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Hancock: A BCS Defense

Bill Hancock is executive director of the BCS. I asked him to write a short defense of the BCS.

* * *

College football is flourishing. Eager fans are flocking to stadiums across the country. Folks are watching on television like never before.

The sport is decidedly healthy. There’s no reason to monkey with it.

Under the BCS arrangement, fans are enthralled as teams battle each week for bowl berths, including a spot in the prestigious national championship game. Bowl games provide a rewarding week in the spotlight, and create memories that athletes, others will cherish for the rest of their lives.

The regular season is the most exciting of any sport’s. In college football, the focus is broad; it shines on all teams and it grabs the nation’s attention from September through November. A fan cannot tune out—not even for one magnificent Saturday afternoon—because he or she would surely miss some shocking, surprising and meaningful event.

This magical three-month joy ride is followed by a unique, rewarding and captivating post-season. The BCS preserves and enhances the bowl games, which provide opportunities for thousands of students and other fans to enjoy post-season play.

The players like the BCS arrangement. When ESPN asked 135 college football student-athletes from all 11 FBS conferences whether they preferred three years in the current BCS-and-bowls system for their careers, or one shot at a playoff, some 70 percent chose the current plan.

Coaches like the BCS arrangement: in a survey by the American Football Coaches Association, 93 percent of FBS head coaches said they prefer the traditional bowl system to a playoff.

Why? Each person has his own reasons. It’s easy to identify a few. Coaches and players love the multi-day bowl experience. They also believe a 13 or 14 games are enough. They know that this model works best within the structure of higher education.

The BCS provides important annual support for every Division I football conference—both the Bowl Subdivision and its smaller cousin, the Championship Subdivision.

The BCS has created unprecedented access for all schools to the BCS bowl games. Teams outside the current automatic-qualifying conferences played in those four bowl games six times in the half-century years before the BCS; they have played in the games six times in the past six seasons.

The BCS is working extremely well. It enhances the spectacular regular season while maintaining the warm and cherished bowl arrangement. Why mess with success?

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Death to the BCS: A Eulogy (and update)

“You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well-known is this: Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!”

— Vizzini in “The Princess Bride

* **

As it turns out, I know all three of the authors of the new book “Death to the BCS,” and because I do, I know that none of them is Sicilian. Despite this small inconvenience, I can still say without hesitation you don’t want to go in against them when death is on the line.

“Death to the BCS,” in case the title does not quite give it away, is not a desert cookbook. It’s also not a measured look at the current Bowl Championship Series system that selects 10 teams to play in five high-profile bowl games, including two teams for a BCS national championship game. The book is also not a carefully considered examination of college football and the, er, unique way it attempts to determine a national champ.

No, that’s not what authors Dan Wetzel, Jeff Passan and Josh Peter are going for here. This here is a rant, a metal chair to the head, a no-holds barred, no-mercy, none-dare-call-it-treason tirade — J’Accuse for jocks. If they could have, you get the sense that the authors would have nailed this book on the doors of every college president in America.

This sentence, taken from the introduction, more or less describes the tone of the book:

“So for now the BCS survives, a roach amid a typhoon of Raid, emanating coldness, ignoring the measured consideration of old coaching icons and dismissing fans’ bellows. Even the unyielding push of common sense is held off with mistruths and misdirection that turn the entire issue into a river or red herrings.”

Yes, this is what they are going for — page after page after page of hitting the BCS in the head with garbage cans. There is a theory I’ve heard from prosecuting attorneys that what you want to do in an argument is present the opposing point of view as fervently and honestly as possible and then tear it apart. This is absolutely NOT what “Death to the BCS” does. The arguments for the BCS are not presented with much enthusiasm here. But the arguments that the BCS is corrupt, emotionally bankrupt, unsporting, unwilling to cash in a $750 million annual payday so that all the power remains in the hands of few are all made with great relish and great power.

And while this may not make the book fair, it certainly makes the book a lot of fun to read and and as irresistible as a caged match. Poll after poll shows a vast majority of college football fans — 90% and higher — despise the BCS, and the basic concept of picking two teams for a national championship using awkward polling and highly questionable computer rankings. Many college football fans have been longing for a voice, preferably a voice at the top of its lungs, shouting down the injustice and unreasonableness of this system. “Death to the BCS” is that voice.

I cannot go into all the arguments of the book here — you’ll really need to buy the book and read for yourself — but I have chosen three of its most powerful. And then I follow up by talking about the “Death to the BCS” playoff solution, and my one beef with the book.

D2BCS Argument 1: The BCS argument that the current system gives us sports best regular season is a garbage argument.

I have to admit that, as a sports fan, I’ve had some affinity for the BCS argument that the college football season is the most meaningful in American sports. We all know the NBA and NHL regular seasons are a $5 cab ride from worthless. College basketball games in November and December are fun but relatively without meaning. The NFL season is significantly better but still tenuous enough that good teams will rest their starters at the end of the season. The baseball season is 162 games and as such should be decisive, but with the addition of the wildcard and talk of even more playoffs those games mean less and less all the time.

The college football season is indeed meaningful. If you lose even one game, there’s a pretty good shot that you are out of the championship picture. If you lose two, you are almost certainly out. I like the fact that the most important game of the season might have been South Carolina’s upset of Alabama in October. It makes every week feel important.

BUT … the D2BCS authors do a great job of destroying this argument by making what only afterward seems like an obvious point: Because NOT LOSING is all that matters, college football has been robbed of its big non-conference games. There’s no point in playing a good non-conference team. Quite the opposite. The intelligent way to become a national championship contender is to play a non-conference schedule of patsies so that you can be sure you enter the conference season undefeated. Bill Snyder figured this out years ago at Kansas State, where he turned around the worst college football program in America with terrific recruiting, brilliant coaching and careful scheduling. This was before the official BCS, but the idea was the same. The more easy games on your schedule, the better chance you have of going undefeated. When Bill and Kansas State would get ripped for its easy non-conference schedule, Bill would shrug: He knew he was doing the right thing. And sure enough, in 1998 Kansas State was a fumble away from being in the national championship game. A decade later, Kansas almost rode a ludicrously easy schedule into the national championship game.

The scheduling turns September football, for the most part, into mush. Just as an example: One week this year, every single Big 10 school played non-automatic qualifiers, the new name for cupcakes. This is a system that rewards playing teams you know you can beat. That’s not a system conducive to a great, good or fair regular season.

D2BCS Argument 2: The bowls are fun, but they are also evil.

I have to admit the authors viewpoint on bowls left me a bit frayed. On the one hand, they love the bowls. They are upfront about this. They are big college football fans, and so they want as many December and early January games as they can get. “We love bowl games,” they write. “The major ones and the little ones, the unusual matchups, the crazy comebacks, the nothing to lose finishes … while critics cry about too many bowls, we disagree. More football is never a bad thing.”

OK. But perhaps the most powerful stuff in the book DESTROYS the bowls. When you read the book you are left with this: The bowls are corrupt. They are money losers for schools. They waste taxpayer money. They are non-profits in name only. They do not serve their communities. They give a pittance to charity. They are run by self-serving executive directors who take ludicrous salaries for almost no work. They are used to line the pockets of coaches and athletic directors who work bowl bonuses into contracts. And so on. And so on. It is almost impossible to read the well-reported, body-slamming chapters on bowl games without thinking: “I want these bowl games dead.” Which you would think would serve the point since, as mentioned, “Death” is in the title of the book.

