In the pristine, sun-drenched cathedrals of Major League Baseball, we are conditioned to see the game as a battle of mechanics, a contest of physics where exit velocity and spin rates dictate the winners. But beneath the polished jerseys and the roar of the crowd lies a darker, more intangible metric that defines the elite. While the batter stands at the plate with a singular, pure intention—to swing his “big old stick” and hit the ball—the man standing sixty feet, six inches away is a creature of deception. He is a liar. He is a manipulator. And according to the latest psychological breakdown of the league’s most dominant arms, he is, quite possibly, evil.
The “Evil Scale” of pitching is not a measure of criminality, but a measure of the chilling, antisocial, and deceptive traits required to thrive in a position that demands the destruction of another person’s confidence. Pitchers are, by trade, deceivers. They throw pitches that mimic strikes only to dive into the dirt; they mess with timing, arm angles, and the very perception of reality. To be a great pitcher is to embrace the dark side, and as we look at the modern landscape of the MLB, the correlation between “evil” and effectiveness is becoming impossible to ignore.
Take, for instance, Justin Verlander. A future Hall of Famer and a perennial threat on the mound, Verlander is a prime example of high-level malice. His brand of evil is defined by an eerie longevity—as the saying goes, only the good die young, and Verlander is still dominating at 43. He is a man who famously “gives in to the dark side,” ramping up his velocity in the late innings specifically when he is angry. Perhaps his most “devilish” act occurred during a spring training matchup against a seventeen-year-old prospect. Rather than giving the kid a chance, Verlander pitched him “backwards,” utilizing a devastating changeup-curveball-fastball sequence that was as cold-blooded as it was unnecessary. Combined with his tenure on the controversial 2017 Houston Astros, Verlander sits at a staggering nine out of ten on the evil scale.
However, the pinnacle of this dark hierarchy is occupied by a man whose very aura suggests a deep-seated disdain for the human race: Jacob deGrom. The deGrom story is less a career path and more a “villain origin story.” From the moment he cut his hair to “unlock” his prime—a move akin to a cinematic antagonist shedding their humanity—deGrom has operated with a distilled hatred for the man in the box. His behavior off the field is equally chilling. He is known for “big-leaguing” reporters and teammates alike, and his official team photos for the Texas Rangers radiate a level of antisocial energy that would make a hermit look gregarious. In his prime, he wouldn’t even show batters his slider until the second or third time through the order, a psychological “gatekeeping” of his best stuff that forced opponents to earn the right to even see it. He is a ten out of ten, a man who, if he could flip a switch and strike down humanity, might just do it if it meant another scoreless inning.
But not all evil is as overt as deGrom’s. Some pitchers operate with a “performative” brand of madness. Max Scherzer, famously known as “Mad Max,” is a study in theatrics. With his different-colored eyes and his penchant for foaming at the mouth or pitching with a black eye, he cultivates a “fake demon” persona. While it is effective for intimidation, insiders suggest that off the field, Scherzer is a “goofball,” suggesting his on-field malice is a carefully constructed mask. This “antics-based” evil earns him a lower score, as true evil doesn’t require a performance—it simply is.
The modern generation of pitchers is also showing signs of this inherent darkness. Paul Skenes, the rising star with the “cold and calculating” demeanor, balances a 4.76 high school GPA with a nonchalant aura that mirrors the legendary Nolan Ryan. Ryan, of course, was famously “evil” enough to put a batter in a headlock and start “wailing” on him while bloodied. Skenes carries that same “great darkness,” further bolstered by what experts call the “hot famous partner effect”—a trait shared by Verlander and Logan Webb—which suggests that the truly elite often possess a magnetism that draws in the world’s most high-profile figures, even as they harbor a cold, competitive spirit.
Then there is the “unethical” nature of the pitches themselves. Tarik Skubal, a back-to-back Cy Young winner, has been accused of throwing an “unethical fastball”—a pitch delivered with such raw velocity and lack of location that it feels like a violation of the hitter’s rights. Skubal’s evil is more subtle, manifesting in his “cunning” arbitration settlements and his “trickster” behavior during the World Baseball Classic. Observers have noted that he looks like “a kid that bites,” a physical manifestation of a latent aggression that serves him well on the mound.
In contrast, we occasionally find “ethical” anomalies like Zack Wheeler or Logan Webb. Wheeler, despite being one of the best pitchers in the world, registers as a one out of ten on the evil scale—a feat so rare it is considered “insane” by analysts. Webb, a “sweet boy” whose biggest fans are his grandmothers, relies on an “ethical” sinker-baller style that focuses on ground balls rather than psychological destruction. Yet, even these men are the exceptions that prove the rule.
The most terrifying revelation comes from the mouths of the pitchers themselves. Marlins right-hander Tyler Phillips recently admitted that while on the mound, he is thinking about “blood and killing and a lot of crazy crap.” This is the unfiltered reality of the pitching psyche. They are not there to make friends; they are there to deceive, to dominate, and to destroy.
As the game evolves, it may be time for scouts to stop looking solely at “stuff” and start measuring “malice.” A 98-mph heater is impressive, but a 98-mph heater backed by a “six out of ten” evil rating is what wins championships. In the world of Major League Baseball, the “nice guy” is the one holding the bat, hoping for a fair chance. The “evil” guy is the one with the ball, making sure he never gets one.
