“A major league pitcher is part boxer and part magician; if he’s not punching you in the face, he’s swiping a quarter from behind your ear. If you ever square him up, you better savor it. Even in batting practice, the world’s best hitters tap harmless grounders and punch lazy fly balls. In the heat of competition, every hit is an exquisite anomaly…”
- Tyler Kepner, K: A History of Baseball in Ten Pitches
As part of a dying breed – a fully committed baseball fan – the premise of Tyler Kepner’s K proved irresistible. In it, he seeks – in his own words – to present a history of Major League Baseball through ten different types of pitches: the slider; the fastball; the curveball; the knuckleball; the splitter; the screwball; the sinker; the changeup; the spitball; and the cutter.
This is not only a clever idea, but it provides a potentially wonderful framework for observing how baseball has evolved since the 19th century. In other words, pitching advances are an interesting yardstick against which to measure changing strategies, abilities, and player mechanics.
Unfortunately, while Kepner has collected a great deal of testimony from Major League pitchers both past and present, he shows little inclination to derive any meaning from what he learned. Instead of putting his research into the service of an overarching thesis, he mainly strings anecdotes together. This can certainly be enjoyable, and K is not a chore to read. Nevertheless, it delivers far less than promised.
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K is divided into ten chapters, with each chapter dedicated to one pitch. Given the book’s title, this structure did not surprise me. What did surprise me, however, was the evident lack of care given to ordering the chapters.
For example, the obvious place to start is with the fastball. It is, after all, the fundamental pitch at all levels of baseball. Likely, the first pitch ever thrown was a fastball. Anyone with an arm can execute it, though the “fast” part is relative. But instead of beginning at the obvious place – that is to say, at the beginning – K opens with the slider.
This seems like a small thing, but it is representative of K’s larger problem with cohesiveness. Each of the chapters feels mutually exclusive. There is no connective tissue between them. There is no attempt at any sort of chronology, to show how one pitch led to another. The bottom line is that K is more a collection of essays than a book.
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Of course, this only matters if the standalone chapters can’t stand alone. To that end, the ten chapters in K vary wildly in quality.
None of the chapters, even the good ones, are well organized. Rather than approaching each pitch methodically – describing how it is thrown, how it moves, and how it has been utilized over the last century-and-a-half – Kepner prefers to stitch together an endless succession of yarns, most of them he collected himself, the fact of which he’s happy to remind you.
To a certain extent, this rambling, pastiche-like style makes sense. Baseball is a story-driven sport, with a deep connection to its legends. Even with a pitch-clock, there’s a lot of dead-air to fill during a game, and anyone who tunes in today will still be treated to endless reminiscing by the announcers. While this is fine in moderation, it can also try one’s patience.
Depending on the pitch, the point of emphasis in each chapter tends to shift. In the fastball chapter, for instance, I expected an in-depth discussion on the drastic rise in velocity, perhaps comparing players of different ages to see how old-timey fireballer Walter Johnson stacks up against Roger Clemens or Randy Johnson. Kepner goes a different route, focusing on injuries.
K works best when Kepner actually develops a theme. In the knuckleball chapter, for example, he ably demonstrates how the low-intensity pitch has been used by guys who otherwise lacked the fancy stuff needed to play in the Major Leagues. I liked the shift in focus away from well-known stars to the guys just trying to carve out a career, any way they could.
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Though the subtitle promises “a history of baseball in ten pitches,” K is generally light on the past. Kepner is a journalist, not a historian, and it shows on just about every page. He prefers the living to the dead; and he prefers quoting people he’s interviewed over people interviewed by others. In short, K is heavily weighted toward recent events and players.
That’s not to say that baseball’s earlier days are entirely ignored. I appreciated the curveball chapter because it actually dug into the origins of the curveball. I just wish there had been more sections like it.
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Baseball has always been in love with statistics. Today, that penchant has been taken to new extremes, with a whole raft of complex measurements to tell us a player’s true value. Part of the advanced stats revolution is the use of metrics such as spin rate, vertical drop, and horizontal movement. A lot of these metrics have gone mainstream. Baseball analyst Rob Friedman – to take one example – runs a Twitter account called Pitching Ninja, in which video overlays are used to show balls dipping, ducking, and swerving in fantastical ways.
For whatever reason, K almost entirely neglects this aspect of quantifying pitches. There is some, to be sure – the knuckleball chapter, especially, gets into aerodynamics – but this needed a bit more physics. If Kepner had interspersed some hard science into the storytelling, including descriptions about why each pitch moves as it does, this would have been a better book.
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Some little things could have helped K immensely. There is a lot of talk about grips, but not a single diagram in the book to show finger placement. There are also no illustrations charting the way that each pitch moves, which also would’ve been helpful. This probably isn’t Kepner’s fault. Still, it is consistent with K’s essential emptiness. It is content to let a lot of different pitchers give their observations, without really doing anything with the wisdom they’ve conveyed.
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Make no mistake: K is just fine. It’s not insulting or overly obnoxious. It is clearly the work of someone who loves the game, even if he loves talking about himself just as much. That said, its lack of organization and artistry means that it will hold zero interest for non-baseball fans.
For those who don’t watch the game, Major League baseball teams typically employ a five-man starting rotation. The top of the rotation guys – the number one and two pitchers – are the team’s aces. These are shutdown pitchers, the ones you want tossing in the most important games. The fourth and fifth starters are generally innings eaters, necessary over the course of an extremely long season.
The number three is a guy who isn’t a star, but can keep you in the game. Some days, he might even dominate. K is the literary equivalent of a number three starter. Sometimes really good, sometimes sort of bad, but mostly just adequate.