The tragic, but correct, application for the Phillies of the infield fly rule | Bob Ford

The Phillies lost outfielder Andrew McCutchen for the season on Monday evening in San Diego on a first-inning play that was one part crafty baseball, one part frustration, and several large parts of extremely bad luck.

McCutchen tore the anterior cruciate ligament in his left knee during a rundown between first base and second base that resulted from an odd set of circumstances, and had many fans pawing through their memory banks to recall the exact parameters of a rule, first instituted in 1895, that governs pop flies in the infield.

Ah, yes, the infield fly rule.

Several fans sent emails asking why the rule wasn’t invoked when Jean Segura hit an easy pop to the second baseman with McCutchen on first and no outs. Segura didn’t get out of the batter’s box, second baseman Ian Kinsler let the ball drop next to him, threw to first to retire Segura, and McCutchen, caught in between, dodged his way through the rundown as well as he could before tearing his knee ligament in the process.

The answer to the anguished pleas — even a bad turn of events might feel better if the umpires can be blamed — is pretty simple: The rule wasn’t in effect in that situation. There has to be a potential force at third base and fewer than two outs for the infield fly rule to be a possibility. So, either runners on first and second, or the bases loaded.

Careful followers of the game know the rule, and know why it is there. It was written to prevent the defense from turning a double play it doesn’t deserve and the offense from suffering one it can’t prevent.

But isn’t that what happened Monday night? Kinsler didn’t try his best to catch a ball and was rewarded. So, while understanding that the rule doesn’t apply with only a runner on first, that leads to the next question: Why not?

Let’s begin by recognizing that the infield fly rule is unique and inspires deep thought and discussion. In 1975, a law student at Penn named William S. Stevens published “The Common Law Origins of the Infield Fly Rule” in the University of Pennsylvania Law Review. It is scholarly, slightly tongue-in-cheek, and, quite unexpectedly, birthed a school of academic thought applying the concepts of the rule through the ages. If you have a few spare moments, read Anthony D’Amato’s “The Contribution of the Infield Fly Rule to Western Civilization (and Vice Versa),” published in 2006 by the Northwestern University Law Review. It is also a page-turner.

Interesting stuff, but the rule came about just before the turn of the century because teams were finding ways to substitute success for sportsmanship, or something like that. The Baltimore Orioles, managed by John McGraw, a conniver if ever there was one, didn’t invent faking catches to trap runners, but they perfected it. The rule came into being shortly thereafter and was altered a few times — deleting bunts and line drives, for instance — and stands today still guarding the integrity of the game against what the writers of the rule called “subterfuge.”

Fine, but why not put the rule in effect for any force situation, such as Monday night’s in San Diego that ended up costing the Phillies one of their prime contributors?

Fortunately, we have among us, someone with the answer.

Peter E. Meltzer, a partner with the Philadelphia law firm of Weber Gallagher, is also the author of four books, one of which is the excellent, “So You Think You Know Baseball? A Fan’s Guide to the Official Rules.”

One chapter in the book is devoted to the infield fly rule, and great examples of its proper implementation. That rainy, windy night in Citizens Bank Park when the Phillies were attempting to close out Tampa Bay in the 2008 World Series is in there, recounting the Pedro Feliz popup to first base with runners on first and second. The rule was not invoked, because, in the estimation of the umpire, given the conditions, snagging it required more than the “ordinary effort” test of the rule. Carlos Pena caught it anyway.

“The infield fly rule is a complicated rule, but it’s fair,” Meltzer said. “With just a runner on first, there should be no risk of a double play. If there are runners on first and second, the third baseman could let the ball drop, touch third, throw to second and there is nothing the offensive players can do about it. With just a runner on first, the batting team assumes the risk of not running hard to first base.”

In other words, if the batter who popped up with just a runner on first doesn’t get himself down the line, the game of baseball will not bail him out. His action forces the defense to catch the ball. (Of course, if it were a speedy runner on base and a slower one at the plate, the infielder could choose to let the ball drop, take the force at second, and essentially swap baserunners. But there shouldn’t be the risk of a double play.) It is up to the batter to keep the defense honest, and if he doesn’t, that’s on him.

“That’s exactly right,” Meltzer said. “The batting team has it in its control to avoid a double play when there’s a runner on first base, but doesn’t have it with runners on first and second.”

On Monday’s play, Segura lost his balance as he swung underneath the pitch, went to one knee, put his hand down to keep from falling over and finally steadied himself with his bat. By the time he got up, making it to first in time would have been difficult, but Segura appeared only moderately interested in getting there.

“No excuse. Not acceptable,” he said after the game. “It was a mistake.”

It was, and it allowed Kinsler to read the situation and make a heady play that ultimately turned out to be a disaster for the Phillies. It was a big mistake, but — sorry, casual fans — not one made by the umpires. Rules are rules, and that wasn’t it.