Baseball 2017: Year of the Homerun

Earlier in this year's baseball campaign, I noted something. Noted it to myself. Kap, I said, Kap -- I'm seeing guys looking frustrated that they just got under a ball... then putting on their very-best poker faces to trot 'round the bags. Keeping in mind, these fellas know what getting the barrel on the ball feels like and much as I know how it feels when I tweak my back looking over my shoulder to pull my Chevy Sonic outta a parallel parking slot.

Last night in an inconsequential Toronto eighth inning, Alex Gordon of KC stepped in against Ryan Tepera. Gordon, another of a seemingly endless list of Royals free agents to be, crushed the offering toward and over the just right a' center wall. The dinger didn't give either team a winning '17 record, but it did give Major League Baseball a brand-spankin' new record: it's 5,694th collective round-tripper. With 12 days still left in the campaign. Thus breaking the previous record set in 2000 -- four years prior to steroid testing arriving in MLB.

Another steroid-era mark is being threatened, and by mark I mean McGwire. The Damn Yankees Aaron "Dave Kingman" Judge has 45 homers under his belt as I type this into my cigar ash covered Chromebook. Mark McGwire's '87 record of 49 is well within Judge's reachy-reach. Why, and lookit what Giancarlo Stanton is doing with the Marlins: 55 homeruns, the most in MLB in half a score.

There is no shortage of working theories as to this big fly explosion. Some point to weakened pitching. But in an age when even a rotation ace is barely expected to face the opposing batting order twice, and a fresh pitcher is oft more dangerous than a slightly better but too more fatigued and more familiar one -- I ain't buying that. Plus, it don't 'splain the mandated poker faces I made mention of. Is it the bats? Same woods, same specs: no dice. The ball. 

MLB insists that all game-balls fall into the acceptable and prescribed spectrum... but I say every spectrum has an upper echelon. Tighter windings and flatter lacings make for a bunch a' bang and less drag along toward the upper-deck. So 'tis the balls. 'Tis too the BALLS, pardon my French, gentlepersons. The biggest of the second varietal, or the pursuit thereof -- mandates one hit further than the furthest last juiced hardball. As evidence of this, 2017 is also the year of the death of two-strike swings. No longer do they get shortened nor choked-up on -- we's hacking till the bitter end. Too, it's the year of the upward-angled swing. The same thing I'd get yelled at in Little League for employing, "SWING LEVEL." No longer. As the balls feed the BALLS. Just like the biceps fed the biceps and the injections fed the injections. Buncha meat-heads.

Back in the halcyon days of juiced players, it was somewhat easier to file away fallen records. Your hat-size goes up, you get yerself an asterisk. But now in 2017, does the burgeoning era in its entirety get a darned asterisk? Or is this new ball here to stay, as it happened at the dawn of the live-ball era so verily long ago. The answer is clear, I'm afraid. There ain't no turning back. The game's about to get a tick dumber. Buncha meat-heads.

But at least it'll get. The current attentions these long-balls are garnering are translating into interest that rivals the steroid era, and does so on a more subtle and even-keel, and ain't that more acceptable these days? The participation trophies are about to get bigger, gentlepersons. So, baseball grows once again on the back of the big fly. Maybe this crop of Judges and Stantons won't be thrown under the bus for their efforts a la their Sosa and Bonds predecessors. Still, it's good to see Selig in the Hall of Fame. All that happening on his knowing and orchestrated watch. It all leaves a taste in my mouf as bad as a three back stogie. Chomping on the thing whilst yelling to no one listening: "ADVANCE THE RUNNER, WILL YA?!"

Listen to: "I Was the Cook" Kaplowitz Radio: September 20, 2017