Framing the Pitch

The art of framing the pitch in baseball gives the illusion to the umpire that a ball just off the plate actually crossed the plate. It also gives the impression that the ball 5 or 6 inches off the plate just missed. The umpire may get the impression that the pitcher has very good control which can influence his calling of balls and strikes.

    Having begun the baseball season with a SleuthSayers article inspired by spring training, it seems fitting to return to the nation’s pastime as we move into post-season play.  And what a season it has been here in Washington, D.C. 

The Washington Nationals -- 2012 NL East Champions!

     When I was still an undergraduate at George Washington University the Senators ran away to Texas, leaving the city without baseball for the next 33 years.  I had grown up with Cardinal baseball in my hometown of St. Louis, but, except for one year, after college I remained a D.C, resident.  Some in this city adopted the Baltimore Orioles as their team, but not me.  I spent every one of those 33 years resenting Baltimore, which steadfastly vetoed any attempt by Washington to secure a replacement team.  All of this finally ended in 2005, when the Montreal Expos were relocated to D.C. and re-christened the Washington Nationals.  It’s been a tough eight years between those first miserable years (when twice we had more losses than any other team) and the 2012 Nationals, who have now won the Eastern Division of the National League with the best record in all baseball.

    But in my enthusiasm I digress, and right here at the beginning of the article. 

    The point I do want to make for today’s purposes is that in those 33 years away from baseball – virtually all of my adult life – there were things that others learned about the sport that I did not.  One of those is the importance of the catcher.  As best I remember it, when I was in high school the catcher, well, . . . caught.  That was pretty much it.  But as I began to watch the Nationals over the last few years amazement dawned on me.  The catcher was calling the game, signaling to the pitcher the pitches that should be thrown. 

    And the catcher also had the clever task of framing the pitch.  As the quote at the top from QCBaseball.com indicates, one of the catcher’s challenges is to make pitches seem like those that they are not, to make the truth look like something altogether different to the umpire. When successful, framing the pitch can transform a ball into a called strike.  The sleight of hand that accomplishes this is not unlike that of the magician – hiding the obvious from the audience in whatever way is possible.

    The task is also not unlike that of the mystery writer, particularly a writer of “fair play” mysteries, where the goal is to fool a different sort of umpire – the reader.

    The rules of a fair play mystery are simple:  All of the clues must be provided to the reader.  There can be no “deus ex machine,” no “new killer” or critical piece of evidence introduced in the final chapter or paragraph.  Everything must be capable of being worked out by the reader.  But the trick to the fair play mystery is to accomplish all of this in a way that hoodwinks the reader.  The writer’s task is to make the mystery capable of solution while at the same time ensuring that most readers will not, in fact, solve it.  Ellery Queen was a master at this – clues could be dropped right under our nose and we would miss them, slapping our foreheads later when the solution was ultimately revealed. 

    And that, as promised two weeks ago, brings us to the last article I posted – A Bouchercon Mystery.  The premise of the article is hardly original – the headache-inducing formula underlying the narrative is a favorite on many internet sites.  The version I offered changed a few things, and introduced some new red herrings – extraneous numbers and arithmetic grumblings between the characters.  But at base the story, and the trick to the story, are quite simple.  In this version three people share a hotel room.  The original price for the room is $300.  Each person forks over $100, they do not tip the bellhop, and the three check in.  The bellboy then returns to the room and tells the occupants that there is a special rate of $250, and hands them five ten dollar bills.   They tip the bellhop twenty dollars and each of the three then pockets ten. 

    So there are two basic ways to look at this transaction.  The original price for the room was $300.  Since there is no tip, the total price is $300 and each occupant pays $100.  That math works. 

    Alternatively, if you look at the scenario from the perspective of the revised price, it works out like this:  $250 for the room, plus that twenty dollar tip to the bellboy, means the room costs a total of $270.  Since each of the three occupants originally paid $100, and since each got back ten dollars the total paid by each was $90, and $90 times three equals $270.  That works too.  Simple.  No magic.  Anyone could figure this out.

    So what does the writer do to obfuscate those clues in a manner that will confuse the reader?  How does the writer, in other words, make the reader lose track of all those fair play clues?  The answer is you blend the two prices, and you do it fast.  .

    Leigh’s eyes narrowed, and it was obvious he was working something over in his head.  “Wait a minute,” Leigh finally said, a look of incredulity spreading across his face.  “When we checked in, and the room was $300, we each paid $100.  And now, with the special rate, we each got $10 back.  This means we each paid $90, and. $90 times three men equals $270. John just tipped the bellhop $20. That only equals $290!”

    All of the sudden we are left to ruminate over what happened to a seemingly missing ten dollars.

