The 11 Minutes of Action in the NFL


There are 11 minutes of action in the average National Football League (NFL) game, according to a 2010 Wall Street Journal (WSJ) stopwatch study conducted by Stuart Silverstein. Silverstein started the stopwatch at the snap of the ball and stopped it at the tackle of the ball carrier. I know what you’re thinking, “11 minutes? C’mon! I know all about the delays inherent in the modern game, but 11 minutes? You’re going to have to back that up.”

I don’t keep a ledger on the complaints I’ve had about delays in the NFL game throughout the course of my life, but my family would probably characterize that number with a sigh or a groan. Even in the most frustrating moments, I never thought about how few moments of action actually occur in an average 3 hour and 12 minute NFL telecast. If you’re approaching this from a static level, based on the number of complaints you’ve listed over the years, you might say, “11 minutes seems about right” in the most cynical tone possible. Now, remove yourself from your “Nothing shocks me” mindset and view this in a more objective frame. If the average NFL game lasts 3 hours and 12 minutes, and 3 hours and 12 minutes equals 192 minutes, we spend 181 minutes waiting for something to happen in every NFL game we watch. No matter how we spin it, that’s a lot of sitting on furniture, staring at the TV blankly, and waiting for the snap of the ball. The only thing I can come up with is that we spend so much time thinking about what could or should happen that we don’t really notice how long it took to happen, or should I say we do and we don’t.  

Those who are not stunned by that 11 minute figure, are likely casual fans who enjoy going to other peoples’ houses for a gathering, the party, or the event status that football games have become in our lives. They’re people who enjoy all of the talking that happens between moments of action more than the game. If we drill down to the nuts and bolts of their fandom, they’d probably admit they like the team, but they don’t like like them. They enjoy watching them win, because it’s always fun to be part of a communal celebration, but they’re not devastated when the team loses. They say things like, “Well, at least it was a good game,” as if this were a television drama that didn’t end well but was nonetheless entertaining. They’re probably the type who leave their friend’s house laughing, they drive home, put the kids to bed, and kiss the wife, and slip into bed without ever thinking about that game again. They have such a healthy relationship between football and life that they can enjoy football game gatherings for what they are, and they spend most of those 181 minutes of inaction chatting it up, eating, drinking, and having a merry, old time. The NFL game is background noise for them, and they check in on the score every once in a while.

“What’s the score?” my dad would ask, stepping into the living room. We’d tell him, and he’d go back to doing whatever he was doing. That used to drive us nuts. He didn’t care about the game, the logistics, the nuances, or any of the smaller moments that defined winning or losing. He just wanted to know the score. As much as he claimed to like football, it was a passing interest to him. As I grew older I realized he was more emblematic of the average, casual NFL fan than I was. I also realized his relationship to football was far more healthy than mine.

Similar to my dad, most average, casual fans don’t understand why any team, college or pro, doesn’t throw a bomb on every play. When Notre Dame had Raghib Ismail “The Rocket,” on their team, my dad didnt understand why The Irish didn’t just throw the ball to him every time. As myopic as that sounds, it’s a good question that just about every casual fan asks when they see an athlete who appears so superior to the other athletes on the field that it appears that he can do whatever he wants on the field.

Author Chuck Klosterman answers this decades-old question in his book Football, by quoting a track and field coach who, when asked why track and field isn’t more popular in America, said, “Track has a problem. The fastest guy always wins.” After 2007, Usain Bolt won approximately 95% of the individual 100m/200m finals in the Olympics and World Championship races he ran in between 2008 and 2016. There are variables such as reaction time, start technique, lane conditions, etc., that can lead to an upset, but there are no strategies Bolt’s opponents can legally employ to slow him down. There are no counter-veiling forces in track, no defense, so the fastest guy almost always wins. 

“I get that they need to keep the defense guessing with the occasional run, but why do they always run right up the middle?” Julie Ann asked Andrew. “That’s where most of the defenders are. Why don’t they run around the side?”

“To further fool the defense,” Andrew, the football enthusiast, explains. “A run up the middle better sets up the play-action fake and pulls the linebackers forward a step or two to open up the middle of the field.” 

“So, it’s a wasted play?” she asks. “It’s a play to set up another play? Boring!”

“It’s strategic,” Andrew admits. “If they gain 6-7 yards on that first down run play it opens up a number of possibilities for the next play, but if all a team does is go for the big plays, the defense will adjust, and they’ll execute their plan to stop the big plays. Defenses employ numerous methods to compensate for exceptional athleticism, so an offensive coordinator has to put in some “boring”plays, as you call them, to mess with the defensive coordinator’s mind.

A run up the middle is widely viewed by casual fans, like Julie Ann, as the little plays of the game, or “The boring part.” Andrew, the enthusiast, knows a little more about the chess match between coordinators, but he’ll likely never be able to explain that intricacies of the game, as he understands them — on a level just a couple notches above rudimentary– to a casual fan like Julie Ann. If Andrew cannot explain the intricacies of football on a conversational level, it might expose the fact that he doesn’t know what he doesn’t know, or if he can, Julie will likely dismiss his long, intricate explanation with an, “Uh huh, BORING!” 

If Julie Ann is a decent example of the average, casual NFL fan, she doesn’t pay attention to an overwhelming amount of the 65-70 plays in the average NFL game. She’ll probably talk through an overwhelming number of those plays. Yet, Julie Ann is a fan, and she does enjoy watching these games, but her attention drifts until the high-leverage plays that add to her team’s Win Probability with crucial, clutch, and dagger-inducing plays. Analysts suggest that there are typically 5-10 game-changing plays per game. Andrew might suggest that is far too high, and that most NFL games are decided, or swung, on 3-4 plays at most. For the sake of consistency, we’ll stick with the analysts findings, and we’ll go with the median and say that there are an average of 7.5 noteworthy “Pay attention” plays per game that are instrumental in wins and losses. If each play last an average of four seconds, then Julie Ann, the casual fan, will want to pay attention to approximately 30 seconds of each 3 hour and 12 minute NFL game, if she wants to sound like an informed fan. 

As popular as the NFL is, surveys find that 26% to 46% characterize themselves as casual fans, and NFL enthusiasts, or avid fans, defined through daily engagement of some sort, list at approximately 21% to 36%. If these numbers hold in their workplace, when Julie Ann and Andrew return to work the next day to describe the game for all of their co-workers who missed the game, they’ll probably sound equally informed, even though Julie Ann only paid attention to the most crucial 30 seconds of that game, and Andrew, the avid enthusiast, focused intently on the 11 minutes of action.

