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PHILADELPHIA — Inside Bryce Harper‘s basement on a recent Saturday morning, his son wanted dad to watch his Hot Wheels races, and his daughter was hungry and needed a bagel, and the baby had just unleashed a volcanic spit-up on him for the second time in five minutes, and amid the chaos, the calls for his attention, the tugs in every direction, Harper exuded calm. Considering the environment in which Harper plies his trade — 40,000 people bleating, praying and exhorting him to carry the Philadelphia Phillies back to Major League Baseball’s mountaintop — the smaller audience posed no problem.

Harper swiped the regurgitation off his hoodie, snagged a plate full of breakfast, cheered for the orange car with the racing stripe and, when those duties were completed, sank into the couch and trained his eyes on the TV broadcasting “College GameDay.” He’s a die-hard college football fan — a logo for Ohio State, where his wife, Kayla, played soccer, adorned his sweatshirt — and its return, as much as the leaves changing colors, signaled to Harper a new season and the arrival of his favorite month.

“I love October,” Harper said. It’s football and Halloween and his birthday, yes, but they’re all secondary to him getting another crack at fulfilling his purpose. That’s how Harper sees it at least. Everything he is — someone ripe to be chewed up and spit out by the machine that makes sports stars but instead met the hype — prepares him for October, equips him with the intellectual and emotional and spiritual tools to match the physical capabilities that were never in question.

All of it converges again Saturday, when the Phillies host the New York Mets in Game 1 of the National League Division Series at Citizens Bank Park. It will mark Harper’s 50th career postseason game, 30 of them coming the past two seasons, when he has been the best playoff performer in the game. First in hits, first in home runs, first in runs, first in OPS. They’re not just numbers that reflect the Phillies’ success. They are the engine for it.

“When opponents hear his name being called over the PA and they hear the walkup music and they see him walking to the plate, their heart starts fluttering,” Phillies leadoff hitter Kyle Schwarber said. “We all laugh about it, right? But everyone always thinks that something cool’s going to happen. We all think that because he’s proven it.”

Harper’s reverence in the baseball world has been hard-earned. He has lived an inimitable baseball life: a pre-social media celebrity at 15 years old who dropped out of high school to play junior college baseball, proved worthy enough to go No. 1 overall in the draft at 17 years old, reached the major leagues at 19, won an MVP at 22, did it again at 28 and now, on the cusp of his 32nd birthday, is missing only one thing from his Hall of Fame résumé.

The Phillies were two games from a World Series title in 2022. Their return engagement last season flamed out in the NL Championship Series against Arizona. Now they are loaded: the bats, the gloves, the starters, the bullpen — as well-rounded a team as exists in this baseball landscape suffused with parity. And he is the one to whom his teammates turn for the big hit, the big moment, because he has shown he’s worthy of it.

“He’s actively looking for the situation. He wants it,” said Trea Turner, his teammate with the Washington Nationals who followed him in signing a $300-million-plus free agent deal with Philadelphia. “I think everybody wants to be the hero, but I think he’s a notch above that in the sense that he desires it. And I don’t think you can teach that. I’ve heard him say before that some people are scared to be great, and that’s obviously not him. He wants to be great.”

In baseball, greatness is forged in the everyday grind, and with a game to be played, daddy day care time wound to an end. Harper’s 5-year-old son, Krew, asked if he’d see Harper in the clubhouse after the game, and Harper answered affirmatively, as long as the Phillies won. His 3-year-old daughter, Brooklyn, accompanied Krew outside to sit on the brick ledge as Harper pulled his truck out of the garage and backed out of the driveway. They smiled and waved and sent him off to another day of work, another day closer to October, to the moments he spends the entire regular-season waiting for.

“Your heart’s beating, racing a little bit, and you’ve got the butterflies, and especially Game 1, man,” Harper said. “You go into Game 1 in the NLCS or the NLDS, and you’re sitting there, and the planes are flying over, and the anthem’s going, and you’re like, damn, dude. It feels like Opening Day again. And I think that’s a cool thing, too. It’s a clean slate.

“You have a good year, you have a bad year, you have the worst year of your career — I couldn’t care less about what you did during the season. Does not matter. Because if you have a great 11 games, then you’re going to be remembered for that. You’re not going to be remembered for the year that you had. You’re not going to be remembered for anything else. That’s what you’re going to be remembered for. Remembered forever.”


ON THE 15-MINUTE ride from Harper’s suburban New Jersey home to the ballpark, he can’t stop talking about Philadelphia. He has spent nearly as many years here (six) as he did in Washington (seven), and Harper remains as smitten with the city as ever. When he signed a 13-year, $330 million contract with the Phillies, Harper vowed not to be a carpetbagger. So he roots for the Birds and Sixers and Flyers. He wears cleats and headbands festooned with the Wawa logo. The only thing that would make him more Philly is naming a child “Jawn.” And as much as he wants a championship for himself, he regards it as a communal act, a giveback for the embrace fans bestow upon him.

