How a clock – and a free-swinging kid from Jersey – saved the Home Run Derby

CINCINNATI – Clocks are supposed to be baseball's mortal enemy, forbidden at the ballpark, where time is immaterial, the game unfolding at its own pace. Baseball, of course, enjoys little more than holding onto its history and traditions until they're relics, and the introduction of the between-innings clock this year paved the way for an unexpected occurrence Monday night: a clock saved the Home Run Derby.

Absent a Josh Hamilton reckoning, the Derby had fallen into a stale stasis, a few minutes of oohs and aahs yielding to a few hours of the same … thing … over … and over. Small tinkering in past years lent little improvement, so baseball this year overhauled the whole thing and watched its finest Derby since Hamilton took New York in 2008 and one of its best ever.

Almost certainly that wouldn't be the case if Todd Frazier hadn't stormed Great American Ball Park with the backing of 43,587 fans who cheer him daily as one of the only things on the Cincinnati Reds worth cheering. The symbiosis of Frazier and the clock was perfect: It pushed him and he pushed it, ramping up the drama, tamping up the enjoyment and crescendoing with a memorable Derby victory over Los Angeles Dodgers rookie Joc Pederson, whose performance was nearly as impressive as Frazier's.

In the new format, eight participants were bracketed for one-on-one matchups against other players. Rather than 10 outs, each player was given four minutes of swings, an all-you-can-hack buffet that included one timeout for breath-catching. Whacking two home runs at least 425 feet added 30 seconds of bonus time at the end.

Frazier needed just about every second. His 14 home runs in the first round pushed him past Texas DH Prince Fielder, eliminated despite 13 homers, the second most in the round. The next round was even better. With 11 seconds left, Frazier deposited a home run to center field that tied Toronto third baseman Josh Donaldson. And as the clock hit triple-zero, his round-winning home run landed in left-center field.

All of it set up a perfect finale, Frazier swinging at pitches from his older brother Charlie, the crowd working itself into a frenzy, the clock ticking, a referendum there for him to see.

"Felt like a little kid out there sometimes," Frazier said, "in the back yard swinging at everything."

That's what the Home Run Derby is supposed to be, after all. And while it's too early to say the clock saved the Derby – that might be taking credit due Frazier and assigning it to something that benefited by proxy – the format unquestionably beat that of the past. It helped, too, that MLB cut the rounds from five minutes to four because it feared severe weather that never materialized. The four-minute rounds were a perfect test of endurance, Frazier trying to pack in 36 swings during the allotted time.

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Considering Pederson's finals performance, Frazier worried it might not be enough. After going nearly a minute without a homer to start the last round, Pederson hit six straight, his left-handed pull power evident with the 450-foot-plus shots he launched all night. After his 4½ minutes, Pederson finished with 14 home runs, the number of a player whose place in Cincinnati lore is unrivaled.

"I was thinking – honestly, this is true – that's Pete Rose," Frazier said. "I can't let him down. I was really thinking about that."

Little by little, Frazier chipped away at Pederson's lead. The clock was his enemy, taunting him, imploring him. Charlie's arm was tiring – "At the end, last minute," he said, "I really can't feel my arm" – but he kept throwing, dotting pitches down the middle for his brother, who faltered in last year's Derby finals. This one was more suited for him, and when the clock flashed 15 seconds and Frazier trailed 14-12, he wanted at least one more home run in regulation. He hit two, and his 30 bonus seconds felt like a fait accompli.

"I knew it was basically over after that," Frazier said. "I get 30 seconds, I get at least five, six swings, I'm going to get at least one."

On the letter-high first pitch, Frazier unleashed his buggy-whip right handed swing, the same one he used for 25 home runs and more extra-base hits than any major leaguer in the first half this season. And as the ball flew into the night, Frazier jumped around to celebrate his walk-off homer, the crowd roared for him and Frank Sinatra serenaded him with "My Way."

Frazier, 29, was born and raised in New Jersey, went to college there and still proudly represents it. Still, the love Cincinnati showered on him for being just the second hometown player to win the Derby and the first since Ryne Sandberg in 1990 was evident. All night, they chanted: "Frazier! Frazier! Frazier!" His walk-off homer against Fielder elicited the sort of pop rarely seen from a Cincinnati crowd grown apathetic toward its Reds.

The brightest light is Frazier, who along with Joey Votto could be the only big-name pieces that remain in Cincinnati after the trade deadline. It's a harrowing time here, and for at least one night, Frazier could hold up a mock WWE championship belt, given to him by Adam Jones, and make Cincinnati feel like it had a champion.

In the hallway, still basking in the afterglow, Frazier ran into Mike Trout, a fellow Jersey native. Trout hugged him and offered congratulations. Charlie Frazier than enveloped Trout in an even deeper bear hug and grinned. "We did it!" he said.

They had. The Frazier boys won themselves a Derby, and in the perfect place. And Major League Baseball, long searching for some antidote to its Derby malaise, seemed to find a strong alternative to the slop of recent years. The clock ticked, ran down and as the buzzer went off, it was obvious: This night was a winner.

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