“You guys don’t understand the game,” Andrew might say to those who think Julie Ann offered a wrap-up as complete as his, and he might be right, but his audience either won’t notice the difference, or they won’t care. The latter is illustrated by the coverage the average sports’ network, newspaper, internet page, and/or sports radio attributes to that game. There are exceptions, of course, there are always exceptions, but most of their coverage will focus on the 30 most crucial seconds of the game Julie Ann discussed. In my experience 30 seconds might even a bit of an exaggeration, as most post-game television broadcasts limit their highlight packages to about half of those 30 seconds, and fill the rest with graphics and analysis of those 15 seconds. Julie Ann didn’t watch the game as intently as Andrew, and she doesn’t care to know how the “BORING!” plays influence and pave the way for the exciting ones, but she remembers the exciting plays, and she might even watch some of the thousands of hours devoted to those 15 seconds, and she reads expert analysis on the hundreds of articles on the internet, until she sits next Andrew at a family gathering and sounds just as knowledgeable as the more enthusiastic fan who knows how various intangibles can affect an outcome.

Andrew’s love of the NFL game is pure and sincere, so on one level he doesn’t care what anyone thinks, but on another level, we all want some recognition for the accumulated knowledge of anything we’ve acquired. Yet, Andrew will consider it unfair that everyone considers Julie Ann just as knowledgeable football as he is, until he eventually runs into a fanatic who is as enthusiastic about football as he is. This conversation might start great, as we all love meeting someone who can appreciate the game on our level, but that appreciation will eventually go one of three ways. The best possible outcome for the future friendship between Andrew and his fellow fanatic will play out if their girlfriends stop their conversation with a “No football conversations.” At that point, all four will laugh and Andrew and the fanatic will secretly harbor mutual respect for one another, but if they are allowed to explore the topic with one another, it will either turn into a duel of knowledge with no winners, or both will walk away from the conversation characterizing the other as an NFL nerd without recognizing that the other sounds exactly like them to disinterested parties. 

 Football vs. Baseball

The WSJ did not conduct a similar stopwatch study on basketball and hockey, since it is generally accepted that the games in the National Basketball Association (NBA) have 48 minutes of action in an average 2.5 hour game, and the National Hockey League (NHL) match has 60 minutes of action in an average 2.5 hour game. Save for various breaks, the ball/puck is almost always in motion in those sports, so conducting a stopwatch study would be relatively obvious. The WSJ did conduct a similar study on the average Major League Baseball (MLB) game, however, and they found that the average baseball game has 17 minutes and 58 seconds of action in a game that is now an average of 2 hours and 36 minutes long. Punching these numbers into the system, football has an action-to-total-time ratio of approximately 5.7%, and baseball has an action-to-total-time ratio of approximately 11.5%So, to those who find baseball games in the MLB boring, they actually have a greater, slightly more than double, action ratio than the NFL. We could debate the definition of action, in qualitative vs. quantitative terms, but the numbers don’t lie.

In the WSJ study of baseball, conducted by David Biderman (on baseball) versus the Stuart Silverstein study (on football), they defined the moments of action in baseball to include pitches, plays, and any ball movement. So, in the battle between America’s Pastime, and America’s favorite sport, baseball proves to be the more active sport.

When we break the 192 minutes of the average game down, the truth starts to reveal itself. The average NFL game consists of approximately 63 minutes of commercial breaks, so when watching the average NFL game, roughly 25-33% of our time is spent in a commercial break, according to multiple studies and analysis conducted by WSJ and FiveThirtyEight reports. NFL teams also have a 40-second play clock after most plays, but a 25-second play clock after administrative stoppages, and most NFL teams, on average, snap the ball at the 20-second point. This is the finding, but when I watch games, it seems to me, most NFL teams snap the ball in the single digits. I know there are moments and strategies that call for a hurry-up offense that moves the average, but I’m still surprised at the 20-second average. This finding suggests the NFL fan spends about half of the in-game moments waiting, in anticipatory glory, for the ball to be snapped. Most teams use at least two time outs per half, and the modern NFL viewer at home must endure countless replays, explanations of penalties, the time necessary for trainers to help the injured leave the field, and various other delays in which referees don’t force a team to use a time out. We break all these delays down, and 11 minutes actually starts to make more sense.  

The Third Spinning Wheel

The overarching question is how did a sport that consists of so many breaks, and so few moments of actual action, become the unquestioned, indisputable most popular sport in America? Author Chuck Klosterman offers many interesting theories and conclusions in his latest book, Football, save for one: Anticipation. He touches on the idea of anticipation being a possible element in the game’s popularity, but he doesn’t explore it sufficiently in my opinion. 

There’s only one thing we might love more than action, the anticipation of that action. How many times are we up on the edge of our seat waiting for that game-winning play, only to have our team hand the ball off, up the middle, for a three-yard gain? “Boring!” Julie Ann might say, because she was expecting that crucial play to happen there, but we could say it only heightens the suspense and anticipation for her. When this happens, we know the clock is dwindling, and we might say something like, “C’mon! Let’s go!” as the suspense heightens. At this point, few are sitting when the ball carrier flips the ball to the ref, and the team hurries back to the line. In the next play, the quarterback fakes the ball to the running back (play-action), and he delivers the dagger by sending the ball over the middle to the tight-end for a twenty-four-yard touchdown. This is the only place, right here, where Andrew’s knowledge comes into play. He might have sounded like a football nerd when he tried to explain the need to run the ball up the middle earlier, and no one will laud him for correctly predicting this play tomorrow at work, but when those linebackers stepped up to stop what they feared might be another run up the middle, they accidentally opened a hole behind them that the tight-end stepped into to catch the game-winning touchdown, and Andrew, the enthusiast looked like a genius for predicting how their team would win.

We can all break down the action of the NFL to 11 minutes, or 30 seconds of crucial action, but one of the reasons the NFL and college football sit atop TV ratings is that the nature of the game leads to a greater sense of anticipation than any other sport. We could also say that football’s low action-to-total-time ratio of approximately 5.7%, compared to baseball’s ratio of approximately 11.5%, leads to more anticipation and a greater sense of excitement when the payoff finally happens. It’s the NFL’s third spinning wheel.

