So, you may or may not have noticed … but it appears my last blog got hacked. After spending way too much time trying to clean all that up I, well, I started wondering very seriously why I was working so hard to get that cleaned up.
Folks, I love this blog. I love you Brilliant Readers. But this thing has become a bear. You may have noticed that I already write quite a lot. And I simply do not have time to deal with blog maintenance, spam elimination, comment monitoring and all that. Especially when everything is already going up here at my Sports Illustrated Blog.
So here’s what I’m going to do. I’ve started this blogspot blog. Here is the direct link. I’m hoping to get the old address to redirect. And what I hope to do is still write here, link to my Sports Illustrated posts so that we can keep the conversation going, and I can use this for goofy posts that don’t belong anywhere else, for interactive stuff, for polls, for naked self promotion and so on and so forth. I’m sure this thing will build up as we go.
I appreciate that this may not be the perfect solution … but it’s the best I have right now.
OK, so, it’s happening again … every year I feel more and more certain that there has to be something I’m missing. I had a long talk with someone close to the Minnesota Twins … this someone is the latest in a long series of people who want me to understand just how wrong I am about Ron Gardenhire.
A little history: In 2008, I wrote a series of columns stating what I believe — that Ron Gardenhire is the best manager in baseball. This led more than a few people to believe that I was completely off my rocker and many of those people were Minnesota Twins fans who watched the man manage every single day and, as such, could recite hundreds and hundreds of reasons why Gardenhire was, in fact, a dreadful manager.
That’s a wide gap — best in the game (me) to dreadful (most of the people writing in). The 2008 Twins, despite hitting the fewest home runs in the league (and having the 10th best slugging percentage) and having a mediocre pitching staff somehow won 88 games and forced a one-game playoff with Chicago, which they lost 1-0. I thought it was another pretty impressive managerial run for a guy who had led his Twins to the playoffs in four of his first six years as manager. Others thought it was another lousy managing job.
And … the anti-Gardy crowd was overpowering. They bludgeoned me with stories of crazy lineup moves and bizarre bullpen maneuvers and folksy Gardy quotes that suggested he was at least Cardinal in the Roman Church of Grit. OK, I conceded the points, at least somewhat. I conceded that if Gardy was my team’s manager and I had to watch him every day, that I might not be the world’s No. 1 Gardy fan … but I don’t watch him every day, and I am the world’s No. 1 Gardy fan, and I still didn’t get why people did not give Gardy more credit for the Twins success.
Then came 2009. The Twins were without MVP Joe Mauer for the first month. They were without the 2006 MVP Justin Morneau for the last month. Their starting pitching was brutal, they were unsettled at numerous positions, they were six games under .500 in mid-August. And I heard from the Gardy people, doing their Billy Crystal as Edward G. Robinson impressions (“Where’s your Messiah now!”). Only then, the Twins won 21 of their last 35 (and 17 of their last 21) and they chased down the fading Tigers and the won the division again, Gardenhire’s fifth division championship.
And I again wrote the Gardenhire is a genius thing because, dammit, I’m nothing if not predictable. And again I got hit with the anti-Gardy denials — he didn’t do anything, the Tigers folded, anyone could manage the Twins, the UNDERachieved, he cost his team a dozen games with stupid maneuvers on and on and on. It’s amazing. The guy could build Hoover Dam and people would say he should have built it bigger. The Twins did lose three straight to the Yankees in the playoffs, which if I was reading the response correctly demonstrated again the point of Gardy’s incompetence (and apparently did not demonstrate the the point that the Yankees had a payroll three times larger). And once again I found myself just shaking my head and wondering why it seemed so lonely on “Gardy is Awesome” Island.
Then came 2010. Now I should point out here that part of the reason I’ve been so enthralled with Gardy is that I don’t think the Twins have been all that talented. Payroll isn’t everything, but it’s probably telling that in the first eight years that Ron Gardenhire managed the Twins, they never had a payroll in the top half of baseball. Not once. They have only once had the highest payroll in their own relatively low-spending division. Here is a look at the Twins payroll rankings:
2009: 24th (lowest in AL Central)
2008: 25th (lowest in AL Central)
2007: 18th (3rd in AL Central)
2006: 19th (3rd in AL Central)
2005: 20th (3rd in AL Central)
2004: 19th (2nd in AL Central)
2003: 18th (1st in AL Central)
2002: 27th (lowest in AL Central)
OK, so with those payrolls, the guy took his team to the playoffs five times. I mean, that’s SOMETHING isn’t it? Well, this year, something changed. The Twins payroll took a huge jump — they are actually 10th in the league in payroll (though still only third in the AL Central, behind Chicago and Detroit — yes three of this year’s top 10 payrolls are in the American League Central). And the payroll should go up quite a bit next year when Joe Mauer’s $23 million per year deal kicks in.
OK, so where did that extra money go for the Twins?
