Stew Thornley waited before looking at his laptop.
The official scorer first wanted to make his call — hit or error — after the Twins' Brian Dozier reached base safely following a grounder he hit to White Sox third baseman Yolmer Sanchez on June 5. Sanchez didn't field the ball cleanly, and his throw to first was in the dirt. Thornley took into account all the aspects of the play to determine whether it would require more than "ordinary effort," the threshold for scorers to distinguish between a hit and error, for Sanchez to make the play.
Thornley, one of three official scorers for the Twins, doesn't hesitate to make a call even on close plays. This time, he took his time. He watched a replay in the Target Field press box on his 17-inch TV screen, which he keeps on an eight-second delay for just this purpose, and delivered his verdict: Hit.
"We treat each part of the play [catch and throw] separately and it was a 50-50 play," Thornley said. "Each one leaned a little above 50 on the hit side for me."
But what Thornley did next might drive baseball purists to drink, especially when somebody like the official scorer, a position that has been around almost as long as the game itself, is doing it.
Thornley peeked at his laptop for the exit velocity of Dozier's hit — 85 mph — and jotted down "85" in his score book. He wanted to see if the data matched his eyes — and he wanted to note the exit velocity in case somebody on the White Sox later challenged the play.
Thornley recognizes what he did might be sacrilegious.
"Exit velocity is kind of a dirty word with many," Thornley said.
Exit velocity and other analytical terms like it might be encroaching upon the job of official scorer, redefining the core of what makes their job important to the game — what makes a hit and what makes an error — and even pushing the error as a statistic further to the brink of irrelevance.