One last anti-DH screed for the road
The thing about the designated hitter is, I don't like that rule and it's bad
Thus far, 2020 has gone (checks notes) poorly. The world collapsed, and then it exploded, and now we’re all waiting for it to inevitably collapse again; we’ve all been stuck inside for months and have to wear masks when we go out, except for the people who refuse to be stuck inside or wear masks, who feel it’s their God-given right to do whatever the hell they want to no matter the consequences for anyone else. We’ve seen a deep rot in American society, as a large percentage of the country flat-out wants us to do the wrong thing when it comes to the coronavirus, or race relations, or police brutality, or literally anything else that requires a choice, and somehow these are the people who are running the country. It is a maddening, infuriating time, and if the events themselves aren’t wholly unique, then our knowledge of them, and the way there’s some fresh horror near constantly, is grinding us all down daily.
After all that, it almost feels good to get mad about the DH again.
After the owners stalled the process as long as they could, yesterday they began inching closer to a deal with the players, budging on the number of regular season games in exchange for expanded playoffs, and throwing in an added DH to boot. The players have not accepted the deal, but it’s a step in the direction of actually making a deal instead of offering the same thing in different packaging, so my guess is that the two sides will come to an agreement eventually.
I’m not gonna get into the other details of the proposal, because this looks like it’ll be the last time I ever get to be mad about the DH in a one-DH-league world. The players want it, the owners are fine with it, and it’s going to happen. That’s where the story ends. There was no war; the war is already lost.
But while we’re here, let’s do this thing:
I don’t like the DH.
I like watching pitchers hit. I like that they’re not very good at it, because if anything the pressure is really on the opposing pitcher: If you don’t get this guy out, who’s not even a hitter, then jeez man, you really suck. I like that they’re not good at it, because every hit a pitcher gets is a delight. A Brandon Crawford single with two outs in the 7th inning of a 9-1 game is nice, but ultimately meaningless. A Jeff Samardzija single with two outs in the 7th inning of a 9-1 game is phenomenal, my half hour has just been made, I’m gonna hop right on Twitter and tell everyone that I saw this cool thing happen.
I like that pitchers aren’t good at hitting because there should be someone playing baseball at all times to remind just how fucking hard this game really is. These are insanely athletic guys, who in most cases were the best hitters on their high school teams, and they look like absolute idiots up at the plate. To which I say: good. I would look like an absolute idiot at the plate, and I am not one millionth as athletic as, like, Andy Suarez. It is a good thing to remind me of that.
I like that pitchers aren’t good at hitting because then the presence of a pitcher in the lineup changes things dramatically. I like knowing where a team is in the lineup in relation to the pitcher, and the simple joy of the 8-place hitter working a walk so the pitcher can make his out now instead of leading off the next inning, and the big advantage a team has when they have Madison Bumgarner or Yovanni Gallardo or some pitcher who can actually hit in the lineup. I genuinely, honestly enjoy every one of those things and think that yes, while a pitcher makes a lot of outs at the plate, it’s totally worth it.
And biggest of all, I don’t like sameness.
When you get to the 6-spot in an unfamiliar AL lineup, everyone seems basically the same. You have an okay hitter, then an okayish hitter, followed by a moderately okay hitter, and finally an almost okay hitter, and then you’re back to the fast guy at the top of the lineup. They all lump together.
In an NL lineup, you’re always thinking about the pitcher lurking in the 9-hole. There’s a New Thing that’s going to happen that’s very different from the other things. This adds anticipation. This spices things up. Sure, the 6th place hitter is still just okay, but now the 7th place hitter is gonna have to see something to hit or else the 8th place hitter will have at least one guy on when he comes up, and you don’t want to walk him too because what if the pitcher gets a hit and you look like a fool for walking everyone to get to him?
Every part of that is better than every part of the AL game. And that’s before you get to the straight comedy of reliever at bats (Tragically, Alex Pavlovic will never text any of his friends again), or the strategy elements of when to remove pitchers and how to keep good relievers around a little longer, or the “Jackpot!” feeling of finding a pitcher who can hit a few homers a year. That’s all worth so, so much to me, and it’s going to disappear because the players can get longer contracts now that teams aren’t worried about putting creaky knees in the outfield, and because Rob Manfred wants offense to go up.
The opposing argument is simple and accurate: a DH is a better hitter than a pitcher. A DH optimizes the lineup and makes you feel like you are watching the best pitchers go up against the best pitchers. You have reached Optimal Baseball.
The thing is, I don’t like that. I don’t watch baseball because it’s optimized. I watch baseball because it’s baseball. I like the simplicity of having 9 guys in the field, and those same 9 guys in the lineup. I like watching people try things that they aren’t good at. I like watching pitchers do well at the plate, and I like watching pitchers do very, very poorly at the plate. I think baseball will be lesser with a universal DH. But I also have to shrug my shoulders and accept it.
Oh well. I can’t even get mad about it because I’m too mad about everything else in the world. They win.