1. Mauer’s salary jumped $2 million.
2. Justin Morneau’s salary jumped $3.5 million.
3. Michael Cuddyer’s salary jumped almost $2 million.
4. They signed Carl Pavano for $7 million.
5. They signed J.J. Hardy for $5.1 million.
6. They signed Orlando Hudson for $5 million.
7. They signed Jim Thome for $1.5 million plus incentives.
8. Various raises to players like Jason Kubel, Franscisco Liriano, etc.
9. They are paying Joe Nathan $11.25 million — this is the same as last year, so that’s not why the payroll went up. But the point is I believe only the Yankees in the American League pay more for their closer.
I go through all that to show you that this year — for the first time in a very long time, I think — the Twins put some financial backing behind their efforts to win. They have a new stadium now, so I’m sure that helped. They also have perhaps the single most valuable property in baseball in Joe Mauer, and they re-signed him. For the first time in my mind they gave Gardy a team that is NOT small market, a team that has been given the balance sheet talent to win games and playoff series. Of the American League playoff teams only the Yankees (or, in a miracle finish, the Red Sox) have a higher payroll than Minnesota.
So this year’s different. Only then, it wasn’t so different. During spring training Nathan was lost for the season. How valuable is a closer? It’s a topic we’ve discussed here more than once … and I don’t know if we came to a consensus. But it’s fair to say that $11.25 million of that payroll was worthless for 2010, and a lot of people around the game thought that Nathan’s injury could be a death blow to the Twins chances.
And as if to prove the point, the Twins were a blah 45-42 on July 10. And it was right around then (July 7 to be precise) that they lost Justin Morneau, who had a strong argument as American League MVP when he suffered a concussion. He has not played a single game since then.
And where are the Twins right now? Exactly: First place, the American League Central is all sewn up, the Twins are only a half game behind Tampa Bay for the best record in all of baseball. They are 43-16 since hitting that low point — staggeringly awesome baseball. Gardenhire is about to take the Twins to the playoffs for the sixth time.
And, no, I don’t know if the Twins will do any better this time around — the Twins under Gardy have lost their last nine playoff games and have only won one playoff series — but on paper, to me, they at least seem in better playoff shape. They have the ace — Francisco Liriano has pitched as well this year as any pitcher in the league. They get on-base (second in OBP) and are fourth in the league in runs. Their bullpen, even without Nathan and with a couple of closers through the season, has been strong. We’ll see.
But I guess my point remains … I think Ron Gardenhire is the best manager in baseball. I think that not based on what we see but what we can’t see. I base this not on what I think a manager should do but on success. I base this not on individual moves but on the basis that the Twins are there on top one more time.
That someone close to the Twins — he would know more about this than I do. And I respect his opinion. And he insists that the Twins win DESPITE Gardy not BECAUSE of Gardy. And you know what? It could be true.
But you know what else? They sure do keep on winning despite him. So if nothing else, Gardy is the best I’ve ever seen at minimizing the damage he can cause and keeping his own deficiencies from ruining the story. It’s a lesson all of us could probably learn.
There are two absolutely remarkable things happening in baseball this year … or anyway, I think they are remarkable.
1. The Seattle Mariners might be having the worst offensive season in baseball history … certainly in recent baseball history.
2. The Arizona Diamondbacks are definitely having the most fan-tastic season in baseball history.
Both of these things are so awesome, that I really don’t know where to begin. I’ll start with Seattle because, well, I have to start somewhere. It’s pretty hard not to notice that the Mariners are having just a wee problem this year scoring runs. I mean, they are last in baseball in batting average, on-base percentage, slugging percentage and runs (naturally). They don’t just have the fewest runs in baseball, they have the title by a Tony Esposito (35). Their batting splits are a smorgasbord of goodies (or baddies) such as these treats:
— Mariners’ No. 3 hitters are hitting .227 … which is actually BETTER than their No. 5 hitters (.209).
— Mariners second basemen, shortstops and catchers combined are slugging .301.
— The Mariners as a team are hitting .234. The Mariners as a team minus Ichiro are 10 points worse.
And so on. It has been a preposterously awful offensive season for Seattle, I think everybody understands that. And yet … I didn’t realize just how awful. I had this idea to go back and see when was the last time a team scored this little over a full season. The Mariners are on pace to score 518 runs this year, so I went to trusty Baseball Reference and started to go back year by year to see what was the last team to score fewer than 518 runs. I figured it would take three minutes or so, I figured I’d have to go back as far as 2003 and those awful Detroit Tigers (who, I did not realize, actually did not score the fewest runs in baseball; the Los Angeles Dodgers did). If it wasn’t the Tigers, I figured one of those National League teams in pitchers parks without the DH (like the Dodgers) would emerge in the early part of the decade. Maybe, I thought, I even would have to go back to the 1990s.
Well, it’s a bit more involved than that. No team in the 2000s was within 50 runs of the Mariners projection. OK. Of course, that might not mean a whole lot. The 2000s have been high scoring as we all know. So I went through the mid-to-late 1990s, when, yes, a lot of runs were being scored, and found that there wasn’t a team from 1996-2000 that was within 100 runs of the Mariners projection. Then there were the strike shortened years (even in 1995, that shortened season, no team scored anywhere near 518 runs) and finally I got to the pre-strike years before the offensive explosion and I figured I’d find a team there pretty quickly.
