Best of BP 2025: What Makes For a Good Changeup?

What do you think pitching is more closely related to, science or art?

In the modern baseball game, this question, which once had a universal answer, is a loaded one. It’s easy to understand why. We’ve never had a better grasp of how and why pitches move, how to make them move, and how to tailor an offering to an individual athlete’s preferences. The evolution of biomechanics is leading to more brutally efficient mechanics that extract every last tick of velocity out of a pitcher’s body. We also have piles of data regarding batter tendencies, swing planes, what hitters can and can’t do damage against, and practically anything that might contribute to success. Modern pitching development is an assembly line in all but name.

And yet, for as much as we try, changeups seem to be the one pitch type that escapes us in some ways. It’s well documented that many public-facing pitch rating systems have trouble evaluating them. Some changeups perform very well in-game, but a model might not like them; some changeups don’t generate great results, but models think highly of them. There’s a barrier of entry of sorts to the world of the changeup, a halo of mystery around this offering that clouds our perspective.

Part of it has to do with how difficult it can be to learn, due to the need for “feel” and gentle manipulation, skills that don’t always come naturally. (Think of how many fastball-breaking ball relievers there are in pro ball as opposed to fastball-changeup ones.) The other is that deception is tricky to quantify even with our modern tools. It’s a lot more comforting for any evaluator—myself included—to look at a slider and think it plays. Changeups are different. But are they really that different? Or can we find some general rules to go by?

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The secret to achieving changeup success is very simple: throw a nasty one, throw it a lot, and you’re good.

Few pitchers in baseball exemplify this thinking as well as current Tigers reliever Tommy Kahnle, now a veteran who’s been in the majors since 2014. Kahnle is probably most known for his multiple stints as a member of the New York Yankees, but he’s also made a name for himself in recent years as one of the most unique and extreme pitchers in the majors, and his changeup is at the very heart of his identity as a hurler.

Kahnle doesn’t throw quite as hard as he used to prior to his TJ surgery in 2020, but if his changeup’s effectiveness was supposed to have dipped as a result, it hasn’t noticed yet. Over the past four years, batters have slashed a measly .159/.229/.284 against it and whiffed on 35.9% of swings. The right-hander not only has good command of his best weapon, he also generates great bite, taking spin off the ball at good velocity. (The spin profile resembles that of a splitter’s.) And even when it finds wood, Kahnle’s changeup delivers, generating one poorly-hit grounder after another. It’s also his best put-away pitch:

On a full count, George Springer knows this is coming; about 80% of Kahnle’s 3-2 pitches over the last three years have been changeups. And yet, like so many others, he still can’t quite stop himself from chasing after that enticing carrot, highlighting one of the changeup’s best traits: its inevitability, which plays such a large role in its appeal. There’s something satisfying about watching the best hitters in the world flailing way out in front of a good cambio, even while knowing their opponent throws it very often and they have to stay back on it. It’s like an older sibling holding out a candy bar, only to then lift it beyond your reach as soon as you make an attempt to reach your prize.

Kahnle’s had batters believing they can attain the sweet reward of a hittable pitch for a very long time, and every year he keeps raising his arm up just a little higher beyond their reach. As his fastball has gone from the 96-98 range to now being parked right around 93 mph, he’s leaned on his equalizer more and more, eventually getting to the point where he opens up room for a philosophical debate.

Can it really be called a changeup if you throw it so much more than your fastball?

This is what we call an outlier. Since coming back from major injury in 2022, Kahnle has thrown 1904 pitches in MLB games as of the time of writing; 75.7% of them have been changeups. Among pitchers who’ve been in the big leagues for more than just a brief cup of coffee in that span, the only other hurler to comfortably clear the 50% mark is Devin Williams (55.7%) with his famous “airbender” changeup. Very few even clear the 40% mark. And again, this raises the question: can this even be considered a proper changeup, or should we have a different name for a pitch like this?

We think of changeups as pitches that require setup, offerings that need a jab in front of them in order to land a knockout blow. Kahnle proves this theory wrong and puts his own on the table, simple and efficient; my changeup is my best pitch, so I’m going to throw it more than anything else I have. It’s an approach that is cold and pragmatic in its lack of complexity. You can almost see the modern era and their altars to the deities of rate performance lurking in the background. The biting grip of science has finally found its way to the ethereal art of the changeup.

And yet, Kahnle’s changeup is also artistic, because while he doesn’t throw his fastball very often, he’ll show it just barely enough to get batters thinking. It’s a tightrope act, a constant leap of faith that requires tremendous feel and consistency. Changeups are notoriously “feel” pitches—one day you have a great one, the next you don’t. Tommy Kahnle can’t afford those off days, and it is his mastery of one of baseball’s great equalizers that makes him just as much a scientist as he is an artist. You may know that he’s going to throw you one, but Kahnle and his nasty changeup are so in tune with one another that you won’t do much but head back to the dugout with a grimace.