    What’s wrong with this?  As we can now see, quite a bit.  $90 times three is, indeed, $270, but as noted above $270 is the price of the hotel room after the twenty dollar tip has been included.  What Leigh did was add the tip in another time, to reach $290, and then compare that to the wrong number – the $300 price that was paid before the $50 discount.

    As I said earlier, the trick in this story is not mine.  It is borrowed from other internet pages.  Why do I like it?  To my mind, it is a great example of how words can be used to distract the reader, to entice them to reach wrong conclusions.

    It is, in other words, a clever "fair play" example of framing the pitch. 

A Bouchercon Mystery

    Bouchercon, the annual mystery-writers’ convention, convenes next week in Cleveland, Ohio, and runs from October 4 through 7.  John Floyd is the only SleuthSayer contributor that I know is attending.  I was at last year’s convention in St. Louis – and was on a short story writers’ panel with R.T. Lawton there the week before SleuthSayers first hit the internet.  I won’t be attending this year, but in honor of the event, and as a salute to John and Leigh, who have made their marks in the area of mini-mysteries, I offer up the following SleuthSayer Bouchercon mystery – not so much a “whodunit,” as a “how did that happen?”

                                         *           *           *           *           *           *           *

    The mid-day traffic on Huron Road finally eased enough for the Yellow Cab to swing into the driveway of the Radisson Hotel.  The car lumbered to a stop under the reception awning and the cabbie caught the eyes of the three passengers wedged shoulder to shoulder in the back seat. 

    “That’ll be twenty bucks, gents.”

    The slender man stuck in the middle of the rear seat already had his wallet in his hand.  He reached across the top of the front seat and pressed a twenty and a five into the outstretched hand of the cabbie.

    “Keep it and have a nice day.”

    The three men clambered out of the back seat, each grabbing a bag from the trunk that the cabbie had opened.  With their bags in hand the slender man turned to his two companions.

    “That works out to $8.33 each for the cab ride.”

    “You know, John,” one of the men noted, “it would have been easier if you had just tipped $4.00.  Then we would each owe only $8.00.”  The third man muttered his assent.

    John rolled his eyes.  “Look, Dale and Leigh, the guy deserved the five bucks.  If you have trouble making the change you can each just give me eight.”

    “Well, this whole thing is expensive,” Leigh grumbled.  “I mean, it’s not like mystery short story writers are raking in the dough.”

    The three men approached the check-in desk and gave their names to the uniformed attendant smiling over her computer.  “Yes,” she said.  “I see we have your reservation.  Three of you sharing a room, two twins and a pull-out sofa.  That will be $300.  Do you want this on a credit card?”

    John, Dale and Leigh shook their heads in unison.  Each pulled $100 in cash from their respective wallets and handed the bills to the receptionist. 

    “Thank you.  A bellhop will show you to your room.”

    The three writers dutifully followed the bellhop to the elevator.  On the 5th floor they exited and followed him down the hall to room 543, which the bellhop opened with a key card.  The bellhop handed a key card to each of the writers, showed them how the air conditioner worked and then paused at the door. 

    Dale spoke before the others could.  “Thanks.  We’ll call you if we need anything.”  A crestfallen look passed across the bellhop’s face as he nodded politely and left the room.

    “Guys,” John said, shaking his head.  “We should have tipped him something.  I mean, it’s expected.”  Dale and Leigh, already intent on claiming the single beds in the room, did not respond.

    Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door.  John, who had been trying to figure out how the fold-away sofabed worked, was closest to the door and answered the knock.  Standing in the hall was the bellhop.  Before the still-embarrassed John could say anything the bellhop spoke.

    “Hello, again, sir,” the bellhop began with an engaging smile, “Sorry to bother you folks.  But I overheard the receptionist check you guys in and charge you $300.  That didn’t seem right to me since there is a Bouchercon writers’ special of $250 per night.  So I mentioned that to the receptionist and said you were overcharged.  She checked the rate and found out that you are entitled to that discount.  Since you paid cash she sent me back up with $50 to give you.”  The bellhop handed five crisp ten dollar bills to John. 

    “This is greatly appreciated,” John stammered.  He took two of the ten dollar bills and thrust them toward the bellhop.  The boy smiled gratefully, eyes wide, and pocketed the bills.

    John closed the door and turned back into the room only to find Dale and Leigh hovering behind him. 

    “Pretty steep tip,” Dale muttered as John handed each of them a ten dollar bill, pocketing the remaining one himself.

    Leigh’s eyes narrowed, and it was obvious he was working something over in his head.  “Wait a minute,” Leigh finally said, a look of incredulity spreading across his face.  “When we checked in, and the room was $300, we each paid $100.  And now, with the special rate, we each got $10 back.  This means we each paid $90, and. $90 times three men equals $270. John just tipped the bellhop $20. That only equals $290!”

                 CHALLENGE TO THE READER

    So:  What happened to the extra $10?  And perhaps more importantly, why does John travel with these two cheapskates?