The psychological power of anticipation has led most casinos to adopt what they call the third spinning wheel. It’s no secret that slot machines are the primary money maker for most casinos, but according to Medium.com, slot machines account for 70% of a casino’s revenue. That seems unreasonably high, but the stats back it up. The question is how did casinos make those machines so incredibly addictive? Those of us who’ve dropped play money into slot machines take notice when the first big money maker stops in the first slot, but when that second money maker seductively slides into the second slot, something happens to us. Everything about slot machines are engineered for dramatic effect. The actual outcome was determined the moment we hit the spin button via a Random Number Generator, and our chance of actually winning was determined by the minimum payout percentages set by various state gaming commissions, or tribal compacts. These compacts and commissions say nothing about how casinos can manipulate emotions however, and casinos take advantage of this by having the first “jackpot!” stop in the first slot almost immediately after we press spin, the second jackpot can take approximately 2-3 seconds, but it’s that third one that is deliberately delayed to induce prolonged anticipation. It can take up to five seconds to stop. What happens to us in those five seconds? How many dreams and aspirations can occur in five seconds? 

“I was SO close!” we complain to our friends. “Look at that,” we say, pointing to the two big money makers followed by the taunting cherry in the three hole. We had three-to-five orchestrated seconds of watching that third wheel spin in which we realized that all of our unreasonable dreams could come true. What we don’t know is that those three-to-five seconds are the result of the psychological research casinos commission to maximize our sense of anticipation. They do that with an orchestrated near-miss, or the “I was SO close!” moment that leads to maximum engagement from the customer. We think our machine is ready to pop, and we’re not about to let some other slot player come in and take over, because we’ve paid our dues watching nothing happen for as long as we think it takes for a machine to pay off. Those of us who play slots don’t take into account how much time and money casinos have put into understanding us better. We don’t know that they’ve found how much impact that third-spinning wheel has on us. They’ve determined that if they provide us too many near-misses, they can reduce the impact of the third-spinning wheel (translation: we’ll figure it out). They’ve also found that too few of them often makes our near-misses less effective (translation: we’ll get bored). Their expensive, ever-changing, and ever-adapting research has found that if they give us a third-spinning wheel 30% of the time, that’s the Goldilocks number to manipulate our minds and maximize our engagement. They’ve also found that being “SO close!” to winning is actually more exciting than winning, depending on how much we win of course. It’s all about the power of anticipation. 

Unlike slot machines in casinos, the game of football is not coordinated to capitalize on our love of anticipation, but the nature of the game lends itself to maximized anticipatory enjoyment.  

As with the other side of the casinos psychological research, basketball and hockey have so much action going on that it can diminish the drama of most plays. There’s so much action going on that when an incredibly exciting play finally happens, we often have to rewind the broadcast to see what just happened, because we accidentally tuned the game out for a while. As Klosterman writes, we love action movies, but some action movies actually have too much action, and we accidentally tune out some of the action scenes that led to the big whopper, final conflict. Klosterman also alludes to the idea that football, and its 11 minutes of action, also incidentally provide talking time between moments of action, which makes it an excellent sport for group settings such as family and friendly get-togethers. On that note, I know baseball provides more moments of action, according to the WSJ study, but I find myself talking to friends so often during baseball games that by the time the action finally takes place, I’m so absorbed in the conversation that I completely lose track of the game. (This might be a problem inherent in the game of baseball for another conversation.) 

The NFL will probably never change its formula, because why would they? They’re the king of the hill, top of the heap, and they can charge advertisers pretty much whatever they want. That formula has tested the patience of even the most enthusiastic fan, as most of us hate commercials, the delays now inherent in the review process, and all of the other delays the game now provides, but I found three glorious letters that freed me from my pain, D,V, and R. It’s not foolproof, as some of our friends will text us incidental hints or outright revelations (no matter how often we tell them not to), and we’ll have to be the type who can watch a game knowing it’s already over (some weirdly cannot do this). If we can overcome those low hurdles, we’ll be able to watch most games break-free if we give them a head start of between 50-90 minutes. I usually go high-end, so I don’t have to endure sideline reporters and any banter between the play-by-play broadcaster and the analyst. The DVR also frees me from the time it takes for a referee to review a reviewable play, discuss that review with his fellow referees, and administer the effect of his findings (expedited reviews have cut down on this process, but it’s still not enough for me). Thanks to the VCR, and now the DVR, I haven’t watched an NFL game live (save for those at get-togethers) for decades, because I know those in charge of the most popular game, in the United States anyway, are not going to change, because why would they? I also disagree with Chuck Klosterman’s thesis that the NFL is doomed. Unless something unforeseen happens, I predict its dominance will almost surely continue for generations beyond the point that my generation assumes the temperature, generally between 50-55 degrees Fahrenheit, that maggots anticipate.

Wishing and Baseball


“I wish my son was more aggressive at the plate,” a friend of mine said.

You wish your son was more aggressive? I could go through the list of pseudo-humorous things I wish I had, but you know that joke. I want things, and I need things, but I’d feel foolish suggesting that I wish something were true, because I know that that someone would turn on me and say, “Well, go get it!”

This has always been one of my least favorite responses because it’s obnoxious, tedious (because everyone says it) and true. Yet, who is more tedious and obnoxious, the person who says, “Go get it!” or the person who sits down and whines and wishes?   

Wishing is for small children and people who find genies in a bottle. For the rest of us, it’s a waste of breath, unless we’re going to “Go get it!” A couple of years ago, I wished my kid wouldn’t strike out so often. I wanted him to do better, so we went out to the backyard, then we left the comfy confines of home to open baseball diamonds and batting cages to go get it. Did we get better? We did, because we did it so often that it happened. 

Prior to all that, my kid was shocked and devastated by the fact that he wasn’t the athlete he thought he was, and aren’t we all? Our delusional dreams and projected images of greatness eventually, and painfully, hit a controversial wall called reality. I label the wall controversial, because soon after I told my kid he wasn’t better than he thought, I knew that would get me in trouble with positive reinforcement crowd. After I introduced him to the reality of the situation, we set about getting him better. The latter, needless to say, doesn’t happen after one, two, or three twenty-minute sessions. This is a time-consuming, frustrating, and eventually rewarding process.