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The secret to achieving changeup success is very simple: keep batters off-balance by not showing it very often. A complementary role is what suits this pitch best—it’s called a changeup for a reason, isn’t it?

Few pitchers in baseball exemplify this thinking better than Red Sox ace Garrett Crochet. The lefty is one of the most dominant hurlers in the game right now thanks to his overwhelming fastball-cutter-slider combination, which he uses to carve up hitters at will. And yet, for all his power stuff and success, his changeup has actually been his best-performing pitch over the last two seasons. Confined exclusively to usage against right-handers, batters have mustered up only a .146/.163/.229 slash line against it, whiffing on nearly 40% of all swings and hitting the ball as if they were swinging a foam bat.

However, despite the results, Crochet’s changeup doesn’t really stand out by the metrics. He doesn’t take spin off the ball like Kahnle, so while he does manage to generate some tail on it, it can float a little at times. On paper, it doesn’t look like a pitch that should make batters look foolish. And yet, it does:

Ryan Jeffers has a damage count here—a ball and no strikes, one out, two on in a game where a big swing can really turn things around for his team. After missing with a fastball away on the first pitch, Crochet and catcher Carlos Narváez decide to go with a changeup, possibly looking for a roll-over and a double play. It’s not a bad idea, if you can execute. Crochet doesn’t quite manage that, pulling it just enough to have it end up on the inner third and over the plate. A hitter looking for this probably puts a dent in a car on the other side of the Green Monster, but Jeffers, who is a good hitter, takes it instead, letting a precious hittable strike go. Crochet would end up getting out of the inning with no damage done. What happened here?

The reason that pitch was a net positive, and the reason why a fairly unremarkable-looking changeup at a first glance garners such incredible results, lies in both its rarity and how it complements the rest of Crochet’s stuff. As mentioned before, Crochet mainly throws a fastball and a cutter—he manipulates the latter into bigger or smaller shapes—and often pitches right-handers inside. He doesn’t throw too many two-seamers against righties, either, which means that the overwhelming majority of what they see is either straight or moving towards them. His changeup is only used sparingly, around 7% of the time against righties.

This is a common approach. It’s also why Jeffers took a changeup that was begging to be launched into orbit. I’m sure that you saw him pull his hips back, as if he thought that changeup was going to hit him, and he had good reason to think something that started in was going to either stay hard and straight, or bend even further towards him. That radical change of speed and movement is also what creates swings like this one from Mark Vientos:

That’s 0-1, so you need to be at least a little selective, but Vientos sees something that starts where a hittable fastball or a cutter usually would and pulls the trigger—by the time he realizes he’s been fooled and tries to hold up, he can no longer avoid the second strike. And there’s the beauty, the art of the unexpected that makes Crochet’s changeup work. He’s vastly different to Tommy Kahnle, yet they’re both the same; artists who find a way to disrupt timing and rhythm in their own unique ways; scientists who’ve found the precise weapon to incorporate to their arsenal in their quest to demolish MLB hitters.

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So far we’ve talked mainly about usage and general strategy, and have found two wildly different approaches yield equally spectacular results. This is fascinating but doesn’t really help us, given that we’re looking for general rules for changeup success. Maybe we need to dig a little deeper—what about movement? How should you throw a changeup? There are as many changeup grips and tips for perfecting them as plankton in the sea, but surely we can find at least one avenue that seems more enticing than the others, right?

Well, the secret to achieving changeup success is very simple: kill backspin on the ball, and you’re golden.

Few pitchers in baseball exemplify this thinking better than White Sox starter Shane Smith, who’s in the midst of a breakout rookie campaign at age 25 thanks in large part to his exceptional “kick-changeup”, a visceral power changeup that has been gaining ìn popularity over the last calendar year or so. The term is widely attributed to pitching lab Tread Athletics, and like the rising fastball, sweeper, and the splitter before it, the kick-change has become a buzzy offering. Many have either flirted with it or outright added one to their repertoire, including new Mets starter Clay Holmes. Shane Smith throws a remarkable one:

Some great changeups are pleasing due to their gracefulness, which speaks to the artistic side of the game of baseball; how, in a game that’s all about throwing and swinging hard, throwing a slow pitch on purpose can be incredibly effective. Shane Smith’s changeup has nothing to do with that. Instead, it’s a violent—and no less gorgeous—power changeup with wicked late bite. This is 2025 baseball at its most breathtaking; a product of hard-working, talented athletes receiving the right information, in conjunction with some of the best and brightest minds in the world of pitch design, an industry that is always looking ahead for the next best thing.

But how does Smith throw this kick-change, exactly? How does he get his ball to snap so violently as it approaches home plate while still retaining so much velocity? He does average about 95 mph, after all, but his changeup is only five ticks off his fastball. He beats hitters with movement, not gracefulness. But how?

