—in your broad, powerful core—if you you do it right.  I’m not talking about slinging pitches over your body from the on-deck circle with your Kraken-like reach: I’m talking about being compact and synchronized.  Learn to harmonize everything, and you will both pick hitters apart at the plate and keep your health for decades to come.

arm health, coaches and trust, fathers and sons, low arm angle, pitchers of short stature, pitching, submarine pitching, Uncategorized

Short People Need Not Apply?

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.

arm health, Deadball Era, low arm angle, pitchers of short stature, pitching, pitching velocity, submarine pitching, Uncategorized

What’s New With Pitching?

I was slightly shocked—and slightly alarmed—that so many more of my pitching videos had been viewed, when last I checked, than my hitting videos.  I’ve researched Deadball Era hitting and labored to reconstruct it for well over ten years; as for pitching, most of what I know came from working with my son as he evolved into a submarine artist.  I’ve lately been trying to shore up my bit of mound knowledge with historical research.  I haven’t so much delved into the Deadball Era as into the decade or so before World War II.  Pitchers before that time were even less photographed than batsmen in revealing positions; and they were also allowed to throw spitballs, scuff balls, shine balls… a whole arsenal of what we’d consider weapons banned by the Geneva Convention.  The later Twenties and the Thirties became a period of adjustment to something more like the mound-craft of today’s game.  Whatever searching I’ve done so far through the past’s record has taken me there.

At any rate, I wanted to respond energetically to this active interest in unusual arm angles.  I think I understand it.  Especially if you’re a shorter person, your chances of being a starter in college, or even high school, are remote.  My son, at five-foot-eight (on a good day with a kind yardstick), didn’t start any games after middle school, as I recall.  The lower angles which his broad frame allowed him to access effectively, however, made him an ideal short reliever.  (Sorry about the pun!)  Even at its most elite levels, and perhaps particularly there, the game is being delivered into the hands of relief specialists more and more.  So why wouldn’t you want to buy stock in that prospering venture if you could get in on it?

I’ll never forget seeing Paul Reddick—whom I admire, and whose authority I would seldom think to question—write a public answer to a father who’d wondered if his son might have more of a pitching future from the rare submarine angle.  Paul’s opinion?  Submarining is a “gimmick”: better to learn well the mechanics of conventional pitching than to chase after smoke and mirrors.  I can agree that a lot of boys pitch themselves into surgery by trying to drop down.  I’ve seen kids throwing from Down Under for no better reason, apparently, than that they had a lanky build and could sling the ball from the side.  Their motion was often so out of kilter that I winced every time they delivered.

But if you can get your limbs moving smoothly in the same plane, more or less, there’s no a priori reason why you shouldn’t stay healthy from a given angle.  I’ve just posted two videos about pitching from the 9:30 slot (very low overhand, almost sidearm).  The first of them discusses the importance of working within a single plane, and the second is an actual demonstration performed by this 65-year-old man which didn’t end in an ambulance trip.  I chanced to notice just last night that Brad Peacock of the Astros uses that same kind of delivery, carrying the leg only about 60 degrees from the plate-line and then kicking it forward and a little open.  (Kirby Yates and Diego Castillo do the same thing: I mention them in both videos.)  It’s all very Nineteen-Thirties… and those oldtimers, you know, often stretched their careers halfway to forever.

A funny thing happened as I was loosening up for the demonstration.  The thought popped into my head, “Hey, what if I were to use this non-closing leg lift that falls open about 15 degrees from the plate-line to throw submarine?  Why wouldn’t I?  Why do submariners always throw over their body, losing velocity and risking joint injury?  Why do they have to go through all those contortions—which also allow baserunners and extra jump?  What about just a straight drop-and-fire from the mound’s dirt, almost?”

Well, it works… kind of.  The initial problem I’m having, as you might expect, is with accuracy—but I’m missing over and over in the same spot, which suggests to me that the right adjustment could solve everything.  I’m also able (and I know this sounds crazy, but it’s my personal and patented test-drive technique) to throw submarine left-handed with some modest degree of success out of this motion.  I usually try to apply my theories to the weak side to see if their effect is objectively valid or if my good side is just covering up the deficiencies.  I’ve never been able to throw submarine from the left side at all, with any degree of success or comfort.  Now I’m starting to find some promise in the new method.

A new video discussion of this exploration is also on YouTube.  (You might say that I really threw myself into pitching when I detected the public’s level of interest.)  A demonstration should come soon, whenever I’m well enough rehearsed not to miss the backstop.

