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J-Hey Hey What Can He Do?

Jason Heyward has been a nice story so far this season. At least it’s more fun than talking about the velocity of the Cubs’ rotation. However, I’m suspicious of anything that has the potential to make me happy. I want nothing more than Heyward to be everything he was before he got to Chicago. But I’ve been burned before. I don’t buy in that easy anymore. You’ve turned my heart cold, cruel world. And there’s something about Heyward’s “renaissance” that gives me pause, though we may have seen evidence of even that turning around on Monday night.

As we know, Heyward struggled against everything last year. But a particular problem was that he couldn’t hit fastballs. And the problem with that is that pretty much every pitcher he’s going to face throws a fastball. Which would have made you think he would have drilled Bronson Arroyo on Sunday, but of course he fell victim to the Cubs’ Arroyo allergies that have been around for over a decade now. It’s passed on from each generation of Cubs to the next. It’s perhaps their most annoying gene.

Anyway, while Heyward was making louder contact so far this season, I remained skeptical. My heart could not take any more scarring. And I remember all the ABs last year where I thought, “This is the JD Drew moment!” Then he would ground out to second. So many groundouts to second. All the groundouts to second. He was the groundout to second.

I looked back to last year. Here’s how things went for Heyward against pitches that were 93 mph and above:

Jason Heyward chart 1

As you can see, there wasn’t a lot in the air. For comparison’s sake, here’s how he did on slower stuff last year:

Jason Heyward chart 2

Really only slightly better. But at least it kind of points up, like… well, let’s not get into that metaphor.

So we had that series in Milwaukee, where Heyward seemed to hit some pitches really hard. He had a triple, but it was off a 91 mph fastball. There were some other hard hit balls, but none of them came on plus-heat. Though, hey, most hitters have a hard time hitting plus-heat. Maybe I’m asking too much. It’s my way. It’s how those of us with scarred hearts protect ourselves, and also assure we’ll never be happy.

Then we had a two-homer weekend in Cincinnati. Encouraging, right? Well of course it’s encouraging. I’m not here to kill everything you love. Just most of it.

Heyward’s first homer against the Reds was on a 91 mph fastball. His second was on an 83 mph change that got too much of the plate.

I don’t want to be here, I really don’t. But you can have quite a year simply pulverizing hanging curves and misplaced change-ups and non-lethal fastballs that don’t find the corner. That would be enough. I wouldn’t ask for more. I’ll open my heart to you, J-Hey, again. I would no longer need a JD Drew moment.

But then Monday, we had him turn around a 94 MPH fastball at chest-height. Could we dare to dream? Could we love again?

Overall, we’re not there yet. Here’s this season for Heyward against what you’d call average-to-better fastballs:

Jason Heyward 3

We’re still not there yet. Still a little too much going into the ground, though maybe at a higher pace than we’re used to. But hey, we’re here for hope. For reasons to believe. Reasons to think that one day we’ll have total happiness.

Jason Heyward chart 4

It’s a little better. There’s more snap to the hits. But the angle still isn’t all there. More stuff is falling in for sure, given a 70+ point jump in his BABIP this year from last year. But we’re not ready to open the vaults of our heart quite yet. Soon enough, though, we’ll get there. We can have it all.

Lead photo courtesy Charles LeClair—USA Today Sports

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1 comment on “J-Hey Hey What Can He Do?”

Bleacher Nation did a great piece about Jason’s traditionally very slow starts to his season – including his very good years. (His first 53 AB’s – sss given – far exceed his production of those other years). Point being, he seems to evolve into who he will be as the season progresses. It would be interesting to see this from your exit velo standpoint.

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