The Parallels of Baseball and Chess

Baseball, like chess, is boundless. After only three moves by each player, there are more than nine million different possible positions for the pieces. After four moves each? A nifty 288 billion possible positional iterations. And, if you’re a member of the Carl Sagan fan club, the number of distinct 40-move games in chess far exceeds the number of electrons (electrons!) in the observable universe.

In baseball, there are far more than 40 moves per game, even more iterations, and, quite frankly, endless distinct possibilities.

“Baseball is a chess match” seems a platitude at times, given how often it is said. It’s a cliché that is regularly used to acknowledge or deride an in-game decision, and other times to justify midseason slumps – up there with “it’s a long game; it’s a longer season.”

But the intention of this piece is to argue the validity of this statement: that baseball and chess are far more alike than many of us may realize. Being myself a semi-competent chess player (emphasis on semi) and a full-time fan of baseball, I will try to distill both chess and baseball into comparable contests.

Chess operates in three distinct phases: the Opening; the Middle Game; and the Endgame. Each phase with its varying strategic concerns, each requiring unique, nuanced approaches. Baseball, by many measures, operates in a similar phasing – a framework that I will use to guide this comparative exploration.

A ball instead of a strike changes the dynamic of an at-bat. An error instead of an out has repercussions that can extend beyond the inning and contaminate an entire game.

And, of course, there is a winner, and there is a loser. No ties (Okay, there were ties before they had lights…but work with me here). No time limit. The only things that can slow or stop a game completely are Mother Nature and victory.

First, I want to work through the Opening phase, looking at the pre-game lineups, projected starters, and the all-important first innings as they shape the complexion of a baseball game.

Then, we will dive into the Middle Game, the least glamorous of the phases but the one that, as I will argue, contains the most iterations, permutations, and opportunities to right the ship or bury a team in a hole too deep to claw out of.

After the Middle, I will flesh out the Endgame: the do-or-die time. We will explore how this phase has a razor-thin margin of error, where one mal-located pitch and one sweet swing can un-do an entire game’s worth of moves.

And, in the end, I will pull it out to the big picture and see what conclusions we can draw from a better understanding of the relationship between baseball and chess. Shall we?

The Opening:

In chess, you know all the pieces before the match begins. Sixteen figurines on either side of the board, ordered as they always are: pawns across the front, rooks at the corners, bishops, knights, and then the jovial king and queen rear and center.

So too begins a baseball game, with a known 25-man roster of fielders, pitchers, and hitters.

The real Opening move of a baseball game is the Manager’s declaration of the starting pitcher and, more importantly, the setting of the one-through-nine batting order. The order lays out the anticipated offensive ‘moves’, and strategic establishment of lefty-righty hitting match-ups in an attempt to perpetuate lineup chemistry.

And so it begins. In baseball as in chess, the importance of the Opening is the establishment of each team in the context of the contest. Though baseball ‘openings’ do not have catchy names like The Queen’s Gambit, the Scotch Game, or the Ruy Lopez, the anatomy of the first three innings—in particular the first—are crucial to the complexion of the game.

In the tradition of the baseball batting order, you’ve got your ‘best’ all-around batters in the first three spots in the lineup. Historically you’ve got your speed/contact guy batting first, an OBP and professional hitting machine batting second, and an ideal blend of batting for average and power with your third hitter.

Let’s take the 2001 Mariners, playing a hypothetical away game, to visualize the ideal Opening phase for an offense. Their intent, especially early, is to drive up pitch count, attack mistakes, and set a productive tone for the rest of the baseball game.

Leadoff man Ichiro Suzuki (.350/.381/.457 and 6.1 oWAR) slaps an infield single between the first and second baseman, outrunning the pitcher as he tries to cover first base. Then, Mike Cameron (.267/.353/.480 and 4.8 oWAR) initiates a hit-and-run and, and although he does not make contact on a breaking ball in the dirt, Ichiro scampers into second base and the Ners have their first RISP already. Cameron, being a patient and professional batter, works the count full and draws a walk in a 9-pitch at-bat.

Up next walks the immortal Edgar Martinez, and after taking a few borderline pitches, clears the bases with a stand up, opposite-field double. The Mariners lead 2-0 with no outs in the first, thanks in large part to their conscious construction of their early moves.

A team can only begin so successfully, however, if their opponent fails to counter their opening moves. In comes the starting pitcher. Though the starting rotation generally fluctuates in terms of player quality from the #1 down to the #5, the starters are starters because they can set the tone of a game.

Keeping hitters off-balance early, finding their pitches in the strike zone, and varying pitch type and pitch location can stymy even the most prolific batting order the first time through.

Each team is hoping to jump out to a quick lead through capitalizing on an early mistake by their opponent. In chess, this can be a move that exposes a queen prematurely, or exposes your king without protection.

As those first moves play out, we then find ourselves in the Middle game…

The Middle Game:

The Middle game in both chess and baseball is the grittiest, most dynamic phase of a contest. Competing team strategies and successful weakness exploitations can flip the script from the Opening phases.

Let’s first look at the general strategies teams employ in the middle game to gain their advantage. Saying ‘score more runs than the other team’ does not do justice to the nuance of a strategic middle game. Neither does ‘take the opponent’s pieces’ do justice in chess.