I don’t understand why the low angle should ever be rated a mere gimmick.  The Big Leagues don’t think it so, apparently.  If you can deliver a pitch to a hitter from an angle where he seldom has to look for it and send it on a trajectory that he never has to track during the rest of his week, then why wouldn’t that be effective?  Hesitation in the batter’s box means less time to react to the pitch—and reduced reaction time means that the pitch’s perceived velocity speeds up.  Shorter guys can’t squeeze top speeds from their modest stature… but they can sure find ways to confuse hitters so much that reaction time shrinks to what the fiercest fireballer gives his adversaries!

coaches and trust, low arm angle, pitchers of short stature, pitching, pitching velocity, submarine pitching, Uncategorized

Make Haste Slowly With Pitching Technique

I don’t think Paul Reddick would object to my reproducing some of the dramatic letter he shared with those on his mailing list yesterday. (The message is already dramatic enough without the punctuation… but I’ve left everything as I found it.)

His name is Mike Reinold.

He’s worked for the Red Sox, Dr. Andrews, and more pitchers than any one of us can count.

This week I’m going to be bringing you the Golden Nuggets I’ve learned from Mike Reinold’s Truth About Velocity Program.

Here we go:

  1. Baseball injuries are up 37% in MLB since 2008 despite the advances in technology, recovery, and strength training. ??
  2. Youth injuries have increased 10x over the same period. 10X!!!!!! ??
  3. Tommy John surgery has seen increased by 193%. (It’s not uncommon for players to have two TJ surgery’s now.) ??
  4. Why is this so? Here’s why: The baseball world is overly focused on velocity.
    As Mike points out, go to any showcase, and you’ll see this: [There follows a photo showing at least a dozen scouts crowded together in the bleachers with their JUGS guns all pointed in the same direction.]
  5. ??The increase velocity directly correlates to the increase in injuries.
    There’s no doubt about the trend.

Look at the chart Mike shows during his presentations showing how the rise in velocity matches the rise in injuries.  ?? [Photo of chart not included.]

  1. Mike points out that this may be the injury era of baseball, not the velocity era!

  2. When parents tell Mike their kid needs to throw hard to get noticed, he argues the velocity will always be important, but because of the injury trend, velocity will not be the only thing that scouts evaluate. ❤

  3. Mike points out that pitchers with the top 20 W.A.R. in baseball threw 93mph. That’s nothing to sneeze at, but it’s not 99mph. ??

I think Paul means the top twenty pitchers in WAR… which is a stat that I began to respect for the first time when I saw it in this message. We need a better number to use in evaluating pitchers, without question. I would watch my 5’8” son lob his submarine slider at hitter after hitter in a D II college conference to produce weak rollovers to the left side; and some of these would be misplayed by shortstops who were still brooding about their last at-bat, and some wouldn’t even be touched by shortstops who were bird-dogging the inherited runner at second rather than setting up where a 72 m.p.h. breaking ball would end up nine out of ten times. But to me, it seemed obvious that this 5’8” kid could have been an “out” machine under the right circumstances. Instead…

Well, instead, college scouts and coaches are unable to replicate the Jamie Moyer Phenomenon, apparently—while, under their watchful eyes, the 6’4” kids (and this is just as outrageous) continue to place the risky bet that they can win a ticket to the next level before their arm explodes.

I want to write more about pitching in the near future, and of course to produce some videos about it. Right now, the stars are not aligning. We’ve had technical problems that have led us to invest in new, hopefully much better video equipment… but the adjustment is time-consuming. I also waged a similar battle with the twenty-first century in trying to figure out how to open a new YouTube channel. I think I’ve prevailed, at last. I realize that not every student of the Deadball Era and of strategies for giving smaller players a headstart is interested in discussions of whether or not God exists. (I’m very confident, by the way, that they play baseball in Heaven.)

I’m also waiting for the weather to cool off and for my own body to recover from one or two setbacks. You see, I have my own preferred high-tech method for experimenting with pitching: I try to do left-handed what I’m doing right-handed. The supposition is that, if I really understand what’s working for me from my good side, I should be able to reproduce it from my weaker side with at least a bit of observable success. Occasionally, this leads to some sore-and-stiff mornings. Sometimes the latest design hardly gets airborne before it nosedives.

Nonetheless, I’m pretty sure that I’m on the right track. You can read a brief description of where our current hypothesis is taking us at the bottom of the Pitching page (click the link in the menu). I’ve selected Padres closer Kirby Yates as my poster-child. The overlap of his style with what we had independently mapped out is very encouraging.

