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Hard Breaking Balls Haven't
Thrown this Physicist for a Curve

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baseball3d_sm.gif (1430 bytes) by Mike Knoblerbaseball3d_sm.gif (1430 bytes)
Sports Editor
The Jackson (MS)
Clarion-Ledger
"Mississippi's Newspaper"

 

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       A rising fastball doesn't really rise. A curveball really does curve. And Cecil Fielder hits the ball so hard it comes off his bat 1 degree warmer than when it left the pitcher's hand. So says Robert Adair, and he ought to know. Adair is the only person ever to hold the title "Physicist of the National League." From 1987-1990.

        Adair conducted experiments and found explanations for the results. Even to Adair, the Sterling Professor of Physics at Yale, baseball can be a very complicated game. "There are some simple things you can say," Adair said, but "if Albert Einstein were alive today and interested in baseball, he could not calculate from the first principles how a curveball curves. We have to go back to experience, engineering and experiment." What kind of experiment? Well, Adair wanted to find out what effect humidity would have on a baseball, so he stored one baseball in dry air and another baseball in 100 percent humid air. A month later, he removed the baseballs and performed a test. The same force that sent the dry ball 400 feet in the air sent the humid ball just 370 feet. Now you know why the Jackson Generals don't hit more home runs.

A ball that would go 400 feet in "normal" conditions goes:

6 feet farther if the altitude is 1,000 feet higher;
4 feet farther if the air is 10 degrees warmer;
4 feet farther if the barometer drops 1 inch of mercury;
3 1/2 feet farther if the pitcher is 5 mph faster.



       That last fact helped make Rip Sewell's eephus pitch so effective. Sewell lobbed the ball as high as 25 feet in the air, with so little speed the batter had to provide all the power. Only one major leaguer ever homered off Sewell's eephus pitch. Ted Williams did it in the 1946 all-star game, and he gave his swing a running start.

Practical advice must come from players.

        Adair got into baseball science thanks to the late Bartlett Giamatti, who was a Yale English professor and university president before becoming commissioner of baseball. But it was another Yalie who gave Adair's book The Physics of Baseball its most impressive endorsement. Adair has an autographed picture of Yale's most famous first baseman reading the book in the White House. "If only I had read this 44 years ago, I might have batted .300. Play Ball," George Bush wrote underneath the photo. "Actually," Adair said, "I don't think the book would have done him much good."

       In fact, understanding the science of baseball wouldn't do any player much good. It's just interesting. "It's not going to be at the back of my mind standing at the plate," said Millsaps College catcher Chris Lawrence. "We don't like to break down the game any more than it has to be broken down." Lawrence was on of several Millsaps players who heard Adair speak Thursday as part of their school's 1996 Moreton Lectures in the Sciences. Adair couldn't offer much practical advice. That would have to come from players. "What baseball players do is right," Adair said, "It's got to be right. They're paid too much to be wrong." A new meaning for term "hot" bat? Still Adair, 71, is truly a wily veteran, a crafty lefthander. Though he never played baseball at even the high school level, he knows the game as a lifetime fan and as a scientist.

       He knows that curveballs curve because the air flows differently on the side of the ball spinning toward the plat than the side spinning away from the plate. A German named Gustav Magnus figured this out in 1852. Magnus never played high school baseball, either.

       Adair will tell you that a major league fastball spins at 1,800 RPM, or 54 times faster than an old- fashioned LP record. He knows that translates into about a dozen rotations in the 0.4 seconds it takes the pitch to reach the plate.

       It takes 1/2,000th of a second for Cecil Fielder's bat to deliver nearly 10,000 pounds of force. The ball compresses almost an inch, storing energy. Some of that energy accelerates the ball. The rest heats it. So yes, he really can have a hot bat.

        The backspin that makes a sailing fastball appear to rise actually just keeps the ball from falling as quickly as the batter expects. The difference from a normal trajectory can be 5 inches by the time the ball reaches the plate and about 2 1/2 of those 5 inches come in the last 15 feet.

        A knuckleball, which has hardly any spin at all, can curve in both directions before reaching the plate. "Most knuckleballs just go one way or the other," Adair said. "but nobody knows which way they're going to go."

       Even science, it seems, has its limits.

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Mr. Knobler is a native of Los Angeles
and a Harvard graduate. He has graciously
allowed us to reprint his article here.

To contact Mike Knobler send e-mail to knobler@aol.com