Is Hitting a Baseball Really the Hardest Thing to do in Sports?
Two guys in recliners share their wisdom
Hitting a baseball is the hardest thing to do in sport. That is the accepted and acknowledged barroom and living room wisdom.
Regular Joe down at the end of the bar says, “Look man, you got a round ball that’s three inches wide, it’s closing on you almost a hundred miles an hour and you’re supposed to hit it with a stick that’s even smaller around than the ball. That’s why you’re a freakin allstar if you can pull it off just three out of every ten times.”
“Damn straight,” you holler and raise your glass. “Hardest thing to do in all of sport.”
It’s never exactly clear what things are being compared, but nonetheless it’s an article of faith that hitting a baseball is the most difficult among said unsaid things.
But is it?
Cut to my living room just a few Sundays ago, when my father, Roy Sr, sometimes referred to as Old Roy, or more delicately as Roy 1.0, joined me to watch the Giants game and bask in each other’s considerable baseball expertise. Fortunately, on this particular Sunday, Mrs D was visiting relatives somewhere across the continent, thus the living room was temporarily an eye-roll-free zone vis-a-vis the running of our expert mouths.
Friendly beverages were involved, the Giants were losing in the late innings, and soon talk turned to our superior understanding of the game of baseball compared to the hopeless, flailing, trend-following, stat-blind, blockheaded ignorance of, you know, pretty much everyone ever professionally employed at the highest levels of the sport. Such is the cross borne by every long-suffering couchbound sports fan.
So, after yet another Giant struck out to end an inning with the bases loaded, one of us sighed in resignation and threw the old bromide out there, “Well, like they say, it’s the hardest thing to do in sport.”
And of course we went through the whole litany: three inches wide, rounded bat, hundred miles an hour, seven out of ten failure rate.
Incidentally, it’s not just barroom—or living room—wisdom. Even the venerated Popular Science has published an article claiming, “A unique blend of physics and neuroscience makes the skill astronomically difficult.” (www.popsci.com/story/science/why-is-hitting-a-baseball-so-hard/?)
So, don’t roll your eyes at the two Roys just yet.
But what are we really talking about here? What, in fact, are the aforementioned ‘things’ we might fairly compare to hitting a baseball? Let’s define them. Let’s say, for instance, completing a pass in the NFL. Or let’s say, making a basket in the NBA. Or hitting the fairway in professional golf. These are all discrete, repeatable accomplishments required on a regular basis for a top-level player to be deemed successful in their respective sport.
And I suddenly got a clear look at the fly in the logic—or the flaw in the ointment, whatever. I realized this dog couldn’t hunt. Or, more importantly, count. You see, when you throw a pass in the NFL, that’s one throw, one single attempt, with one positive or negative result: complete or incomplete. When you take a shot in the NBA, it’s one shot, make or miss. In golf, you hit one shot from the tee, your ball either lands in the fairway (or on the green) or it doesn’t. These are all straightforward one-for-one records of accountability.
And it’s true, by all the accepted measurements these skills are less difficult on average than hitting a baseball. Top passers have completion rates above 60%. Top shooters make baskets around 50% of the time. Top golfers hit the fairway on up to 70% of their drives.
However, in baseball, when we say someone’s an allstar for hitting the ball 30% of the time, we’re not talking about a one-for-one relationship.
We’re talking about hits per ‘at-bat.’ And in any single at-bat a player could see multiple pitches and make an unknown number of swings. Plus, the 30% only counts the number of times a batter hits ‘safely.’ When the batter hits the ball but makes an out, it’s not counted. Even though the batter has, in fact, achieved the illustrious feat of hitting the baseball, that achievement is ignored in the calculation of their standard batting average.
That doesn’t seem fair.
When a quarterback completes a third-down pass but it’s short of the first down, he’s still credited with a completion. If the forward dunks the ball at the buzzer but the team loses by one, the basket still counts. When a golfer hits the fairway but bogies the hole, the record book will still say he hit the fairway.
So I says to Old Roy, “What if you counted every single time the batter puts the ball in play? After all, isn’t that the physical act of hitting the baseball, which is what we’re supposedly measuring?”
He goes, “Yeah, that only makes sense. Even if you’re out, you’ve already done the job, you’ve hit the baseball. Why shouldn’t that count?” And he takes a drink.
I’m wondering, jeez, did we just out-think the entire history of barroom pundits? Because, if you count every time the batter actually puts the ball in play, there is no way that hitting a baseball is the hardest thing to do in all of sport. No way. Right?
Now I’m thinking, yes, these two Sunday blabbermouths in their recliners just completely overturned conventional wisdom. Over cocktails during the seventh inning stretch we had apparently debunked one of the greatest and oldest truisms in baseball lore. If only the skeptical Mrs D were here to appreciate our brilliant insight! I mean, I better write a nice wordy essay to impress my friends and anyone else who will listen.
Couple days later, I decide to hunt down the numbers that would prove the case.
First, I go to baseball-reference.com and look up the 2022 National League Batting Champion, Jeff McNeil of the New York Mets. In 589 plate appearances, McNeil had 538 official at-bats (subtracting walks, hit by pitch, sacrifices, reaching base on a fielding error). In those 533 at-bats, his 174 hits yield a .326 average or a 33% success rate. But to calculate a more accurate success rate, let’s include all the times he put the ball in play but made an out. To get that figure, simply subtract his total strikeouts from total at-bats, and you’d pretty much have it.
In McNeil’s case that’s 533 at-bats minus 61 strikeouts = 472 balls in play. That is approximately an 89% success rate. In 89% of his at-bats, McNeil hit the baseball, supposedly the hardest thing to do in all of sport. WTF!?
But then it suddenly dawned on me, Oh shit! Each swing is an attempt. Not each at-bat. Each swing. To truly measure the difficulty of hitting a baseball against those other sports skills, you need to calculate swings vs balls in play. In this discussion, nothing else really matters.
I won’t begin to list all the crazy anal-retentive baseball stats you can find online nowadays. If you looked long enough you could probably learn how often your favorite shortstop scratches his balls during the ninth inning of Tuesday night games in Oracle Park. And yet, I scoured more than a dozen sites before I found something close to what I was looking for, and not surprisingly I found it at billjamesonline.com
Here’s a simple breakdown of swings vs balls in play for McNeil’s 2022 season. 1110 swings, 477 balls in play. What about other high caliber players? That guy Aaron Judge had a pretty good year in 2022, didn’t he? 1240 swings, 400 balls in play (of which quite a few of them went over the fence). Luis Arraez led the American League in batting: 1034 swings, 507 balls in play. World Series Champion and perennial allstar Jose Altuve, 1022 swings, 441 balls in play. Among my beloved Giants, Brandon Crawford, 872 swings, 313 balls in play. And among the hated (although in case highly respected) Dodgers, Mookie Betts, 1072 swings, 472 balls in play.
And—drum roll—the corresponding success rates: McNeil 42.97%; Judge 32.25%; Arraez 49.03%; Altuve 43.15%; Crawford 35.89%; Betts 44.02%.
The Inescapable Conclusions:
The best hitters succeed at hitting the baseball on only 30-50% of their attempts.
The barroom pundits were right after all, although for the wrong reasons.
It’s very hard to hit a baseball. You might call it the hardest thing to do in sports.
Old Roy and Marginally Younger Roy are nearly as full of it as Mrs D’s eye rolls would suggest. We will now return to our recliners and cocktails, thank you.
Roy I did a good thirty sentences of some of my best work to date where is it Roy where did it go I want answers I was going to be a hero. I'll be watching let one sentence of that work slip out on here and I'll all over it.
Damn! Wrong ... again!