Only … no. The worst offense of the early 1990s was the 1992 Dodgers, but they scored 548 runs, still not especially close.
OK … to the 1980s. A low-scoring decade (except 1987). All those terrible low-scoring Seattle teams and Cleveland teams and Giants teams … there was no way I was going to get through the 1980s. Well …
The 1988 Orioles were ludicrously bad (lost their first 21 games) but they scored 550 runs.
The 1985 Giants, who lost 100 and were led in home runs by Bob Brenly and had a team on-base percentage of .299? They scored 556 runs.
The 1982 Reds, who had two players hit more than 10 home runs (Dan Driessen led with 17)? They scored 545 runs.
And still, I could not find a team, either league, that scored as few runs as the Mariners figure to score in 2010.
OK, fine, so we have to go into the 1970s, a decade so offensively lame that they finally just added a designated hitter in the American League to wake up some fans. Finally, this project that was supposed to take three minutes would end. And I thought I had it in 1978 — ah, those 1978 Oakland Athletics. What a team. Not a single player on the team drove in more than 70 RBIs, and not a single player scored more than 62 runs. Mitchell Page … Dave Revering … that’s it, I just named the only two even remotely decent offensive players on the 1978 Oakland A’s. They would finish dead last in runs scored in 1979 too.
But even that 1978 Oakland Athletics scored 532 runs … more than the Mariners projection (though with a hot finish, the Mariners could catch the A’s).
Back another couple of years — the 1976 Montreal Expos were a special offensive team. Larry Parrish led the team with 11 home runs. I’ll repeat that — LARRY PARRISH LED THE TEAM WITH 11 HOME RUNS. And that home run race wasn’t close, nobody had 10. Forty-six different players got at-bats for that Expos team, a list that includes Hall of Famers (Gary Carter, Andre Dawson), good players in the future (Andre Thornton, Ellis Valentine, Parrish), and a bunch of kids. A BUNCH of kids. Eleven different players on the team that year were 22 or younger. And you know what? That 1976 Expos team, with all those kids, with no power or ability to get on base (.291 OBP for the team), with no designated hitter, in a very low-scoring era, they scored 531 runs.
That’s STILL more than the Mariners are on pace to score.
And if I didn’t realize it before, this is when I fully appreciated just how remarkable this Mariners team really is. In today’s era, with today’s technologies, with the home run ball still flying (though not as much as the last decade or so), the Seattle Mariners will probably score fewer runs than any time in almost 40 years. I think, depending on how far back your memory goes, this Mariners offense is the worst you have ever seen.
The last team to score fewer than them? WELL, As it turns out, it was several teams from 1972*. In 1972, California, Texas, Cleveland and Milwaukee from the AL and San Diego from the NL all scored fewer than 500 runs.
*Great point by Brilliant Reader Paco — 1972 was strike shortened so the teams played seven or eight fewer games that year. The last team to score fewer than the Mariners projection in a FULL season was the 1971 San Diego Padres who only scored 486 runs.
What makes 1972 so special? Well, you already know: It was the absurd lack of scoring in 1972 that finally propelled the American League to add the designated hitter.
Which leads to the question: Will the American League take away the DH from every team except Seattle? And will that even help considering Seattle DHs are hitting .190/.267/.348?
* * *
Maybe you know off the top of your head what team has the record for most strikeouts in a season. I did not know … it was the 2001 Milwaukee Brewers with 1,399. That team was something else. Their strikeouts mostly came from five men:
1. Jose Hernandez, 185
2. Richie Sexson, 178
3. Jeromy Burnitz, 150
4. Geoff Jenkins, 120
5. Devon White, 95
That makes up slightly more than half the team’s strikeouts and inspires the eternal question: What, Devon White was playing in 2001? I don’t remember that at all.
Jose Hernandez was a strikeout genius — everyone felt sure that he would be the one to break Bobby Bonds unbreakable record of 189 strikeouts in a season. Let’s take a moment to talk about that because the Bonds record was something to behold. Before 1960, no player in baseball history had struck out even 140 times in a season. The record of 138 belonged to Jim Lemon, and THAT was more or less unthinkable. He had broken Vince DiMaggio’s record of 134, and yes many, many, many people have wondered how Joe DiMaggio could have been so hard to strike out while his brother Vince was a swing-and-miss machine.
Anyway in 1961, Jake Wood struck out 141 times to set the record, and in 1962 Harmon Killebrew struck out 142 to set it again. The record was creeping up one by one. Then 23-year-old Dave Nicholson in the only year he would get more than 300 at-bats, managed to strike out 175 times. You could argue that Nicholson was the Jim Ryun of strikeouts — the one who showed everyone what was possible. As you know, nobody had struck out 150 times in a year before Nicholson. Over the next 10 years though, 11 other players would do it.