But the authors keep insisting that despite all this, bowl games would and should survive with a playoff system … in fact the authors think a playoff system, with the huge flow of money, is the best chance to keep the bowls going.

I think this was an overreach, an effort to have cake, eat too. Yes, one of the BCS’ main arguments is that a playoff would indeed eliminate bowl games, and all the good they offer. The book manages to hit hard the conflicting points that:

1. The bowl games don’t offer a lot of good.

2. They would not be eliminated with a playoff.

This left me confused as a reader. I have little doubt that the bowls COULD be kept going even with a playoff*. But after reading this book, I was left with a one-word question about that: “Why?”

*Another thing the book does well is knock down the argument that the bowls themselves could be used as a playoff. The authors think this is unworkable, and they make their case well: I believe they are right.

D2BCS Argument 3: Everything about the BCS is illogical from its methods of choosing teams to its very existence.

This is the thing most people talk about when talking about the BCS: The system itself isn’t fair. More to the point: It CANNOT be fair. Last year there were five undefeated teams in college football (the undefeated numbers keep going up as teams seem to play easier and easier schedules, see D2BCS Argument 1). In alphabetical order:

— Alabama

— Boise State

— Cincinnati

— Texas

— Texas Christian

Obviously the five did not play each other. They did not play many common opponents either. Their schedules were of varying degrees of difficulty, but even this is somewhat hard to determine because there are so many college football teams. The point is, that you can’t KNOW which of those undefeated teams was best because they are all undefeated. You can only GUESS. And the authors, as you might expect, score many points by hammering away at the BCS system. Chapters titles like “Nonsense Math” and “Fooling the Voters (Who Are Often Fools)” give you an idea of those arguments.

There’s much more, of course, but for our purposes the point is that Wetzel, Passan and Peter do a powerful job of demolishing the BCS. They leave very little standing upright.

The authors also offer their own playoff solution, a solid-sounding proposal. More than that, I think it’s the best playoff proposal I’ve seen anywhere. The authors recommend:

— A 16-team playoff.

— Eleven of the 16 teams would be conference champs; the other 5 would be at-large teams picked by a committee. The teams would also be seeded by a committee.

— The first three rounds would be played at home sites; the only neutral site game would be the championship game.

— They have talked to various experts who say this playoff system could earn more than $750 million a year.

And … so we come to my one beef with the book: The authors don’t turn their immense powers of deconstruction on their own playoff system. Among the issues that are not explored deeply enough for me:

1. More than 70% of players polled in a recent ESPN poll prefer the current system to a 16-team playoff. That’s not entirely revealing because the question specifically stated that a 16-team playoff would REPLACE the bowls, and the D2BCS authors have made it clear they would keep the bowls going.

Still, I do think this is fairly consistent: College players (much more than fans) seem to be very skeptical of a big playoff like this. And since college football players already are largely excluded from college football riches — Reggie Bush felt compelled to return his HEISMAN TROPHY for taking money for his family from an agent — I think we need a powerful reason to go against what appear to be the players’ wishes or what may be in their best interests. The authors really needed to delve deeper into this, I think.

2. The home-field concept sounds good — this way we will have full stadiums and home fans will not have to travel week after week — but if college basketball is a model, well, in college basketball they have constantly tried to get AWAY from homefield advantage. People get angry when highly ranked teams get to play TOO CLOSE to home. How will people respond to home playoff games in college football? Is that a workable plan?

3. Having every conference champion in the playoff is smart and probably the only way a playoff will work. That said, this means that last year East Carolina, Troy and Central Michigan would have been in the playoff. People accept small-conference champions in basketball because there are 64 teams. But will fans at Nebraska, Arkansas, USC, Wisconsin and various other places really buy into a 16-team playoff where East Carolina, Troy and Central Michigan are playing and they are not? Questionable.

4. Where will all that extra money go? The authors show well throughout the book how corrupt things are NOW. Imagine another $600 million being thrown into the picture. Will the players get no part of it? Will coaches salaries skyrocket even higher? Will television and advertisers have an even greater hold on the sport?

I think there are probably good answers to these issues … but there are a lot of loose ends. And frankly, you can’t have any loose ends when it comes to the BCS and a playoff. The last poll of coaches I saw showed that more than 90% of them prefer the current system to a playoff. I imagine a poll of university presidents or athletic directors would show similar numbers. The ESPN poll of 135 players in August was fascinating but largely unhelpful to the playoff cause.

— A majority of players — 62.2% — do want a playoff.

— BUT, as mentioned a bigger majority — 70.4% — prefer the current system to a 16-team playoff with no bowls.

— And 77% of players said they would prefer to play in a bowl game three times than replace it with one playoff appearance.

In other words, this is a huge uphill battle. Yes, there are individuals in the system who want a playoff, but at the moment they’re outnumbered at every turn. “Death to the BCS” makes a vivid and almost indisputable case that the BCS is a bad system. Maybe that will begin the process of change. But, realistically, with all the hurdles out there, a playoff is not very likely. Either way, when you finish reading, you are guaranteed to be mad as hell.

* * *

Update: My friend Dan Wetzel, one of the authors, sent along some answers to my questions above. I have included those here.

1. Referring to ESPN poll where more than 70% of players chose current system over a 16-game playoff.

Dan: “This poll asked: do you prefer a playoff or the bowl system? This is a question based on a false premise. You can, and will, have both. Of course the majority are going to say bowl system because 70 teams will play in a bowl this year and they have no idea how many could make a playoff — most probably thought just four. This poll result is worthless because the question is worthless. Naturally the BCS cites it ad naseum anyway. “

2. Referring to whether or not people would accept home field advantage in a playoff:

Dan: “Home field advantage is what will make the regular season matter even more. Does anyone in the NFL propose we move the playoffs to the Alamodome? Of course not. Deal with it. Playing games on sold out, historic, on campus environments is better in every way than half-filled municipal stadiums. You don’t like playing on the road? Have a better regular season.”

3. Referring to having small-conference champions in the playoff:

Dan: “Including the weaker teams may be counterintuative but they serve a couple of purposes. The biggest one is continuing to make the regular season so vital. By offering an easier first round to the highest seeds (in addition to homefield advantage) then winning every game is still a major reward. If you simply take the top 16 teams and play at neutral sites, then the difference between being a 1 seed and 5 seed isn’t great. It is in this case. This would drive interest and excitement in the regular season. It also invites Cinderella into the playoff. At some point, one of these teams will spring the upset, the exact kind of magic men’s basketball has cashed in on.”

4. Referring to where the extra money would go:

Dan: “In 2008 Division I-A schools needed over $850 million in student fees and general university funds to fund their athletic departments. That’d be a good place to start. Compensation for the players is a separate argument (an entire book really) and an idea we certainly support. This just wasn’t the place to hash it out.”

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The Simpsons Baseball Edition

Got to do something fun Sunday night: Went to Bill James’ house to watch The Simpsons. I do realize that under normal circumstances this might not sound especially riveting. But Sunday night, the Simpsons episode was called, “Moneybart,” and the plot revolved around the ongoing fight between statistics and tradition in the game. And Bill had a line.

