Embrace the Chaos

Thursday night, Houston’s Alex Bregman hit a routine fly ball to leftfield.

Thursday night, New York’s Aaron Judge smashed a drive to rightfield.

The hit probability of Alex Bregman’s fly ball, according to Statcast™ was 4%.

The hit probability of Aaron Judge’s drive, according to Statcast™ was 91%.

So you know how this went. Bregman’s ball sailed out of Minute Maid Park — that’s still the name of the place, right? — and scored three runs. Judge’s ball died in the wind and was caught at the wall and more or less ended the Yankees’ chances of making a comeback. The Astros won the game and lead the series 2-0.

The Yankees were left complaining about having to play outdoors.

“I think the roof open kind of killed us,” Yankees manager Aaron Boone lamented after the game. See, they almost never open the roof for games at Minute Maid Park — this is because the weather in Houston is a stifling 98.6% of the time. Houston is the place where Ernie Banks shouted out, “Let’s play two!” like he always did, except he collapsed from heat exhaustion between doubleheader games.

That’s true. There’s a reason the first baseball dome was built in Houston.

Bregman’s blast got an assist from Mother Nature. (Tom Pennington/Getty Images)

But Thursday night’s weather was beautiful, and there’s a statute in Houston that on the two or three days a year that the weather is nice they have to open the retractable roof, or else why even have it?

Opening the roof brought in the wind, the wind escorted Bregman’s ball into the leftfield stands, the wind knocked down Judge’s laser shot to rightfield, the wind was totally rooting for the Astros, and the Yankees didn’t like it one bit.

“They got lucky,” Yankees pitcher Luis Severino grumbled.

Sure they did. This is postseason baseball, man. Luck isn’t a minor character here. Luck’s name is above the title on the marquee. Pete Palmer has written how in baseball you need to play 81 games just for the skill factor to be equal to the luck factor. Even over 162 games, he writes, “luck contributes about equally as skill to a team’s eventual regular-season record.”

“And,” he adds in parentheses, “in the postseason, it’s nearly all luck.”

We instinctively know that’s true. We are storytellers at heart, all of us, I believe that, and so we will make these series about heroes and goats, clutch hits and titanic strikeouts, historic performances and postseason experience and the will to win. But it’s more likely that the game will be turned by a bad ball-strike call from the umpire, a perfectly placed bloop, a foul ball that just reaches the seats, a wicked hop, a ground ball with eyes … *

*I love that expression so much.

Let’s be honest: If given the choice between my team “wanting it more” and a friendly wind, I’m taking the wind every time.

So, yes, the only thing to do in October is embrace the chaos, because in a short series — and this would include a seven-game series — the breaks WILL NOT even out (unless they do). The calls WILL NOT go both ways (unless they do). And if the roof is opened up in Houston, the wind will not blow fairly for both teams. Sorry, Yankees. Maybe see if you can get the wind to help you out in New York.