Moneyball: Chapter 8 Summary & Analysis

The catcher Scott Hatteberg’s “right hand still felt like it belonged to someone else.” After a bad accident, he could still play baseball, but his manager and GM thought that his value had gone down a lot: there was no use in employing a catcher who couldn’t throw well. After playing in the Red Sox, Hatteberg was traded to the Colorado Rockies, who offered him a mere half a million dollars a year, a fifty percent cut from his Red Sox salary, and granted him free agency (i.e., the ability to sign with another team). Then, to his surprise, the Oakland A’s offered him a one-year contract, and, after he signed it, began using him as a first baseman. Hatteberg was so confused that he asked his wife to help him practice his new position.

With the Oakland A’s, Hatteberg worked with the infield coach, Ron Washington. Washington spent six weeks practicing with Hatteberg in Arizona and he didn’t tell Hatteberg, who needed a lot of work, how much derision he’d receive. His goal was to boost Hatteberg’s confidence.

As the A’s proceeded with the season, they seemed to get worse. In May, they lost to the Toronto Blue Jays, one of the worst teams in the league. In response, Billy Beane sent the big league’s starting first baseman, starting second baseman, and starting pitcher back to the minor leagues. Beane also traded Jeremy Giambi for a lackluster player, John Mabry. Afterwards, Scott Hatteberg became the starting first baseman for the A’s. He struggled with his new position; slowly, however, he became more comfortable, thanks to Washington’s encouragement. Hatteberg enjoyed talking to opposing players on first base—this helped him relax and enjoy himself.

What Hatteberg didn’t realize was that he’d only been acquired by the Oakland A’s because of his consistent hitting—the fact that he got used to his position as a first baseman was just a bonus. With the Red Sox, he got on base about twenty-five percent more often than the average player. He was also good at wearing out pitchers and avoiding strikeouts. Paul realized that the ideal hitter didn’t strike out, but also didn’t adjust his hitting style simply to avoid striking out. Most importantly, Paul realized, Hatteberg seemed to have no “hole” as a hitter—i.e., no area to which the pitcher could throw without Hatteberg being able to return the ball.

Hatteberg had always had an odd career as a ballplayer. He’d been underweight throughout high school, even though he was talented. He could always hit the ball, but he wasn’t a power hitter. He turned down a major league contract straight out of high school, but eventually signed with the Red Sox in 1991. There, Hatteberg learned the importance of keeping records of his batting in order to predict how the pitcher would throw.

In 1996, Hatteberg was in the big leagues for good; however, on the hyper-macho Red Sox, his greatest assets as a hitter (his caution, his consistency) were seen as liabilities. Some of his teammates regarded him as selfish or cowardly for taking so many walks. The Red Sox ignored Hatteberg’s knack for scoping out the strike zone and tailoring his swing to fit it. When Hatteberg arrived in Oakland, it was the first time in his career that his coaches admired his calm, intelligent approach to the game.

One day in 2002, in the middle of a game with the Seattle Mariners, Hatteberg sits in the video room with Dan Feinstein, studying live footage of the game. Hatteberg notices footage of Jamie Moyer, the Mariners’ popular pitcher, throwing to the A’s hitters. He notes that Moyer, in spite of his popularity, isn’t particularly strong or fast—if he weren’t already on a team, he couldn’t even get drafted. However, Moyer makes up for his slow balls by pitching to his opponents’ weaknesses.

John Mabry walks into the room, and Hatteberg greets him. Michael Lewis notes that, for a nice stretch after the A’s acquired him, Mabry was batting .400. Nevertheless, Billy Beane refused to put Mabry in the regular lineup. Billy didn’t like that Mabry was needlessly aggressive with his hitting—he used Mabry in some games, but didn’t want to make him a full team member.

Mabry and Hatteberg watch the footage of Moyer, and agree that Moyer can’t throw fast but knows how to defeat hitters with shrewd, unpredictable strategy. Hatteberg notes that, in some ways, the best hitters are the stupidest, because they have no pattern to their swings—they “can’t even remember their last at bat.”

Hatteberg goes out to hit against Moyer; in the end, he gets the only run of the game. In Hatteberg’s fourth at bat against Moyer, Moyer throws two strikes, then gets two balls. Moyer walks off the mound and tells Hatteberg, “Just tell me what you want and I’ll throw it.” On his next pitch, Moyer throws a change-up, but Hatteberg succeeds in hitting it. The hit ends up being an out. And yet this out is one of the most impressive hits in the entire game: Hatteberg quietly adapts to the pitcher’s strategy.

Hatteberg finishes the season ranked first in the American League for not swinging at first pitches. This statistic may seem trivial, but it’s very important, because it reflects his self-control. Paul estimates that, in theory, if Hatteberg were the only batter for the Oakland A’s in 2002, he’d have scored 950 home runs—by contrast, the 2002 Yankees only scored 897. Hatteberg is the most consist player in major-league baseball, and, in some ways, the best offense.