The Torpedo Bat: More Barrel, Same Sweet Spot
By Ken Cherryhomes
Preface
Over the last week, the Torpedo Bat has dominated headlines across MLB media outlets. With a sudden surge in home runs, glowing player testimonials, and the endorsement of a physicist credited with its design, it’s been framed as a potential breakthrough, a modern solution to an increasingly pitcher-dominated game.
But the public narrative has leaned almost entirely on surface metrics, anecdotes, and speculation. Little attention has been paid to the physics involved, the limitations of bat-ball collision dynamics, or the historical precedent already set by decades of pro-level bat evolution.
This article was written not in reaction to the hype, but in direct response to the claims driving it. It is not a dismissal of experimentation, nor is it an emotional rejection of new ideas. It is a technical analysis grounded in physics, hitting experience, and measurable outcomes.
The Torpedo Bat may be new in shape, but novelty is not a substitute for function. And when a claim begins to gain traction without a clear explanation of how it solves known constraints, it deserves a deeper look.
This is that look.
When Physics Meets the Field
There’s a lot of buzz surrounding the Torpedo Bat, a reimagined, flared barrel design that’s been spotted in MLB dugouts and featured in headlines across major sports media. It is being hailed as a breakthrough; a bat shaped like a bowling pin, designed by a physicist, and backed by early-season home run surges from some high-profile players. The story is moving fast, and the narrative is persuasive.
But marketing and momentum are not the same as validation, and hype is no substitute for physics.
I have not gotten my hands on a Torpedo Bat yet, so I’ll be working from reports, interviews, and published descriptions. Still, I have spent enough time studying the physics of bats and swings, both in the lab and on the field, to assess what the design does and does not do. If there is something revolutionary about the bat, I want to understand it; but if the change is more cosmetic than consequential, that matters too.
The Torpedo Bat may look different, but is it actually better? That is the question worth asking, not from the dugout and not just from the drawing board, but from the intersection where theory meets contact.
Let’s get into it.
More Barrel Does Not Mean More Sweet Spot
One of the core marketing perceptions surrounding the Torpedo Bat is that reshaping the barrel to create a larger, more pronounced impact zone results in more forgiving contact. This is what really confuses me. The only way contact is truly forgiven is when it’s made at the optimal region of the barrel.
And reshaped or extended barrels are nothing new. There have been plenty of models over the years with more surface. That adds length to the hitting area, not forgiveness.
The optimal collision region on any bat is referred to as its sweet spot. It is composed of the center of percussion and the vibrational node and generally resides in a small, fixed range, roughly six to seven inches from the barrel end. That region doesn’t grow. More surface does not mean more sweet spot. And when contact occurs outside that narrow region, the result is the same. Energy bleeds into the handle, vibration radiates through the hands, and exit velocity suffers. Shape and mass do not override physics.
What may change, however, and this is where things get interesting, is where that sweet spot ends up. The Torpedo Bat doesn’t claim to expand the sweet spot outright, but the language around it suggests something more subtle. By concentrating mass near the sweet spot, the area around it is implied to be more forgiving. But unless the added mass causes a shift in node location or the center of percussion, the physical penalties for mishits remain. If the mass distribution doesn’t change the collision profile, then any benefit must be perceptual. And perceptual advantages only matter if they change how a hitter swings, not how the bat behaves.
Yes, the Torpedo Bat is a new approach to changing the proportions of the barrel itself. It shifts weight away from the tip and concentrates it in a specific portion of the barrel, around six to seven inches from the end, which coincides with where the sweet spot typically resides. The barrel swells inward toward the hands, while the tip narrows, creating a silhouette that resembles a bowling pin and shifts weight closer to the handle. It is not evenly distributed. It is restructured. The goal is to place the maximum allowable wood budget into the optimal collision zone, while staying within bat regulations.
Still, this is where the physics breakdown occurred for me. I could see how this would affect the moment of inertia and shift the balance point inward, but I wasn’t seeing how that mass concentration improved contact or forgave mishits. Then I tested it. And I now understand the possibility. If the node moves, the effective collision zone moves with it. That doesn’t make the bat more forgiving. It just changes the penalty map.
This design alters the bat’s feel. By shifting weight inward and removing mass from the tip, the bat becomes more balanced than traditional end loaded models. That tradeoff produces quicker, not faster, swings and potentially greater control, but it does not eliminate the constraints of collision physics. More surface and weight concentration near the node may increase the odds of feeling better contact, but it does not expand the true margin for error. And while a quicker swing may be the payoff, it comes at a cost.