I’m the type of guy who thinks, perhaps unreasonably at times, that everything is my fault. If I can’t access a website, for example, I think it’s my fault. It might have more to do with the site’s administrator, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking that I did something wrong. When my son struck out so often, I knew it was partly my fault. The kid was so young that he didn’t know how to do things himself. He had to be taught, and I wasn’t teaching him. I forced him to endure mind-numbing hours of hitting, fielding, and pitching so often that he begged for it to be over. He wanted to play Mario Odyssey, watch YouTube, and do anything and everything he could find that was less taxing. We called our workouts forty, forty forty. Forty hits, forty ground balls, or pop-ups, and forty swings. After doing this for years, when I now see a kid on a baseball field have trouble with the fundamentals of baseball, I can tell just how much time their dad has spent helping them get it.

My job, and your job, if you wish it to be true, is to source the problem and correct it. Baseball is a game, and ten and unders are going to make a ton of mistakes. If they make the same mistakes, over and over in a manner that cries out for resolution, I see it as my job to find a way to help him fix it. If you don’t have the time to personally see to it that the error is corrected, do you have the money to hire an instructor, and if neither of those avenues are available to you, what can you do to try to make it happen, other than sitting in the stands, wishing it were true.  

Some of us are visual learners, some are auditory, and others are reading and writing learners. If your goal is to help your child learn how to play baseball, there’s no avenue better than just doing it so many times that he learns how to do it. It’s what psychologists call Kinesthetic Learning, or what the rest of us call doing it. 

It’s possible for a kid to learn another way, I suppose, but I’ve never explored it. What’s the best way to learn Math, swimming, bowling, or baseball? They have to do it so often that they learn. Malcolm Gladwell suggest we can do anything to a decent level of prowess by investing 10,000 hours into doing it. It sounds so obnoxiously simple that it can’t be the solution, so we read books on it, watch YouTube videos, and invest in some sort of professional tutoring. All of these elements are instructive and can be used to supplement doing, but it’s so obvious that it hardly seems worthy of mentioning that nothing beats doing something so often that we do it better. 

***

Once our kid learns and earns a certain level of prowess, how do we take them to the next level? 

“If you want your kid to advance, get him into a select league,” they say, and they’re right. But, and there’s always a but, a kid learns by doing. We can say he might get better playing a higher level competition, but what if he’s not having fun at the next level? My son is currently on a team composed almost entirely of his friends from school. On this team, my son plays, and he strengthens his relationships with his friends while playing. He looks forward to games, and he has a lot of fun playing in them. That’s far more important to me than advancing him to the next level with the hope that it will strengthen his abilities in such a way that he might continue to play baseball in high school, college, and the Majors. This is the dream, but is it their dream or ours? When we take a look at the numbers, we know that the chances of him playing beyond high school are minimal, and while looking at those numbers we need to ask ourselves who are we really aiming to please? Are we seeking a way for him to be the exception to these ratios for his eventual happiness, or are we looking to satisfy our dream of one day being one of those parents who have front row tickets to our kid’s first major league start? If we follow the plan of making sure he’s having fun, we’ll turn down that invitation for a select league to keep him in a league where he’s having the most fun. We also do this to prepare for the day when he meets the extent of his talent and ability, and our dreams come to a crashing halt. When this happens, we want to look at our son and say, “Well, we had a lot of fun along the way.” 

Last season, a kid named Jimmy received an invitation to advance to a select team over my son. My vicarious impulse was jealousy. I thought my son was better, but I’m biased. Jimmy was, at least, comparable to my son in talent. Flash forward a couple games into this season and Jimmy is not playing on that select team. He’s sitting on the bench. I have no idea if this is a commentary on Jimmy’s ability, compared to the rest of the team, but bottom line, he’s sitting on the bench, and if he’s not playing, he’s not learning, and he’s not advancing. But playing at a higher level lifts all boats. The classic example, in another sport, is Sidney Crosby. Crosby was the youngest brother always playing with his older brothers and their friends. Crosby needed to be better just to compete with them. Crosby became better, and he became so good that he was a first pick in the NHL Draft, and he became one of the best players in the NHL. Crosby, however, was playing against them, as opposed to riding the bench. My guess is this kid named Jimmy is experiencing some next-level play in practice, but nothing beats doing it in a game.  

The select teams also requires a greater commitment to baseball, and I don’t think this commitment will be advantageous. Right now, my son plays a number of sports and he is learning the art of taekwondo. If he commits more of his time to baseball, he will have to sacrifice those other sports. Why would we do this? He has a lot of fun doing all that other stuff too. I think playing those sports, and learning the art of taekwondo, provides him a well-rounded learning experience, and if he chooses a sport to focus on at some point, that will be a decision for him to make. Right now, he’s just having fun, and I see no reason to advance the needle. 

As with everything else in life, there are no easy answers, but there is one easy question. What are we doing with our free-time? Instead of watching the latest docu-drama on Netflix, or flipping through our phone for the next twenty minutes, why don’t we take a trip into the backyard and flip the ball around with our kid for twenty minutes a day, three-to-four times a week for a couple years. 

Baseball is baseball. It’s a sport, and some observe that the obsessive devotion to sports and games is trivial compared to all of the other, more important activities in life. If you think that, you’re right in general terms, but what are you currently doing with them that is so much more vital and crucial to their life? And what were your plans when you held them in your arms that day in the delivery room? Did you plan on letting them watch YouTube for another hour, so you could have a little more “me” time? What we’re talking about when we talk about baseball, soccer, flag football, or whatever ten and unders can do for a couple hours when they’ve not gaming, is committing to something so thoroughly that they develop a discipline, and a character-defining devotion. We’re talking about developing a discipline and a devotion to something they might remember, and they won’t remember conquering Mario Odyssey or flipping through various YouTube influencers. They will remember the days they spent playing sports with others, and the countless hours they spent playing in the backyard with you. It takes a level of commitment, a discipline, and devotion from both of you if you wish want him to get better, or more confident, the next time he steps on a baseball diamond, and that may prove trivial in the grand scheme of life to everyone in the world except for the two of you. 

Defending the Babe


“Your guy’s records shouldn’t count, because of this! My guy’s should, because of that.” The this and thats are asterisks, we’re talking about asterisks. Historians love them, and sports historians love them a little more when arguing the this and thats, but nobody loves the asterisk more than the baseball historian. It’s their favorite punctuation mark. Rather than write about an athlete’s athletic prowess with exclamation marks, as he chases down a record, they asterisk them or the previous record holder. The thing about asterisks is that they’re typically general and broad and opinions based on facts, but most people don’t bother sifting through those facts to find the truth. 

