The Infield Shift ban, three seasons later…

It was late. A single desk lamp cast long shadows across the large office, illuminating a stack of papers—spray charts, groundball averages, fan engagement metrics. The numbers were grim. The game was bleeding singles.

A knock. The door creaked open.

“Sir,” said the aide, breathless. “We’ve run the simulations. The shift… it’s killing offense. Left-handed hitters are down 12%. Groundball batting average is at .208. The fans are restless. The broadcasters are using words like ‘aesthetic erosion.’”

Commissioner Manfred didn’t look up. He already knew.

Another voice, older, gravelly: “There’s only one thing left to do.”

A silence fell. The air grew heavy.

“That’s madness,” whispered someone near the window. “You can’t just… ban geometry.”

The commissioner stood and walked slowly to the window. He looked out over the city, where the lights from ballparks flickered like distant memories.

“Do it,” he said, voice low. “Ban the shift.”

He returned to his desk, sat down, and hung his head—not in defeat, but in the quiet resignation of a man who had just altered the course of history.

Okay so the actual way the shift was banned went a little differently. it was because of a vote. A very modern kind of drama—less torchlit decree, more committee consensus.

In reality, the shift ban was passed by MLB’s 11-member competition committee in 2022, as part of a broader effort to increase offensive action and restore traditional aesthetics to the game. The rule officially took effect in the 2023 season, alongside other changes like the pitch clock and larger bases. Commissioner Rob Manfred framed the shift restriction as a way to “improve pace of play, increase action, and reduce injuries”—a nod to both fan sentiment and internal analytics. Here is the rule:

• Two infielders must be positioned on each side of second base when the pitch is delivered.
• All infielders must have both feet on the infield dirt—no shallow outfield roving.
• Violations result in either a ball added to the count or the offense accepting the play outcome.

At the time, many expected big changes. Or at least, I can find plenty of examples of people who did. Take Johnny Lasanga, for instance, who tweeted in late 2022:

Now, nearly three seasons later, I thought it might be fun to look at the numbers and see if that’s true.

Of course, numbers only tell part of the story. Is there a mental aspect to being a left-handed hitter and seeing every infielder stacked on your pull side? I’d venture to say yes. That kind of visual insult—being told by the defense that they don’t believe you can hit the other way—has to get in your head.

But let’s start with what we can quantify.

Let’s start with the league-wide groundball batting average (GB AVG)—the stat most directly impacted by infield positioning if you ask me.

Some observations:

• Groundball rate is slowly declining, from 43.85% in 2019 to 42.30% in 2025. That suggests hitters may be elevating more, regardless of shift rules.
• Pull-side groundballs remain steady, even slightly increasing post-ban. This could mean hitters are still pulling grounders at the same rate—but now they’re more likely to sneak through.
• Opposite-field groundballs are rare, and haven’t changed much. The shift ban didn’t suddenly make hitters go oppo more often.

One caveat: this data reflects all qualified hitters, not just left-handed ones. While groundball rates for lefties have stayed relatively in line with league averages, isolating hit rates by handedness is more difficult. The splits aren’t always publicly available, and even when they are, they’re often buried in team-level or proprietary datasets. I did spot-check a few left-handed hitters—Anthony Rizzo among them—and didn’t find a conclusive difference in groundball outcomes before and after the shift ban. That doesn’t mean no one benefited, but it does suggest that the impact may be more anecdotal than universal.

Observations

• Post-shift ban (2023–2025), the groundball hit rate has hovered between 25.1% and 25.8%—almost identical to pre-ban levels.
• 2024 saw the highest rate (25.80%), but it’s a marginal increase, not a breakthrough.
• 2025’s rate (25.11%) is nearly identical to 2020 and 2022, suggesting any gains may have plateaued—or been offset by defensive adjustments.

Despite the fanfare surrounding the shift ban, groundball hit rates remain stubbornly consistent. The data suggests that while the rule may have helped a few lefty pull hitters, the league as a whole absorbed the change without flinching. Much like it absorbed the DH, the universal DH, the bigger bases, the pitch clock, and most other rules once feared to drastically alter the game, this too became just another ripple in baseball’s long tide of adaptation.

Baseball, like a river, reshapes its banks slowly. The shift ban was a stone tossed in—but the current barely changed. The game absorbed it, as it has absorbed so many reforms before and certainly will for many in the future. Each was heralded as a tectonic shift, yet the landscape remains familiar. The rhythm of groundballs finding gloves, of defenders repositioning instinctively, persists. Change in baseball is rarely revolution—it’s erosion. And even when the rules shift overnight, the culture bends gradually, if at all. The rhythm of the game—its quiet resistance to disruption—endures. If change is coming, it won’t be in the rules. It’ll be in the players who learn to bend them.

Happy Sunday!