Gavin Williams Has Yet to Pitch Against the Twins

I was watching Gavin Williams dominate the Rays on the 12th when it dawned on me that I had yet to see him pitch against the Twins. Maybe that isn’t unusual. He only has 11 career starts, after all. But, I think it’s emblematic of a bigger change amongst MLB: the new schedule.

There are certainly perks to having every team in MLB play every other team. Estranged fans in an opposite league’s city no longer have to wait eons to see their favorite team play. Teams in poor divisions—no comment—will find it harder to hide behind their weak foes; outside exposure will reveal just how behind the MLB meta they are. And it’s just plain cool to see Spencer Strider and Mitch Keller pitch against my favorite team, even if Minnesota loses. These are all good things, changes that improve MLB’s ecosystem.

But, perhaps, the trade-off—with rivalry games taking a smaller piece of the scheduling pie—creates an adverse effect.

Familiarity is important. I instantly remember Ryan Raburn, Brandon Inge, Brennan Boesch, Jeremy Bonderman, Phil Coke—always Phil Coke—Gerald Laird, and a whole bunch of other nondescript members of the 2000s–2010s Tigers. They weren’t the best players. Most never made an All-Star game. Lord knows I saw them plenty, though, so they’ve stuck with me, still pestering and badgering my mind when I should be thinking of other things. 

I think that matters. Seeing the same names, looking at the same faces, perhaps a little older, more wrinkly and lethargic than they once were, establishes a connection. It makes their achievements more visceral. I really didn’t care too much when Andrew McCutchen blasted a three-run homer the other day, but when Miguel Cabrera went yard, well, There Goes That Bastard Harassing My Favorite Team Once Again. I’ll pop champagne and dance in the street when he retires.

As much as it stinks, that feeling—the painful, personal shared experience you feel seeing an old nemesis kill your team once again—draws us to the game. It coaxes Joe Mauer out of the shadows of retirement to congratulate a man who spent his career terrorizing his team. 

And, Gavin Williams. Just as important as celebrating known enemies is welcoming new ones. Baseball is special in this way. We know Williams not to be just another face, and arm, and shoulder, and torso: he’s the Next Big Thing in a long line of very impressive Cleveland pitchers. He’s the new Cabrera. How can I hate the new Cabrera when I’ve never seen him? 

Maybe it’s small potatoes only meant to bug the more sentimental amongst us. Maybe I need to stop being weepy and nostalgic about a bunch of people who don’t know I exist. I think it does mean something, though. If this is to be a sport of men with conflicting interests, then the highest drama—the emotions stoked not by an amorphic player—but, rather, someone who has done it over and over, or will soon do it over and over, is the game’s heart and soul. It draws us to love and hate. It draws Tim Anderson and José Ramírez to throw hands. 

The Twins and Guardians will play two more series against each other before the season ends. Maybe Williams will pitch one or two times, and his dominance will force me to re-think this premise. Or, maybe, the Twins will smoke him, causing me to mock him and Cleveland’s “so-called pitching factory,” and, well, I guess the emotions are already there. They’ll always be there, certainly. But we shall see if they remain sparked when the familiarity is weakened.