Joe Morgan and oncology.

I have long inveighed against the uselessness of “chemistry” in baseball. Actually, I have long railed against the very term itself, since chemistry has no more to do with team camaraderie and interaction than physics, geology or oncology (and in fact, given the rampant use of the term “cancer” for players of bad repute, you would think good oncology just as important as chemistry in today’s sports). But in particular, my argument was always one of seemingly sound logic: unless Derek Jeter begins refusing to throw to the first basemen, who cares about chemistry?

In particular, I would objurgate those foolish among us who might imply that the Yankees of ‘96-’00 won because they had better chemistry. They didn’t win because they had better chemistry. They won because they were flat out better.

And while I maintain that “chemistry” is still a stupid term and is invoked far too often in defense of teams who simply aren’t that good, I have softened my stance a bit. I still believe the current Yankees lineup is overrated because it contains names of players who used to be good, but there might be another reason contributing to this team’s inability to win in October. Who convinced me? Joe Morgan. Yeah, I know, they should start buying skis in Hell. This coming on the heels of Steve Philips actually impressing me with his wit (though it actually was pretty funny—you should ask the Sports Maunderer about it sometime, when he isn’t procrastinating).

In totally unrelated news that, using my sharp acumen and unmatched cognitive skill I will soon connect in ways unimaginable and completely unforeseeable: the Yankees are quite possibly a .500 team. They might be better—it is hard to tell at this incipient stage of the season. But if they do fail to break the win-one-lose-one routine, it WILL NOT (oh yeah, I just broke out the capital letters) be because of their pitching. It will be due to their mercurial hitting and all-too frequent inability to score runs.

Among the many myths of the Yankees dominance for the latter half of the 90s is the myth that they were great because they had the best pitching in the league. Removing the 1998 team from the equation simply because that team was a dynasty within a dynasty within a dynasty (I defy anyone to find me a team better than that one, including the ’27 Yankees. Quite simply, the ’98 Yankees were better than everyone at everything), the three other years they won the title, they clearly did not have the best starting pitching. In ’96, the Braves had Maddux/Glavine/Smoltz, three Hall of Famers, each in their prime. In ’99 and ’00, you know who had the best team ERA in the league? You guessed it: the Red Sox (thanks in large part to Pedro, smack in the middle the most dominating two year stretch of pitching in modern baseball history). Of course, neither of those teams won. The Yankees did.

The Yankees, assuredly, had Mariano Rivera, but they still have Rivera, and haven’t won in eight years. So what is the difference? Obviously, their pitching is not quite as good as it once was, but it still isn’t horrid (I mean, we are talking about a 1996 pitching staff that gave up four hundred bajillion runs to the Braves in games 1 and 2 of the series, and another six in game four). They didn’t lose the series to Cleveland last year due to bad pitching. They lost due to gnats. But that is beyond the point. The point is that those teams of yesteryear had great lineups.

While the volume of runs scored over 162 games may not be more impressive than the current scenario of flailing hitters up and down the order, the timing of the runs scored was quite different. This team hits home runs, but goodness knows when and how and why and with how many men on base they will do it. They literally come to the plate with a percent chance equivalent to their batting average of doing well—they don’t adapt, they don’t move to the ball, they don’t seem to care who is pitching or what he might throw. The old Yankees were never a threat to hit 250 home runs in a season, but with a runner on second and two outs, they were going to be extremely difficult to get out. They went after the ball instead of swinging where they hoped it would go. They seemed to have a genuine idea of where the pitcher liked to throw, speeds he had, et al.

And even in the case of pitchers, what has happened? The Yankees don’t have all terrible pitchers. They have good ones and terrible ones. Why not more good ones?

Strangely enough, the answer might lie in the nebulous, intangible science of chemistry (though I don’t recall any baseball discussion in general chem. Maybe they don’t get to it until organic?) Joe Morgan made the point in a recent Yankees broadcast that teams with players who like each other, enjoy each other, talk to each other, tend to do better. Why? Because when a hitter strikes out, he doesn’t go into the dugout, sulk, and stare into space with alien eyes that scream “withdrawal!” (I’m looking at you, Jason). He talks to other players and before you know it, the whole team has an idea of what to expect before they even get to the plate.

Joe also made the point that this matters even more with pitchers. He didn’t explain why, but hey, he was on a roll so I took him at his word. All of the sudden, everything makes sense. The camaraderie on this current Yankees team does suck. Th camaraderie on the World Series teams did not. I mean, does anyone see Johnny Damon walking into the dugout and confabulating with Hideki Matsui? And Damon is the most outgoing player on the team. Is Mike Mussina really helping Ian Kennedy (otherwise known as the guy who stole his job last year) become a better pitcher? I wouldn’t bet a bagel on it.

This also makes sense when you think about the fact that, despite all of these “great hitters”, they don’t seem to score as often as they should in the first place. It seems that being a “great hitter” is almost synonymous with blowing it in the clutch, because “great hitters” hit home runs.

Ya know, maybe I was right all along. The Yankees problem is likely just the fact that none of their players are that good. A-Rod hits a lot of home runs, but to hit home runs you need to swing for the fences. Which means you probably will strike out. Which means you aren’t that good of a hitter. By the time he is done, A-Rod might have 800 home runs. But how many of them will have mattered?

Well, if you add strontium hydroxide to magnesium nitrate, you get a precipitate; shouldn’t that tell us something?

~The Sports Maunderer~