Nicholson’s 175 Ks in a season looked like it would be the standard for quite a while, that is until Bobby Bonds exploded on the scene. There had never been anything quite like Bobby Bonds. He was fast. He was strong. He was electric. And he struck out like he was going for a Christmas bonus. In his first full year, 1969. He hit 32 homers, stole 45 bases, led the league in runs scored … and struck out 187 times. This didn’t only set the record, it set a precedent — you could strike out that much and STILL be a great player.
The next year, Bonds’s overall numbers were even better, he hit .302, with 10 triples, 26 homers, 48 stolen bases, 134 runs scored. And that year he struck out 189 times, which would be the record for the next 30-plus years.
Oh, some strikeout heroes came along and tried to break the record. Rob Deer struck out 187 times. Pete Incaviglia struck out 185. The young Mike Schmidt struck out 180 in 1975. Jose Canseco showed a lot of promise, striking out 175 times when he was only 21. And there was Bo, larger than life Bo, swing for the county line Bo, there never seemed a doubt that if Bo Jackson could get enough plate appearances, he had the stuff to break the record. But he never got more than 561 PAs in a season (Bonds had 745 PAs the year he set the record). Bo did strike out 172 times that year, but it wasn’t enough.
Jose Hernandez seemed like our best shot to break the record. He hit with some power, he could play several positions, and he was really good at striking out. But in that magical Milwaukee year of 2001, despite a big finish when he struck out 28 times in his last 78 at-bats, he could not quite get there. And then in 2002, he seemed to have the record all but clinched, but his manager Jerry Royster kept him out of the lineup at the end, and he finished with 188 Ks, which, like the word havoc, is one K short.
Richie Sexson and Jeromy Burnitz just missed being teammates in Cleveland in 1996 (Sexson did not play for Cleveland until 1997), which is a shame because THAT would have been an epick kollection of Ks — with Jim Thome (2nd all-time in strikeouts), Manny Ramirez (100-plus strikeouts 11 times, only 11 players have done it more) and Jeff Kent (1,522 Ks is second most among second basemen).
Anyway, that Brewers team was the first team to strike out 1,300 times and almost the first team to strike out 1,400 times. A list of firsts by 100:
First team to 800 Ks: 1914 St. Louis Browns (863).
First team to 900 Ks: 1957 Chicago Cubs (989)
First team to 1000 Ks: 1960 Philadelphia Phillies (1054 — Pancho Herrera key with 136 Ks)
First team to 1,100 Ks: 1963 Cleveland Indians (1,102)
First team to 1,200 Ks: 1968 Mets (1203)
Team strikeouts, interestingly enough, dropped off in the 1970s, which is interesting because we tend to think that as a great strikeout era with Nolan Ryan, J.R. Richard and the other big strikeout pitchers. Still: Only one team, the 1978 Padres, struck out even 1,000 times times between 1972 and 1982. And no team would strike out 1,200 times again until after the strike — that would be the 1996 Tigers.
First to 1,300 Ks: 2001 Brewers (1399)
And our first team to 1,400 Ks? No doubt it will be this year’s Arizona Diamondbacks. They are only 27 short now. In fact, assuming they keep going like they do, they will set the record on Sunday in Pittsburgh (boy will THAT be thrilling). If they shorten up, they could save it and set the record at home on Tuesday against Colorado. If they can just keep up this pace, they will also become the first team to get to 1,500 strikeouts. Parade plans have not been made public yet.
We all know that strikeouts are great for pitchers, but how bad are they for hitters? People have different views about that. Nobody LIKES strikeouts, obviously, because they are unproductive outs. But many people around the game are not that bothered by them, they believe that, more often than not, strikeouts are no less valuable other kinds of outs (and, of course, they are better than double play grounders), and, look the Diamondbacks have struck out 300 or so more times than Seattle, but they have also scored 200 more runs. I had an extended conversation about this with Jim Thome*, and he was saying that while he doesn’t like striking out, while it really bothers him, he knows that this is simply the kind of player he is. If a pitcher throws to one of the blind spots in his swing, the pitcher will get the K. If the pitchers misses the spot by just a little, there’s a chance that Thome will hit the ball 900 feet. And the spot will move slightly too. That is classic baseball in the 21st century. The 1999 Cleveland Indians (with Thome featured prominently) struck out 1,099 times, second most in baseball and way more than those teams in the low scoring 1970s. But they also scored 1,009 runs, because they walked a bunch and hit with power and stole bases at a high percentage and so on.
*Look for my big piece on Thome very soon.
This year’s Diamondbacks are not a good offensive team. But they’re also not a bad one. They’re actually above league average in scoring runs. They are third in the league in homers, fourth in slugging. Their batting average is low — a direct consequence of those strikeouts, I would assume — but their on-base percentage is actually middle of the pack because they walk a lot.
The Diamondbacks have a pretty good chance — depending on how Stephen Drew finishes out the season — to have six different players with 100-plus strikeouts. But that’s actually not especially unusual in today’s baseball. That WAS unusual before 2006, in fact it had never happened before then. But since then, the 2006 Marlins, the 2007 Rays and Marlins and the 2008 Brewers and Marlins all had six 100K players.