“At the end of the day, they want to see us win,” Harper said. “And if we’re winning, they’re winning. They can sit there and go, screw you to Boston, screw you to New York, screw you to L.A. They have that demeanor. That’s just how they are. They can hold it over their buddy’s head in New York or Boston because we beat ’em that week. You know how sports are, man.

“That’s the coolest thing about being here and being part of it, and you don’t fully understand it until you’re here. It takes a different mindset to play in this place. And I wanted to do it.”

This place turns into something else in October. The sun sets and the air turns crisp, and all of the negative connotations of past Philadelphia fandom — battery chucking and booing Santa — have evolved into a civilized version of mania. “October baseball here is a performance,” Phillies outfielder Nick Castellanos said.

There are sing-alongs. (“October is a crazy, crazy time here,” said Phillies second baseman Bryson Stott, whose grand slam in the immediate aftermath of the whole stadium feting him with his walkup song became a signature moment of last postseason. It has become — and Philadelphians might scoff at this, but it’s true — almost wholesome.

And yet it’s still a horror show for visitors. The decibel levels, whether the constant din or peak madness, are unmatched in baseball, though that really happened only years after Harper’s arrival.

The Phillies had booked six consecutive losing seasons when they signed him. The turnaround wasn’t immediate. They were 81-81 in Harper’s first season, didn’t make the playoffs in the pandemic-shortened 2020 campaign and missed again at 82-80 the next year. Before the 2022 season, they signed Schwarber, and that September, the Eagles’ home opener on Monday night aligned with a Phillies off day. A group, including Harper and Schwarber, went to the game and came away inspired. This is what the Bank can sound like. This is energy we need to arouse. They won their first six postseason games at the Bank in October 2022, and they won their first five last year. This year, their 54-27 record at the Bank was the best home mark in MLB.

That’s why Harper pulled into the parking lot before that Saturday game in September and couldn’t wait to go to work.

“I love it. I get here, and it’s so calming for me,” Harper said. “There’s nothing that irritates me. It’s just baseball. I’m a Philadelphia Phillie. I love it. Every day.”

“Calming is not the word a normal person would use,” Stott said. “But he knows this is home now, and this is where he is going to be. And I think that’s just a calming presence, even though the surrounding noise and fans and cheers is not calm at all.”

“When those moments come in the postseason or late in the year, there’s nothing like it,” Harper said. “I feel like there’s times where it’s in slow motion and I feel like the — I don’t know. It’s hard to explain because I’ve been playing baseball for a long time, and I’ve had those moments since I was 10, 11, 12 years old of slowing the game down.

“After 23, 24 years of competitive baseball, since I was 7 years old, I still love every part of the competitiveness.”


HARPER IS NOT exaggerating. His formative years were spent in youth travel baseball, where he traversed the country on weekends as a baseball mercenary for different elite teams. An enormous child, already 6-foot-1 and 170 pounds at 12, Harper unleashed a fastball that touched 80 mph and a swing that crushed home runs. Baby fat covered Harper’s face in the same way his beard does now, both ringing a mischievous grin he looses around teammates.

In 2005, Harper joined a team from Colorado at the Triple Crown World Series in Steamboat Springs. In the gold-medal game, he pitched the final inning with the crowd “screaming and yelling and saying things to a 12-year-old kid that you probably shouldn’t say.” This was three years before he graced the cover of Sports Illustrated, and they still knew who he was.

“So I ended up getting the outs,” Harper said. “We win the game, and I came off the field, and I was bawling, crying because the situation was just so intense. I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t upset. It was just a pure adrenaline rush of emotion. And I loved it. I loved all those opportunities. I loved all those moments. I loved the feeling of that.”

The Bryce Harper who finds calm in chaos — this is where he was built. During a childhood of being berated, doubted, questioned, derided. Harper’s capacity to ignore nonsense and process magnitude emerged early enough in his life that by the time he was 15 years old, everything that typically pollutes the mind of a teenaged baseball player no longer applied to him. He strode into showcase events knowing he was the best player there. He turned competition into fans. When Harper was 15, Castellanos, now his Phillies teammate, saw him at an event at Florida International University. With one swing, Harper converted him. “I can hit ’em,” Castellanos said. “I hit ’em farther than all my friends. But damn. I can’t hit it that far.”

A year later, they were teammates on the under-18 U.S. national team that won gold at the Pan Am Games in Venezuela. A few months after that, Harper dropped out of high school, earned his GED and enrolled at a local junior college, all in an effort to get draft eligible a year early. He hit 31 home runs in 66 games, was the slam dunk top pick and signed with the Nationals for $9.9 million. Harper spent a year in the minor leagues, joined the Nationals in May 2012 and finished the season with the most wins above replacement on a 98-win team that captured the NL East crown. Harper had no business being as good as he was.

“It’s the same thing,” Turner said, “with LeBron [James]. They’re so good at such a young age and then it’s kind of expected of you, but when they’re good people and it doesn’t go to their head — that’s the more impressive part. There’s so many things that could have gone wrong, and it’s a really negative way of thinking about it. But, I mean, think about how many things that people do at 19, 20 that are just stupid.”

