Ever since the ill-fated signing of Jeff Suppan in December 2006, I've heard, incessantly, about "pitching to contact." In a word or two, "pitching to contact" is a philosophy espoused by noodle-armed pitchers whose fastball, breaking ball, and change-up are indistinguishable (i.e., each trickles up to the plate at about 83 mph and moves very little, if at all). When confronted by the facts that (1) the pitcher struggles to break 100 strikeouts in a 30-start season, and (2) has a WHIP flirting with 1.6, the pitcher will respond: "Well, I pitch to contact," as if those words somehow disinfect his putrid stat line.
Now, I'm not here to debate the merits of other "pitch to contact" pitchers ... mostly because I can't think of another "pitch to contact" guy who's had any success, other than maybe Jamie Moyer. If you're going to be a big league pitcher, you have to be able to strike batters out. Period.
(And let's get this out of the way right now: don't suggest that Greg Maddux was a "pitch to contact" guy who had great success. Greg Maddux didn't pitch to contact; he was just a really fucking great pitcher. He averaged 154 strikeouts per season in his career, and, in his prime, he was always in the 175-200 range. Yes, he could make a batter get himself out with a well-placed cutter or change-up. But he could also get a big K when he needed it.)
So I'm going to request a moratorium on this whole "pitching to contact is a good way to pitch" nonsense. Fuck that noise -- if you insist on "pitching to contact," I'm going to insist that you do so in the goddamn Pacific Coast League.
And one final note: I recognize that all of this is probably an academic discussion, since our purported "pitch to contact" guy CAN'T EVEN MANAGE TO THROW THE BALL OVER THE FUCKING PLATE ANYMORE. Seriously -- I've lived through this experience once before. The experience had a name: Glendon Rusch. Please don't make me do this again.