“But Babe Ruth had a .342 career batting average.” Pfft. (Pfft is the sound of an asterisk punctuating a point.) *He got most of his hits against starting pitchers who were tired by his third or fourth at-bat. “As a pitcher, Ruth went 65-33.” *Yeah, but (the yeahbut is another unofficial, verbal asterisk) between 1915-1917, he played for the Boston Red Sox. The Red Sox won the World Series three out of four of those years, so of course he won a lot of games on those teams. “He pitched 29.2 scoreless innings in those World Series games.” *It was the dead ball era. It was easier to pitch scoreless innings back then. “He pitched a 2.06 ERA during those years.” *Again, it was the dead ball era, and he wasn’t even in the top ten ERA leaders most of those years. “He hit a number of his 714 during those dead ball years.” *He didn’t have to face African American pitchers back then, he didn’t have to play night games, and he didn’t have to face the rigors of extensive travel back then. “He ended up with 714 after only hitting 20 the first five years of his career. Are you saying that’s not an accomplishment?” *He didn’t have to face as many teams, as many different starting pitchers, and there was only one prominent reliever back then. How many of those home runs did he hit in his third and fourth at-bats when the starters were fatigued? “Baseball was the premier sport during Ruth’s playing days, and it attracted the best athletes in the country.” *In the country are the key words here. Modern baseball now invites the best athletes from around the world to compete.

The Babe Ruth defender cannot win, as baseball historians have an asterisk ready for every single one of Babe Ruth’s accomplishments, but for every argument for an asterisk there is a counterargument, and every counterargument has its own counterargument, until we arrive at the idea if we’re going to asterisk everything from everyone then we should probably not asterisk anyone (*except for PED players), because it’s almost impossible to compare eras.

The primary asterisk we hear against calling Babe Ruth the unquestioned “Sultan of Swat” is that he didn’t have to face African-American, Hispanic, or any other minority pitchers. Between the years 1846 and 1947, professional baseball was not integrated. Was that immoral? Of course it was. The idea that an individual wasn’t allowed to compete for a job in a sport was a stain on baseball, its history and tradition, and its records. Baseball could’ve led by example, in this regard, and there are no asterisks, excuses, no ifs, ands, or yeahbuts to support why this wasn’t done from the very beginning. Full stop.

Due to the fact that Major League Baseball (MLB) participated in the stain of segregation, Babe Ruth did not have the chance to face a wide swath of the national, and international, populations. Since integration, some of the greatest pitchers of all time have been either African American, Hispanic, and Asian. Yet, if integration were introduced when it should’ve been, in the very beginning, how many of the members of other races would’ve replaced the starting pitchers Babe Ruth faced? The fact is that it was unfair that pitchers were not given the chance to compete for the jobs, but the inference that Babe Ruth’s career total of 714 home runs would be significantly lower if he faced black pitchers is just as unfair. Buck O’Neill basically reinforces the unfairness of baseball historians attaching this unofficial, verbal asterisk to Ruth’s career numbers.

Buck on Babe

Buck O’Neill, who played in the [African-American] Leagues, then scouted and managed in Major League baseball for 50+ years, said, “[African-American] League pitching lacked the depth [of pitching in] Major League Baseball [at the time].” Before we go any further, we should note that that had to be a difficult thing to say for a man who successfully fought to keep the tradition and history of [African-American] League Baseball alive. O’Neill could’ve viewed the comparisons from a subjective perspective, or even a competitive point of view, that stated how all of his [African-American] League peers were just as good as anyone in Major League Baseball. He didn’t. O’Neill could’ve also said nothing on this matter. He could’ve left the matter to historians to sort out. To his credit, O’Neill examined the two leagues objectively and said the depth of [African-American] League pitching was comparatively lacking by comparison.

Mr. O’Neill did not say that the top hitters of his league weren’t comparable however. He later said that when he heard Josh Gibson hit the ball it “created a particular sound like dynamite.” He said he only heard that crack two other times, “Babe Ruth was the first, and 50 years later, Bo Jackson was the third.” Some suggest that Josh Gibson hit 800 home runs though this cannot be substantiated for the official record. Mr. O’Neill also did not say that the best pitchers in the [African-American] Leagues would not have made the Majors. He just said that the [African-American] League rotations weren’t as deep as those in the Major League, top to bottom.

Based on what Mr. O’Neill saw in his playing days, scouting, managing, and just appreciating the game as an insider/outsider for 50+ years, we can infer him saying that if integration was never an issue, and black pitchers were allowed to play in the Major League from the beginning, the quality of pitching, across the league, probably wouldn’t have been significantly different top to bottom. Further research from The Society of American Baseball Research also notes that becoming a Major League pitcher has never been particularly attractive to the African-American athlete. After 1947, the percentage of African American pitchers peaked at around 6% in the 1970’s. A USA Today article interviewed various commentators on this subject, and they offered speculative reasons for this, but regardless what those reasons are, the fact remains that the demographic has never been particularly attracted to the position. The inference baseball historians make is that Ruth’s home run totals pale in comparison to the other more modern, hitters, because the more modern hitters faced African-American pitchers, but most of them have faced pitching staffs that are, historically, between 1% and 2% African-American on average. So, if Babe Ruth played in the 1970’s, and faced a peak of 6% African American pitchers, and he didn’t hit a single home run off of any of them, his home run total would probably be around 671.

To asterisk this asterisk, we do have one small sample of how Babe Ruth might have fared against the African-American pitchers of his era. Some might further asterisk that asterisk by stating that the sample we have for this involved a mere sixteen contests that happened to be exhibition games. It is true, but we can guess that the [African-American] League pitchers did not pitch as if they were exhibition games when they faced Major League ballplayers. We can guess that even though they were only exhibition games, the pitchers put forth their best effort to show that they were just as good if not better than the pitchers in the Major League. When they faced The Babe, especially, we can be sure that they did everything they could to get the big man out. He ended up hitting 12 home runs against them in 55 at-bats, for a 22% rate. Babe Ruth hit 714 home runs in 8,399 at bats against Major League Pitching, at a 9% clip. This isn’t to suggest if Ruth hit against African American pitchers, in the Majors, throughout his career, he would have hit home runs in 22% of his at-bats against them, but that the “lack of depth” O’Neill described would’ve become clear to baseball historians and Babe Ruth’s numbers wouldn’t have been as significantly different as they imply.