Not everything went right immediately. Over the first four games of Harper’s first postseason, the 2012 division series against St. Louis, he went 1-for-18 with six strikeouts. Then in the decisive Game 5, he tripled in the first inning to stake Washington a 1-0 lead, homered in the third off starter Adam Wainwright to extend the lead to 3-0 and saw all those years of preparation beginning to translate in October.

“That was kind of like, man, I can do this,” Harper said. “The moment’s not too big, obviously. It was kind of a stepping stone. And then each year after that, it got better.”

Two years after that infamous 2012 season in which the Nationals shut down Stephen Strasburg for the postseason and surrendered a six-run lead in the division series’ deciding game, Washington again faltered in the playoffs, blowing home-field advantage in a division series loss to eventual World Series champion San Francisco. Harper was the only National who hit, launching three home runs. Two more division series losses ended his time in Washington without a single series win, and it was only the year after Harper left that the Nationals made an improbable run to a World Series victory.

In Philadelphia, Harper found the best version of himself. Consider what is widely regarded as the best at-bat of his life, in Game 5 of the 2022 NLCS, against Padres closer Robert Suarez. Before he left the dugout to hit in the eighth inning, Harper looked at hitting coach Kevin Long and told him: “I’m going to go deep here.” Attempting the herculean task of ignoring everything percolating in the air at the Bank, Harper called multiple timeouts before the first pitch was even thrown.

“You rewatch that at-bat, and it’s incredibly impressive,” Phillies pitching coach Caleb Cotham said. “There’s no one else. It’s just him and a dance with the pitcher. It’s literally what it looks like. There’s no distraction. There’s no nothing. It looks like there’s not even a thought. It’s just he’s completely wrapped up in this moment, in this game with this guy on the mound with a lot of belief.”

Suarez believed for a reason. His fastball was sizzling. First 96 mph and fouled off. Then 97 for a ball. Then 98 and 100 and 99 foul, foul, foul. Next came the moment. Finally Suarez thought he had Harper cheating fastball and uncorked a changeup. Not any old changeup but a diabolical 91 mph dirtseeker that would have induced swings and misses from the vast majority of professional hitters, and Harper instead watched it go by.

On the next pitch, a 99 mph sinker dotted on the outside corner, Harper unleashed what announcer Joe Davis called “the swing of his life.” Seven pitches into the most consequential at-bat of his career, he hammered the final one to the opposite field for a home run.

“That’s what great hitters do,” Cotham said. “They just find a way, and you never know why they did it or were they sitting on it, but to me, it’s wrapped up in the game, being one with the game and in this dance — truly part of this thing.”

Schwarber is perhaps the closest facsimile in the Phillies’ clubhouse to Harper in terms of his reverence of the postseason, and its imminence awakens something within him.

“The biggest thing is allowing the game to slow down,” Schwarber said. “Because if you can tick back everything when it’s the most important moment of that game, slow everything down, take the noise out, realize that the pitcher’s out there and recognize his heart rate’s going, too, you’re just putting yourself in a better position.”

Schwarber leaned back and grinned. Nobody gets paid in October, Schwarber said, and he’s right: Even if players do receive playoff shares that, for the championship-winning team, can amount to hundreds of thousands of dollars, their full paychecks stop at the end of the regular season.

“So you’re going out there for one reason,” Schwarber said. “It’s just the purest form of baseball that can be played.”


CHAMPIONSHIP WINDOWS CLOSE quickly. It’s a lesson the Philadelphia Phillies learned the last time they won a championship in 2008. They ran it back one too many times, and a half-decade-long collapse followed. That it led them to Harper — to this time when baseball in Philadelphia feels so damn alive — offers some solace. But it’s also a cautionary tale understood by Harper, who studies the rhythms and history of sports with the assiduousness of a scholar.

Harper aspires to play until he’s 42 years old — another decade, and beyond his contract, which expires when he is 39. That’s because he wants as many opportunities as possible at winning; he can’t forget how Dan Marino made the Super Bowl in his first season, lost and never got back. Schwarber and catcher J.T. Realmuto are free agents after next season, and in 2026, the Phillies are set to pay almost $160 million to six players — Harper, Turner, Castellanos and pitchers Zack Wheeler, Aaron Nola and Taijuan Walker — whose average age then will be 33.8.

It’s why getting on track before October arrived this year was so imperative for Harper. Heading into that September Saturday, he hadn’t homered in 30 games, the second-longest streak of his career. The surging Mets jumped out to a 4-0 lead that day, Sept. 14. Harper finally homered in the fourth inning to cut the deficit to 4-1, and two innings later, he blasted a two-run shot to further erode a lead that the Mets eventually would blow in a loss to the Phillies. After the game, Krew and Brooklyn came into the locker room, just like daddy promised, and all of the responsibilities in his life, the things that matter, were aligning in his place of calm.

“And I feel that, right?” he said. “I want to carry this team. With the guys that we have, I don’t have to, obviously. I have to play Bryce Harper baseball. They need me to do that, but that’s all year. That’s not just the postseason. That’s every day. That’s a Saturday against the Mets in September, right?”

