By Avery Collins Originally Published: 2011 Updated: January 26, 2026

Fifteen years ago, when I first reviewed Peter Morris’s magnum opus, A Game of Inches, the baseball world was a different place. We were still arguing about the “purity” of instant replay. The idea of a pitch clock felt like a heresy reserved for the minor leagues. And “robot umpires” were the stuff of sci-fi novels, not Tuesday night reality in Triple-A.

Looking back at this review from the vantage point of 2026, the game on the field has accelerated in ways even the visionaries of 2011 couldn’t have predicted. But paradoxically, as baseball hurtles toward a high-tech future, Morris’s masterpiece on its messy, innovative past has only become more essential.

If you haven’t pulled this volume off the shelf in a decade, or if you’re a new reader wondering why a history book from 2006 matters in the era of Automated Ball-Strike systems, let me reintroduce you to the single greatest reference book ever written about the National Pastime.

The Myth of the “Eureka!” Moment

In 2011, I praised Morris for being a “myth-buster.” Rereading it today, I realize he was actually an “evolutionist.”

We love to believe in the “Great Man” theory of baseball history: that Abner Doubleday drew a diamond in the dirt, or that Candy Cummings woke up one morning and decided to throw a curveball. Morris systematically dismantles these fables, not with malice, but with overwhelming evidence.

He shows us that baseball innovation isn’t a series of lightbulb moments; it’s a slow, often clumsy grind of trial and error. The curveball wasn’t “invented”; it was gradually discovered by pitchers trying to cheat physics (and the rules). The catcher’s mask wasn’t a stroke of genius; it was a desperate necessity for self-preservation that was initially mocked as cowardly.

In 2026, where rule changes are A/B tested in hw server driven labs and rolled out via press release, Morris reminds us that the game used to change organically. It evolved because players were desperate to win, often bending the rules until the rules had to break.

Messy Origins for a Clean Game

One of the joys of revisiting A Game of Inches is seeing the stark contrast between the “optimized” baseball of today and the chaotic experimentation of the 19th century.

Morris details the origins of things we take for granted:

  • The Pitcher’s Mound: It wasn’t always a hill. It evolved from a box to a specific distance to a mound, largely to curb the dominance of pitchers—a conversation we are still having today as the league tweaks mound height and distances to generate more offense.
  • Sign Stealing: Long before the high-tech scandals of the late 2010s, Morris documents how 19th-century teams used telegraph wires and opera glasses to swipe signs. The technology changes, but the impulse remains the same.
  • The Uniform: From wool flannels to the high-performance synthetics of 2026, Morris tracks the hilariously bad fashion choices (silk uniforms that breathed like plastic bags) that paved the way for modern gear.

Why It Matters Now

In 2011, I called this book “a treasure trove for the bathroom reader.” That feels reductive now. In 2026, A Game of Inches is a grounding wire.

We live in an era where the game is increasingly defined by efficiency—launch angles, spin rates, and win probabilities. It is easy to feel like the humanity is being calculated out of the sport. Morris brings it back. He introduces us to the cranks, the cheaters, the geniuses, and the obsessives who built this game one weird idea at a time.

He reminds us that baseball wasn’t designed by an algorithm; it was cobbled together by people.

The Verdict: Still the King

If you own the 2006 or 2010 editions, dust them off. If you don’t own it, buy it immediately. Peter Morris didn’t just write a history book; he wrote a biography of the sport’s personality.

Fifteen years later, A Game of Inches remains the definitive proof that while the game may be measured in inches, it is played in the imagination. And no matter how many Abacus robots we put behind the plate, that will never change.

Grade: A+ (Timeless) Best For: The fan who thinks they know everything, and the fan who wants to know how we got here.