Is Base Stealing a Science or an Art Form? RI's David Earl Lopes Would Have Argued...It's a Science

Is Base Stealing a Science or an Art Form? RI's David Earl Lopes Would Have Argued...It's a Science

Former Major League Baseball players Dusty Baker, Dave Stewart, and Jerry Royster helped celebrate David Earl Lopes’s homecoming this past Wednesday. Peace my brother-in-law! Dusty and Dave blessed the attendees—relatives and friends alike—with stories from their past that made us feel as though we truly were family. What a glorious send-off!

With Davey’s remaining siblings greeting attendees in that unforgettable procession line at his wake, I was able to remind Jerry Royster of the time I unexpectedly ran into him at a clothing outlet in Orlando, Florida. He immediately called Davey to share the coincidence. We laughed.

Referring to my wonderful brother-in-law as “David Earl” rather than “Davey” grew out of his unprecedented command and discipline in base stealing. His tenacity on the bases called for distinction. The fear he instilled in opposing pitchers and catchers—knowing that if he reached first, stealing second was almost guaranteed 83% of the time—was extraordinary.

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I recall attending a Phillies game against the Dodgers. Davey hit a home run that day. Eight family members, including myself, were seated along the left-field line. I reminded Dusty of the moment he shagged a foul ball, caught it, and tossed it up to me. I caught it using my soda cup—of course spilling the drink all over myself.

Later, Davey singled to first. When he returned to the bag, his greatness truly struck me. He placed his left foot on the base and reached into his back pocket for his batting glove. To my amazement, 55,000 people in the stands saw exactly what I saw and greeted him antagonistically, as fans are privileged to do. The sound was deafening to us, yet silent and nourishing to Davey.

I would later joke with him, “Why do you put a glove on?”
His response: “I want to protect my hand, if I have to slide into any of the bases.”

“Yeah, right,” I would reply sarcastically.

Davey understood the power of that glove ritual. He was telling the world he was going to steal second base—and 55,000 Phillies fans knew it. How intimidating!

Six times the pitcher threw over to first, and six times Davey returned safely. Each time, the crowd reacted. But sure enough, he took off—and made it safely to second. The power he generated from that position was one of his greatest strengths, and the baseball world knew it.

His mother, Mary Rose, chose the most fitting words to describe the gift she was about to unleash on the world—especially in a game where greatness is measured against the very best. It was the Dodger captain’s “silent” or “quiet leadership,” expressed in part through his base stealing, that captured my imagination from the beginning of our relationship. But that was only part of the story.

One Thanksgiving at Ma’s house, David and I were watching a football game. At the time, as a school superintendent, I was wrestling with a question: how do you increase the probability that a student learns, regardless of environment? Madeline Hunter, a renowned cognitive psychologist, had told my staff and me, “You can’t make a child learn, but you can increase the probability that learning takes place.”

I mentioned this during a commercial break. Davey responded, “That’s what I did as a player—and what I teach players about stealing bases.”

“Excuse me, Davey—please explain,” I said.

“Increasing the probability that the runner on first gets to second before the ball arrives,” he said. “Timing is everything. A fraction of a second determines whether you’re safe or out.”

“So why were you so successful?” I asked.

“First, you don’t establish your lead on the inside of the first-base bag.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you’re closer to the fielder if you have to dive back when the pitcher throws over.” Of course, you also run the risk of getting hit by the pitcher, should he throw over to the fielder.

“So where do you stand?” I asked.

“On the outside of the bag. It gives you more room to return safely—and positions you to round second toward third if the ball gets through the infield.” And less of a chance of getting hit by the picture, should he throw over to first.

“What about your lead?”

“About two and a half steps. And if I decided to go, I would pivot on my right foot rather than lift it. Getting that edge—that’s the game between pitcher and base stealer.”

“What about sliding into second?”

“Feet first,” Davey said.

“Why?”

“You have to put fear into the shortstop or second baseman. Sliding headfirst gives the advantage to the fielder. Sliding feet first gives it to the runner—and it allows you to pop up and advance to third if the opportunity is there, as opposed to sliding past the bag and getting tagged out.”

“Most people say base stealing is an art form, not a science,” Davey said. “But not me!” He insisted it was a science. While he admitted he couldn’t teach everyone to become a great base stealer, he believed he could teach anyone how to steal a base. His method was grounded in repeated testing and proven success.

“It leans toward science,” he would say.

The way he created the appearance of power on the bases was extraordinary. The line between science and art isn’t always sharp, but there are key differences in how each approaches understanding and expression.

Science seeks to understand reality through evidence and testing. It relies on methodology, measurement, experimentation, and data—aiming to build predictive theories. Consider this: he stole 557 bases with an 83% success rate.

Davey would argue that if something like base stealing can be tested repeatedly and proven effective, it leans toward science. On the other hand, if something is meant to evoke feeling or perspective rather than prove a fact, it leans toward art.

Art is about communication, emotion, and interpretation. It focuses on subjective meaning and creativity. It doesn’t require proof or repeatability, and it can be experienced differently by each person.

A simple way to frame it:
Science asks, “Is this true?”
Art asks, “What does this mean?”

David Earl Lopes would argue—it’s a science.