Never, during the homerless drought, did Harper panic. Even before the two homers, his swing felt fine, and by the end of the season, his numbers aligned almost perfectly with recent seasons: .285/.373/.525 with 30 home runs, 87 RBIs and a career-high 42 doubles. He has learned not to chase results, lest he fall out of whack mechanically. More than that, it’s a good lesson for the postseason ahead, when the starting pitching is always better and the relief arms significantly so and hitters face a choice. He tries to teach this to the Phillies’ younger players, just as veterans, such as Jayson Werth with Washington, and coaches, such as Joe Dillon in Philadelphia, taught him.

“We always talked about really good players doing bad in the postseason,” Harper said. “It happens because they start chasing or they’re not taking their walks or they don’t have the confidence in the ability of the guy behind them. When you start playing for things that are bigger than you — playing for your team — all that stuff goes out the door.”

“No offense to 162 games,” Schwarber said. “You play 162 games to the end. And then nothing matters except winning a baseball game. And this isn’t about how many home runs you hit. This isn’t about how many RBIs you have. This isn’t what your batting average is. This is about trying to find a way to win a baseball game. And that’s why the best baseball games are in the postseason. When you put special players in environments that are going to be like that, you’re going to see a really good version of that player. Don’t get me wrong. There’s some people who get put in those scenarios and can’t handle it.”

Harper refuses to let himself be anything less than the best version of that player, aware that to be ready for the moment takes more than work or commitment or desire or any other bare-minimum elements. Harper wants to constantly evolve, a difficult threshold when you’re 31 and it’s not as easy to stay in shape as it once was and the baby is puking on you and you’ve got to wake up and jump in the godforsaken cool tub again.

“It’s 39 degrees and I do it for three minutes,” Harper said. “It’s the hardest thing I do all day. I’m not kidding. I sit there and I contemplate my life every single time. I try to get in there and I scream and yell at myself inside, and I’m just like, all right, get in. And so I get in, it’s three minutes and I’m out.”

Pain is gain, and so many of Harper’s days consist of the minuscule rituals or customs he has adopted to maintain his health. The Phillies cannot afford to lose him, so he tailors his life toward ensuring that will not happen. Harper does not eat anything with artificial dyes or seed oils. All of his bread and pasta is homemade. When he’s on the road, he consumes only meat and fruit. He loves Pilates. He arrives at the stadium about four hours before the game instead of the 6½ that used to be his standard and goes right into the trainer’s room to meet up with the Phillies’ massage therapist for a 30-minute calming treatment.

And his body feels like it did when he was a kid and invincible. He’s at 216 or 217 pounds, somewhere between his ESPN the Magazine Body Issue weight (203) and the most yoked version of himself (240). This, he’d like to believe, is his championship weight, perfect to carry him through the postseason, when he’ll take his walks and shorten up his swing to avoid strikeouts and tiptoe the razor-thin line between aggressive and excessive on the basepaths. He will call home runs and hit them, and he will sing along with fans that he, too, is A-O, A-OK. He will do everything he can to represent Philadelphia while knowing that the greatest way to represent Philadelphia is by winning.

“Your superstar players have to show up,” Harper said, and for him, the superstar, that’s what this is really about. It’s the intersection of the calmness with the chaos, the comfort that 40,000 raucous souls are screaming and the contentment in not hearing a single one of them. It is Philadelphia, and it is October, and it is 11 wins away from forever.

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Inside the shift in evaluating MLB draft catching prospects

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Inside the shift in evaluating MLB draft catching prospects

CHAPEL HILL, N.C. — It’s the top of the 11th inning of an early March baseball game at North Carolina. With a runner on first and two outs, a Coastal Carolina batter laces a single through the right side of the infield. The Tar Heels’ right fielder bobbles the ball, then slips. The runner barrels around third toward home, where catcher Luke Stevenson awaits.

The relay throw naturally takes Stevenson to the third base side of home plate, into the path of the runner diving headfirst. Stevenson slaps a tag between his shoulder blades, shows the umpire the mitted ball and erupts into a fist pump. The game remains tied. In the bottom half of the inning, UNC wins on a sacrifice fly.

The Tar Heels went on to claim an ACC title, where Stevenson was named MVP. They hosted and won an NCAA tournament regional, rose to No. 1 in Division I, then fell at home to Arizona in a super regional and missed returning to the Men’s College World Series for the second consecutive year. Days later, Stevenson, a draft-eligible sophomore, reported to Phoenix for the MLB combine. Depending on who you ask, Stevenson is the first or second-best pure catcher and a consensus mock top-35 pick for the 2025 MLB draft, which begins July 13 (6 p.m. ET on ESPN).

Stevenson and other catchers with MLB potential have long been evaluated on how well they manage pitchers, frame pitches and lead a team’s defense — including directing positioning and keeping runners from stealing and scoring. But MLB general managers and player personnel say dual-threat backstops such as Seattle’s Cal Raleigh, an AL MVP favorite, now rank as the standard bearers for players in the pipeline to baseball’s major leagues. The gap between a catcher with All-Star potential and one who could hold down the position at a replacement level is glaringly obvious.

