rewrite this title Best of BP 2025: Speed Watch, featuring Chandler Simpson

I have a confession to make. I do not like watching stolen bases. In the typical case, I find them quite dull, and sometimes even annoying.

That’s on video, to be sure; I won’t contest that it’s a thrill in-person, and this does not include other forms of baserunning. But the video portrayal simply requires so many cuts and cues that it doesn’t really work for me. In almost all cases, your first tip that the runner is going comes from the announcer. You can’t even see it. “And the runner goes.” “Runner going.” And so on.

By the time I am seeing the runner on screen, it’s the moment before the tag and all of the tension and build-up from the in-person thrill or seeing the runner rounding second on a ball in the gap have been avoided. Barring the unusual tag or slide, the outcome of the play can immediately be seen—safe, out, or can’t tell. And in what must be three-quarters of all cases, the runner or defender will linger around the play for a moment to give his team the opportunity to challenge, immediately casting doubt on whether joy or grief or frustration are even the proper responses. No other play pauses emotion with such regularity, and no other play has so little on-screen build up.

Even afterwards, the play can remain shrouded in mystery. In no less than 90% of all replays of a successful stolen base—I have not studied the matter to test this number—the announcer will call it a “great jump.” On countless occasions this happens even when the replay does not include the pitcher within the frame, and therefore it could not be seen at all whether it was in fact a “great jump,” and that’s in addition to these “great jumps” having about as clear of a visual definition as a check-swing or balk. You simply know it when you see it. That is a great jump.

With the camera focus almost exclusively on the batter and pitcher, and ignoring the baserunner, the stolen base attempt almost inevitably gives me a feeling of disruption, too. No, this isn’t about you. This holds less true when the pitcher throws over, or the announcers immediately begin predicting a stolen base, or a cut-away shot shows the runner dancing off first base comically. Another exception would be when the runner is in plain sight on second base, or when they suddenly break into the frame on the steal of home. But these are much rarer occurrences.

Moreover, I find speed genuinely indistinguishable on screen. If it’s an unusually tall or short player (e.g., Elly De La Cruz or Corbin Carroll), or has a longer distance, it can be visually obvious and therefore enjoyable. But in the great majority of cases, moving only from one base to the next, it all looks fast. (As before, in general baserunning, there’s enough time to build up tension and forecast the possible outcomes, such that this can be enjoyed.)

To be certain, there’s no particular reason for the league to bend to my wishes here. I’m obviously outnumbered on this issue and that’s fine. It doesn’t all have to go my way, but I bring it up this Sunday for one particular reason: the debut of Chandler Simpson. As I see it, if I am ever to enjoy the stolen base, it will be from someone so fast and so relentless that he can steal 104 bases in 110 games.

Simpson’s Saturday debut was anticlimactic in that he did not get a chance to steal, first hitting a sharp ground ball that Yankees starter Carlos Carrasco interrupted and sent to first, and then rolling over to first baseman Paul Goldschmidt and lining out to Trent Grisham. He did participate in a ninth-inning rally that sent the game to extras, including a ground-rule double for his first hit. But base-stealing isn’t much of a priority when you’re the run that trims the margin rather than nullifying it.

Sunday would be a more dramatic setup. Amidst the no-hit bid, Max Fried was also showing off his three-time Gold Glove-winning skills, bouncing away from the mound to snag a Jake Mangum dribbler before spinning and firing a very strong throw to first in the second inning. An inning later it was Simpson’s turn to be bested, as his bouncer drew Goldschmidt away from the bag and Fried out-raced him to the bag. (Thrilling no doubt, but not the stolen base attempt being sought after.) Fried added a pick-off when Christopher Morel switched off at second base in the fourth.

Simpson was again able to bring a buzz to the ballpark on a grounder to Goldschmidt in the sixth inning, but that clanked off of Goldschmidt’s glove and allowed Simpson to reach easily. However, the buzz on this play got much louder when the play—initially ruled an error—was changed to a hit in the eighth inning, before Fried had allowed any other hits. Still, aside from the dreams of the Yankee diehards, this was pretty a clear call because Fried appeared less likely to get to the bag ahead of Simpson this time, and truly the first instance was highlight-worthy enough that this is a cruel error, even if it was Goldschmidt’s misplay that reduced the chances of an out to zero.

At long last, the opportunity would arrive in the eighth. Following a force out, Simpson stood on first base in a fairly clear steal situation—down three, but with two outs, no one else on base, and enough outs left to risk one. But here’s the problem.

It’s everything I already described as reason for finding steals boring and disruptive. “Runner takes off” is the first clue of action, and the second thing I know is the result. In this case, that’s because Austin Wells’ throw was a complete misfire, but even if not, Simpson doesn’t come into view until the camera angle is reversed and he is visibly safe at second.

Making matters worse—at least for hopes of swaying me, this only happened the very first batter after Fried, the Gold Glover and pickoff maestro, exited the game, essentially robbing us of the most thrilling context possible for the steal. When Simpson was on first a few innings earlier, the broadcast specifically changed camera angles to create the duel, with Fried’s leg holding right at the tipping point of his delivery to try to fool Simpson. With two pickoffs used before a pitch was even thrown to Junior Camineiro, the stakes were essentially raised as high as possible; the maestro would have to be perfect to get him, and just as perfect to stop him from running. (The below picture is a pitch, not a throw over.) Back at the typical camera angle, and without the exceptional Fried on the mound, the excitement and build-up fades considerably.

Further, Simpson’s eventual eighth-inning stolen base was ball two in a five-pitch walk to Yandy Díaz. In other words, the extra base Simpson took did not prove a particularly significant one. It’s certainly plausible enough that the walk was earned on account of the open bases, or even that the first two stray pitches were inspired by nervous thoughts of Simpson’s base-stealing. But it’s still a bit of a letdown, and it speaks to the additional issue of stolen base value.

This value is often inflated by viewers because it is so apparent what their measurement is, along with the long-held and widespread desire to make stealing bases the secret path to winning (see Arizona, 2023, even when they stopped running as much in the playoffs). Other baserunning exists in grayer shades, and so the two skills are often lumped together despite not being precisely correlated.

Just for example, in Statcast’s baserunning value leaderboards, even just looking at the last two seasons of elevated base-stealing, the range of “Runs via Extra Bases Taken” by team (-12 to +14) is significantly greater than that of “Runs via Stolen Bases” (-6 to +13, with the second-highest mark at only +8). The stolen base is most commonly simply taking second base, which has value (the Statcast page says +0.2 runs for a successful steal), but other baserunning plays often mean taking the extra base to reach third on a single, or to score from second. Those can, logically, be much higher run value plays, not to mention that they still double stolen base attempts, even for the most aggressively stealing teams.

This weekend series was certainly not the one to sway me on stolen base excitement, as essentially every thrill of Simpson’s speed manifested in another way. Even when the announcers began to speculate that Simpson, standing on first in the eighth, could take off, the build-up far exceeded the real thing. Still, I will do my best to set aside hubris, keep watching, and give the stolen base a chance.