Babe Ruth in the Modern Game

Baseball historian, Bob Klapisch writes that, “Ruth was found to have had substantially above-average hand-eye coordination, intelligence and steadier nerves.”

I find this addition worthy, because Klapisch’s repeat of Ruth’s scouting report, combined with O’Neill’s description of the rare sound the ball made coming off his bat, describe intangibles that cannot be taught or coached. The jokes coaches of various sports repeat is, “You can’t coach someone to be taller, and you can’t coach someone to be faster.” You also can’t coach someone to have above-average hand-eye coordination. It’s an intangible that an athlete either has or doesn’t, and that’s one of the many reasons why I think Babe Ruth would be a top-tier baseball player in any era.

Kevin Long, the Yankees’ hitting instructor, counters, “I see too much movement in [Babe Ruth’s] stride, he’s hitting off his front foot. That’s OK only if you’re sitting on an 80-mph fastball or waiting on a curveball that only breaks on two [up and down] planes.”

Hitting instructor, Kevin Long, makes the ‘we live in the best of times’ argument many indulge in that suggests the modern athlete is so superior to the athletes of yesteryear that the latter couldn’t compete in today’s game. He states that if Ruth were playing in the modern game, he’d have tendencies that would inhibit his success, yet a hitting instructor knows that tendencies can be corrected. He then suggests Babe Ruth would have a tough time adjusting to the faster fastball of modernity, or a better curveball, as if it were a feat to which a modern Babe Ruth couldn’t adjust. It’s ridiculous on the face of it to suggest that an athlete, as superior as many describe Ruth, of “above average intelligence with steadier nerves” couldn’t adjust. Athletic ability aside for just a moment, if we could transport Babe Ruth, from birth on, to the modern era, and we could transport the conditions in which he was raised with him, Ruth would have the same driving force to learn, adjust, and succeed, because he would be as desperate to succeed now as he was then.

Those who train fighters in boxing often tell us that what separates equally talented boxers is the desperation one of the boxers has to succeed. They say that a fighter desperate to escape his current conditions, is more coachable and trainable, because they just want it more. As anyone who has played any sport knows, defeat, personal failure, and the resulting embarrassment from that are all part of becoming a better athlete. Baseball, perhaps more than any other sport, is a game in which its top stars endure more failure than success. The top hitters, for example, do not reach base 70% of the time. If Babe Ruth was the superior athlete that Klapisch and numerous others describe, he would fail to hit the modern 100mph fastball, and the modern curveball, as Long describes, but how many modern athletes fail to hit those same pitches? I believe that Babe Ruth would learn from his failures, adjust, and eventually succeed on the level he did in the 1920’s and 1930’s, because of the sense of desperation that would surely supersede his more priviledged peers.

Major League players, coaches, and managers on the Red Sox, Yankees and the other teams he played throughout the American League, in his era, considered Babe Ruth the asterisk of his era. They considered him a freak of nature athletically. *If African-Americans were allowed to play baseball in the Major League, they argue, Babe Ruth wouldn’t have appeared so freakishly talented. It’s a theoretical argument that has merit, especially if the unsubstantiated rumors about Josh Gibson are anywhere close to true, except when it comes to pitching. The principles of pitching aren’t solely based on athletic talent. If this argument focused on the NBA or the NFL, the athletic argument might take center stage. Integration of African-Americans transformed those leagues, but the eventual integration of baseball in 1947 showed very few pitchers make the jump to the Major Leagues. Did the Major League teams make these decisions as a result of racism? There were a number of hitters who made the jump, but very few pitchers did.

Buck O’Neill never explored why he thought the [African-American] League pitching staffs weren’t as deep as the Major League Baseball ones, but the inference baseball historians make that Babe Ruth didn’t face the superior athletes of his era deserves its own asterisk because superior athleticism doesn’t significantly enhance one’s ability to pitch. The difference between a dominant pitcher and an average one is not necessarily athletic, but it’s not necessarily based on intelligence either. Star-quality pitching at the Major League level is one of those things that I’m sure if we asked Major League scouts, how do we make a dominant Major League pitcher, they would probably say, “If we knew, we’d probably make a lot more of them.” A dominant Major League pitcher is as much about tangibles as it is intangibles, like perseverance through perpetual failure, that are not based on race, economic conditions, or any other indicators that we can point to in a substantial manner.

The problem with the integration argument is that we can’t argue what if’s, what abouts, and all that, so Ruth’s legacy suffers from the institutional wrongdoings of his era that now lead us to either accept his 714 home runs with asterisks, or dismiss them entirely.

Asterisk Them All

UNITED STATES – CIRCA 1926: Babe Ruth batting during an exhibition game.

Baseball historians also list ‘Babe Ruth didn’t have to play night games’ as one of the unofficial, verbal asterisks we should all place an asterisk on his .342, 714 numbers, and they usually throw it on the list of generally accepted asterisks against Ruth. I don’t understand this asterisk. I think baseball historians add this asterisk to a list of them, as opposed to saying it as a standalone, because no one parses this asterisk out to ask what difference it makes. I understand the ‘Babe Ruth didn’t have to travel extensively’ asterisk to some degree, because we all know how long flights can lead to some fatigue. If we combine the two and say Ruth never had to travel to the west coast to play a 10:00 PM game, that might have some merit, but from what we know of Babe Ruth, it appears he had no trouble playing at night.

Unless you consider a diet of hot dogs and beer performance enhancing, we might asterisk in Babe Ruth’s favor by saying he played baseball without any enhancements or supplements of any kind. Babe Ruth certainly never heard of steroids, creatine, and he likely never heard of amphetamines, as they didn’t make their way into baseball until somewhere in the World War II era of the 1940’s or 1950’s.

Though there is some evidence that The Babe lifted a barbell, but his era knew little-to-nothing about the maximized benefits of weightlifting, or the advanced training methods of the modern era. Even some relatively modern athletes, as far back as the 1970’s, report that they (team doctors and trainers included) actually considered weight training counterproductive to baseball. So, we could argue that if Ruth matured athletically in the climate of modern, advanced training methods, weightlifting, and the science behind strength and conditioning, his numbers could be significantly higher. If Ruth had the video resources, modern hitting instruction, or any of the advanced scouting hitters have today, his numbers could even be higher. As Buck O’Neill, and others allude, Babe Ruth might have been one of the most naturally gifted athletes of his century, especially when considering the stories of how much damage he did to his body with his nightlife, alcohol consumption, and his general diet.