What separates this Diamondbacks team is the high end strikeout guys. No team before this one has had five 125 strikeout guys. The five in the club?
1. Mark Reynolds (197). The Gretzky of Strikeouts, he already has the No. 1 and No. 2 spots on the season strikeout list, and he will pick up the No. 3 spot in the next day or two. No other player has struck out 200 times in a season, Reynolds will do it for the third straight year. Reynolds misses 38 percent of the pitches he swings at, which is otherworldly. Strikeout machines Adam Dunn and Ryan Howard swing and miss 32% of the time. Joe Mauer swings and misses 10% of the time.
2. Justin Upton (152). Expect more than 300 strikeouts this year for the Upton Brothers.
3. Adam LaRoche (148). Expect only about 200 strikeouts this year for the LaRoche Brother. Adam will whiff, of course, but Andy never has been a big strikeout guy.
4. Kelly Johnson (130). No second baseman before 1960 ever struck out 100 times in a season. Since then? Forty seven second baseman have done it — led by Bret Boone who did it eight times. Juan Samuel did it seven. Kelly Johnson has done it three.
5. Chis Young (120). Young is eighth in strikeouts since 2007 — and he is the only player in the Top 10 with an OPS+ of less than 100. In fact, he’s one of only two players in the Top 24 with an OPS+ of less than 100.*
*The other? I was shocked: Brandon Inge. He’s 12th on the list. I never fully appreciated just how much Inge strikes out.
Strikeouts around the league are up, pretty much like always. In fact, this really has been the Season of K — it is the first year in baseball history that teams average more than 7 strikeouts per game. The average was about six strikeouts per game in 1994, about five strikeouts per game in 1982, about four strikeouts per game in 1953, about three strikeouts per game in 1933, and about two strikeouts per game in 1912. We have a trend.
There are a million reasons for it; I think the game just keeps shifting, more and more and more, to a battle between pitcher and hitter. I find it absolutely fascinating that batting averages have remained fairly constant over the last 60 or 70 years when you consider how much the game has changed. In 2010, hitters are hitting .258 — pretty much what they hit in 1990, 1986, 1978, 1975, 1962, 1961, 1958, 1957, 1956 and 1913. How is that possible when you consider the increase of strikeouts?
Well, let’s take a look, let’s pick 1978. This year, teams are striking out 7.03 times per game, in 1978 they struck out 4.77 times. So that’s a little bit more than two extra outs per game as strikeouts.
In 2010, the batting average on balls hit in play is .298.
In 1978, the batting average on balls hit in play was .280.
This is big. And you see that pretty much in those other years as well.
Batting average on balls hit in play:
So, that’s a big difference — yes guys are putting the ball in play less often, but when they do put it in play they’re hitting the ball harder in 2010 than they did in 1978 or 1962 or whatever (either that or, if you were prefer, they’re not playing defense as well in 2010 as they did then). The game has shifted much more, I think, into a battle of wills between pitcher and hitter, neither side giving in, pitchers less willing to induce contact, hitters less willing to choke up and put the ball in play. Anyway, that’s one difference.
The second difference, of course, is home runs. BABIP does not include home runs. If it did, you would see an even more dramatic difference
Batting average on balls hit (homers included):
So that’s how that works. It’s just remarkable to me that as the game changes pretty wildly, a big number like batting average can stay reasonably constant.* Batters hit the ball harder, but strikeouts go up to even it out. That’s how I view the 2010 Arizona Diamondbacks, not as a team about to set a great record but as a counterbalance in this great game.
*Batting average does fluctuate, of course. Since 1950, players have hit as high as .271 (in 1999) and as low as .237 (in the real year of the pitcher, 1968). But mostly since the DH is has stayed somewhere reasonably close to .260.
I’ve been after a good friend of mine to finally write a book he’s been thinking about for a long time: A book about sportsmanship. There are, of course, a lot of books about sportsmanship, many of them good ones. But my friend has a view I haven’t read much, a fascinating view. It isn’t a “tsk tsk” kind of view. His feeling is that we have so blurred the lines of sportsmanship that it’s hard to know the rules. We have become so divided on what is acceptable and justified and admirable when it comes to winning and losing that we are not entirely sure what to teach our kids. It isn’t that we have lost our moral compass or anything that severe … it’s more that the lines of fair play, like umpire strike zones, are ever shifting and uniquely individual. It changes sport to sport, level to level, year to year. There isn’t a clear line of thinking to follow anymore. I think it would be a good book.
And I think the Derek Jeter play on Wednesday would be a pretty good place to start. You know what happened — the Yankees were playing Tampa Bay, seventh inning, and the Rays were winning 2-1. There was one out, and Chad Qualls was pitching, Derek Jeter was batting, and Qualls threw the ball way inside where it hit something and bounced back into fair play. The thing that was unusual about the play was that even on television you could hear the ball hit something — it sounded like a very loud ping. “You could hear that from up here!” they said on the YES Network. That sound, you know, might indicate that the ball hit the bat. Ball hitting hand doesn’t sound like that. Instead, the umpire said it hit Jeter and awarded him first base. Jeter came around to score on Curtis Granderson’s home run, which gave the Yankees the lead.
