The San Francisco Giants Open the 2025 Season!

 

Pushin' Too Hard

This was originally intended for and published on our sister site, Niner Boogie.  But the issues we discuss here affect baseball, if anything, more than football right now. We believe the NFL has done a better job of late addressing the disconnect that exists between the tactics of players and coaches on one hand, and the enjoyment of fans on the other. How the NFL addresses this current topic may prove instructive for fans of both sports. 

There's talk that the NFL Competition Committee might outlaw the "tush-push", or, as it's known to Philadelphia sportscasters, the "Brotherly Shove."  The Eagles love it; most other teams despise it, or so we are told. The question before the committee is whether this is a true "football play," or whether it's something else, something non-sporting, not in agreement with the way the game is meant to be played. 

The tush-push is actually a new variation on the old "flying wedge" from the late 1800s. While the execution is different, the principle is the same: surround the ball carrier with teammates on all sides, and use main strength to push the defense out of the way en masse. 

Developed on the playing fields of Harvard, Yale, Princeton and the other great football powers of the late 19th century, the "flying wedge" involved lead blockers locking arms together, with the ballcarrier tucked inside the nose of the wedge, and two or three teammates behind to push the ballcarrier forward at the moment the wedge collided with the defense. 

The wedge was, like the tush-push, used at the line of scrimmage, and variations developed to attack targeted defensive positions and even to shift the wedge to the left or the right. But the signature use of the "flying wedge," the tactic that gave its name, was on kickoffs, when the locked-arms mass of blockers charged down the field like a runaway train and smashed head-on into the defense. To the unprepared opponent it was all but unstoppable. 

Defenses were forced to come up with counter measures. One was the "wedge buster," a superior athlete with both size and speed, who launched his own body at the nose of the wedge. The great Pudge Heffelfinger of Yale was such a player; he was famed for smashing, airborne, into the wedge.  Remember Washington linebacker Frankie Luvu leaping over the Philly line and being called twice for offsides in the NFC Championship Game? That's what he was trying to do-- be the wedge buster, hit QB Jalen Hurts head-on, and collapse the wedge from above. 

The flying wedge was outlawed in the early 1900s because the collisions were leaving players dead on the field. Blockers can no longer link arms to form a mass. In later years, tactics such as pulling a teammate downfield or over the line to advance the ball were also forbidden. Pushing a player forward, however, is still legal, for now.

The great success (77%) of the tush-push in short-yardage situations is undeniable. While we may not recall a specific game in which the play resulted in a game-winning TD for the Eagles, their ability to execute it consistently well is certainly a factor in their success.  And that leads us to an ongoing, and likely never-ending, conflict of interests that has become a major  issue in baseball and, in this instance anyway, an issue in football.

That conflict is between the strategies and tactics that players and coaches deploy to give their teams the best chance of winning, and the style of play that makes the games more enjoyable for the fans who support the sport.    

This conflict has become more prevalent, and more acute, with the advent of sophisticated analytics which are used to create models that can accurately predict tendencies that are tied to the winning and losing of games.

We yield to no one in our admiration for the life and work of Bill James, who pioneered the practice of determining which measurable factors can be analyzed to determine what "works" on a baseball field and what doesn't. What "works," of course, is defined as that which contributes to the winning of games. Understanding that the ratio between runs scored and runs allowed is the foundation of a team's won-lost record in baseball, James identified the various measurable events that make up the creation of runs, and presented them in a simple formula that could be, and has been, used to predict won-lost records.  

The acceptance of analytics by "baseball men" took a generation to accomplish, but accomplish it has, and now every team has predictive models that show which events at bat or on the mound tend to be productive -- to generally increase a team's chances of winning consistently-- and which ones don't. And therefore, which tendencies ought to be encouraged.

This is the logic behind the "three true outcomes" approach to hitting, and, in a slightly lesser degree, to pitching--  home runs, walks, and strikeouts, which remove the uncertainty of fielding and baserunning from the equation and focus on those events directly related to the batter-pitcher dialogue. Batting statistics, at the team level, are directly correlated with runs scored and therefore with wins. Pitching statistics, while not quite as easy to isolate, are also quantifiable toward run prevention. The most difficult statistics to isolate and analyze are fielding statistics, and the measurable effect fielding stats have on pitching stats, and therefore on overall defense, has yet to be harmonized. 

  

Hitters are encouraged to wait, "get a good pitch to hit," and "drive the ball in the air"-- axioms propounded by the great Ted Williams 80 years ago. A walk is as good as a hit. And pitchers are encouraged to throw as hard as they can for as long as they can, to rack up as many strikeouts as possible before their arm tires. 

So baseball today is filled with strikeouts and home runs, and with pitchers who throw as hard as they can for a few innings and then turn the game over to another pitcher and then another, innings per pitcher diminishing with each change, four, five, and six changes per game per team. These are the strategies and tactics that, over the course of a season, are expected to result in more runs scored, fewer runs allowed, and therefore more wins.  It's not that managers and players discount fielding, or, for that matter, that they ignore an ace starter who can go the distance. It's that at the individual batter-pitcher level-- and every player is either a batter or a pitcher-- the TTO are emphasized because their outcomes can be predicted and their tendencies can be coached. 