If you have not seen the episode, you should probably be warned that there are all sorts of spoilers below. In fact, this whole thing is kind of a spoiler. Proceed at your own peril.*

*I assume everyone here as either seen The Simpsons or at least knows the basics … but, as pointless as it feels, I’ll put some very quick basics here: Marge and Homer are Mom and Dad. Homer is one of the great television characters ever. Bart, Lisa and Maggie are brother, sister and baby sister, Moe is bartender, Flanders is fussy neighbor and so on.

* * *

One thing many things I love about The Simpsons is that, often, the main implausible plot is sparked by an even more unlikely mini-plot at the start. In this case, we need to get to the point where Lisa is managing Bart’s baseball team. To get to this point, they bring in a former student who has gone on to attend an Ivy League school. And when Lisa expresses her own desire to go to an Ivy, the woman says that Lisa better get involved in more extra-curricular activities.

Marge: “Don’t worry, you can still attend McGill University, the Harvard of Canada.”

Lisa: “Anything that is the something of the something isn’t really the anything of the anything.”

At this point, Flanders, the fussy neighbor, comes by to say that he can no longer coach Bart’s Little League baseball team because he cannot live with his conscience after not complaining when an umpire calls his shortstop’s foul ball a home run (Flanders: “Call me Walter Matthau because I’m a Bad News Bearer”).

After Homer refuses to take over the team (Homer: “Sorry Marge, last time I stepped on a baseball field I got tazed”), Lisa becomes the team manager.*

*There’s a small moment here I love: Bart is walking by the baseball field when he happens to notice his teammates are practicing joyfully. He goes to the field to find out what’s going on. But in order to express the joyfulness of practice, you can hear the players shouting baseball things, including this shout from Nelson (the school bully): “Look at me, I’m Whitey Ford!” I just love that. It might be my second-favorite line in the show.

Bart, of course, expresses doubt that her sister — knowing nothing about baseball — can handle the job. Lisa has anticipated this bit of doubt:

Lisa: There have been plenty of female managers in baseball: Connie Mack, Sandy Alomar*, Terry Francona, Pinky Higgins.

Nelson: Those are dudes!

*I feel sure that, more than once, the brilliant writers of The Simpsons put in something wrong just to get baseball goofballs like myself to notice. This is one of those. Sandy Alomar never managed in the big leagues.

But Lena Blackburne did. So did Jewel Ens, Blondie Purcell and Jo-Jo White. And if you think that those writers didn’t do this just to get people like me to look up some managers who had women’s first names, you don’t know the evil powers of The Simpsons.

Yes, now, we have reached the crux of the episode. Lisa must learn baseball. For this she goes to Moe’s to seek the council of her father and men watching the game on television.

Moe: “The only thing I know about strategy is that whatever the manager does, it’s wrong. Unless it works in which case he’s a button pusher.”

Moe then points her to the corner … where a mini-SABR convention has broken out. There are four nerdy guys with computers and stat books discussing the game.

Nerdy stat guy 1: As a pitcher Cliff Lee is CLEARLY superior to Zack Greinke.

Nerdy stat guy 2: Yes I completely agree with the following COLOSSAL exception: Before the fourth inning, after a road loss, in a domed stadium. Then it’s great to be Greinke!*

*I would love to believe that I played a small part, just a tiny part, in inspiring this scene. But I think it’s more likely that the word “Greinke” is funnier than, say, “Roy Halladay.”

Lisa is impressed by their knowledge, and here she is told that the key to understanding baseball is sabermetrics: “The field was developed by statistician Bill James,” Nerdy Stat Guy 2 says.

At this point, he shows Lisa his computer, where there’s a picture of Bill. And Bill utters his one line: “I made baseball as much fun as doing your taxes!”

It was quite the moment at the James household. Everybody applauded and, during a commercial break. Bill did the line again for us with some Shakespearean zeal. There have been many achievements for Bill James. The man was named one of Time’s 100 most influential people, for crying out loud. But playing himself on The Simpsons? I’m not sure it gets a whole lot bigger than that*.

*Though I should say that there are plans in the works — I don’t want to jinx it, but there are plans in the works — for me to be a guest DJ on E-Street Radio. More on that as details firm up.

Lisa — armed with her newfound statistics — turns around Bart’s team. She moves the fielders around so that they are always perfectly situated*, which absolutely will NOT inspire me to make a Brooks Conrad joke.

*At one point, Lisa moves her first baseman into the crowd, and sure enough a foul ball is hit right to him. A good gag, but once again they did something for goofballs like me to notice: The first baseman was left-handed when he was put in the crowd. But he turned into the right-handed Ralph when the foul ball was hit to him. I wonder how much fun they have over there putting in these little details they know 99.999% of the people won’t notice, but will drive the other .001% mad.

Lisa’s maneuvers are making the team a winner, but Bart cannot help but feel that the joy of the game is being drained. When Lisa tells him to not swing — the pitcher is wild — he is furious.

Bart: “But I’m on a hot-streak.

Lisa: “Hot streaks are a statistical illusion.”

Bart: “I wish YOU were a statistical illusion.”

Lisa: “Well, there’s a 97% chance I’m not, so do what I say.”

He disobeys her and hits a walk-off home run. His teammates pick him up and chant his name (“Bart! Bart! Bart!”) and while they’re doing it, she throws him off the team leading to a new chant (“Conflicted! Conflicted! Conflicted!”).

Now, of course we have family strife. Marge and Homer take sides:

Marge: Flyballs and fungoes come and go. But families are forever.

Homer: Sorry Marge, I’ve got to call bullcrap on that. The ’69 Mets will live on forever. But you think anyone cares about Ron Swoboda’s wife and kids? Not me. And I assume not Ron Swoboda.”

Marge: Think of Bart’s feelings!

Homer: Boys don’t have feelings. They have muscles.

That night, Marge reads to Bart a slightly altered version of the three little bears. Homer reads to Lisa the story of Pete Rose running over Ray Fosse in the All-Star Game.

The baseball season goes on without Bart (Lisa: “He thought he was better than the laws of probability. Anyone else here think he’s better than the laws of probability?”). Lisa moves Nelson into the leadoff spot because of his on-base percentage*. The team wins again and earns a spot in the Little League Championship (Announcer who sounds quite a bit like Vin Scully: “It’s a triumph of number-crunching over the human spirit, and it’s about time.”)

*OK, this has little to do with The Simpsons … but I have watched just about every inning of every postseason game so far. This means two things:

1. I have now seen so many “Glory Daze” promos that it is now beginning to invade my own personal memories. I find myself thinking about that time I agreed to have myself branded. Also, I would love to strangle that guy who goes on that emergency run for the doughnuts in that car commercials. I do not believe in hate. But I hate every single thing about that guy.

2. I have noticed that national announcers, in general, still call games almost EXACTLY like they did 25 years ago. I mean exactly — with batting average, home runs, RBIs, pitcher wins, the idea that pitching is 75% of baseball, the same cliches about bunts and intentional walks, like there’s no other side.

I’m actually OK with this for the most part. I think baseball games are to be enjoyed, not to be infused with a lot of statistical analysis. And I know most fans want what is familiar to them, I get it, I really do. It might drive me nuts, but I’m not a typical viewer.

Just one thing: I really wish that they could at least mention on-base percentage. Just that. I get that many people are never going to like advanced stats, never going to appreciate the Dewan plus/minus or WAR or xFIP or whatever. I get that. I know that people don’t necessarily want a discussion of BABIP in the sixth inning of a 2-2 game.

