You Call That a Comeback?

The criteria for winning a batting title are crystal clear. A player needs:

1. 3.1 plate appearances per team game in either the NL or AL

2. The highest batting average (H/AB) in that respective league

Even in the exceedingly rare circumstance in which a player can win the batting title with fewer than 3.1 PA per team game, as long as he would still possess the highest batting average if he went hitless in enough at-bats to reach the necessary plate appearance threshold, the rules are fully laid out. There’s no room for interpretation.

Few other individual honors in the sport work this way. For proof, look no further than the MVP debate, which rages on to this day: Is there a meaningful difference between the best player and the most valuable player? After decades of argument, a consensus remains out of reach.

Awards like the MVP, Cy Young, and Rookie of the Year will always be contentious because they are determined by a panel of human voters rather than a statistical calculation. But the difference between the batting title and the BBWAA awards goes beyond the subjective/objective distinction. The criteria for the BBWAA awards (and most other individual honors) aren’t just subjective; they are incredibly minimal. Not only is it up to each individual voter to decide who the most valuable player is, but it is also each voter’s job to determine what the word “valuable” even means. As the BBWAA puts it on the MVP ballot, there is no “clear-cut definition” of “most valuable.”

This goes beyond the MVP award, even if that particular prize is the source of the fiercest argumentation. I’ve taken part in debates about whether pitcher defense (and before the universal DH, pitcher offense) should play a role in Cy Young voting. I am a firm “no” in that discussion, but I’ve been surprised to learn how many people feel the opposite way. To be fair, they have a point; it’s not totally clear if the Cy Young is for the best pitcher or the best pitcher.

There is plenty of squabbling to be had over any subjective award, but I have found none as difficult to pin down as the Comeback Player of the Year, presented by MLB itself and selected by a panel of MLB.com beat writers. We can nitpick the definitions of terms like “most valuable,” “best pitcher,” or “top rookie,” but ultimately, the difference between anyone’s individual opinions will be relatively small. The word “comeback,” however, is open to far more interpretation. Where do I even begin?

First things first, there is a difference between the best comeback and the best comeback player. The former implies a player who saw the most significant year-over-year-over-year decline and subsequent improvement in his numbers; the latter conjures up an image of the best overall player who had some sort of bounce-back season. To make things even more confusing, neither of those interpretations necessarily captures the essence of the award. Ronald Acuña Jr. fits both descriptions, and yet somehow, he doesn’t seem like a realistic contender.

Perhaps a player must have been truly bad (or injured) the previous season to make for a good candidate. But the quality of the comeback performance seems to matter more than the magnitude of the comeback. Otherwise, Eddie Rosario would make an excellent choice this year; his WAR swung up from -1.1 to 1.4, a difference of 2.5 wins. For comparison, presumptive NL winner Cody Bellinger only saw his WAR increase by 2.3.

On a similar note, to define a comeback, we must also define an improvement. In other words, does a comeback season necessitate a deep, underlying improvement in a player’s profile, or are the surface-level numbers more relevant? Did a player really bounce back if his down year (or his comeback season, for that matter) was merely the result of year-to-year fluctuations in results on balls in play? Take a look at this aesthetically displeasing yet wonderfully illustrative graph comparing Corey Seager’s wOBA and xwOBA percentiles from 2021 to ’23:

Going off his triple-slash line, you could make a compelling case for Seager as the AL Comeback Player of the Year. At the same time, does it count as a comeback if no one ever thought he was gone in the first place?