Here was what made the play interesting — Jeter acted like the ball hit him.* He REALLY acted like the ball hit him. He held his forearm like he was in great pain, he hopped around a little bit. He held his left forearm close. Then the trainer came out and checked to make sure nothing was broken. It was quite a production. And it was all a farce. The ball didn’t hit him. The ball didn’t come close to hitting where he claimed it hit him (it came close to the elbow, but not the hand or forearm). On the YES replay (which was better than the replay they had in Tampa) it was clear that the ball hit the knob of the bat and indeed bounced into fair play.
*I’ve actually heard from a couple of people who say that Jeter wasn’t acting — he was reacting to the vibration of the bat hitting ball. Let’s just put that lunacy to rest right now. Jeter’s left hand (the one he would claim got hit) WASN’T EVEN ON THE BAT when the ball hit — he had already pulled it away. Our discussion here is built on the premise that Jeter was acting, it was all a performance, not unlike a soccer player diving. As the guy on the YES Network said, with a hint of chuckle in his voice, “Wow, Derek is some actor.”
Here’s what followed: Rays manager Joe Maddon came out to argue — he absolutely knew the ball hit the bat — and he stayed out there long enough to get tossed out of the game. The Yankees took the lead. The Rays came back and won the game. And life goes on. This sort of thing happens a lot in baseball, as we will discuss in a second.
But, what about Jeter’s acting? What do we make of that? Is it cheating? Gamesmanship? Is it simply playing within the accepted rules of baseball and society? Or, more, is it exactly what he SHOULD have done considering the structure and demands of baseball?
“My job is to get on base,” Jeter said plainly when it ended, and I think a pretty fair majority of people would agree. A fair majority would say that what he did was, as I put it in my poll, “shaky but part of the game” (at last check 61% checked that option). Even Maddon said that he would have applauded a player of for doing what Jeter did. Applause — now that seems a bit much. Part of me wonders if Maddon’s reaction (and the reaction of many) is built around that fact that it was Jeter did it … somehow if A-Rod had done the same thing or A.J. Pierzynski or Milton Bradley, I suspect that the word “applaud” would not have emerged from Joe Maddon.
Well, hey, Jeter has earned that. He has reached that point of his great career where he doesn’t follow standards, he sets them. When Hanley Ramirez loafs after a ball, Derek Jeter’s name is invoked. When A-Rod steps on the mound, Derek Jeter’s name is invoked. If Derek Jeter hops around and pretends the ball hit him when it did not, well, it’s a play even the opposing manager can admire.
But … please listen. I’m not saying what Derek Jeter did was wrong. I have an entirely different reaction. Because to me … what he did isn’t wrong, not in the baseball game I know. Isn’t a big part of baseball selling the umpire on stuff that didn’t happen? Isn’t that what a catcher does when he tries to bring back strike three? Isn’t that what an infielder does by holding up the glove even when he misses a tag at second base? Isn’t that what an outfielder does when he lifts up HIS glove after he traps a ball? Isn’t that what a batter does when he tries to act like he checked his swing? Doesn’t a base runner pretend to have touched home plate even if he knows that he missed it?
The old line about how if you ain’t cheating you ain’t trying — who said that, anyway? — is tied up in baseball’s rhythms. Golf prides itself on its rules; I don’t even need to ask Tom Watson what he thought about Derek Jeter’s play, I know he hated it. But golf is different. Baseball prides itself on its spirit. It began as a game of scofflaws, a cast of hard-core men who created the modern rule book by stretching the very limits of the game. Pitching as we know it grew out of pitchers refusing to just pitch the ball underhand to the batter as the original rules stated. The foul-bunt-on-two-strikes-is-a-strikeout rule came into effect because guys would just keep bunting the ball foul otherwise. The dirt-ball was outlawed. The spitball was outlawed. The corked bat was outlawed. The infield fly rule was introduced to keep people from dropping balls on purpose to get double plays. A rule was added that fielders were not allowed to stand in the batter’s sight-line and try to distract. The pitcher’s mound was lowered and more closely measured. Steroid testing began. Baseball is a sport in constant flux because the game itself encourages pushing the framework of sportsmanship, and the rulebook attempts to bring back some semblance of order.
Take stealing signs in baseball. There is no official rule in the rulebook against stealing signs. There was a directive from the commissioner’s office against using electronic equipment or various other kinds of unspecified technology for stealing signs, but that’s a different thing. The feeling in baseball seems to be that if you want to steal signs — and you are willing to have your best player plunked in the back in retaliation if you are caught — well, that’s your business. Baseball defines its own morality. Players and managers police their own game. And in that world, I think, stealing signs, faking tags, playing a ball you know went over the fence, pretending a ball hit you when it didn’t … these things are very much a part of baseball’s code of ethics.