But if I could have any impact on the game at all, any impact, I would love for it to be helping to making OBP more mainstream. Just that.

In The Simpsons, there’s a funny little moment where Lisa is looking at her stats book and there’s a confusing looking formula for OBP. It looked like so:

H + W + HBP / AB + W + HBP + SF

That does indeed look confusing, doesn’t it. Probably would not look as confusing if you did this:

Times on Base / Plate Appearances (minus sac hits).

Yeah, that looks a bit simpler doesn’t it? Frankly I don’t even like the sac hit adjustment. Personally, I would just do times on base over plate appearances, simple as it gets. But even so, it’s still pretty simple. OBP tells you as simply as possible how often you get on base, and how often you make an out.

Now, let’s look at batting average. Most people think the system is simply “Hits / At-bats) and it is. But let’s look at it in a different way.

TOB – W – HBP / PA – W – HBP – SF – SH.

There’s your simple, not-advanced batting average statistic. At-bats are a completely invented number that removes a bunch of pretty important things — especially walks, but also illogical things like sacrifice hits. You already know that if you BUNT a runner over from second to third it’s a sacrifice and doesn’t count in your batting average. But if you give yourself up by hitting a ball to the right side, and move the runner from second to third, it DOES count against your batting average. And so on.

And don’t even get me started on the hit/error conundrum.

Batting average as calculated IS a complicated thing and an advanced stat. It’s just an advanced stat that we grew up with so it seems simpler than it really is, not unlike the plot for the Star Wars movies. On-base percentage is a much simpler statistic, I have no doubt in my mind about this. It is NOT an advanced stat, not compared to batting average. OBP is also a much more telling statistic.

And I just wish these national baseball announcers would mention it every so often. Just mention it. Instead of wondering why Carlos Pena with his .196 batting average is even in the lineup (“Well, he hits with power”), you could at least mention that he walked 87 times, and while his .325 on-base percentage is not good, it’s not tragically bad either.

The last few minutes of the Simpsons include a fine performance from Mike Scioscia (when he loses a World Series ring while riding on a roller coaster, he says: “That’s OK, I’ll win another one”), the obligatory steroid mention (Ralph is juiced — he is surrounded by juice boxes and is saying, “I didn’t know what I was putting into my body!) and a classic shot, best line of the show, from the radio/television announcer:

Announcer: “That’s why anyone who invested with Lenny Dykstra really should call that number, lawyers are standing by.”

And it ends with Bart trying to steal home, which leads to two plot breakthroughs. (1) It allows Lisa to finally see the excitement of the game beyond the numbers; (2) Cost his team the championship because of course he is out at the plate. That sounds about right.

“You made me love baseball,” Lisa told Bart afterward, “not as a collection of numbers, but as an unpredictable passionate game beaten in excitement only by every other sport.”

* * *

UPDATE: I did not mention the opening, because it was not baseball. But I suspect for Simpsons fans, it will be what it remembered from this show. It was done by the guy the Internet calls “Infamous graffiti artist Banksy.” It’s a brilliantly dark portrait of laborers making Simpsons merchandise — including the making of DVDs using a worn-down unicorn.

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America The Beautiful

My buddy Tommy Tomlinson asks an eternal question — what’s more quintessentially American, Ray Charles singing America the Beautiful or John Wayne reciting the Pledge of Allegiance?

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Halladay and Lincecum

Game Score is a Bill James invention, a little statistic that gives you a quick and easy, single-number look at how well a pitcher pitched. My sense is that it has always supposed to be little more than a bit of shorthand fun … but I think it has turned out to be one of Bill’s more delightful inventions. The numbers just FEEL right.

In Game Score, a 50 is just about an average game.

In Game Score, a 100 is pretty much perfection. It’s a crazy hard thing to get a 100 Game Score. No pitcher in the history of the baseball postseason has thrown a 100 Game Score. There have only been 63 Game Scores of GREATER than 100 in all of baseball history, and only three of those happened in nine-inning games:

1. Kerry Wood’s 20-strikeout, 0-walk game (105 Game Score).

2. Nolan Ryan’s 16-strikeout, no hitter in 1991 (101 Game Score).

3. Sandy Koufax’s perfect game in 1965 (101 Game Score).

All the other greater-than-100 Game Scores were extra inning performances — Joe Oeschinger’s 26-inning, 1-run game in 1920 has the highest Game Score ever at 153. Well, the man pitched 26 innings … give him his due. Carl Hubbell’s 18-inning shutout against the Cardinals scored a 132. Gaylord Perry’s 16-inning shutout against Cincinnati scored a 112. Juan Marichal’s 16-inning shutout against Milwaukee scored a 112. Those Giants have had some long shutouts.

Harvey Haddix’s 12 2/3 inning, one-hitter — which began with 12 perfect innings — scored a 107.

So, 100 is just about perfect. In fact, Randy Johnson’s perfect game in 2004 scored precisely 100. So did Nolan Ryan’s no-hitters in 1972 and 1973.

A 90 or better is pretty close to legendary. Roger Clemens’ 20-strikeout game scored 97. Tom Seaver’s 19-strikeout game scored 96. Clay Buchholz’s no-hitter scored 93.

An 85 or better is sensationally good. Edwin Jackson’s 8-walk no-hitter was an 85. Complete game shutouts usually score in the 80s, though there are exceptions. Milt Gaston’s rather remarkable shutout in 1928 — when he allowed 14 hits and struck out only two — only scored a 59. In the last five years, there have been 275 complete-game, 9-inning shutouts thrown. Of those, 233 scored at least in the 80s. The lowest Game Score was Pat Misch’s shutout against Florida in 2009. He allowed eight hits, walked three, struck out only two and scored a 70 Game Score, which is still very good.

The best Game Score of 2010 was Brandon Morrow’s complete-game one hitter where he struck out 17. That scored exactly 100 on the scale. Roy Halladay’s perfect game scored 98. Dallas Braden’s perfect game scored score 93. Armando Galarraga’s imperfect game scored 88.

Again, I don’t think Game Scores are supposed to be considered gospel; but they are fun ways to compare some of the great pitched games (and, frankly, a fun way to compare some of the lousy ones — Scott Kazmir’s 5-inning, 11-hit, 13-run game this year scored a minus-8 for instance). And figuring them is pretty easy.

— Start with 50 points.

— Add a point for each out, and two more for each inning completed after Inning 4.

— Add one point for each strikeout.

— Take away two points for each hit, 4 points for each earned run, 2 points for each unearned run and 1 point for each walk.

That’s it. That’s the whole thing. It really is an elegant little formula.

OK, so all of this is just another way to put into perspective the two remarkable pitching performances we saw the last two days. In the long history of postseason baseball there had only been had only been 11 Game Scores of better than 90. Remarkably two of those performances were by Randy Johnson in the 2001 postseason. He had a pair of 91s, one of them against Atlanta in the NLCS (9 innings, 3 hits, 11 Ks, 1 walk) and one of them against the Yankees in the World Series (9 innings, 3 hits, 11 Ks, 1 walk — eerie).

The best ever postseason Game Score was recorded by Roger Clemens against Seattle in 2000 — he threw a 9-inning one-hitter with 15 strikeouts. That scored a 98. After that you had Dave McNally’s 11-inning shutout against Minnesota in the 1969 ALCS and Babe Ruth’s 14-inning, one run performance against Brooklyn in the 1916 World Series. Both of those scored 97.

