Because PItching is Harder Today, That's Why

The biggest criticism I hear from itinerant baseball fans today about the 21st century player is astonishment that pitchers are such weenies.

Tommy John threw 200+ innings seven times after his eponymous surgery (five times prior), peaking at 276 innings in 1979 at age 36. John hurled 162 complete games in his career, more than all of Major League Baseball racks up in a season.

So why can't some 240-pound stud last into the seventh without replacing his ulnar collateral ligament?

Answer: See the title of this post.

Behemoths With Bats During Tommy John's career in the 60s and 70s, and even into the early 80s, every lineup was stocked with batters, often including a pitcher, who couldn't reach the centerfield fence if you spotted him second base. Bud Harrelson anchored the Miracle Mets' World Series run in 1969 weighing in at 160 pounds with change in his pocket. Harrelson produced seven home runs in his 16-year career and I'd be willing to bet my Toyota Yaris that at least four of them rolled around the field of play while he circled the bases.

In 2016, even a novelty like Jose Altuve, all of 5'5" and 165, pokes 24 home runs in a season.

In fact, the year of Tommy John's return from elbow surgery, there were 86 players listed at 175 pounds or less who made 300 plate appearances. Last year, there were 12. That same year, 102 players with 300 PAs tallied fewer than five home runs. That's three or four semi-regulars per team. Last year, there were 31 -- one per team.

Back then, a pitcher could cruise through much of the lineup secure that only a couple of bats were capable of doing real damage. Today, every single pitch matters.

Rougned Odor, Keystoner, 33 Jacks
To counteract this, or rather to survive it, MLB teams grow tight ends who can light up radar guns. (Literally, in the case of Jeff Samardzija.) And they throw pitches Tommy John never heard of, like cut fastballs, 90-mph change-ups and 75 mph knuckleballs. They are being bred to snap off breaking pitches that scratch the corners at high velocities. They are not being bred to go the distance. For that, they raise relief pitchers, cultivated for their triple-digit heat, now crowding bullpens that held two or three second-string arms in Tommy John's day. The late innings are their dominion, not the starter's.

In the 70s, more than three-quarters of at-bats ended with a ball put in play. Pitchers could serve it up and allow their fielders to handle the batted balls. Today, about two-thirds of balls are put into play. That's about 650 more walks, strikeouts, and home runs per team each season, which means more pitches thrown per at bat. Today, every one of a starter's 100 precious pitches is delivered with maximum effort to 6'4" shortstops who can crank it out to the opposite field. There are no more Jerry Kenneys, the Yankees' 170-pound shortstop with a lifetime .299 slugging percentage.

Put it all together and you get 21st century baseball. Pitchers aren't wusses today and their ligaments aren't any more tender; in fact, they're bigger, stronger, better conditioned and more adept than ever before. They just have a more strenuous job.

Of Counsell

Not every player on even a championship team can be an All-Star. Winning teams need average players and role players who rarely attract attention but seem to accumulate rings.

One of those players is Craig Counsell, an unimposing, weak-hitting infielder who has changed uniforms six times in his career. You probably haven't thought about Counsell for years and weren't even sure he was still collecting a Major League paycheck.

He's not just collecting it -- for the Milwaukee Brewers these days -- he's earning it, despite a lifetime slugging percentage of .351. That's nearly Harrisonian, as in Bud. (Okay, no it's not. Buddy posted a lifetime SLG of .288., which is roughly what Chase Utley slugs with one arm. The point is that Counsell's 40 lifetime home runs in 15 seasons means he'd better have something else in his repertoire to impress the chicks.)

In 1440 lifetime games at second, short and third  -- he didn't really begin getting regular playing time until his seventh season in the bigs -- Counsell has hit a pedestrian .258/.345/.351 without flashing the blazing speed those kinds of numbers tend to require for usefulness. On the other hand, Counsell is an asset around the defensive horn, works the count and takes his walks, brings professionalism to the job everyday, rarely makes bonehead plays, accepts his role and offers his skipper multiple options every game. As a left-handed bat, Counsell even adds the platoon dimension to the manager's hand.

Moreover, while a .696 OPS won't get a left-fielder a major league job, it's actually about average for a middle-infielder. On top of that, Counsell is a few ticks above the middle with the glove, according to the various defensive metrics out there. Baseball Prospectus estimates that given the extra two wins he contributes to his team compared to a replacement-level player, Craig Counsell is worth a cool $8.5 million this year.

The thing to understand about average players who fill roles is that they are a huge improvement over the alternative. A team with an average hitter batting seventh, or backing up a star, is an awesome offensive force. Last year, in just 459 late appearances, Counsell added roughly 46 runs to the Brewers' performance compared to whoever would have been available to replace him.

Guys like Craig Counsell can't carry teams. You can live with him as your starting second baseman or shortstop for a full season if you must, but he's really an asset as part of a rotation, a back-up, a spot starter, an injury fill-in. He's not the reason the Marlins won the championship in '97 or the Diamonbacks in '01, but those teams couldn't have won if, instead of the Craig Counsells of the world, they'd have signed someone off the scrap heap. Keep that in mind next time your favorite team signs some middling player to share duty or provide relief. Those players can be mighty valuable.

b