What might not be so obvious, however, is just how much MLB’s 2023 rules changes are now influencing how the position is being taught, played, coached and scouted at all levels of the game — and just how much of a premium is being placed on the offensive abilities of catchers such as Stevenson or Coastal Carolina’s Caden Bodine, another likely early draft pick.

From high school and youth ball to college and the minor leagues, a shift has already begun. In fundamental ways, the value of the position itself is being reframed — and Stevenson is a fitting avatar for catchers joining the professional ranks at a time when their livelihoods are in flux, their success most likely dictated by their capacity to adapt to this new reality.

“I don’t want to say it’s a dying position, [but] the bar for a being a good catcher offensively is so low,” said one MLB director of amateur scouting. “You could be an everyday catcher if you hit .210 with 10 home runs. [But] if you hit .210 with 30 home runs and a Platinum Glove? You’re a superstar.”

Jim Koerner, USA Baseball’s director of player development, said it’s still imperative for catchers to wield “middle-infield hands” and a strong arm to be an MLB starter.

“[But] in five years,” he said, “once they institute robo umps, I think it’s going to be completely an offensive position.”

AHEAD OF THE 2023 MLB season, at the behest of on-field consultant and former Chicago Cubs and Boston Red Sox president Theo Epstein, the league instituted a slew of rule changes intended to energize a purportedly staling sport. Baseball banned defensive shifts, instituted a pitch clock, limited mound disengagements to two per plate appearance and widened the bases from 15 inches to 18 inches — all changes first tested in the minor leagues.

The dividends were immediate. In 2023, runners stole 3,503 bases and upped it to 3,617 last season, the most in 109 years and the third most in any MLB season. The average game time fell to 2 hours, 36 minutes in 2024, the quickest in 40 years. Attendance and television engagement records were set in 2023 and broken in 2024.

Just as quickly, it became harder for catchers to stop runners from stealing. Catchers faced an increase of nearly 12 and 14 more stolen base attempts a season in 2023 and 2024, respectively, than in 2022. Exchange times and pop times increased exponentially to compensate, as did the speed at which catchers throw on steal attempts. But runners are faster and — owed to new limited disengagements rules for pitchers — closer to their would-be stolen bases than ever.

From 2016 to 2022, the lowest average caught stealing percentage for a single season among qualified catchers was 22.28% in 2021. In 2023 it was 17.43% and, last season, it was 18.78%. Through July 7, MLB runners have stolen 1,947 bases, on pace to eclipse 2024’s total. The Minnesota Twins stole an MLB-low 65 bases in 2024; 14 teams already have more in 2025.

Jerry Weinstein, a Chicago Cubs catching consultant, said pitchers get the ball to the plate in the 1.3-second range, and catchers’ pop times are between 1.8 and 2.0 seconds.

“There’s nothing we can do to improve that, that’s a staple,” Weinstein said. “The average runner runs 3.35, one-tenth of a second for the tag … it’s a math problem. If the baserunner is perfect, and the catcher and pitcher are perfect based on those parameters, the guy’s going to be safe most of the time. Which is exactly what we’re seeing.”

But one MLB director of player development said even with the rise in stolen bases’ effect on strategy, the best batteries still control how efficiently they get outs.

“From an analytic standpoint, swinging the count in your favor is more valuable than defending the stolen base,” the player development director said. “Ninety feet matters in certain situations, [but] some teams don’t even care. They’d rather have a guy execute his stuff: High leg kick, deliver the stuff, go for the punch out.”

Behind the plate, he said, there’s a different catching archetype than there was 25 years ago. They’re now bigger, taller and can get under the ball with a one-knee-down stance behind the plate. But, unlike the days when an offensive juggernaut catcher was a rarity — Mike Piazza and Carlton Fisk, or dual-threats like Johnny Bench, Ivan Rodriguez and Yogi Berra — now an adept offensive catcher can separate himself from a logjam.

“If you can’t hit,” he said, “you’re going to have a hard time sticking around.”

From both 1991-1998 and 1999-2007, there were eight MLB catchers (at least 50% of games at catcher) with three or more .800 OPS, 10-home run, 50-RBI seasons. From 2008-2015, that number fell to five. From 2016 through 2024, there were three.

“The offensive product is incredibly low, the physical demands very high, and what we value in catching has changed so much and is on the precipice of changing again,” said a director of amateur scouting. “We put so much value on catchers being able to frame pitches and get extra strikes … and the minute that goes away, that drastically changes how we evaluate amateur and professional catchers.”

When organizations find offensive-minded catchers who are capable behind the plate, they tend to hold onto them.

“It’s getting harder and harder to find those guys that are really offensive, they’re few and far between,” a director of amateur scouting said. “You name one, then I’ll name one. I guarantee it’s going to be a short list.”

Another director of amateur scouting said part of what makes some catchers in this year’s draft so valuable is that they can catch and potentially be a standout offensive performer.

“You don’t want [a catcher you draft in the first round] to have a position change a year and a half down the road,” the scout said. “You’re going to move him to first base or left field, and now the offensive bar is so much higher there.”