The middle innings of baseball proceed in a cat and mouse like theme, as the starting pitcher winds his way through the order for a second and then third time. With each at-bat, and with each pitch, the opposing sides are constantly observing trends to try and find their edge.

Maybe the starting pitcher is erratic and struggling to find the zone. Exploitation: sit on pitches, work your count, and do not swing until you’ve got two strikes on you.

Or you find the opposite, and the starting pitcher is pounding the zone with first pitch fastballs to get ahead early in the count. Exploitation: jump on the first pitch and provide no opportunity for the pitcher to dictate the at-bat.

If the offense succeeds in exploiting the pitcher’s weaknesses in that particular contest, they can drive up his pitch count, add to the scoreboard, and knock him out of the game early. If the pitcher is countering nicely, studying the tendencies of the batters and coordinating pitch sequence with his catcher, he can work deep into a game and stifle the opponent’s tactical barrage.

In chess, the Middle game is crucial for piece advancement, to lock up sections of the board and trap the opponent so they have no choice but to do what you dictate. You want to make a move and know exactly what move your opponent will make in response. The anticipation in the middle game—think two or six or ten moves ahead—provides an advantage. So too in baseball, in varying strategy and predicting moves in advance.

For example, a pitcher pitching to the bottom of the order—generally the weaker hitters in a lineup—may tweak their approach and, instead of nibbling at the corners, go right after the batter in the interior of the strike zone. By willing themselves through the bottom of the order on fewer pitches, they leave the bases empty, and their arm full of life, as the lineup turns over.

Think about the anticipatory nature of the offense in the Middle Game. Knowing to hit the ball to the right side of the infield to advance a baserunner from first to second even if it results in an out; putting the ball in the air when a man is on third with less than two outs; seeing the pitching patterns and defensive shifts and having a counter-move predetermined.

Even though the Middle game does not carry the same verve as the Opening, it so often carries the most action and strategy for both sides. Much as in chess, it is the nitpicky period where a single mistake—like pulling your starting pitcher too early or too late—can determine the outcome of the game.

But, as in any contest, we bring ourselves to the Endgame, where the ramifications of each move are magnified.

The Endgame:

The Endgame in chess is often difficult for the casual player. There are fewer pieces on the board, areas are well entrenched, and it can take just one or two moves to solidify victory or defeat. Even if you hold a significant advantage, one misstep at the wrong time becomes a fast-moving wave of taken pieces. In the blink of an eye, victory can be revoked and defeat miraculously avoided.

In baseball, the endgame also comes with a razor-thin margin of error. Just like a single misstep with your queen late in a chess match, a single ill-advised pitching change or a hanging breaking ball left in the middle of the plate can end the game instantly.

Let’s take, for example, the April 9th game between the Mariners and the Angels. The Ners entered the ninth inning carrying a 9-3 lead, a margin commonly considered insurmountable in the game’s final inning.

The Ners started the ninth with Case Fien, who in less than a couple of weeks has been sent down and up between the minor and major league squads. His lack of control and effectiveness opened the door for an Angels’ comeback.

Oftentimes these final three outs are scrutinized and hyper-contextualized in a baseball game. Saves have—for better or worse—been the standard measurement for the quality of relief pitching in Major League Baseball. Even though it can be argued that they’re just three more outs, those final three outs are never assured. There is a palpable, albeit inarticulate tension in the Endgame.

Sealing up a victory or working some late-game magic to steal a win from your opponent often provides the most electric period in a baseball game. There are so many ballclubs—as there are so many chess players—who grind successfully through the Opening and Middle game phases before losing their edge in the waning moments of the contest.

So What Does This All Mean?

A step back allows us to see that baseball and chess are quite similar in the macro sense. The depth, style, and enormity of strategies and outcomes cannot be quantified. But how does that help the casual baseball fan? Or even still, how does that knowledge help those GMs and Managers out there, trying to get their team over the hump, into the playoffs, and eventually hoisting a World Series trophy?

More than anything else it comes down to observations and development. GMs, managers, and players need to dedicate themselves to the iterations, to studying their opponent’s tendencies. If you have a great fastball as a pitcher, that’s great; but knowing the guy in the batter’s box mashes heaters is even more valuable. If you know a pitcher tips his curveball with his front shoulder, be cognizant and exploit his body’s betrayal.

Consistency also needs to play a major role in roster and organization building. A team can dominate one phase—be it Opening, Middle, or Endgame—or even one facet (pitching, defense, hitting, or ‘pen, yet still find themselves suffering losses because they lack a cohesive consistency through all phases of the game.

And teams need to be willing to re-invent the wheel when everyone else thinks the wheel is just fine. Think back to the Cleveland Indians’ run to the World Series in 2016, when Andrew Miller became reliever-nouveau and took over both the Middle and the Endgame for their pitching staff. It was unheard of and unconventional—much like the Monkey’s Bum or Hillbilly Attack openings in chess (please take the time to look these up; I don’t mind waiting).

Baseball thrives on consistency, on patience, on preparation, and on innovation. And though it may not have the millennia-long history of the game of chess, America’s Pastime can continue to learn from it’s own past, and maybe too steal some iterative creativity from one of the world’s other most complex games.

#Opinion