As always with pitching, though—much more than with hitting—Festina lente, in the words of Augustus: “Make haste slowly.” Paul Reddick’s message should suffice to underscore that too many of our kids are getting too banged up under the direction of coaches who pay too much attention to narrow results. Go easy. Don’t let your son or daughter continue to do anything that I or anyone else suggests that creates discomfort. A really good swing can feel awkward the first few dozen times you test it out: a really good pitching motion should never create twinges or a vague sense of, “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

baseball history, bat acceleration, coaches and trust, hand use in hitting, low arm angle, low line drives, metal bat use, pitching, submarine pitching, Uncategorized, weight transfer

High Strikes: Nothing New Under the Sun

I was both delighted and dismayed to hear Jessica Mendoza remark on Sunday Night Baseball that pitching up in the strike zone—even with a mediocre fastball—has suddenly become the go-to strategy in the game’s upper echelons.  I was delighted because we’ve essentially been preaching this gospel from the reverse angle on SmallBallSuccess.com for years.  In fact, I personally was preaching it long before I had any idea of founding the site.  The metal bat, with its massive barrel and skinny handle, invites the hitter to hurl down on the ball, cocking the rear elbow and then unloading so steeply that the top hand slips off immediately upon contact.  The hefty leg kick and the “foot down early” imperatives (how often I’ve heard Jessica praise that dogma!) are part of the same stroke.

But none of it belongs to yesteryear’s game—and the reason is pretty obvious.  The bat path is too “dippy”.  If a tall guy collides with the pitch just as it passes over the plate (i.e., as his divebombing barrel is beginning to pull back on the joystick), then he may well impart so much backspin in the process that the resultant buzzard-beater carries over a fence.  Yet not only do smaller body types not have the equipment needed to accelerate the barrel sufficiently for this result: they, along with the big guys, risk a complete miss or a pitiful roll-over.  The barrel, that is, spends too much time on its long transit being nowhere near the plane of the ball’s flight.  It’s likely to descend too late or come up too early.  For big fellows, the frequent K’s and ground-outs are considered an acceptable trade-off for a homer every third game.  For smaller guys, useless pop-ups and dribblers are terminal.

And the high strike, of course, is the pitcher’s best option for exploiting this stroke’s big holes.  A barrel starting from well above the shoulder simply cannot come at a letter-high fastball productively.  (It does stand a good chance of clobbering a lazy hanger as it sweeps back upward: then the only question is… will the drive stay fair?)  Since the strike zone was particularly high in the Deadball Era and even well after World War II, hitters knew better than to take that steep hack and then, immediately, roll back with lifting, opening shoulders.  They kept their cut straight through the ball for as long as they could, usually finishing with their weight mostly or completely on the front foot.  I have a feeling that the Fifties were the pivotal period of change, as the home run once again captivated the public and the uppercut swing (your grandad’s version of Launch Angle) was all that hitting instructors talked about.

I tried to get my son, who was a dandy little submarine pitcher, to shoot some of his 0-2 and 1-2 pitches way up in the zone.  Even with his very modest velocity, I don’t think the chesty boppers that squared off against him in high school could have done him much harm there, especially since the pitch would literally be gaining altitude (the only pitch that truly does so).  No, they would have chased it all the way to the roots of their hair! But his coach absolutely nixed the idea.  Stay low, always low.  Never change the incoming vertical angle.  And today Ms. Mendoza is crowing, “Wow!  We hadn’t thought that this could work! Now it’s the very latest thing.”

“Late” is right.  Too late to help my son or to hit Coach Donkey between the ears.  And that, naturally, is the source of my dismay.  It’s flattering to be voted right, for a change, by the professional establishment… but it came too late to help my son—and, of course, none of the establishment is remotely aware of having given this independently publishing dad a thumbs-up.  The game will move right along at its standard glacial pace, its elite patting themselves on the back every time they figure out something that others of us knew a decade or two earlier.  (The uppercut swing, by the way, would eventually lead to the Year of the Pitcher and the lowering of the mound after the coaching brain trust had thoroughly ruined a generation of hitters with it.)  Well, you know… so it is in all human affairs.  There’s nothing new under the sun.

But the good news, if you have a teachable youngster, is that you don’t have to wait for baseball’s magnetosphere to reverse its polarities.  Get your boy (or girl) swinging like Cobb and Speaker—and Oscar Charleston, and Martin Dihigo—right now!  The coaches may want to jump right out of their cleats and shout, “What in… blazes are you doing?”  But when they see one line drive after another after another rolling to the fence, that shout is likely to catch in their throat.