Which is why some MLB scouts are high on Stevenson and think he can handle the adjustments the position now requires. He was steady behind home plate for North Carolina, a great blocker but below-average receiver. But it’s what the 6-foot-1, 210-pound, left-handed hitting All-America catcher did with his bat that has drawn the attention of MLB scouts: Among Division I catchers who have caught 90 games since 2024, Stevenson ranked second in home runs (33), third in runs (104) and sixth in OPS (.960). He drew 29 more walks (107) than any other catcher while having the second-best chase rate (17.2%) and second-most pitches per plate appearance (4.09).

Although some MLB scouts and player development personnel have raised questions about Stevenson’s glove and whether he could thrive behind the plate at the sport’s top level, others say his power and discerning eye come at such a premium that defensive concerns are secondary and correctable. One director of amateur scouting said Stevenson’s floor is backup catcher at the MLB level.

One executive of a team with a top-10 draft pick said Stevenson is in the mix that high because his defensive technique is easily adjustable, but an eye and bat like that at a position such as catcher is too rare to pass up.

“You could be an outstanding defensive catcher, but if you can’t hit a lick, it’s hard to make a roster as an everyday player,” he said.

“Hardest position to evaluate,” another director of amateur scouting said, “amateur catcher.”

He compared the predraft evaluation to college quarterbacks trying to play in the NFL: “Can you transition? With edge rushers, you have less than three seconds to get rid of the ball — same for a catcher, you want him to be better than two and to be able to throw it on the bag. Guys that are 1.78, 1.83, 1.85? They can get away with a higher throw, but the 2.0 guys have to be perfect. It takes a special human being to do it and do it for many years.”

Steve Rodriguez, Stanford University’s catching coach, was Trevor Bauer and Gerritt Cole’s catcher at UCLA before spending six seasons in the Atlanta Braves and Arizona Diamondbacks organizations. He lauded Stevenson’s prowess with a bat and said he is underrated behind the plate.

“[With] his ability and size to be light on his feet and his knees … I watch him and he can scrape the dirt with that knee down so easily: That means his balance and flexibility is at a high level,” Rodriguez said. “When you’re able to do that with the skill set he has with his hands, you have a pretty phenomenal player.”

Stevenson said UNC catching coach Jesse Wierzbicki, a former UNC starting catcher who played in the Houston Astros minor league system, hammered receiving and blocking drills all season — footwork, transfers to second base, stealing strikes. He also had inspiration at home.

“You’ve got eight guys staring at you, being a leader on that field, directing traffic,” Stevenson said. “I was probably 8 years old — my mom caught, so I was always wearing the gear — when I fell in love with it. It’s what I wanted to do.”

ON A FRIGID Tuesday morning in March, more than 50 high school boys in full uniform took the field at the USA Baseball Complex in Cary, North Carolina, with Jim Koerner in the stands. Koerner develops on-field programming and curriculum for USA Baseball’s 13- to 17-year-old teams and is one of amateur American baseball’s most important barometers. His son, Sam, 18, catches for Pro5 Academy’s Premier team, an elite developmental academy.

Scattered around the diamond were players committed to Old Dominion and NC State, Virginia Tech and UNC, Ohio State and Tulane. Haven Fielder, the San Diego State-bound son of Prince Fielder, is Pro5’s designated hitter. Sam committed to Division I Radford University in Virginia. Almost all of them take remote classes and rarely, if ever, attend high school in-person.

The elder Koerner said it’s a moment of extreme change, both for the beloved sport that has long been his livelihood and the position his son fell in love with. From a young age, Sam showed a natural lean toward catching, but Jim said he urged Sam toward the position he thought would provide the best chance of a prosperous baseball life.

Now he’s not so sure.

Twenty years ago, Jim Koerner said, catchers were as still as possible; now, framing and throwing are more important than blocking, and passed balls are skyrocketing.

His son, like Stevenson, is a left-hitting catcher. Sam is just shy of 6 feet and defensively gifted with a plus-arm. He also hits well for contact. He situationally adapts his catching stance: one knee down if the bases are empty, traditional with runners on. Sam said, even with the position under siege, it’s easier to throw out of that. Anything to tip the scales.

“[Sam] has aspirations, like a lot of young kids,” Jim Koerner said. “It’s hard to tell young kids, ‘Hey, man, you’re a really good receiver … but in five years, that might not matter. Just focus on your arm and hitting.'”

Sammy Serrano, Sam’s catching coach and a second-round draft pick in the 1998 MLB draft, said he isn’t worried about Sam or how he’ll adapt to rule changes. Serrano said Sam has an extremely high baseball IQ and he “just happens to be the catcher.”

During a game this spring, Sam Koerner took a relay from right field, swiped his mitt across the plate and waited: Runner out. Seconds later, he was in the dugout asking Serrano, what he could do to improve his timing and technique. It was a good play, but Sam isn’t interested in only good.

“He always wanted to [be a catcher],” his father said. “Two or three years old, he’d squat down in front of the TV and I’d be like, ‘Hey Sam … whatcha doin’?’