The answer lies in the “killing backspin” concept I referred to earlier. When a pitcher throws a baseball, he can impart different types of spin on the ball; backspin is one of them. Because a pitch thrown with backspin—think of a rising fastball, spinning backwards out of the hand—will essentially “fight” against gravity, removing this sort of spin on the ball when throwing a changeup is crucial in order to make sure that the cambio actually has movement. Changeups with too much backspin will often float and remain straight, lacking the bite to dip beneath barrels. The really bad changeups with this sort of issue are essentially batting practice fastballs we all can picture.

Smith, then, does a terrific job of removing backspin from the baseball. On average, his changeup sits just under one inch of induced vertical movement, way lower than average. This eliminates a lot of lift on the ball, creating the biting movement you saw from Shane Smith. The full explanation of the “kick-change” is out of scope of this piece, but the name comes from the grip, which involves a slightly spiked middle finger that enables the hurler to “kick” the ball’s spin direction down from a vertical, back-spinning axis to a more horizontal, side-spinning one. It’s a scientific marvel that creates results: over the last two seasons, changeups with one or less inches of induced vertical break have generated a .221/.270/.322 slash line and 32.2% whiff rate against, as well as excellent groundball rates.

Not too shabby, then, is that science. But is that the only way to do this?

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The secret to achieving changeup success is very simple: deception and velocity differential from your fastball are your best friends. Forget about this modern stuff and go with the classic of making your changeup look like a fastball, I say.

Few pitchers in baseball exemplify this thinking better than Guardians hurler Joey Cantillo. The Hawaiian lefty debuted in 2024 and has been working out of the bullpen this year, relying heavily on his classic fastball-changeup pairing and striking out 28.4% of batters faced so far. Throughout his brief MLB career, his changeup has posted a comical 44.4% whiff rate—four out of every nine swings—and a .205/.287/.295 slash line, along with some of the softest contact numbers in baseball. Cantillo eats righties’ lunch with it, but will throw it to lefties as well; any count, any situation.

However, unlike the other pitchers we’ve seen so far, Cantillo is not a hard thrower. In fact, he averages just under 92 mph, and while his huge frame and elite extension down the mound make his fastball play up a little, he’s far from a power pitcher. Cantillo is the classic lefty package, with a solid fastball, a huge, slow curveball, and an excellent changeup. (If his command improves, his change will help him pitch in the majors for a decade.) Let’s take a look at him in action against Oswaldo Cabrera:

First pitch fastball, Cantillo misses inside. For a guy who throws 92, falling behind is never great, but the left-hander has a changeup that most guys simply don’t possess. Note not only how well he sells it, but also how little his change actually moves. Will it matter?

With a 1-0 count, Cabrera is obviously looking to hook something. When he sees a pitch that starts around middle-in, his eyes light up and he takes a massive hack, only to come up empty and nearly fall over due to how early he was on a beauty of a 78 mph changeup. This is 14 mph off his fastball on average, an enormous difference from the ruthless power changeup we saw from Shane Smith not that long ago. Nevertheless, the result is just as remarkable, and Cantillo easily gets himself back into the count.

When we talked about how Shane Smith removes backspin from the ball, we noted how important it is to make sure that a changeup doesn’t “float.” Cantillo breaks the mold completely, as he generates an average of around 12 inches of induced vertical break (IVB) on his changeup, only five less than his fastball, which will track if you saw how small the movement difference really is. This is the platonic ideal of a pure, classic changeup. From the big velocity gap to the subtle movement, it’s all there—and Cantillo is not the only big leaguer with an excellent changeup of this profile. Royals ace and punchout extraordinaire Cole Ragans throws an eerily similar changeup to Cantillo (12 inches of IVB as well), and other names like John Means, Tyler Anderson and Drew Thorpe will surely ring a bell.

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We keep running into the same problem, don’t we? We just went over four different changeups from four different pitchers, each one a different archetype, and all of them were awesome! Kahnle throws his a ton like it’s a primary offering; it succeeds. Crochet throws his sparingly, as a peripheral complement to his bread and butter; it succeeds. Smith throws an aggressive, lab-designed, power changeup that removes backspin at an elite level; it succeeds. Cantillo throws a stereotypical (complimentary) lefty changeup built on deception and velocity differential; it succeeds. What are we to make of this?

I’m afraid to report that some of this piece’s premise was a well-intentioned lie. The fact of the matter is that, when it comes to changeups, there is no secret ingredient. I could try to sort through the data, find splits, and come away with the takeaway that a very specific sort of changeup is the answer for everyone, but that would be missing the point altogether. The beauty of the off-speed pitch is that it marries modern science and pitch design with the intangible and difficult to measure, and does so better than just about anything else in baseball.

The next time you watch a ballgame and a pitcher is trying to change speeds, I would recommend trying to follow the process, because that is half the fun. There are as many good—whether already existing or in concept—changeups as there are good pitchers. And every time you turn on a game, one of those acts of sorcery is going to be there, waiting for you to uncover it.