This is not theoretical. Distributing weight so it is not concentrated toward the end of the barrel has already been tested over decades in professional baseball with models like the Louisville Slugger M110. Originally made for Mickey Mantle, the M110 became one of the most widely adopted bats in history. Not because it promised more surface area, but because it offered balance, control, and durability. The M110 had a medium barrel, a thick handle, and evenly distributed mass. While its shape is nothing like the Torpedo Bat, both bats achieve a similar outcome. The center of mass shifts away from the barrel tip and toward the middle of the bat. This reduces the moment of inertia, allowing for easier swing initiation and better control, particularly for hitters who value precision over raw leverage.
The methods differ. The M110 spreads mass across the entire bat. The Torpedo concentrates it in a specific region. But the effect on moment of inertia is similar. And if the vibrational node does move with mass concentration, it could shift the feel of the sweet spot accordingly. That might explain why some hitters perceive forgiveness where none actually exists in the traditional sense.
A miss is still a miss. There is no such thing as free surface area. But there might be a bat that hides its cost better.
Tradeoffs of Moving Mass Toward the Middle
By shifting mass inward, toward the midsection of the bat, designers are creating a more balanced or mid-loaded profile. The result is a lower moment of inertia, which allows for quicker swing initiation and a more maneuverable feel. This is not inherently a flaw. It is a tradeoff that has long suited contact hitters who prioritize control over force.
But for power hitters, who depend on late acceleration and rotational whip, this redistribution creates a clear disadvantage.
End loaded bats generate torque. They delay the barrel’s acceleration but allow energy to build through the swing, releasing it at the point of contact. This lag-and-whip pattern produces higher angular velocity and contributes directly to higher exit speeds. When weight is pulled away from the end, that stored energy is diminished. The swing may be quicker, but it loses violence.
The Torpedo Bat appears to favor control over force. That may benefit certain hitters, particularly those who value adjustability inside the zone. But it is not a power tool. And it does not change the fundamental physics. The sweet spot remains narrow. The cost of a miss is still high. Collision efficiency still governs outcome.
And this is the critical point: nothing in the redistribution of mass, whether end loaded, mid-weighted, or structured like the Torpedo Bat, changes the penalty for a mishit. The sweet spot remains fixed in size and location. The physics of collision do not soften. A miss still punishes. Forgiveness, like a larger sweet spot, is not something you can sculpt into the barrel.
Mass Redistribution and the Death of Whip
Supporters of the Torpedo Bat argue that concentrating mass lower on the barrel, near the optimal contact zone, provides a better balance between bat speed and energy transfer. But the same tradeoff applies: control at the cost of whip. Whip is one of the key contributors to late bat acceleration and maximum exit velocity, and removing mass from the end robs the swing of it.
Historically, power hitters have understood this intuitively. Bats like the Louisville Slugger C271, with its two and one half inch barrel and weighted end, remain a staple among hitters seeking violence in the final ten inches of the swing. That shape generates whip, the lag and snap effect that delivers energy at the moment of truth. But it also lends itself to something else: lift. With a narrower barrel, the collision is more often tangential than flush. That slight offset creates backspin and trajectory, the kind that sends baseballs over fences.
Line drive hitters, by contrast, benefit from broader barrels like those of the C243. These offer more surface area and a greater chance of flush contact. The result is more square hits but fewer of the glancing collisions that generate lift.
The I13, a hybrid model that combines the handle of the C271 with the larger barrel of the C243, was used by Albert Pujols, who considered himself a line drive hitter. But Pujols was hardly a textbook example. His career numbers show elite power, high averages, and exceptional barrel control. What his bat choice really reflects is how elite pitch selection and a refusal to sell out for power can produce both power and consistency. The I13, with its large diameter barrel, offered the surface for flush contact and the mass distribution to drive the ball without compromising his intent. It was a perfect fit for a hitter committed to line drives but capable of punishing mistakes with authority, a blend of whip and surface that allowed for adjustability, not just brute force.
When I began working with Jeff Cirillo in the fall of 2004, he was using Louisville Slugger G174 and C271 models, both smaller barreled bats. They felt good in his hands, but they didn’t match his identity as a line drive hitter. The G174 carried too much weight toward the end for his approach, and the C271, while versatile, lacked the barrel volume needed to support his outcomes. I advised him to switch bats, not based on comfort, but on function. Once aligned with his true hitting identity, his results improved.
The same principle applies here. The Torpedo Bat may feel good, but if the hitter’s goals do not match the function of the bat, the benefit is illusory. Comfort is not a performance metric.
