The medias keeps coming up with new ways to dismiss Barry Bonds’ accomplishments. First it was performance enhancing drugs. Now it’s the elbow protection he wears to the plate.
In an commentary from the Aug. 6 edition of EditorandPublisher.com, illustrator Michael
Witte claims the device “may have contributed to no fewer than 75 to 100 home runs to his already steroid-questionable total.”
For years, sportswriters remarked that his massive “protective” gear – unequaled in all of baseball — permits Bonds to lean over the plate without fear of being hit by a pitch. Thus situated, Bonds can handle the outside pitch (where most pitchers live) unusually well. This is unfair advantage enough, but no longer controversial. However, it is only one of at least seven (largely unexplored) advantages conferred by the apparatus.
Witte, who is a “mechanical consultant” for the St. Louis Cardinals, adds several additional ways the gear might aid Bonds, including:
1) The apparatus is hinged at the elbow. It is a literal “hitting machine” that allows Bonds to release his front arm on the same plane during
every swing. It largely accounts for the seemingly magical consistency of every Bonds stroke.
2) The apparatus locks at the elbow when the lead arm is fully elongated because of a small flap at the top of the bottom section that fits into a groove in the bottom of the top section. The locked arm forms a rigid front arm fulcrum that allows extraordinary, maximally efficient explosion of the levers of Bonds’ wrists. Bonds hands are quicker than those of average hitters because of his mechanical “assistant.”
3) When Bonds swings, the weight of the apparatus helps to seal his inner upper arm to his torso at impact. Thus “connected,” he automatically hits the ball with the weight of his entire body – not just his arms – as average hitters (“extending”) tend to do.
4) Bonds has performed less well in Home Run Derbies than one might expect because he has no excuse to wear a “protector” facing a batting practice pitcher. As he tires, his front arm elbow tends to lift and he swings under the ball, producing towering pop flies or topspin liners that stay in the park. When the apparatus is worn, its weight keeps his elbow down and he drives the ball with backspin.
5) Bonds enjoys quicker access to the inside pitch than average hitters because his “assistant” – counter-intuitively – allows him to turn more rapidly. Everyone understands that skaters accelerate their spins by pulling their arms into their torsos, closer to their axes of rotation. When Bonds is confronted with an inside pitch, he spins like a skater because his upper front arm is “assistant”-sealed tightly against the side of his chest.
6) At impact, Bonds has additional mass (the weight of his “assistant”) not available to the average hitter. The combined weight of “assistant” and bat is probably equal to the weight of the lumber wielded by Babe Ruth but with more manageable weight distribution.
The writer also notes that while “At the moment, Bonds’ apparatus enjoys ‘grandfathered’ status….[S]imilar devices are presently denied to average major leaguers, who must present evidence of injury before receiving an exemption.” It sure doesn’t look that way in the games I watch on TV.
I have long been opposed to the use of such protective gear because, as Witte points out, it allows the batter to stand closer to the plate with impunity. Add that to the intolerance for allowing pitchers to throw inside and you allow further advantages.
At the same time, I don’t know if it’s fair to damn all such protective items because the technology has improved. Would you similarly object to a knee-stabilizing brace that allows a runner to continue stealing bases, or a fielder doing his job? I realize the difference between Bond’s body armor and more prophylactic devices, but until there’s something in the rule book to prevent their use, I guess it’s another annoyance of modern sports with which we must contend.
(I have similar sentiments about the turn uniforms have taken in recent years. I’m not that old, but I still am traditional enough to think of baseball uniform pants as knickers, rather than pajamas. Several years ago Derek Bell, then a member of the Mets, was called to task for wearing his uni top too baggy.)
The New Yorker, which has been an excellent if surprising source of baseball over the years, did this profile of Witte in 2005.
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