Then there was Don Larsen’s perfect game (a 94) and Ed Walsh’s 9-inning, 2-hit, 12-strikeout game against the Cubs in the 1906 World Series (also a 94).

Which brings us to 2010. On Wednesday, Roy Halladay threw that no-hitter against the Reds. What was most remarkable to me about the no-hitter was the same thing that was so remarkable about Halladay’s perfect game early in the year — his overwhelming brilliance choked the life out of the baseball drama. That is to say: Once he got going, as a baseball fan I never had any doubt that he would throw the no-hitter. No doubt at all. I wasn’t on the edge of my seat wondering if the Reds would get a hit. I knew they wouldn’t.

Halladay’s no-hitter was so dominating that when he walked Jay Bruce, my only thought was: “Oh, that’s too bad. Now he will only throw a no-hitter instead of a perfect game.” And that was in the fifth inning. And that was two or three innings AFTER I felt sure that the Reds would not get a hit.

In my lifetime, only Halladay has given me that sense of certainty. Pedro Martinez at his peak is the best pitcher I ever saw. Greg Maddux at his peak was my favorite pitcher, the closest thing to an artist I ever expect to see on a baseball diamond. Roger Clemens’ dominance, Randy Johnson’s dominance, Dwight Gooden’s dominance in 1984 and ’85, Johan Santana’s dominance in the middle part of this decade, Steve Carlton’s dominance, Tom Seaver’s dominance, Ron Guidry’s dominance … they all had their own special character.

But only Halladay — for me, anyway — pitches with what I call “retroactivity.” When Halliday is on, like he was against the Reds, it honestly feels like I’m watching him on replay, in a Ken Burns documentary, like the thing has already happened and it’s already famous like the Thrilla in Manilla or the Texas-USC game. I feel like I’m watching it for the fifth or sixth time. It’s a bit like a new song that sounds like you have already heard it a hundred times before.*

*In case you were wondering, the new Ben Folds-Nick Hornby album is out. I have been waiting for it for months and months — I’m a huge fan of both Folds as musician and Hornby as writer — and I have been DYING to see how this collaboration would work. I bought the thing on release day. And, well, I’m not going to lie to you: It’s not as good as I hoped … maybe it will work better for me after a couple more spins. Maybe I’ll give it a full review then.

But I can tell you there’s one great song on there — a song called “Belinda” about a one-hit wonder singer who is asked nightly to sing the popular love song he wrote for someone he left many years ago.There’s a song within the song which Ben Folds tried to make sound like an old song that would sound unnaturally familiar. I think he did a pretty remarkable job of that. The song within the song sounds like something you heard years ago even though, of course, you did not. Somehow, some way, that connects to Halladay for me.

Halladay’s genius against Cincinnati drew a 94 Game Score … same as Larsen’s perfecto. Halladay struck out eight, walked one, broke bats, broke Cincinnati hearts, left them all in helpless heap and scored the second-highest postseason Game Score of the last 40 years.

And one day later … Tim Lincecum outscored him. Watching Lincecum for me sparks very different emotions from watching Halladay. Everything about Lincecum is fresh, new, unpredictable, alive. Halladay’s greatness (and I love this about him) feels like it is in grainy black and white, like we are watching Christy Mathewson or Three Finger Brown or Pete Alexander. Lincecum’s greatness is in 3D, it pops off the screen, it drops your jaw.

At one point in Thursday’s mind-blowing game, Lincecum struck out on Brooks Conrad on some sort of ridiculous super pitch — Conrad seemed to literally swing through the ball (he foul tipped it). Bob Brenly called it a change-up. I shouted, “Come on Bob, that wasn’t a change-up. That was a curveball.” And so I rewound the thing and watched it. And I said, “Oh wait, maybe he was right. Maybe it was a change-up.” I rewound again and watched and said, “No, that wasn’t a change-up. That was a slider.” I rewound again and watched and said, “No, wait, I think that WAS a curveball.” I rewound again and finally settled on it being a slider. But really it was some sort of shape-shifting pitch. It could be whatever you wanted it to be.

That’s the sort of pitch Lincecum throws several times a game — the sort of pitch that made Satchel Paige say: “I never threw an illegal pitch. The trouble is, once in a while I toss one that ain’t been seen by this generation.” Lincecum threw 10 or 15 generation pitches on Thursday, sliders that burned out and disappeared like they were entering the earth’s atmosphere, change-ups that sputtered and coughed on the way to the plate like old Buicks, fastballs that seem to skip double-dutch just as they arrive at the plate. Maybe the skateboard-dude persona adds a little to the act. Maybe the crazy motion that convinced too many scouts to pass on him in the draft adds a little to the act.

Whatever … watching Lincecum pitch is like watching Magic Johnson in his prime, like watching Gale Sayers when he was healthy, like watching John McEnroe when he was in shape and at the top of his game. There’s the greatness part, and then there’s something a little extra, this buzz of hope that you will see something that you have never seen before. Lincecum struck out 14, walked 1, allowed two hits and so electrified the San Francisco crowd I could feel AT&T Park shaking from 1,500 miles away. I have never seen that before. Not quite that.

Lincecum’s 96 Game Score ranks fourth all-time in postseason play. It also scores higher than Halladay’s no-hitter. There will be some people who don’t like the way Game Score weighs strikeouts and walks, who think no-hitters and perfect games should ALWAYS score higher than non-no-hitters and non-perfect-games and I get that. But there is another side to the issue. There are people who believe that these are the only things a pitcher has any real control over: Strikeouts, walks and home runs allowed. There is a lot of fascinating statistical evidence on the subject.

Not that it matters. I don’t know which was the better-pitched game. It’s hard to pick against a no-hitter. But it’s also hard to pick against a 14-strikeout shutout. It’s hard to pick against searing, inevitable dominance. It’s also hard to pick against buoyant, overpowering pitching joy.

In the end, they were two of the greatest postseason performances ever in the postseason. There has been a lot of Year of the Pitcher chirping all year, and I’m not sure I ever really bought in. There have been dozens and dozens of better years for pitchers in baseball history. Put it this way, pitchers had a lower ERA every single year between 1954 and 1986 than they did this year.

Still, unquestionably, there was a shift this year. Pitchers did record their lowest ERA since 1992. We did have two perfect games. We did have a whole bunch of no-hitters and near no-hitters. We did have a serious drop in batting — hitters hit only .257 and slugged only .403, and you have to go back to before the strike to find hitting numbers that low. There are countless off-the-cuff explanations for this which you can find all over the Internet.

But it’s fun when you can move beyond the explanations and just enjoy the moment. We are in an era of some pretty remarkable pitchers — Felix Hernandez, Justin Verlander, Ubaldo Jiminez, Josh Johnson, Adam Wainwright, C.C. Sabathia, Cliff Lee, Jon Lester, Clay Buchholz, Matt Cain, David Price, Cole Hamels, Roy Oswalt, Jered Weaver, Zack Greinke, Francisco Liriano and so on, I’m not going to name them all.

And in this remarkable era, we got to see perhaps the two best, Halladay and Lincecum, on back-to-back days throw playoff games for the ages. Not bad. Not bad at all.

