S4 Initial Power Rankings

Richard Castle - contributing reporter

Ladies and gentlemen, baseball romantics, and those of you who read these rankings purely out of spite—welcome back. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Long enough that I half-expected to return and find the league replaced by robots, scandals, or a shocking midseason plot twist involving identical twins. But no—Hardball Stitches is alive, dramatic as ever, and finally ready to unveil the very first power rankings of Season 4.

Now, early-season rankings are a bit like first chapters: wildly misleading, full of red herrings, and guaranteed to break someone’s heart by page ten. But that’s the fun of it. New contenders rise from the shadows, old favorites stumble out of the gate, and at least one team inevitably insists, “We’re better than our record.” Sure, and I’m a quiet, subtle writer who hates attention.

But enough preamble. The scene is set, the suspects are assembled, and the plot is already thickening faster than a New York cheesecake. So grab your magnifying glass—or your popcorn. Season 4’s story begins now, and trust me… you’re going to want to read every word.

• Best Record
• Fargo Mud Dogs
• 2nd Best
• Baltimore IronBirds & Trenton Thunderbolts
• 3rd Best
• Boston Act As If Afflects
• 4th Best
• St Louis Archers
• 5th Best
• Syracuse Firebirds & Texas Toast

But for now, let's talk about expected wins - or, in other words, how teams SHOULD be playing. Are some squads punching above their weight class? Are others underperforming like a blockbuster flop? Time to separate reality from illusion. 

.736 - Trenton Thunderbolts (NL-N Champ)

.679 - Boston 'Act As If' Afflects (AL Wildcard 1) & Baltimore IronBirds (AL-E Champ)

.675 - Fargo Mud Dogs (AL-N Champ)

.629 - St. Louis Archers (NL-E Champ)

.609 - Texas Toast (AL-S Champ)

.600 - Chicago Northsiders (NL Wildcard 1)

.583 - Buffalo Bomb Squad & Montgomery Fightins

.541 - Syracuse Firebirds (AL Wildcard 2)

.540 - Tucson Road Runners (NL-W Champ)

.536 - San Antonio Yo-Yo Bros Yo (NL Wildcard 2)

.512 - Cincinnati Redlegs

.495 - Fresno Romans

.493 - Mexico City Luchadors

.491 - New Orleans Voodoo

.489 - Tacoma Armada 

.485 - Vancouver Blue Heron

.477 - New York Pizza Rats

.467 - Colorado Springs Ranchers

.463 - Durham Corgis

.462 - Indianapolis Speedsters 

.458 - Nashville Hot (NL-S Champ)

.426 - Philadelphia Hooligans

.411 - Rochester Mighty Flour Mills

.398 - Los Angeles Labradors (AL-W Champ)

.391 - Scottsdale Sazeracs

.378 - Louisville Bourbon Chasers

.362 - Helena Highlanders

.352 - Salt Lake City Trappers

.324 - Arizona Canyon Kings

.316 - Charlotte Intimidators 

The dreaded list

 
Team                            On Pace Wins    Expect Win %

Salt Lake City Trappers       45 W                57 W

Arizona Canyon Kings        53 W                53 W

S4 The Six-Tier Mirage: Dispatches from the International Frontier

Eli Cash - contributing reporter

I was sitting in a hotel bar in Santo Domingo when the first whispers came through the ceiling fan — the kind of whispers that smell like ambition and motor oil. Six tiers. Six layers of the economic afterlife. A new system to measure what a team can spend on hope, or at least the version of hope that throws ninety-seven and can hit a curveball in the dark. The bartender told me the tiers were supposed to make things “fair.” I told him fairness is a rumor spread by accountants.

Tier One rides tall — these are the desert kings, the oil scions, the men who believe the world was built so they could sign it. Their checkbooks glint like machetes in the sun. They don’t scout — they summon. You can almost hear the laughter of the gods when they announce a $5 million bonus for a kid who hasn’t yet learned to shave. I envy them in the way one might envy a thunderstorm: destructive, inevitable, and somehow poetic.

Indianapolis 

Tier Two is not so rich in blood or gold, but they still carry a certain nobility — like the second son of a forgotten dynasty, sipping flat champagne in the shadow of empire. These teams still dream big, but they have to dream clever. They talk about “market inefficiencies” as if that’s a kind of faith. I’ve seen their scouts sleeping in airports, translating potential into per diem receipts. There’s a sadness in it, but also a kind of quiet art.

Charlotte

Salt Lake City

Fresno

Tier Three lives in the gray — what I call the philosophical middle class of baseball. They can afford to gamble, but only on a horse that’s already half-broken. These are the teams who find poetry in the waiver wire, who believe every $600,000 shortstop from Caracas might just be the key to eternal life. I respect their delusion. I share it.

Tacoma

Philadelphia

Helena

Baltimore

Arizona

Durham

Vancouver

Tier Four is where the mirage starts to fade. They wander the same desert as the rest, but their canteens are dry. You’ll hear their GMs talk about “development focus,” “internal growth,” and “strategic restraint.” I’ve used all those phrases myself, usually right before my editor stops returning calls. They don’t buy players — they rent dreams. Sometimes the dreams come due. Usually they don’t.

Cincinnati

Rochester

Scottsdale

Colorado Springs

Texas

Tier Five… well, these are the haunted ones. They’re the teams whose fax machines still hum with regret. They know the numbers, the limitations, the futility of their chase, and yet they show up at the market anyway — like a man showing up to a duel with a pocketknife and a poem. I admire their courage, though it often looks like confusion. Somewhere deep down, they must believe that destiny still accepts credit.

Chicago

Boston

Tucson

Trenton

Nashville

Los Angeles

Montgomery

New York

Louisville

And then there’s Tier Six. The forgotten pilgrims. The ones who watch the whole show from the cheap seats of history. Their budgets are smaller than the tip line at Tier One’s team dinner. Yet somehow, they persist — the monks of the market, trading faith instead of funds. Maybe they’ll find a kid out there who doesn’t care about money, just the smell of leather and red dirt. Maybe they won’t. Either way, they’ll tell themselves it’s noble.

Buffalo

San Antonio

New Orleans

Mexico City

Fargo

St Louis

Syracuse

Because that’s the trick, isn’t it? The market isn’t about money — it’s about mythology. Every team believes it’s building a legend. Every scout believes he’s found a ghost. Every general manager thinks he’s outsmarted gravity. But in the end, they all wake up in the same heat, under the same sky, staring at the same mirage that keeps the whole thing moving.

I left the bar that night and walked out into the alley behind the stadium. A kid was throwing a ball against a rusted fence — barefoot, balanced on dreams alone. I asked him what tier he thought he belonged to. He shrugged and said, “The one that signs me.”

Maybe that’s the only truth there is. The tiers are just scaffolding. The rest is dust and destiny.