The old hidden-ball trick, the spitter, the stitch-a-ball-on-the-jersey trick... the humidor?
Throughout history, baseball players, coaches and even owners have been known to stretch and bend the rules of the game to give their teams that necessary edge. Some of their tactics (like the old hidden-ball trick) flummox opponents, but don't break any rules. Others, like the spitter and stitch-a-ball-on-the-jersey trick, cross the line between fair and foul play.
But what about the humidor? Unlike these other tricks, this way of messing with a baseball doesn't play into the hands of the team doing the doctoring. Should a team be forced to store its game balls in a humidity and temperature-controlled chamber - much like the one that holds your finest Cuban cigars - to regulate the balls' moisture content? When the balls belong to the Colorado Rockies, Bud Selig and Major League Baseball said yes.
No longer would Rocky Mountain Oysters be the only specially doctored balls at Coors Field. In 2002, the big league powers that be demanded the Rockies store their baseballs in a humidor to negate the effects of both altitude and a dry climate. In combating this "offensive problem," the league more or less tried to even out the Rockies' natural advantage of playing half their season's games in Colorado. (You know, the "advantage" that gave the club a 667-728 franchise record through 2001. But I digress.)
Major League baseballs are produced by Costa Rica-based Rawlings Sporting Goods Co. After the cork center is covered with rubber, 1,075 feet of wool and cotton yarn, and finally cowhide sewn together with 108 double stitches, the balls are shipped to Fenton, Missouri, where they are then distributed to all 30 Major League teams. Throughout the entire transport process from tropical Costa Rica to Middle America, the balls are never forced to have their climates controlled. Until they reach Colorado.
Prior to 2002, the only time baseballs at Coors Field got wet was when they were blasted off a bat and into the centerfield fountain, or when it rained. Now, four years after its inception, the humidor seems to have provided the miracle water to cure the offensive epidemic that infected Coors Field between 1995 and 2001.
In the 72 games played in the Aprils prior to the humidor, teams averaged a combined 15.1 combined runs per game. In the April of 2002, that number dropped to 9.8, a staggeringly sudden 35.1 percent decrease. So far this spring, Coors Field ranks 25th out of the 30 ballparks in average runs scored per game, and 29th in home runs. The Rockies have also hit three times as many home runs on the road (12) than they have at home (four), and in three fewer games.
As the supposed effects of the humidor have continued into this early season, last year's all-time Coors Field low of 170 homeruns, a total that ranked the "best hitters' ballpark in baseball" smack dab in the middle of the Majors at 15th in balls hit out of the park, indicates that the humidor may be for real.
While it's true that the dry Colorado air (the average relative humidity for the baseball months of April through September in Denver is just 35 percent) and the mile-high altitude create ideal conditions for long balls, the humidor is just one of many factors contributing to the drop in Coors Field offense over the past few years.
Gone are the days of the Blake Street Bombers when Larry Walker, Andres Galarraga, Dante Bichette, Ellis Burks and Vinny Castilla were racking up 30-home-run seasons. The only echo of the power hitting days of old remaining in the Rockies' lineup is first baseman Todd Helton, and even his homer production has slumped over the past few seasons.
Also gone are the years of the Mark McGwire-esque beefed-up sluggers of the Steroid Era. The BALCO scandal and recent publications have ushered in tighter drug policies and public condemnation of the bulky power hitters made famous in the late 1990s. Analysts almost universally agree that the league is now entering a new era of baseball in which pitching and small-ball will win championships. Case in point: the 2005 champion Chicago White Sox.
Baseball's return to a less flashy style, the Rockies' far-from-bombing lineup and the humidor effect have all played into the decrease in offense in Colorado. The question remains, however: Is the humidor really necessary. Since when has equality been MLB's mantra? No one ever demanded that balls be dried out in sticky Atlanta. And if Selig really wants to take away unfair advantages, he should try extensive salary capping and team budget reform. Clearly a club's wealth affects its chances much more than its ballpark conditions.
Part of baseball's charm comes from its variability - no standard ballpark dimensions, no time limit on games, no universal ground rules. Bud Selig doesn't mess with these things, so why does he insist on taking away part of what makes Colorado baseball unique? Part of the fun of going to Coors Field used to be knowing that the final score would probably more closely resemble a football outcome than a typical baseball game. And now that the game itself is changing, why not let the Rockies and their visiting opponents change accordingly without moisturizing the ball?
The humidor may be the trick to keeping baseballs inside the fence in Colorado, but I think it should go the way of the
spitter.