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Bad Calls In Baseball

The replay discussion in baseball has grown so ubiquitous, so overbearing, so boring that — like the revenue/payroll disparity in baseball — it’s simply no fun to talk about anymore. Everybody knows about the problem. The problem never seems to get fixed. After a while, the talk feels as pointless as complaining about the humidity in St. Louis in July.

But, as boring as it is, Thursday was a banner day in baseball’s grand losing battle to umpiring legitimacy. In the Tampa Bay-Texas game, the umpires seemed to miss a checked-swing third strike call against Michael Young. Given a reprieve, Young homered, and soon after Tampa Bay manager Joe Maddon was tossed, and the Rays lost.

In the Minnesota-New York game, the home plate umpire seemed to miss a strike three call against Lance Berkman.* The next pitch, Berkman crushed a double that gave the Yankees the lead they would never relinquish. Soon after, Minnesota manager Ron Gardenhire was tossed.

*Though Yankees fans and others will point out that the umpire probably missed a call on the second pitch of that same at-bat, calling a strike on a pitch that was probably at least a couple of inches outside.

And in the Atlanta-San Francisco game, the second-base umpire seemed to miss a clear tag on Buster Posey on a stolen base attempt. The umpire wasn’t the only one to miss it … the television announcers did not mention it even though they showed several replays (they seemed more interested in the quirks of Posey’s awkward slide — they picked up on it a few innings later) and Bobby Cox, who has never been shy about coming out of the dugout, stayed put. There wasn’t even an argument on this one, though Posey was clearly out. Soon after, Posey scored the only run of the game.

A banner day, yes. Of course, this came a day after the umpires clearly missed a catch/trap call that should have ended the Twins-Yankees game, and the umpires missed a hit-by-pitch against Carlos Pena in the Rays-Rangers game. There were probably other misses, but those were the lowlights.

I don’t want to sound like Chicken Little here, but I think baseball has a real problem on its hands … a very serious problem. And it goes beyond all the replay talk. I don’t want this to sound too monumental or anything, but, what the heck, you can read this next sentence in your John Facenda voice: Baseball is facing a serious legitimacy issue. Anyway, I think so.

It’s a different kind of legitimacy issue from the gambling problems of the 1910s or the shameful color barrier before Jackie Robinson or even the steroid issue. It’s different … but it’s still dangerous for the game.

Legitimacy for a sports league simply means this: People have to believe in the fairness and authenticity of the sport. This is why the BCS is so unpopular — nobody believes in its legitimacy. The NHL and NBA regular seasons have legitimacy issues because so many teams make the playoffs. The Tour de France has legitimacy issues because, as we have only recently learned, contaminated meat is causing positive drug tests. Golf tournaments without Tiger Woods over the last few years have had legitimacy issues because Woods was so much better than anyone else. NASCAR had legitimacy issues when nobody really understood their scoring system. And so on.

I have no idea if baseball umpires are worse these days than they used to be … I suspect they’re probably not worse. I suspect they’re probably better. But that doesn’t matter. Times have changed. Technology has changed. Every game is on television somewhere. Every television game has multiple angles. You could be a brutal umpire in the days of Casey, and all people could really do was yell “Kill the umpire!” They had no replays to use as proof. Now, these days, there are so many hours to fill on sports channels, and there is infinite space on the Internet, and people are killing the umpires on Twitter night after night after night. And they have pictures to back them up.

And this is the point — it doesn’t matter how good umpires were before all these new technologies, just like it doesn’t matter anymore if you have the fastest horse and buggy in the county. We SEE the missed calls now. And those missed calls are embarrassing the game. More, they are making the results of these games questionable. Why was gambling an issue? Because it made the results questionable. Why were steroids an issue? Because they made the results questionable. And here we are in 2010, and umpires are missing hugely important calls, loads of them, and games are being influenced by these blown calls, and baseball folks are just standing by and saying that the human element is part of the game? No, that’s can’t last.

See, sooner or later, people aren’t going to stand for it. I suspect some people already are just shaking their heads in frustration. The more bad calls, the more people are going to turn off to baseball. The more times a fan’s team gets cheated, the more likely he or she is to simply stop caring. “Bad calls are a part of baseball,” might be a good enough answer for some traditionalists, but there aren’t enough traditionalists to keep ANY game popular and vibrant. You really can’t have playoff games, World Series games, perfect games sullied, ruined, altered by terrible umpire calls while baseball gurus just sit back like the wrestling referee who doesn’t happen to notice that one guy brought a metal chair into the ring.*

*Even as I write this now, they are showing the blown stolen base call over and over and over on TBS — five or six times in a row. Baseball can’t have this.

What can be done? Well, yeah, we probably have to delve back for a moment into that tiresome talk about replay. There are numerous problems with replay in baseball. Nobody wants the pace of the game slowed even more. Nobody wants more of those life-draining delays while umpires gather together to talk. Nobody wants baseball to turn into a conditional sport, where you have to wait for the appeal before unleashing your cheer. And frankly there are some calls — like ball and strike calls — that probably do not fit replay as we have it now. The Berkman call, frustrating as it may have been for Twins fans, is probably not reversible yet, not until ball-strike technology gets better.

But to me it’s a simple reality: You just can’t have these missed calls and maintain your authenticity. You just can’t. Not over time. And replay seems the most viable answer.* So if baseball has to give up some time and a bit of tradition to get the calls right, then I think sooner or later — sooner — they will have to do that.

*It may not be the only answer, though. I was talking to a baseball insider who says that baseball could fix a lot of these problems by rethinking how umpires do their job. He thinks umpires could work together better as a team (could the third base umpire have helped out on that Buster Posey stolen base), he thinks they could be positioned better, he thinks they could be trained better. I’m skeptical … but I’m also for any answer that will get us the right calls much more often.

Here’s what I do know: While some people talked about Tim Lincecum’s remarkable pitching performance after the Giants game, I kept thinking that Posey was out. While some people were talking about the shocking Rangers upset of the Rays, I kept wondering if the Rays might have come back in that game had the umpire called Michael Young out on that check swing. While people talked about the Yankees dominance and the Twins having lost 11 playoff games in a row, I kept wondering if the game might have been a little different had the umpire rung up Berkman.

What-ifs are great for sports. They’re not great when the umpires are the ones sparking the what-ifs. Twenty-five years later people in St. Louis STILL blame umpire Don Denkinger for the Cardinals loss to Kansas City in the 1985 World Series. That’s a part of baseball history. Now, because of better technology, more replay angles, we’re getting multiple-Denkinger moments ever single day. Sooner or later, people will have enough. There were a couple of managers and a lot of fans on Thursday who decided they already had enough.

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The Seven Tools (And Other Stuff)

Baseball Thoughts, Day 2 begins with a WAY too long discussion of the five tools of baseball. And, of course, we’ll update throughout the day.
Again, if you have questions, comments, post them here. I didn’t get to many yesterday, I’ll try to do better today.

Joe Posnanski � Posts Baseball Thoughts, Day 2 �

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Baseball Musings

Going to do a semi-live blog over at SI today. Here is the link if you would like to come along. And if you have any specific ideas or questions, you can post them here in the comments and I’ll come by throughout the day and check.

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Happy 61st

A happy 61st birthday to my friend Bill James … the best baseball writer who ever lived.

