Nothing is official yet, and likely won't be for several more months, but around the game, there's near-unanimous agreement that the 2023 MLB season will, for the first time, feature a pitch clock.
For most, the introduction of a pitch clock is sorely needed to improve the current pace of the game. Each season, games creep further beyond the three-hour time of game -- last year, it was 3:05 -- and have become more slow-moving than a chess match. Batters step out after every pitch, adjust wristbands and take practice swings. Meanwhile, pitchers wander around the mound, engage in staredowns with their catchers over pitch selection, and sometimes remain motionless after they come set in their delivery.
It's excruciating for even the most ardent fan to endure, and the glacial-like pace has undoubtedly been a factor in the sport's inability to attract many younger fans, most of whom want a faster, quicker game filled with more action.
The clock will go a long way toward addressing this. Some form of a pitch clock has been in use in the minors since 2018, but this season is the first in which it's being used across every level, and with specific rules relating to limiting the number of times a batter can step out of the box per at-bat, and for pitchers, a ceiling on stepping off and pickoffs with runners on base.
At Triple-A this year, pitchers get 14 seconds between pitches with the bases empty and 19 seconds with a runner on base. There also exists a 30-second limit between hitters, encouraging hitters to get into the batter's box quickly and be prepared for action to resume. If a pitcher isn't ready, it's an automatic ball; if a batter is tardy, the penalty is an automatic strike.
Judging solely by the time of games, the rule changes have worked. Last year, the average minor league game was even three hours, with 55 percent taking longer than three hours. This year, only 10 percent of the games are taking longer than three hours to complete and the average time of the game has been reduced to 2:35. Nearly a half-hour reduction is significant.
Recently, I surveyed some Red Sox pitchers who had also pitched at Triple-A Worcester and had to pitch with the pitch clock in place, to determine A) How they adjusted in Triple-A and B) whether it quickened their pace when they pitched in major league games.
"I definitely think there's a carryover,'' said Josh Winckowski. "People say when you come up here, the game speeds up on you. But to me, it's almost slowed down. I feel like I'm waiting for hitters a huge amount. I think the pitch clock has some positives, and it has some negatives. I think there are some things that need to get (adjusted), some small things. A hitter can step out and re-set the clock (once per at-bat), but with no one on, a pitcher can't. The clock keeps ticking, which isn't really fair. And I think runners have an advantage - they can time it so that if you come set with only a few seconds remaining, they know you have to make a pitch.
"But the numbers show that games at Triple-A have been faster, so if that's the goal, I guess it's accomplishing that. I personally, I don't think the game needs to be sped up.''
Winckowski is hardly alone in voicing this sentiment. In conversations with dozens of players in recent seasons, I can report that most don't see length of game as anything that needs addressing. Pitchers and hitters are in no hurry to complete games; they're more willing to take however long they need to get ready -- either on the mound or in the box -- and some resent that this agenda is being advanced. Some are incredulous that some find games tedious, with a What the heck are you watching? response.
There are also issues with implementation.
"The only thing that kind of bothered me was they weren't very consistent with it,'' charged reliever Ryan Brasier, who was optioned back to Triple-A briefly last month. "Some (umpires), as soon as the clock hit zero, they would call a ball, automatically. And then there were some who, when it hit zero, would let it go and warn you. And once, just as I came set, (the hitter) called time, right in the middle of my delivery. Hitters don't have to be in the box until nine seconds (remaining), and if (a pitcher) shakes (off a catcher's sign) one time, it's pretty much down to zero.''
Brasier was asked what the result might be in 2023, should MLB institute the same guidelines.
"I don't see it working,'' he said. "Not at 14 seconds, no. Two outs in the seventh inning, and you walk someone because you're trying to throw the right pitch. There are a lot of guys now who take longer than 14 seconds with nobody on base. It will be interesting to see what they do.''
It's likely, however, that everyone will learn to adapt. When umpires threatened to penalize hitters who took too long to get into the box, veteran hitters like David Ortiz insisted it would ruin the game. Spoiler alert: it did not.
Similarly, when MLB mandated that relievers had to face a minimum of three hitters several years ago, managers and pitching coaches were up in arms that it would surely result in injuries and other unintended consequences as a result. Somehow, the game has survived.
Unwittingly, MLB may have already helped quick the pace of game in attempting to solve another issue. MLB authorized the use of PitchCom this season to, in part, alleviate illegal sign stealing. But the process has also resulted in speeding up the game -- even before the pitch clock goes into effect.
"I'm seeing an overall quickening of the pace in general in the big leagues,'' said Red Sox pitching coach Dave Bush, "and I think at this level, PitchCom has a lot to do with that. It allows us to give signs sooner, so we don't have to wait for a guy to get on the rubber, or for a hitter to get into the box. They don't have that at Triple-A, so they're working with just the clock. But looking at both sides, our guys who have been down to Triple A, when they come back up here, they're working faster -- not because of a clock, but because they can get the sign whenever they want to.
"They don't have the pressure of making a pitch within 14 seconds, but they're comfortable working faster and kind of like the rhythm of it.''