Babe Ruth Basically Invented the Home Run

This part might be hard for modern baseball fans to understand, but before Babe Ruth, the home run wasn’t the prized athletic event it is today. Up until Babe Ruth, baseball teams didn’t sign pure home run hitters, and they didn’t strategize for the home run. Even when Ruth hit 148 home runs for the Yankees, between 1920 and 1922, the Yankees still didn’t win their first World Series title. So, while the rest of baseball saw the popularity of home runs for what it was among the fans, their version of statistical analysis led them to believe that home runs didn’t equate to wins. The myth that most of us believed that no one hit home runs before Babe Ruth is not true. Various players hit them, but the rationale back then was when you swung for the fences, it messed up the mechanics of your swing. As Ty Cobb once observed, it was Ruth’s first career as a pitcher that allowed him to perfect his reckless, from-the-heels, all-or-nothing cut, since nothing much was expected of pitchers at the plate. One of the greatest home run hitters of all time, Babe Ruth wasn’t even signed as a home run hitter, and he wasn’t utilized by the team (Boston Red Sox) that signed him, until his final, fifth year with them. His first year, he only hit four home runs, but he was a primarily a pitcher when he did that. The Red Sox viewed Babe Ruth as a pitcher who could hit, and they eventually used him in that manner.

How many years did the Red Sox cost Babe Ruth in terms of home run production? First, we’ll dismiss Ruth’s 1914 season from the record, because Ruth was a rookie, and no one knew much about him. He went 22-9 as a pitcher in the minors, but as a hitter he had 28 hits in 131 plate appearances for a .231 batting average and one home run. So, at this point even the eventual Hall of Fame home run hitter had no reason to believe he would be anything more or less than a dominant pitcher, on a Major League Level. In his next three years (1915-1917), in the majors, Ruth went 65-33 with the Red Sox and an 2.06 ERA. While that number looks great by today’s standards, some argue that these numbers occurred during the dead ball era, and that Ruth was not as dominant a pitcher as some baseball historians suggest. These naysayers also say that his win rate was influenced by the fact that he was on a Red Sox team that perennially competed for the World Series. As a counterpoint, Red Sox outfielder Harry Hooper approached the team’s manager Ed Barrow and told him the team needed to get Ruth’s bat into the lineup. Barrow said no. “I’d be the laughingstock of baseball if I took the best left hander in the league and put him in the outfield.” So, why would any manager who fears getting fired every year, allow such a successful pitcher in the batting order for more opportunity to injury, possible fatigue, and embarrassment for trying to make such a good pitcher a hitter? World War I.

There are disputes about how Ed Barrow eventually decided to put Ruth in the batting order*, but some suggest that Barrow put Ruth in the batting order out of desperation because World War I depleted the Red Sox roster to the point that Ruth was one of the few options available to him at the time. Babe Ruth didn’t go to World War I, because his number was never called, so those of us who don’t follow the rich tradition of baseball intensely, probably wouldn’t know the name Babe Ruth, if it weren’t for World War I.

Not only did Ruth hit .300 and tie for the home run title, in 1919, but the Red Sox won the World Series. When the World Series arrived, Barrow limited Ruth’s at bats, but that was probably because Ruth shut out the Cubs in the first game, to stretch Ruth’s record of shutout innings to 22.1 innings. Ruth would stretch that record to a then record 29.2 innings of consecutive shutout innings, and Ruth won his next start to help the Red Sox win the series four games to two.

The first five seasons of his career, spent with the Boston Red Sox, Ruth only hit 49 home runs. Hank Aaron already hit 140 at the same age and in the fifth years in their respective careers. We could argue that the Red Sox accidentally cost Ruth about four and a half years of potentially productive years as a home run hitter, by mostly keeping him out of the batting lineup until his fifth year.

When the Yankees traded for Ruth, they viewed Ruth as a hitter, and they switched him to the outfield. (Stats show he only pitched 20 innings in 15 years with the Yankees.) He hit 54 home runs in his first year, 1920, with the Yankees, and a star was born, and the glory of the home run was born with it. The second most home runs hit that year were by George Sisler 19, and in ’21 Ruth hit 59, and 2nd place was Bob Meusel at 24. Ruth’s success helped bring about the end of dead ball era.

Another unofficial, verbal asterisk that we could use in Ruth’s favor is the ball. How many fresh, clean balls does the modern hitter have? How many times, in one at-bat, does an umpire, pitcher, catcher, or batter ask for a new ball? If a foul ball is hit, the umpire reaches into his bag and hands the catcher a new ball. In Ruth’s day, reports suggest “the ball was sacred”. Fielders and fans were instructed to return the game ball to the pitcher after a foul ball, and Major League Teams hired security personnel and ushers to retrieve foul balls from the stands. In this era, teams played with one ball until “it was literally falling to pieces, and you couldn’t use it anymore”. John Rossi’s piece states that the ball “would be covered with grass and mud stains, along with goodly amount of tobacco juice from being spit on by the fielders. They would also lose their resiliency. Thus, the name the dead-ball era.” Some suggest that Ruth may have been partially responsible for Major League Baseball creating rules for a cleaner ball. As a result of the popularity of his home runs, the owners of Major League Baseball teams decided to feed into the massive attendance jump for just about every team in 1920. The owners made various “trick” pitches illegal, including the spitball, and they instituted a better ball, though this term would be refuted by laboratory tests. The owners wanted to keep the ball white, so hitters could see it. The spitball was banned in 1920, but numerous pitchers, who used it as their primary pitch throughout their career, were grandfathered in.

If Babe Ruth didn’t invent the home run, he single-handedly revolutionized the game from the John McGraw “inside” baseball tactics of bunt, steal, sacrifice to move over, and score on sacrifice fly to win 1-0, to a hitter’s game. Ruth’s home runs were not the sole reason for the explosion of baseball’s popularity. The end of the war, the money involved, and the more lively ball, as opposed to the 1-0 contests that tends to only please baseball purists. He wasn’t the sole reason, but he was the primary reason there was more money in the game, as attendance exploded after his home run explosions, and for the more lively ball. As Robert W. Creamer concludes in Babe: The Legend Comes to Life, “Ruth’s 1919 breakthrough did not provide a gradual evolution. It was sudden and cataclysmic.”

