MLB takes hardball out of baseball

In the bottom of the 12th inning during Major League Baseball’s All-Star Game in 1970, a spectacular collision took place at home plate. The National League’s Pete Rose smashed into American League catcher Ray Fosse, hurling him backward into the dirt. Rose scored the winning run, while Fosse suffered a career-threatening injury. It was one of the most exciting moments in All-Star history.

In February, Major League Baseball announced an experimental one-year change — Rule 7.13 — designed to reduce the chances that either a catcher or runner would be injured in an “egregious” collision at home plate. Under the new rule, a runner may not veer from a direct line to the plate in order to knock over the catcher, and the catcher may not block the runner’s path to the plate if he is not holding the ball.

In their clarifying comments on the changes — designed to help umpires interpret the new rule — MLB rulemakers sounded like technical judges at an Olympic figure skating contest. A runner can be called out if he lowers his shoulder or pushes “through with his hands, elbows or arms.” Runners sprinting toward home must slide into the plate in an “appropriate manner,” and if sliding feet first, the “buttocks and legs should hit the ground before contact with the catcher.”

The Dodgers might have to spend most of spring training explaining to Yasiel Puig — who can’t seem to slow down — what all this actually means.

When Rose heard about the proposed rule change, he asked a reporter, “What’s the game coming to?” and wondered whether they would soon outlaw breaking up the double play. Rose, despite having his own difficulty obeying rules, was suggesting that the game itself shouldn’t be changed without careful thought.

Baseball is a game of complex rules and exacting dimensions. Altering one key element — such as the height of the pitcher’s mound, for instance — can affect every other element.

Online chatter about the rule change has been widespread and passionate. Many fans are expressing concern not merely with this particular rule but with how a moment in the game when courage is demonstrated — the raw encounter between the runner and the catcher — might be lost.

For example, when a batter refuses to yield his position in the batter’s box after a pitcher throws the ball high and tight at 95 mph, the batter is signaling that he won’t be intimidated. And a catcher standing his ground when a runner is barreling down the line at him requires a brave spirit that becomes part of a ballplayer’s character.

My mother, Helen, and brother Casey were professional baseball players who often told me that risking their bodies to benefit their team was required to play the game well. The most prominent picture in Casey’s memorabilia room is of him bowling over Chicago Cubs catcher Damon Berryhill and jarring the ball loose.

Casey, who now coaches baserunning and fielding in the Texas Rangers farm system, says he understands why they are altering the rule but wonders about its impact.

“So you can’t use your shoulder anymore. What does a runner do, hit the catcher with his chest?”

In professional baseball today, risking injury for the sake of the team may be considered naive. Players are understandably concerned about hurting their careers. Owners don’t want their “investments” damaged, and coaches want a team that stays healthy and wins.

Self-interest would seem to dictate easing up when chasing a fly ball to avoid running into the fence, or stepping away from a runner heading for the plate so you don’t get creamed.

Maybe it’s a good rule and injuries might be reduced. But I’m afraid something ineffable will be lost as well. Baseball is and should be a messy, unpredictable and split-second game, especially during plays at the plate.

I’ll greet the new season with the same joy and optimism as always, and I’ll be at Dodger Stadium on opening day. Maybe I’ll splurge and buy a seat up close so I can watch any contested play at the plate in the bottom of the ninth. I want to hear Dodgers Manager Don Mattingly when he runs at the umpire, gets in his face and yells, “His buttocks and legs were on the ground during the slide.” Maybe I’ll get used to it.

Kelly Candaele produced the documentary “A League of Their Own,” about his mother’s and aunt’s years in the All American Girl’s Professional Baseball League, and wrote the story for the film of the same name.