In general, managers, coaches and teammates prefer pitchers to work at a quicker pace, without resorting to hurrying. It's documented that pitchers who work at a faster pace get into better rhythms and can seize control over a hitter. Furthermore, fielders are more alert and more focused when there's less downtime between pitches.
Bush believes that having the pitch clock in the minors the last few seasons -- with subtle and significant changes to the details along the way -- can only help major league pitchers transition for 2023.
"With any of these rule changes that happen over time,'' he said, "they always start in the minor leagues first, so the next generation of players comes up, used to a certain expectation. So that makes it easier, since, with each passing year, the number of players who've already been exposed to the changes gets bigger and bigger and it's less of an issue.
"Like anything with change, there's always going to be a transition period. There's going to be a period of time when there's a bunch of balls and strikes (assessed for violations) as players get used to it. But like I said, I've already noticed a change with the pace because of PitchCom, so I don't know that it's going to be as drastic a change as I might have expected a year ago.''
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Two stories from the past week, both tied, of course, to money:
1) Freddie Freeman has buyer's (or should that be seller's) remorse.
Freeman desperately wanted to remain with the Atlanta Braves when he reached free agency last fall. Freeman had been part of the Braves' organization since being drafted by them in 2007. In 2021, he won a World Series with them.
No deal was in place when the lockout began in early December, and the longer the negotiations dragged out, the more likely it seemed that Freeman might sign elsewhere. In March, the Braves, unable to reach an agreement, traded for Oakland's Matt Olson to replace Freeman at first base, effectively slamming the door on a return for Freeman. In announcing the deal, Braves GM Alex Anthopoulos got choked up.
Freeman subsequently signed a six-year, $162 million deal with the Los Angeles Dodgers.
Freeman then returned to Atlanta as a member of the Dodgers last weekend. The visit was overwhelmingly emotional for Freeman, who had to excuse himself from a pre-game press conference until he could regain his composure. Then, in the days after, Freeman fired his agent, Casey Close.
Putting two and two together, it was easy to reconstruct what had happened during Freeman's return to Atlanta: He heard, for the first time, what the Braves' last, best offer had been, and deduced that Close never relayed that offer to him. Soon after, Close no longer represented Freeman.
(Close has vehemently denied all of this, but the evidence is pretty overwhelming).
Freeman isn't the first person to fire an agent after a protracted negotiation; Red Sox second baseman Trevor Story did the same, after it was reported that the Texas Rangers had made him a huge offer, before shifting gears and signing Corey Seager and Marcus Semien instead. Reportedly, Story was unhappy that his former agents at Excel Sports Management didn't counter the Texas offer and work something out. (Story is a native of the greater Dallas area and understandably, would have preferred staying closer to home).
There's no evidence that Story is unhappy with the decision to ultimately sign in Boston. By all accounts, Story has hit in well, is well-liked by his teammates, respected for his work ethic, and other than a low batting average, has played well for the Red Sox.
But Freeman's emotions, fully on display, has to make the Dodgers wonder if they have an unhappy player on their hands for another five and a half seasons. Freeman grew up in Orange Country, so he's returning home. But it seems pretty obvious that his heart remains in Atlanta.
The entire story is somewhat reminiscent of how things ended for Bruins' great Bobby Orr. Orr, represented by Alan Eagleson, was given a contract offer to remain in Boston, which included an ownership stake in the team. Eagleson, who wanted Orr playing elsewhere, never told Orr about that part of the offer, and Orr signed with the Chicago Blackhawks. It was years later that Orr learned of Eagleson's malfeasance.
(Orr had the ultimate last laugh. He helped supply much of the documentation to a story that detailed Eagleson's larceny when it came to the NHL Players Associations, whose funds Eagleson used as his own, landing him a long jail stint.).
2) Minnesota Twins pitching coach Wes Johnson resigns to take job at LSU.
Johnson shocked the Twins with his decision last weekend to leave his MLB job and take over as pitching coach at LSU. He cited the shorter schedule and the ability to spend more time with his family, but surely, salary was a factor. Johnson was making $400,000, and his new compensation package at LSU, including reachable incentives, is reported to be worth $750,000.
What's wrong with this picture? How is that making a lateral move from MLB to a college team can result in almost a doubling of salary? Sure, LSU is a big-time university with incredible revenue strems -- just ask new Tigers football coach Brian Kelly, who was lured away from Notre Dame last year with a package that will pay him $9 million or more annually. But the LSU baseball program surely doesn't come close to generating the revenue your average MLB franchise produces.
This story shines a light on an issue that MLB would prefer not have illuminated: how poorly -- relatively speaking -- the industry pays its coaches.
In the NFL, coordinators (defensive and offensive) average nearly $1 million in salary. By contrast, hitting and pitching coaches -- like coordinators in football, the MLB coaches with the most responsibilities -- make about a third of that, on average. The Athletic reported this week that the average pitching and hitting coach make anywhere from $285,000 to $325,000.
That's shameful. MLB as an industry generates around $12 billion annually, with many franchises making hundreds of millions. And teams are somehow unable/unwilling to fairly compensate coaches, who have an enormous impact on player performance?
It's worth asking whether Johnson's move might be a precursor for many others, who might likewise be asking themselves why they work so hard from February through October, and are so poorly rewarded financially.