In other words, if Derek Jeter had dropped the bat and started running to first base, it’s very possible that the umpire would not have said the ball hit him. It’s possible he would have been called out. And, inside the game, would that have been seen as the noble thing to do? I don’t think so. You take what you are given. You push for the advantage (because, as Jeter himself says, sometimes you DO get hit with the ball and the umpire misses it). No, Derek Jeter is not Leo Durocher, not at all, but I would argue that what Durocher said on the first page of his autobiography — a paragraph sent in by my friend Alex Belth — cuts closer to the heart of the game than anything in the rulebook.
“If a man is sliding into second base and the ball goes into center field, what’s the matter with falling on him accidentally so that he cant get up and go to third? If you get away with it, fine. If you don’t, what have you lost? I don’t call that cheating; I call that heads-up baseball. Win any way you can as long as you can get away with it.”
I don’t think what Jeter did was wrong, not at all, not in baseball terms. So what was my reaction? Well, I think what Jeter did was kind of … sad. Has he become so impotent as a hitter — do you realize the guy now has an 86 OPS+? — that now he’s willing to hop around and have trainers look at his forearm when the ball clearly did not hit him? That’s what Derek Jeter has become? And then afterward, he’s sheepishly defending the move by saying it’s his job to get on base, well, is that what’s behind the Derek Jeter aura? Is that what he has stood for all these years?
I think of the immortal words of Whitey Ford, who was well known in his later days for cutting the baseball: “I didn’t begin cheating until late in my career, when I needed something to help me survive.” I think that’s exactly right. There are very, very, very few people who bend the rules, push the limits, stray from good sportsmanship when they don’t have to do it. My favorite exchange in the movie Major League is a touching little scene where the old pitcher, Harris, talks about how sometimes he will put snot on the ball. Ricky Vaughn, the hard-throwing kid just out of prison, is disgusted.
Vaughn: “You put snot on the ball?”
Harris: “I haven’t got an arm like you kid. I have to put anything on it I can find. Someday you will too.”
And that was what I thought about watching Jeter on that play. I thought someday has arrived. The morality of the play? Right? Wrong? Part of the game? That’s for you to decide. I have my own view; I hope to teach my own daughters to always play by the rules, and I would be furious if one of them did something like what Jeter did. That would lead to a DFL — one of Daddy’s Famous Lectures. But I also understand Major League Baseball is a lot different from kid soccer or tee-ball, it’s a competitive and furious game, played at a ludicrously high level with suffocating pressures and intensity, and winning is at the heart of it.
I guess in the end, what I take from it is this: I save my deep admiration for people who choose fair play over a momentary advantage. But that’s not how most people play big league baseball. That’s not how managers want people to play big league baseball. That’s not how most fans WANT people to play big league baseball. Rising above that, finding a higher sense of fair play in today’s era of sports, well, it’s a hard thing to do. It’s especially hard when you’re a great player hitting .260 for the New York Yankees.
At this point, you might know all about my various mixed feelings about instant replay in football — I’ve written about it enough. The good parts of instant replay are obvious and decisive — the NFL is using the best technology to get calls right more often. And there’s simply no way around that sort of precision in today’s game. We need it. Replay overturns terrible calls and clarifies close ones. Yes, we need it.
Now, coaches and teams are not powerless against a blown call (unless they’ve wasted their challenges, which happens). Sure, fans can and do still feel cheated by referees — for questionable holding calls, dubious pass interference no calls, etc. — but we can at least take solace in knowing the league is doing the best it can to fix mistakes. During the Chiefs-Chargers game Monday night, for instance, there was a punt that the Chargers were trying to down on the 1-yard line. Two different San Diego players were pretty clearly in the end zone while touching the ball. It was obvious in live action that the ball had to come back to the 20. But the official, in what seemed a momentary haze, placed the ball on the 1. That sort of bizarrely bad call doesn’t stand in NFL games anymore, and that’s simply worth whatever price. You can’t get the basic calls — in or out of bounds, fumble or no fumble, cross the goal line or no — obviously wrong, not in America’s most popular league.
The negative side, at least for me, has always been more nebulous and imprecise. I don’t like the way instant replay changes the flow of the game. I don’t enjoy how much of pro football has become legal wrangling — get a decision and then wade through the appeal process. I don’t like the conditional aspects of cheering for a big play and then having to wait and see if it stands up. But we’ve all gotten used to it, and again I don’t think we really have much choice. When there’s more precise and better technology, you have to use it. That’s just reality. That’s why I believe baseball can hold out for a while, but sooner or later replay will become a bigger part of the game. You can’t keep getting calls wrong when there’s a way to get those same calls right.
One thing I will say, though, is I’ve never quite followed when people say: “But replay takes out the human element of the game.” Well, I followed to a point … I had a certain idea in my mind of what this means. I’ve always thought wanting the human element involved means having real people make calls. Why? Many of us don’t want our games officiated or umpired by robots. It’s visceral. Also many of us want the rules administered with some level of common sense, the stuff that goes beyond replay and machines.
