Overhang Hangover: Target Field’s Weirdest Quirk Strikes Again – Twins

Byron Buxton tripled the other day. That’s hardly an unusual feat. This one was his sixth of the year, and the 30th of his career. But there’s something odd about the play. Can you spot it?

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This is no longer a Byron Buxton article. Sorry, Buck. This is a Brooks Baldwin article. There’s something about alliterative “B’s,” I guess. I mean, look at him! Baldwin never even dares to approach the warning track; as if a curse will befall him and his family and his teammates if he touches the outer dirt. He even takes a few steps backwards after his initial attack in anticipation of a violent ricochet. 

The chyron obscures the ball’s landing spot, but a violent ricochet that is not. Based on how the ball spins, I don’t think it hit the wall first; it landed in the dirt, before back-spinning off the wall, finally registering to Baldwin that he’s safe to retrieve the object.

In the meantime, Buxton is running like a maniac. It’s just Baldwin’s luck that Byron was the batter to smack this ball. Had basically any other Twin done it, they would have just safely strode into second, made some sort of celebratory hand signal to the dugout, and remained pleased with their improved OPS. Buxton, however, makes hay with his speed and decisive baserunning. He smelled a three-bagger. So he bolted as if this was “The Short Sprint” (a re-imagining of Stephen King’s “The Long Walk”).

Yet, even Buxton knows something is up. Look at this frame:

He wisely checks to see if the cutoff man offers a threat to his adventure to third base. He does not. The infield hasn’t even received the ball yet. So he lets down his guard, unleashes an exaltation, and saunters into the base, perhaps a little confused that he didn’t need to dirty his jersey in the process. This was likely the easiest triple of Buxton’s career, and it didn’t involve an odd bounce or a fielding mishap during a catch attempt. 

Though we’re most familiar with Baldwin as an infielder, he has years of experience in the outfield from his time at UNC-Wilmington and through the minor leagues. This isn’t a case of a green youngster finding his footing at a new position; this is a man scared to death of Minnesota’s right field.

That’s probably rational. We’ve seen some strange outcomes from balls in play entangling with the overhang. And Baldwin had yet to field a flyball that encroached on right field’s menacing overhang. I’m convinced he made up his mind that any ball hit with authority over his head was the fielding equivalent of no man’s land, and that he would keep his distance (and his dignity). It’s just that this level of authority was that of a Lieutenant, not a Chief of Police. 

I’m not sure everyone noticed exactly what happened here. I asked my baseball-watching girlfriend if something seemed odd and she said no. Cory Provus did: he read Baldwin’s actions and the flight of the ball, and concluded that it was not only a threat to bludgeon the wall, but maybe even to land in the overhang. “In the air to right,” he says casually. “And deep,” he adds with sudden raised tenor. “Back it goes,” the first line of his signature home run call. “And that is in play and off the wall,” uttered with confusion. He had been had, tricked by the behaviour of a fielder trying his best. 

This wasn’t a disaster. It’s not like the Miguel Sanó walk-off against Detroit a few years ago in which multiple fielders committed atrocious mistakes while attempting to perform athletic feats at the highest level. Arguably, the outcome would have been the same had he tried to catch the ball and simply bungled it, something that even elite fielders sometimes do at the wall. Maybe Baldwin’s only sin was that his conservatism looked aesthetically strange. 

Oh, and this is what happened two plays later.

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Ball don’t lie?