The First Sports Celebrity

The one other element that most baseball historians don’t mention when they discuss how Babe Ruth changed the game was that Babe Ruth became this nation’s first sports celebrity. He was America’s first athletic superstar at a time when baseball sorely needed it after the Black Sox scandal. Baseball had famous hitters before Ruth, from Ty Cobb to Tris Speaker to Honus Wagner who were just as good, and some might argue better than Ruth, but Babe Ruth’s hitting style, his personality, and his off-the-field antics made him larger than life. Those other hitters were huge in their hometown, state, and region, and every baseball fan of the era knew their name, but by the time Ruth joined the Yankees, everyone had a love/hate relationship with him. I haven’t done extensive research on this, but my guess is Ruth was baseball’s first constant headline maker. This media attention brought fans to the stands, and since the first transmission of television broadcasts didn’t occur until 1925, the primary source of revenue for owners was fan attendance. There are many bullet points to add to Babe Ruth’s claim to fame, but the idea that he almost single-handedly changed one of the three major sports and defined the idea of sports celebrity might shine the brightest, and no baseball historian can asterisk their way out of that argument.

In all of the research I did for this piece, I found authoritative asterisks that suggest while Babe Ruth might have been one of the best athletes of his generation, he couldn’t compete against the modern athlete. I found a counterargument to that asterisk that suggest most modern star athletes entering high school dream of playing in either the NFL, the NBA, and the MLB, in that order. In Babe Ruth’s era, the MLB was the premier sports organization that attracted the best, caucasian athletes in the country. Professional football and professional basketball existed, but they were nowhere near as popular as Major League Baseball. The premier athletes in the United States wanted to play baseball, and Babe Ruth faced off against the best athletes of his era. I’m sure you just thought of a counterargument to that argument, and that’s the point I made earlier. For every argument, there is a counterargument, and a counter to that counterargument, as evidenced by all the articles, opinion articles, and replies to those articles. The one definitive, authoritative, and irrefutable conclusion on whether or not Babe Ruth was a superior athlete who could compete in any era is that there is no definitive, authoritative, and irrefutable conclusion.

“Why do you care?” might be the question Babe Ruth defenders hear most often. “What difference does it make now?” might be the second most, “Babe Ruth’s (1914-1935) career now is almost 100 years old now.” My drive might have something to do with the fact that I cannot stand it when people say, “It is the best of times, right now, as far as athletics are concerned.” This argument of the tangibles suggest that athletes who dominated during “the worst of times” could not compete in today’s game. I’m not going to say there is no merit to this argument as I believe the middle of the pack and lower level athletes of today are far better than the athlete of yesteryear, but the elite athletes of yesteryear could’ve competed in any era. Having said that, we do concede that if the average to poor athletes of yesteryear pale in comparison to today’s, Babe Ruth competed against those average to poor athletes, and his career totals would probably not be as high in the modern game. It pains us to make that concession, but we still think The Babe would still be one of the elite athletes in any era. 

The “the best of times/worst of times” argument also stubbornly insists that any argument that includes a Babe Ruth must be an as-is model. We cannot transport him to today’s era of training and diet science, so why debate it? We debate it, because athletic prowess is the most important characteristic, but it’s not the only trait that defines that superior, elite athlete. When we start throwing out asterisks on Ruth, Walter Payton, Wilt Chamberlain, and other elite athletes who dominated the game during their era, we often leave off the intangibles that defined them beyond their athletic prowess. Ruth, like Payton and Bill Russell, were born and raised in situations they desperately sought to escape, and they believed sports were their ticket out. The desperation to succeed can also be combined and furthered by their will to win. The will to win can be broadly defined by an athlete doing the best they can to help their team defeat the opponent, but in just about every sport there is a one-on-one, mano y mano confrontation between two equally skilled athletes. The will to win in those showdowns defines an athlete as much as stats, wins and losses, and legacy, and I believe that these athletes would’ve used their elite talent, their desperation to succeed, and the will to win to use the advantages the modern athlete has, adapt to the current game, and succeed. As stated earlier, he who wins athletic contests are often the most athletic, but some of the times, the desperation to win and eventually succeed defines the difference in a manner that transcends the best of times and the worst of times.

I provide the numbers below, because someone once said that numbers speak for themselves, but I think we all know that they don’t, because they invite asterisks, counterpoints to those asterisks, and counterarguments to the counterargument.

Total Home Runs: Ruth 714 vs. Aaron 755 vs. Pujols 703

Total Games — Ruth 2,503 vs. Aaron 3,298 vs. Pujols 3,080

At Bats — Ruth 8,399 vs. Aaron 12,365 vs. Pujols 11,421

Plate Appearances — Ruth 10,623 vs. Aaron 13,941 vs. Pujols 13,041

Batting Average — Ruth .342 vs. Aaron .305 vs. Pujols .296

Runs — Ruth and Aaron tied at 2,174 vs. Pujols 1,914

Runs Batted In — Ruth 2,214 vs. Aaron 2,297 vs. Pujols 2,218

Walks — Ruth 2,062 vs. Aaron 1,402 vs. Pujols 1,373

Strike Outs — Ruth 1,330 vs. Aaron 1,383 vs. Pujols 1,404

Slugging Percentage — Ruth .690 vs. Aaron .555 vs. Pujols .544

Number of Unique Pitchers Hitter Hit Home Runs On — Ruth 342*(as a Yankee) vs. Aaron 310 vs. Pujols 458

Seasons — Ruth 22 vs. Aaron 23 vs. Pujols 22

World Series Rings — Ruth 7 vs. Aaron 1 vs. Pujols 2

*In Babe: The Legend Comes to Life, the author Robert W. Creamer states that Ruth’s transition was not a managerial decision, or one based on WWI depletion, but Babe Ruth’s decision. After experiencing some success as a hitter, Ruth decided he no longer wanted to pitch. Ruth’s and manager Ed Barrow argued about this, but Ruth eventually won the argument. The book also states that Ruth’s ability to avoid the draft involved him being married at the time and some squabbles between Major League Baseball and government agencies.

**Other sites say that on May 6, Barrow changed his mind and started Ruth at first base. After that, Ruth played in the field when he wasn’t pitching and the Red Sox were facing a right-hander. Ruth responded by hitting 11 home runs to lead the American League and pitching to a 13-7 record.