What's missing is the "old style" of playing baseball, what was once called, and now seems quaint to say, the "thinking man's game." The idea of a "duel" between two starting pitchers, each working through the innings, constantly adjusting to outwit the opposing batters, has been replaced to great extent by a parade of pitchers on both sides, increasingly indistinguishable from one another. The multi-faceted offense, with "table-setters" followed by "RBI men," is diminished in favor of power hitters now being standard equipment through the lineup. And we have a game that is geared toward the bottom line-- wins-- but one that is not nearly as pleasing or enjoyable to watch as the "old style", which included some strategies and tactics proven ineffective at predicting a consistent winner, but which charmed the folks in the seats and held our attention. 

Bill James himself has written of late about his awareness of this uncomfortable trend, and about the necessity of "baseball men" to make adjustments needed to preserve the fan's interest and enjoyment. Some of those adjustments have been applied in recent years, not to "speed up the game" in order to "get it over with," as the curmudgeons complain, but to produce a more brisk, enjoyable game with less dead time.  

Back to football. The tush-push is certainly successful, but is it in the best interest of the game? Does its success squeeze the drama out of what have historically been the most intense plays--  fourth down and short, or goal-to go? Remember 15 years ago when Bill Belichick went for it on fourth-and-one against the Colts inside his own 30, and failed? It cost the Patriots the game and possibly home-field  for the playoffs. The fallout from that play went on for weeks, with endless discussion and controversy. That kind of gamble might become ancient history if most teams adopt the tush-push, and in a copycat league it's certain many will. 

Even more critically, what would the general adoption of this tactic do to the goal-line stand, among the most thrilling of plays? We're 49er fans, after all. Who can forget the classic stand against the Bengals in Super Bowl XVI, the NFL version of Pickett's Charge? Or the incredible six-play goal line stand in 2001? Or Dre Greenlaw's goal-line tackle against the Seahawks five years ago? All those types of plays-- doomed to obsolescence by a mass of humanity deployed to win a shoving match?   

Football, as with all sports, is enriched by uncertainty, by action, by chances taken and risks challenged on the field of play. As fans, we love the unexpected and distrust predictability. Not that long ago the dull and predictable "automatic" extra point was taken out of its comfort zone and moved back 25 yards. It's still a high-success play, but as Jake Moody knows all too well, it is not "automatic" any more, and games-- Super Bowls-- can turn on one ill-timed miss.  

Should the NFL outlaw the tush-push, it won't be as simple as that. Effectively, the general practice of "pushing" a ballcarrier forward, in any situation, will have to be eliminated across the board. Any such rule change must avoid isolating one play, and instead prohibit the underlying tactic. To do otherwise would be unfair to the Eagles, and would set a bad precedent.

As a parting note, we can't help but see the irony in this story. The tush-push has now become the Philadelphia Eagles' signature play, whether for good or bad. But just seven years ago, the Philadelphia Eagles' signature play was a very different one-- the "Philly Special."  And the Philly Special is the total antithesis of the tush-push; it's innovative, unpredictable, multi-directional, and exciting, and as it unfolded on the field it appeared doomed to failure. Yet it worked, and spectacularly so, to the delight of everyone except a Patriots fan. It's everything the tush-push is not.

We'd bet half the NFL fans in America today have forgotten the name (Brandon Graham) of the player  who made the play that actually won that Super Bowl for the Eagles. But everyone remembers the Philly Special.

There's a lesson in there somewhere. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IReb27tFqMg

Bob Uecker 1934-2025

 

AS the tributes pour in for the late Bob Uecker, the wonderful and funny "Mr. Baseball," we decided to post up a reminder to everyone that before he became a legend, Bob Uecker really was a ballplayer. Here he is, second from the left in the top row (not the "front rooow") with the World Champion St Louis Cardinals of 1964.  

No, the ol "Ueck" didn't get to play in that Series, but he did get the ring, even if he'd later tell America, as a favored guest on the "Tonight Show," that he'd stolen it. He made himself a career as the archetype of an irresistible, wholly American story, the regular guy toiling in obscurity among and alongside the greats, the immortals, while hoping just to stay in the game a little longer. It was such a perfectly relatable tale that we ourselves adopted it back in our stand-up days, claiming to be "The Bob Uecker of Rock & Roll." And please let's not forget he did play twelve years in professional baseball, six of those years in the major leagues. Who among us-- of a certain age, perhaps-- wouldn't trade a whole lot of what we have now for what he had then?  

Bob Uecker never had to. He stayed right in the game, becoming the voice of his home-town Milwaukee Brewers for over fifty years, and the voice of baseball itself for countless millions. He  represented the best that baseball has to offer, a warm, hearty, self-effacing ambassador, carrying a simple joy that was rooted in his love of baseball, his love of life, and his love of people. 

And so, the world inside and outside of baseball has loved him back. That world has gotten juuuuust a bit smaller and sadder today.