For fun, I was wading through the thousands — yes, thousands — of emails I have exchanged with Bill over the years and I came across this one I got … I must have asked Bill to tell me his greatest day in baseball. I don’t know if I ever used this or if, like many of my projects, it died on the vine. But I don’t think Bill will mind me reprinting it now:

This email is from May 22, 2007:

“I don’t know that this was absolutely the greatest day I ever had in baseball, but June 6, 1991, was certainly one of the most memorable days I ever had at a ballpark.   It was a Thursday afternoon, I think … anyway it was an afternoon game in mid-week with an unusual starting time. It was put on the schedule as a kind of experiment, and then it became apparent several days in advance that the pitching matchup was going to be Nolan Ryan against Bret Saberhagen … Hall of Famer against two-time Cy Young Award winner.

Susie and I made a decision to go late, got stuck in traffic near the park and didn’t arrive until the 3rd inning.  I wound up parking in some parking lot that, having been to Royals Stadium hundreds of times, I literally had no idea existed … it was way out behind the barn, over the hill … parking lot XX or EE or something.  

Ryan and Saberhagen were both very good, and the game was just a riot of fantastic events … people being thrown out on the bases or out of the game in bizarre ways. The Riyals lost the winning run in extra innings one time on a force out at the plate going 6-5-2 … a forceout.  

We had kids aged 3 and 5 at that time, left them with a baby sitter … every two or three innings we would call the baby sitter to see if she could stay late. This was before cell phones … we’d have to find a pay phone at Royals Stadium. Do they still have pay phones?

Anyway, the game went 18 innings, Royals finally won it in the 18th when Kenny Rogers, he of the Gold Gloves, threw away a bunt.  The Royals had FOUR successful sacrifice bunts in extra innings … I always wonder if that isn’t a record. Ruben Sierra came in with an 18-game hitting streak, went 0-for-7 with a couple of walks. I always wonder if he was the only player ever to lose a long hitting streak going hitless in 9 tries.  

Hal McRae was thrown out of the game arguing a call at third. The Royals had the winning run in scoring position in the 10th, 11th, 13th, 14th, 15th, 16th and 17th innings before finally cashing in in the 18th (in the 12th they had a runner on base but not in scoring position). The Rangers had the winning run in scoring position in the 12th, 14th, 15th and 16th.

I think Rogers and Julio Franco are the only guys left in the majors who played in that game … Juan Gone. . .don’t know if he made a team this year … and Sierra, who was in spring training but I think maybe didn’t make a team, not sure.  Those kids are in college now.

The game had an epic feel to it … it started in the middle of the afternoon and went on until well past nightfall, huge crowd really into the game. There were probably 25, 30,000 people there when the game ended. We just had the feeling that we had lived our lives at that ballgame. I don’t know that it was the greatest day I ever had, but it was a fun day, and I appreciate the opportunity to relive it.

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Bring Back Sports Arguments

Leo: “Sorry to tell you this but King threw out the monologue.”

Alice: “Leo, that monologue was good.”

Sy Benson: “Check that. Perfect. I wrote it! This is where Sy Benson draws the line. … First came the word and the word was funny. The monologue stays or I go.”

Benjy: “Sy, maybe we can compromise.”

Sy: “No compromise! Sy Benson has his integrity, his pride. King does that monologue word for word or I walk. I walk!”

Seconds later:

Sy: “King! About the monologue!”

King Kaiser: “Wait a minute! Sy! Do you smell something? (Sniff) It’s coming from the script. … (Holds script up to nose and sniffs) Ew, it’s your monologue. Ugh, what a stinkburger. … KC, pull!”

(His assistant KC throws the crumpled-up script in the air. King shoots it down. “BOOM!” Sy clutches his heart.)

King: “I hate it. It’s not funny. It’s out.”

Sy: “Hey, babe, we’re not married to it.”

— From “My Favorite Year.”

* * *

It seems to me that few people enjoy confrontation. Oh there are some who love it, thrive on it, make a nice living by sparking confrontation. But I certainly don’t. I was on a plane not too long ago — yes, this will be the story about me getting yelled at on a plane, though the concept sounds better than it is — and it was an early morning flight. I ended up sitting one row behind my actual seat by mistake. The guy who was sitting in my seat said, “Um, I think I’m in 14A” (or whatever it was) and I was thoroughly embarrassed and said, “Oh, I’m sorry.” And I moved up one row. This wasn’t the yelling part.

About three minutes later, a flight attendant came back to tell me that I had been upgraded to first class … a perk that comes with flying a lot. Well, I thanked her and moved up to first class. And I was sitting there when all of a sudden a man walked up to first class — not the man whose seat I had mistakenly taken but a different man, an Army man, dressed in full camouflage — and he tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Excuse me, there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

I turned around. And the guy screamed, “I just wanted to tell you that you are a selfish human being. You are an extremely selfish person. I would not have forgiven myself if I didn’t tell you that before you got off the plane. You are a very, very selfish person.”

And then, before I could say a word, he walked back to his seat.

Well … now what? The flight attendant came over to ask what that was all about, and I had to tell her that I had absolutely no idea. And I didn’t. And just about then, the plane took off, and I had to sit there and try to figure out what I was supposed to do. At first I thought maybe I should go back and ask the guy what that was all about, confront him there, but I decided against it. I didn’t want to create some sort of scene on the plane. I had no idea why the guy was yelling at me. Maybe I had hit him in the head with my backpack without realizing it or apologizing. Maybe he had tried to talk to me and I had ignored him. Maybe he was a big Yuni Betancourt fan. I didn’t know. I went over about 500 possibilities in my head because this is the ridiculous kind of person I am. And I hate confrontation.

I knew in the end the right way for me to handle it was to get off the plane, wait for him to come out, and directly confront him. I didn’t WANT to do this, not at all. But I had to do it. I have friends, many of them, who would have instinctively handled this in a better way. But you have to play your own cards. And so, for the rest of the flight I thought about what I must have done and dreaded the landing.

There’s no exciting finish to this non-exciting story. I waited for him to get off the plane, he tried to ignore me at first, and then I said: “Excuse me but what was that all about?” It turned out to be some ridiculous misunderstanding … he thought I was trying to steal that guy’s seat and then had tricked my way up to first class, or something like that. I never fully understood. Whatever the case was, I told him that none of that was true, and that I may be a lot of things but I don’t think selfish really applies. After we talked for a while, he thanked me for straightening it out and we went on our ways. Like I said: The story isn’t as good as the headline.

In any case, I dislike confrontation. I would go out of my way to avoid it. I think a lot of people feel the same way. I put the classic bit from My Favorite Year (one of my all-time favorite movies) on top because, well, Sy could be me. Maybe Sy could be you too … I don’t know you.

And I think confrontation has taken on big role in sports — not in PLAYING sports (where confrontation has always been a big part of the action) but in watching sports, in analyzing sports, in talking about sports, in THINKING about sports. Take the postseason baseball awards. I noticed Monday that one of my e-migos, Will Carroll, was taking a beating on Twitter because he said that if he had an American League Cy Young vote (he does not) he would vote for C.C. Sabathia. And I noticed that on the same day, my co-worker and friend Tom Verducci put out his awards choices, and said he thinks Felix Hernandez will win, not only because people have a better feel for how little pitcher wins really mean but also because of “how fast and wide groupthink travels these days.”