In a similar vein, we have the case of José Berríos, who has a good chance to take home the hardware. By ERA and WAR, he’s a solid candidate, but by most metrics, his numbers lag behind his peak form from 2021. Furthermore, his SIERA and xFIP are almost identical in each of the past two seasons, suggesting the possibility that his supposed bounceback is little more than a mirage created by a bad-luck season and a good-luck season back-to-back:

To complicate matters further, I have thus far been using year-to-year comparisons for various candidates, but there’s no easy answer for how long a player has to struggle for his reemergence to qualify as a comeback. Indeed, there seems to be a relationship between the length of the down period and the degree of bounceback necessary to win the award. Consider Daniel Bard in 2020. He only produced 0.5 WAR in his so-called comeback season (with a 3.65 ERA and 3.64 FIP in 24 games), but he hadn’t played in the major leagues in over seven years. Meanwhile, Bryce Harper was a finalist for the MLBPA Comeback of the Year this season (a separate award than the MLB Comeback Player of the Year, but a relevant example nonetheless), and that man was an All-Star and the NLCS MVP last season. He didn’t come back from a down year; instead, his nomination recognized how quickly he returned to superstar form following Tommy John surgery.

To that point, voters also have to consider what, exactly, the candidates are coming back from. The most straightforward answer is a prolonged slump or decline phase, like Albert Pujols in 2022. It gets more complicated when we consider injuries; from which injuries must a player come back rather than simply return? Is there even a difference? Moreover, the circumstances surrounding an injury can be just as relevant as the specific injury itself. Justin Verlander was an obvious choice when he returned from Tommy John surgery to win his third career Cy Young at age 39. Tyler Glasnow could win this season for his own return from TJS, but his candidacy is much less compelling. In theory, the award could go to a Tommy John patient every season; Lord knows there are enough of them these days. But as a young and talented pitcher, Glasnow was as good as bet as anyone to bounce back. Is missing a year to injury enough to warrant the word “comeback” anymore?

In addition to down years and injuries, there are occasionally unique circumstances. On the positive end of the spectrum, you have a winner like Carlos Carrasco in 2019. He wasn’t good, per se, upon his return, but returning to the field the same year he was diagnosed with cancer was a remarkable achievement in and of itself. How can we compare any other comeback to something like that? This year, Liam Hendriks is in a similar position, but with an added complication: he landed back on the injured list almost immediately after he returned. It’s hard to imagine anyone could be upset if he won, but I couldn’t disagree with any voter who went in a different direction.

On the less inspiring end of the spectrum, there are candidates like Fernando Tatis Jr. Objectively, you could make the case that he’s the most deserving player in the National League this year. His 4.4-WAR season after multiple surgeries and 182 games off is undeniably impressive. But the circumstances surrounding his “time off” will likely prevent him from garnering serious consideration. When it comes to such a subjective award, there is no denying that character plays a critical role. For that same reason, Aroldis Chapman is unlikely to win in the AL. Statistically speaking, he has a strong case, but the way he walked away from the Yankees last October will work against him, to say nothing of his domestic violence suspension in 2016. Why honor a comeback if you weren’t rooting for it in the first place?

Finally, there’s the Ryan O’Hearn of it all. The Orioles’ first baseman/corner outfield was selected as a finalist for the MLBPA Comeback Player award, alongside Glasnow and Hendriks. But with no disrespect toward O’Hearn, it’s beyond me what the players think he’s coming back from. The 30-year-old was never a top prospect, and aside from a flash in the pan of offensive success during his 44-game rookie campaign, he has never been a productive big league bat. So what can we glean from his nomination, besides the fact that the player voters probably aren’t poring over the numbers the way I am?

There will always be a best player, a best pitcher, and a best rookie, no matter how uninspiring the candidates. But there won’t always be a good choice for Comeback Player of the Year. That’s bound to happen with an award that’s more about narrative and gut feeling than clearly outlined criteria. It’s the final wrinkle in a conversation already begging for Botox.

As Voltaire once said, “If you wish to converse with me, define your terms” (at least according to a poster my freshman roommate hung in our dorm room). It’s a reasonable request. How can we pick a Comeback Player of the Year if we don’t even know what a “comeback player” really is? Then again, perhaps I’m just taking this far too seriously for an award that was established as a promotion for Viagra. If overcomplicated thoughts about the Comeback Player of the Year Award persist longer than four hours, call your doctor.