Today’s guest columnists are professors John Cairney and Rick Burton.
Torpedo bats are having their moment.
With their dramatically tapered barrels and enlarged sweet spots, these odd-looking clubs have lit up early-season highlights and triggered a surge of speculation. Some players using the design have posted impressive results. Analysts are watching. Fans are debating. But as with so many “next big things” in baseball, the real question isn’t about novelty. It’s about longevity.
Baseball history is filled with gear innovations that generated buzz, only to fade away. The “mushroom” bat of the early 1900s featured an enlarged knob for better swing balance. It looked promising but never caught on.
More recently, energy-return cleats—designed to increase propulsion and reduce fatigue—briefly caught interest in the majors but didn’t deliver enough benefit to replace trusted models. Even the Axe Bat, still available today, had a moment when stars like Mookie Betts gave it a shot. But most players returned to more familiar shapes.
By contrast, some innovations endure. The maple bat is now more common than ash, though an invasive insect played a part in that. Batting gloves are nearly universal. Pine tar is regulated but accepted. Even the humidor—initially a Rockies-only oddity—is standard at MLB ballparks.
So, what separates the gear that sticks from the gear that doesn’t?
First and foremost: universality. The most successful innovations help everyone—or nearly everyone. Batting gloves reduce sting for rookies and veterans alike. Maple bats add durability without changing swing mechanics. Pine tar improves grip in all conditions. Bigger gloves help fielders cover more ground. The tools that last tend to solve shared problems across positions, playing styles and comfort levels.
By contrast, the innovations that disappear often benefit only a narrow slice of players. Energy-return cleats felt awkward to many. Rotating bat handles never caught on. Torpedo bats may offer marginal speed advantages, but only for players with certain swing types. If the advantage is conditional—or worse, psychological—its shelf life will be short.
Cultural legitimacy is the second filter. Baseball is a sport where tradition runs deep. Players, coaches and even fans are skeptical of things that look or feel like a departure from the game’s essence.
The mushroom bat didn’t look right. The Mako Torq felt gimmicky. Even the torpedo bat, despite being legal, still turns heads. If a new piece of equipment doesn’t fit baseball’s self-image—of skill, timing and toughness—it’s unlikely to stick.
While it’s rarely discussed, when it comes to baseball gear innovation, two forces decide what lasts: universality and cultural fit. If a new tool passes both tests, it joins the game. If it doesn’t, it becomes a historical curiosity.
There’s one more piece to this puzzle—the nature of the sport itself. Innovations driving dramatic change often come from individual sports: golf’s oversized drivers, track’s carbon-plated shoes, swimming’s now-banned speed suits. These disciplines allow athletes to tinker and chase marginal gains without worrying about team-wide consensus.
Baseball sits in an unusual position. It’s undeniably a team sport—but built on a series of individual moments: pitcher vs. hitter, fielder vs. runner. That structure creates more space for personal preference and experimentation.
A batter can try a new grip, stance or even bat shape without disrupting the team’s broader game plan. Yet even with that freedom, baseball’s steely culture keeps change in check. Gear innovations may appear in spring training or come quietly off the bench, but full adoption is rare without buy-in from the broader system.
Team sports, especially those with long traditions, move cautiously. Even in baseball—a team sport built on individual matchups—gear changes are measured. New ideas may get trial runs in spring training, but an innovation can’t just help a few players. It must help the game.
In that light, torpedo bats might not produce baseball’s next great leap forward. They’re only the latest example of the sport’s fascinating relationship with change: curious, cautious and filtered through a rigorous acceptance process. As with past experiments, the real test won’t take place this spring. It will come if we see a significant number of sluggers using the torpedo bat in October or next season.
As for the bigger picture, the marginal gains offered to a handful of hitters with new bats pale in comparison to baseball’s real challenge: achieving league-wide competitive balance. In 2025, the gap between the highest and lowest team payrolls—between the Dodgers (over $320 million) and the Marlins (around $65 million)—exceeds $250 million.
These numbers shape outcomes long before Opening Day. Finding an innovative, sustainable path to parity—without triggering the kind of prolonged labor disputes that have marred the sport’s past—will do far more for the game than any piece of equipment ever could.
John Cairney is Head of the University of Queensland’s School of Human Movement and Nutrition Sciences. He is the author of Immaculate: A History of Perfect Innings in Baseball (Mosaic Press, 2015) and Field of Magic: Baseball’s Superstitions, Curses and Taboos (McFarland & Company, 2023). He also serves as Deputy Executive Director for the Office of 2032 Games Engagement and Director of the Queensland Centre for Olympic and Paralympic Studies. Rick Burton is the David B. Falk Professor of Sport Management at Syracuse University and co-author of The Rise of Major League Soccer (Lyons Press, 2025) and Business the NHL Way (Aevo UTP, 2023).