“He’d just point at the catcher on TV.”

DAVID ROSS’S WARM laugh spilled through a cellphone speaker when asked how well he would fare as a catcher in today’s MLB.

“I probably wouldn’t have a job,” he said. “I hit .180 my last year in Boston and I laughed: I got a two-year deal. I had a couple of deals on the table. That would’ve never happened early in my career when framing wasn’t a thing.”

Ross’s career was extended by his proclivity in the margins.

“When I was coming up, you had holds, hold pick, pitchouts, slide steps, four or five different signs from coaches that would help you manage the running game,” he said. “Well, that turned into nobody wanted to run anymore because the percentages didn’t match up. Now you see all these teams building with legit base stealers and athletes.”

After retiring following their 2016 World Series victory, Ross became a special assistant with the Cubs, then worked as an ESPN analyst before becoming the Cubs’ manager from 2020 to 2023, the first season under the rule changes. He is torn on some elements of the changes and changes that still might come, such as the Automated Ball-Strike system already implemented in MiLB that MLB tested this spring training.

“As a player, it’s a hard job, mistakes cost games, so, I love the challenge system because you’re going to keep the beauty of the game,” Ross said. “I don’t think we’ll get away from — you’re still going to be teaching kids about receiving, blocking, throwing, calling the game, the little intricacies of baseball. I don’t think that’s going to go away. Even with all the analytics, you still need a sense of feel back there.

“But offense has won out.”

Two-time All-Star catcher Jonathan Lucroy was an offense-first catcher out of college who became an analytic darling of the mid-2010s for his ability to frame pitches.

A mid-2000s ESPN feature on Lucroy pointed to then-Cubs general manager Epstein’s savvy in being an early adopter to the framing movement, which included the signing of Ross. Ironically, it’s the same aspect of the game Epstein might undo if an ABS system is implemented.

“Framing will be so devalued because of the advent of the ABS system and they’ll be prioritizing the offensive side of the position even more,” Lucroy said. “I’m biased, but I’ve experienced it firsthand.”

Lucroy predicted that the bedrocks of the position will remain.

“The most important part of the position is the game management and leadership,” he said. “There’s a lot of psychology that goes into it: How different guys communicate, how they receive information, take it in, apply [it]. You can’t take a paint brush and swipe it across and everyone does it the same way.”

Lucroy got to know his pitchers, learn about their families, how they respond to constructive criticism.

“How do you go out and speak to them properly to reel them in? Get them to change stuff up, change their thought process?” Lucroy said. “Are they a hand-hold guy? Do you have to tell them everything’s good, breathe, slow it down? The majority of guys are like that. On the flip side, a guy like Max Scherzer you can go out and yell at him, insult him a bit, and he responds positively.”

Lucroy said Jason Kendall once told him that the best catchers were also the best communicators, that their job is to make the pitcher look as good as possible.

‘”Make them more important than you,'” Lucroy recalled. “You want them to trust you and believe in you, like any other relationship. ‘Cause 99% of the time, guys don’t feel the best when they go out and play.”

Lucroy said catchers will adapt to the rule changes, because they always do. Lucroy said he thinks once an ABS system is instituted, catchers will go back into a more traditional stance, which means they’ll block balls better and throw out more runners.

But having experienced an analytics revolution himself, he worries about coming into an MLB transitioning between eras.

“The game is always shifting, always evolving,” Lucroy said. “If you go back and look at 2016, remember how the Cubs had Willson Contreras back there? And they put in David Ross. Why? Because David Ross is a veteran who ended up being a future manager who knows what the heck he’s doing and how to handle guys in big situations.”

Lucroy said he doesn’t think that’s an accident.

“Framing is important, to a certain extent,” he said, “but the best framers in the world aren’t catching in the World Series — the better offensive guys are. Even the years when I was one of the top framers in the league, I think I made the playoffs once.”

SAM KOERNER’S PRO5 TEAM took on a Canadian baseball academy at a minor league stadium in Holly Springs, North Carolina. The bases were wider — Sam called them “pizza boxes” — than those at the USA Baseball complex, so they stole more often here.

Sam was one of three catchers on the roster that day, and the only one committed to a college. He didn’t play until the eighth inning, and when he finally got to bat, he cranked the first pitch over the right field wall. It nearly hit a car on the adjacent NC 55 roadway.

His dad rushed to pull the video — it was Sam’s third in-game home run ever — but the camera was off.

In the press box afterward, Sam said he’s taking a gap year. He’ll enroll at Radford in the fall of 2026 and play with Pro5 until then, maximizing his growth literally and technically.

Sam doesn’t have to contend with new MLB-type rules yet, but if aspiration meets opportunity, he soon will.

“It’s already a challenge trying to hold runners on [even] though the rule changes aren’t affecting me,” Sam said. “I don’t know what else [catchers] could do. I’m just tryin’ to be as fast as I can to second base, on the bag.”

In working with thousands of players and coaches across the U.S., Jim Koerner said MLB’s rules changes haven’t been adopted at the youth levels, which means they haven’t directly altered how youth ball is played — yet. But for Sam and his peers, and even younger players, making it to an NCAA baseball team and eventually to MLB are the goals.

