Why Using the Football Coverage Blueprint Doesn't Work for Postseason Baseball
By Kyle Koster
Regular season baseball is not football. It is not subject to seismic narrative shifts on a game-by-game basis. Postseason baseball, however, transforms to resemble the sport which supplanted it as America’s pastime.
The equilibrium of a six-month, 162-game season gives way to a topography full of peaks and valleys. When baseball comes to the forefront of sports-talk discussion every October, the conversation is full of voices that, whether intentional or not, discuss it the same way football is discussed.
After sweeping the Chicago Cubs on the strength of lights-out starting pitching, the New York Mets rotation was being put on a pedestal alongside the all-time great units. Recency bias gains easy traction when a small sample size serves as the frame of reference. It was easy to anoint the trio of Matt Harvey, Jacob deGrom and Noah Syndergaard as the second coming of Mike Cuellar, Pat Dobson and Jim Palmer after what they did to a powerful Cubs lineup. It’s even easier to run away from that proclamation after Harvey and deGrom looked human in Games 1 and 2.
Finding the middle ground, where the truth lies, is more difficult.
The Royals’ circular lineup and ability to put the ball in play has taken over as the primary storyline. Ned Yost’s club is killing the Mets with body blows in the form of making contact. Should Kansas City sew things up over the weekend, you can count on numerous pieces questioning if this brand of baseball is a better recipe than emphasis on home runs and walks while accepting strikeouts as a necessary evil.
And that’s downright silly. Not because the idea doesn’t have merit. There may be something to that theory, especially considering the Royals have used it to win the American League pennant in successive years. No, it’s silly because ascribing the same knee-jerk reactions we’ve come to expect in unison with an NFL or college football season just doesn’t work with baseball.
In fact, the football hot-take-ification of playoff baseball highlights just how absurd football reaction has become. Anyone remember Tom Brady’s starting job being in jeopardy last year? Anyone notice that Chip Kelly is either a genius or a stubborn failure depending on the last game’s result?
When baseball is given the same attention — which only happens during the playoffs — a similar roller coaster of public sentiment is erected. First the Chicago Cubs were too young. Then, after beating the St. Louis Cardinals, they were on their way to the first of several World Series crowns with a fearless band of rookies who didn’t know enough to be scared. Four games against the Mets without a victory wiped that one out.
Daniel Murphy was not a household name when the playoffs began. A torrid home run streak made him one. His Ruthian exploits drove conversation that a team would pony up big for the free agent. Two games without a dinger and he’s almost an afterthought.
Here’s the boring, yet measured reality:
This is an evenly matched series using both the eye test and Las Vegas as a barometer. One more break in New York’s favor during a marathon opener would have things knotted up at 1-1. If that had happened, the Royals’ offensive approach wouldn’t be a harbinger for revolution. The Mets’ starting pitching would still be feared.
One of baseball’s most common refrains is that the season is a marathon, not a sprint. A visible finish line changes the way in which teams run in October but the race remains the same one they’ve been in since reporting to spring training.
A measured approach doesn’t get clicks, callers or viewers. In order to appeal to the masses, nuance must be trimmed. People need a digestible storyline — even if it’s not entirely based in reality. It’s difficult to get fresh eyes to see what trained ones see. That’s just reality.
Still, it’s odd to see the sport treated like this for one month a year.
We’ve seen the same thing in basketball. Look no further than last season’s NBA Finals. LeBron James couldn’t do it by himself. Then he could. Then he couldn’t again. Matthew Dellavedova was superhuman. Then he wasn’t. Using the finality of a one-and-done football game in sports that play series seems perilous.
And yet … here we are.
[Image via USA Today Sports]