The Torpedo Bat claims to optimize this tradeoff by reallocating mass to the most frequent point of contact. But that strategy doesn’t change the physics of collision, only the feel of the swing.
What’s harder to reconcile is the logic being sold. More surface is being equated with better results, despite the universal understanding that misses outside the best contact zone reduce exit velocity. That contradiction is never addressed. The tradeoff between surface and whip has already played out. And hitters, overwhelmingly, have favored whip.
A Natural Geometry Hidden in Plain Sight
Some of the most effective bat profiles in baseball history reflect a principle that appears not to have been intentionally engineered, but discovered through repetition and refinement, an intuitive ‘happy accident.’ That’s how I see bat design: not theorized in a lab, but shaped by what performs over thousands of at-bats. The proportions of these bats often resemble a structure found throughout nature, known as the golden ratio.
I analyzed a G174 model used by Jeff Cirillo during his time with the Brewers. It is a variation of the C271, one of the most widely used models in professional baseball, but with a slightly elongated barrel and a modified handle. After mapping the center of oscillation and both vibrational nodes, the balance point landed 22 and two thirds inches from the knob and 11 and one third inches from the end of the barrel. These measurements align with the golden ratio, a proportion of roughly 1.618 found in everything from seashells to architecture to structural balance in tools and weapons.
These were not one-off prototypes. They were common models, refined by use and selected over time not for aesthetics but for function. The structure of these bats naturally divides into zones, one for control, one for whip, and one for collision. Hitters didn’t need to chase surface area, because the geometry already worked.
The takeaway is simple. Effective bat design doesn’t need to chase novelty. It emerges through convergence, when hitters, across years and thousands of at-bats, select what performs. The C271, the G174, and bats like them weren’t engineered with this geometry in mind, but they gravitated toward it because results demanded it.
The Torpedo Bat, by contrast, distorts that structure. It pushes mass inward, exaggerates the geometry, and shifts the bat away from what decades of elite hitters have already proven. It is not an evolution. It is a departure.
Nature has already solved for balance. If a new design is going to challenge that, it needs more than explanation. It needs proof.
Placebo Effects and the Post Hoc Trap
Much of the buzz around the Torpedo Bat has been fueled by anecdotal success. The Yankees’ early season power surge. Giancarlo Stanton’s postseason slugging. Players claiming the bat feels better or swings like their old bat, but better. These testimonials are loud, but they are not evidence.
Here’s the problem:
Player uses new bat, player hits well, bat gets credit.
That is a textbook post hoc fallacy.
No controlled testing. No A/B split. No counterfactual. Just narrative. And once players adopt a new tool, especially one that’s generating attention, there’s psychological incentive to believe it is working. Add the timing of a few hot games, and it becomes gospel.
Placebo effects in baseball are common. Bat feel or visual profile can alter perception. But subjective feel does not change physical performance unless it alters actual mechanics. If a hitter times a pitch well and catches it square, the bat benefits. If he doesn’t, no amount of cosmetic rebalancing will save the result.
If the mass distribution doesn’t change the collision profile or sweet spot physics, then the performance gains must be perceptual. And perceptual advantages only matter if they change how a hitter swings, not how the ball behaves.
The real test is not whether a few hitters had success. The real test is whether this design solves for performance constraints across hitter profiles and within the laws of physics. So far, that evidence does not exist. The perception of performance is doing all the work here, not the physics.
A Novel Shape, Not a New Physics
The Torpedo Bat may find its place in a specific niche, among players who prioritize control, maneuverability, and surface area over whip and acceleration. For that type of hitter, the redistribution of mass might suit their swing profile.
But the assumption that more barrel surface leads to better results ignores a critical constraint. The sweet spot remains fixed in both size and position. More contact does not mean better contact, and reshaping the bat does not rewrite the physics of the collision. More contact is the result of better swing decisions, not bat mass distribution.
The bat’s moment of inertia is lower. The sweet spot remains narrow. Vibrational penalties are still real. More surface does not mean more effective contact. And like many products in baseball’s long history of bat fads, this one may settle into the bin of situationally useful, not revolutionary.
It is not a cheat code. It is not a physics hack. It is a different silhouette, but conceptually similar to the M110: balanced, mid weighted, and built for control. It offers a different profile than the current trend, with different tradeoffs, not a different set of laws.
And as always, the barrel still has to meet the ball, at the right place, at the right time, with a bat that fits the hitter’s swing and intent.
That is not solved with shape. It is solved with skill.