Two weeks ago, Omaha's Rosenblatt Stadium staged one of the most intriguing College World Series ever, complete with made-for-TV sub-plots, unsung heroes and a team that fit the magic slipper better than Cinderella ever did.
Yet despite these subplots that would've made any sportswriter drool, all anyone seemed to dwell on afterwards was the offensive fireworks during the Championship game-39 hits, seven homers, 35 runs.
USC 21, Arizona State 14.
That score has about as much business being a baseball final as I do dating Jennifer Love Hewitt. Your typical beer league softball game doesn't churn out 35 runs. Heck, a USC-ASU football game would have some trouble matching that scoring output.
Unfortunately, that game is merely a late-sounding alarm for an epidemic that has already spread to all corners of collegiate baseball-ridiculously high-scoring games triggered by steadily improving technology and design of the aluminum bat.
The high-performance bats were initially designed with that exact purpose in mind: increase the run-scoring and make collegiate baseball more enjoyable and entertaining. The question, therefore: Is 21-14 really baseball, or is it some glorified version of that whiffle-ball, home-run derby contest you had with your friends back in grade school?
Enough is enough; it's time for the friendly folks at Easton, Worth, TPX, etc. to stop making metal launching pads and start making bats. One of the ills of the new aluminum bat showed itself this past season at historic Jack Coombs Field. In the second game of a critical late-season series against North Carolina, Duke closer Vaughn Schill faced Tar Heel shortstop Brian Roberts, attempting to preserve a tie game.
Every Atlantic Coast Conference coach will tell you that Roberts is scrappy, speedy, a phenomenal line-drive hitter and a gamer. One thing the 5-foot-10, 165-pound shortstop is not, however, is a power hitter capable of turning around a 92 mile per hour fastball. But that's exactly what happened. Roberts' air-compressed titanium alloy 'bat' connected with the Schill fastball, sending it well over the right field fence and the Tar Heels on their way to a three-game sweep.
Home-run heroics from compact middle infielders always make for stuff of legends: Witness Bucky Dent in '78 and Ozzie Smith in '85. However when every middle infielder can step up to the plate and launch moonshots that make Babe Ruth jealous, those legends certainly grow a bit stale.
In addition to being detrimental to the spirit of the game, the aluminum bat hurts the college players using them as well. How can a bat designed to help the player hit the ball harder and farther be bad for a player you ask? Simple, a home run is a lot like beer.
Remember the first time you had beer? You probably said, 'That stuff is not all that great.' Then you have your second beer, and you realize, 'Hey, I could get used to this.' And before you know it, you're an alcoholic.
On the same token, the first time that scrawny shortstop rips one just over the fence and just inside the foul pole, he shrugs it off as luck. The next time he reaches even the warning track, he'll think to himself, 'If only I had pulled that ball a bit more or swung a little harder.'
And before you can say 'Pete Incaviglia', that shortstop is swinging from his heels, adding a severe uppercut to his swing and striking out once every three trips to the plate. Simply put, the aluminum bat develops bad habits in a player's swing and over-inflates the player's actual hitting ability.
Need proof? Just ask Phil Nevin, a former National Player of the Year and No. 1 overall selection out of Cal State-Fullerton. Without the aluminum bat, in four miserable seasons with Houston, Detroit and Anaheim, Nevin has struggled mightily just to keep his average above the Mendoza line.
By far, the most important and compelling reason to send the aluminum bat to the scrap heap lies in its now almost life-endangering possibilities. After releasing the pitch, the pitcher stands just about 55 feet from the plate. Upon impact with the bat, the ball can take just four-tenths of a second to travel those 55 feet, giving the pitcher almost no time to protect himself.
Add to that recent research indicating the ball comes off an aluminum bat eight to 12 percent faster than a corresponding wooden bat, and what you have is a recipe for an on-field tragedy.
Many colleges, however, are reluctant to ditch the aluminum bat due to either signed endorsement deals with bat companies or the fear of competing on an uneven field. The solution, then, seems obvious enough.
The NCAA must establish a mandate to have bat companies begin producing aluminum bats that perform like wood and require every competing collegiate program to begin using these bats. Indeed, the call for such a mandate has never been stronger.
"I've heard of more pitchers being hit by line drives in the last three years than in my previous nine years...," University of Massachusetts coach Bill Thurston said in a Sports Illustrated piece. "We're going to get a kid killed."
No, I wouldn't exactly think seeing a kid getting killed makes the game more entertaining.
Victor Zhao is an Engineering junior and associate sports editor of The Chronicle.
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