“The way pro evaluators are going to look at the catching position is going to start to change now,” Koerner said. “But on the flip side, when you value the guy on the mound as much as he’s valued now at the professional level, they still need to trust the guy catching. There’s still a confidence, a comfort, a leadership aspect.”

It’s the aspect Sam prides himself on most and what Lucroy said was invaluable.

“Building good relationships with my pitchers, always having their back,” Sam said. “It makes them perform better knowing they have a guy behind the plate where they can, even as simple as 0-2, they can spike a brick in the dirt and know I’m going to pick ’em up and block it and throw the guy out at first.”

At lunch in between his game and a weightlifting session, Sam inhaled a Philly cheesesteak. He buzzed while breaking down the catching techniques of Cincinnati’s Jose Trevino and San Francisco’s Patrick Bailey. He also acknowledged that during a game earlier, his middle finger got caught asking for a curveball and he took a 90-mile-per-hour fastball in the chest plate.

Jim said it’s just how Sam is; there is no version of him absent of catching.

“When he was 7 or 8, he’d get back there and see these big guys come to hit and … he’d be excited but he’d look at me like…” Jim said, his eyes going wide.

“I was scared to death,” Sam said.

“But he eventually warmed up to it,” Jim said, smiling.

They fell into a cadence, starting and finishing each other’s anecdotes. They’ve chosen a baseball life, devoid of free time. Jim wishes he were home more often, and Sam might as well live in catching gear. Recently, they tried to game-plan on a rare, shared day off. They couldn’t decide what to do. Eventually, Jim pitched batting practice to Sam.

“[At a] concert the other day, one of the guys was tellin’ a story about fishing, being out there with his daughter and she’s thinking, ‘We’re going fishing?’ The guy says, ‘It’s not … just fishing,'” Jim said.

“When I ask Sam, ‘Hey, do you wanna hit? You wanna go lift?’ For him, it might be just baseball.”

Suddenly, a knock came on the press box door to vacate. Sam and Jim turned in their chairs and shared a glance.

“Well, for me,” Jim said, packing up, “it’s not just baseball.”

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Pirates ball-crusher Cruz accepts HR Derby invite

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Pirates ball-crusher Cruz accepts HR Derby invite

Pittsburgh Pirates center fielder Oneil Cruz accepted an invitation on Tuesday to compete in Monday’s Home Run Derby in Atlanta.

Cruz is the fifth player to commit to the competition, held one day before the All-Star Game. The others are Ronald Acuna Jr. of the Atlanta Braves, Cal Raleigh of the Seattle Mariners, James Wood of the Washington Nationals and Byron Buxton of the Minnesota Twins.

Cruz, 26, is known for having a powerful bat and regularly delivers some of the hardest-hit homers in the sport. His home run May 25 at home against the Milwaukee Brewers had an exit velocity of 122.9 mph and was the hardest hit homer in the 10-year Statcast era.

But Cruz has never hit more than 21 in a season, and that was in 2024. He’s on track to set a new high this year and has 15 in 80 games.

Cruz has 55 career homers in 324 games with the Pirates.

Cruz will be the first Pittsburgh player to participate in the Derby since Josh Bell in 2019. Other Pirates to be part of the event were Bobby Bonilla (1990), Barry Bonds (1992), Jason Bay (2005), Andrew McCutchen (2012) and Pedro Alvarez (2013).

Overall, Cruz is batting just .203 this season but leads the National League with 28 steals.

Among the players to turn down an invite to the eight-player field are two-time champion Pete Alonso of the New York Mets, Kyle Schwarber of the Philadelphia Phillies and 2024 runner-up Bobby Witt Jr. of the Kansas City Royals.

Defending champion Teoscar Hernandez of the Los Angeles Dodgers recently turned down a spot as a consideration to nagging injuries.

Top power threats Aaron Judge of the New York Yankees and Shohei Ohtani of the Dodgers also are expected to skip the event.

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Yanks moving Chisholm back to 2B after 3B stint

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Yanks moving Chisholm back to 2B after 3B stint

New York Yankees All-Star Jazz Chisholm Jr., after making 28 starts in a row at third base, is moving back to second base starting with Tuesday’s game against the Seattle Mariners, manager Aaron Boone said.

Boone confirmed the change on the “Talkin’ Yanks” podcast on Tuesday.

Chisholm, who is batting .245 with 15 home runs, 38 RBIs and 10 steals in 59 games, has recently been bothered by soreness in his right shoulder, which he said is an issue only on throws.

He said he prefers to play second base and prepared in the offseason to exclusively play in that spot before injuries played havoc with Boone’s lineup card, starting with Chisholm’s oblique injury in May.

Third baseman Oswaldo Cabrera went down with a season-ending ankle injury on May 12.

DJ LeMahieu manned second base while Chisholm was at third, but Boone has a better glove option in Oswald Peraza, a utility man with a stronger arm plus defensive skills across the infield.

LeMahieu, 36, is batting .266 with two home runs and 12 RBIs this season.

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