I actually DO have an American League Cy Young vote and out-of-respect for the process I will not reveal my vote … though if you are a regular reader here, I suspect you already know my vote. I have not exactly hidden my feelings on the subject. My point here is that it seems there is a black-and-white, up-and-down, Democrat-and-Republican, yes-and-no, right-and-wrong feel to baseball arguments these days. And it seems to me that sports used to BE like that … and I really don’t want to go back to those days.

I remember thinking about this hard in 2008 when Alex Rodriguez easily won the MVP award. I thought A-Rod deserved the MVP Award; in my mind, he was pretty clearly the best player in the league that year. But you might recall that year that Detroit outfielder Magglio Ordonez got two first place votes, the only two A-Rod did not get, and both from Detroit writers. Well, there was quite a bit of screaming about it, about the Detroit guys being homers, about A-Rod being jobbed from a unanimous MVP choice and all that. But more to the point, there was quite a bit of screaming about how the Detroit writers WERE WRONG … like A-Rod was the ONLY viable MVP choice.

I thought Bill James hit the subject hard and well in the 2008 Gold Mine: “I see absolutely nothing wrong or remarkable in the two MVP votes for Magglio Ordonez … Yes, A-Rod had a fantastic season, but Ordonez’ season is … well, Al Kaline was the same kind of hitter, and Kaline never came close to those numbers: 139 RBI, .363 average, 54 doubles, 28 homers. It was well above the standard of your average MVP season.

“Yes, A-Rod created more runs than Ordonez, but not that many more (159-146). Since when did a 13-run separation in offensive performance become a prohibitive barrier to sportswriters taking a broader view of the issue?”

A broader view of the issue. Exactly. I feel sure I would have voted for A-Rod … in fact, I might have voted for A-Rod, I don’t remember if I had a vote that year. But these things in sports are not crystal clear, aren’t without ambiguity, aren’t without nooks and crannies and subtleties and difference of opinion. There was a viable argument to be made for Ordonez (A-Rod’s one offensive advantage — and it was a big one — was in home runs. But Ordonez led A-Rod in some other stuff — including on-base percentage, doubles and RBI minus homers (they scored the same number of runs minus homers). And whether I AGREE or not with Magglio for MVP argument, I would very much like to HEAR the argument. I wouldn’t want that argument shouted down before it was ever made.

But I think that’s where we are going again. I do think we are getting back to the point in sports where arguments are being shouted down before they are made, that in this stats vs. scouts world of baseball that people are simply not even listening to the other side, that baseball is being turned into a game show like Do You Want To Be A Millionaire, where only one answer can be accepted as correct.

And it bugs me. Let me take this in a different direction for one second: You know why I love baseball statistics? Because they help me look at the game in a way I never had before. That’s all. I don’t love NUMBERS (though, I’ve always had a crush on the number 573 — but who hasn’t?), I love the way those numbers can spark in the imagination. It is true that for years and years in baseball we were hammered with the same empty platitudes — pitching is 75% of baseball, some hitters are better in the clutch than they are the rest of the time, a great shortstop can save you 100 runs a year with his defense, players are in their primes from 27 to 32 or so, you don’t want a guy in the middle of your lineup who walks a lot, bases are stolen off the pitcher, the best fielders were the ones who made the fewest errors, the most important thing is to have players on your team who are gamers … and so on. For a long time, you were told to believe those things, and disagreeing meant confrontation. Few people like confrontation. And so we kept getting fed the same baseball meals.

But you know what? Bill James liked confrontation. He and a few others started testing some of those platitudes by the numbers, by logic, and they began to suspect that some of these platitudes … most of these platitudes … really about all these platitudes were overstated at best, pure nonsense at worst. How could baseball really be 75% pitching? We were supposed to stuff hitting and fielding into the remaining 25%?

And by studying that pitching is 75% of baseball thing (and mocking it, yes), people came up with some pretty fascinating and new thoughts about pitching, some of them cutting hard against what the mind had been led to believe.

Wait a minute, Bill and others said: Pitchers don’t win games, not by themselves. We know that … why do we keep denying that point?

Wait a minute, Bill and others said: You can’t judge a pitcher without considering the ballpark where he pitches.

Wait a minute, Bill and others said: Strikeout generally pitchers DO NOT burn out faster than finesse pitchers … quite the opposite.

Bill and others weren’t always right. But the point wasn’t being right. The point was making the argument, questioning everything, refusing to accept something because it SEEMED so. One of the most fascinating baseball topics of the last few years has built around this question: How much control does a pitcher have over hits allowed? It’s easy to tell from the stats that some pitchers strike out more batters than others, some pitchers walk fewer batters than others, some pitchers give up fewer home runs than others. These are repeatable skills.

But how much control does a pitcher have if the plate appearance is not a strikeout, walk or homer.

Well here are some assorted pitchers’ career batting average on balls hit in play:

Andy Messersmith: .243

Mike Norris: .249

Jim Palmer: .251

Mario Soto: .257

Sandy Koufax: .259

Mariano Rivera: .263

Larry Gura: .265

Bud Black: .266

Eric Show: .267

Steve McCatty: .268

Nolan Ryan: .269

Orlando Hernandez: .270

Woody Williams: .280

Tim Belcher: .283

Mark Portugal: .283

Eric Milton: .285

Greg Maddux: .286

Steve Trachsel: .288

Kirk Rueter: .289

Brett Tomko: .291

Randy Johnson: .295

Tim Lincecum: .301

Zack Greinke: .310

Even now, I have a hard time believing a pitcher has NO control (beyond Ks, walks and HRs) over a hitters’ ability to get hits — I know instinctively that batting-practice fastballs will yield more singles than Tim Lincecum sliders — but the stats have certainly convinced me that a pitcher has FAR LESS CONTROL over hits than I ever would have suspected on my own. I mean Brett Tomko has a lower career BABIP than Lincecum. Mark Portugal has a much better BABIP than Randy Johnson. That’s what baseball stats can do for me as a fan … they can expand my scope, give me new things to think about, pull back curtains, create beautiful arguments.

And I worry that we are beginning to lose those arguments again — ironically, at least in part, BECAUSE of the proliferation of baseball stats. I cannot tell you how many people have sent me emails quoting one of my favorite statistics, Wins Above Replacement, as if that’s an argument ender. No! To me WAR is an argument STARTER. That’s what’s beautiful about it. The fact that (according to Baseball Reference) Felix Hernandez has a 6.0 WAR and C.C. Sabathia has a 5.4 WAR doesn’t end the Cy Young debate for me. It starts it.

As it turns out, while I hate confrontation in my personal life, I don’t mind it when it comes to baseball. I don’t mind people thinking I’m an idiot … I think that about myself anyway. But I do think there are some people out there (and I cannot blame them) who would rather just conform to stuff they don’t think or believe rather than get blitzed on the Internet or barraged on Twitter. I do worry about what Tom calls group think.

Yes, absolutely, I do believe that if Felix Hernandez wins the Cy Young, it will be a breakthrough — even more than Greinke or Lincecum last year — and proof that the voters didn’t just fall back on wins the way they often did in the past.

But I really hope anyone who believed C.C. Sabathia had the better year voted for him and will make the argument for him. Sabathia had one hell of a season. He pitched for a Yankees team that, for much of the season, did not have a viable second starter. New York won 23 of the 34 starts he made. He pitched under some intense pennant pressure. There’s an argument to be made. I’ve always thought that was one of the best things about sports. There’s always an argument to be made.

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