For instance, there’s the check swing rule in baseball. The rule has been handled differently through the years … I can remember when the accepted rule seemed to be that a batter had to “break his wrists” for a checked swing to be a strike. Then the rule seemed to be that the bat had to cross home plate for it to be a strike, or the head of the bat had to go past the foul line. There is none of this in the rulebook, however. The rulebook merely says that the ball is called a strike if it is “struck at by the batter and is missed.” That’s it. And so now, best I can tell, the interpretation of the rule involves intent — did the batter intend to swing at the ball and miss it. If so, it’s a strike. Even though this is more nebulous — we can’t really KNOW anyone’s intentions — I actually like it better than some hard and fast rule. Some batters are strong enough to hold back clear swing attempts. Other batters kind of wave the bat but do not appear to be trying to swing. This is how I viewed human element in baseball. Let the umpire decide: Was he attempting to swing? Was he not attempting to swing? They’ll get it right sometimes, wrong sometimes, but I like the umpires making that decision. That’s what I have long considered human element.
But this weekend, it occurred to me that actually there’s a whole other human element issue that I had never quite considered before. This happened at the end of the Chicago Bears-Detroit Lions game. You will remember the play: The Lions were down 19-14 in the final minute when Calvin Johnson caught what appeared to be the go-ahead touchdown pass. The way it looked live and in color was that Johnson caught the ball, got both feet down, crossed the goal line, controlled the ball in one hand, went to the ground, and when he rolled over the ball kind of popped out. Then he started celebrating. That’s how it looked on replay too. The officials ruled that the pass was not complete, that he did not go all the way through the catching process or some such thing.
The question here whether or not the play was called right — it absolutely may have been called right. Jim Schwartz, the Lions coach, seemed to think it was called right, or at least was not called wrong. He handled the call with dignity — he is not about to blame the officials for a loss, and I respect that immensely. I think that’s a winning strategy* — controlling what you can control, not blaming others for your losses, moving on from disappointment.
*This doesn’t exactly connect — and it probably isn’t worth the words I’m about to give it. But I’m going to write it anyway because it’s been bugging me. I don’t know if you saw the Chiefs-Chargers game late Monday night, but if you did you will remember this play: The Chiefs were leading 21-7 when they blew a coverage and allowed San Diego receiver Legedu Naanee to break wide open down the field. I mean WIDE open. Nobody within 20 yards. Chargers quarterback Philip Rivers saw Naanee, hit him with a pass, and Naanee scored the touchdown.
Only, he didn’t just score the touchdown … he purposely slowed down, almost came to a stop, like he wanted to walk into the end zone. And then, apparently realizing that he could showboat his way into football disaster, sped up just enough to beat a charging Chiefs defender into the end zone. It was a show-off move, a laugh-in-the-face kind of move, a hold-out-the-ball-and-shout-“You stink” kind of move. The Chiefs defender gave Naanee a little shove at the end zone and neither of the announcers talked about it (probably because they were too busy talking about the greatness of Philip Rivers and Matt Cassel — wow, NFL announcers LOVE quarterbacks).
Anyway: I have a pretty high tolerance for showboat moves in the NFL. It’s like my friend Michael MacCambridge says — these guys take extreme punishment, they wreck their bodies for money and glory and our entertainment, they really are something close to modern gladiators, as cliche as that has become. And so if they want to celebrate themselves by making exaggerated first down gestures or by flexing when they make a great defensive play or by sounding their barbaric yawps over the rooftops of the world when they score touchdowns, hey, I’m not saying I LOVE it. I’m not saying I don’t reserve special admiration for the Barry Sanders’ move of flipping the touchdown ball to the official. But I’m not bothered by it. Football is a game played best with emotion, with joy, with ferocity, and I can understand and even appreciate the excess.
But this Naanee Naanee Boo Boo movie seemed different to me. One, it was taunting and therefore it was low end. Two, who is Legedu Naanee? The guy had started one game and scored two NFL touchdowns in his three-year NFL career. He can be casual about scoring touchdowns? My sense is he was only playing because Vincent Jackson is holding out in the first place. Three, he didn’t do anything all that great for him to be taunting anyone in the first place. He ran straight down the field, the Chiefs forgot to cover him — probably because he’s Legedu Naanee — and he caught a pass with nobody around him. Four, the Chargers were losing by a touchdown even AFTER he scored. Five, he wasn’t celebrating the touchdown — it wasn’t emotional. It was like he was ANTI-celebrating the touchdown, like it was no big deal.
I’m not saying it’s impossible or even improbable to win playing that kind of football. I’m not saying that what he did was some sort of great sin either. As one Twitter responder said: “Why does it matter?” In the end, Naanee scored the touchdown. It counts for the same number of points as if he had actually run it out. It SHOULD count for the same number of points. But it really does seem to me that moments like that reveal something about people and coaches and teams. You can win playing that way. But I don’t think that’s how winners play.
Anyway, the Calvin Johnson call may have been technically right (and I should add for clarification that it was called that way on the field — NOT on replay). But the way I saw it, the call was certainly wrong. That is: Johnson caught the ball. It would have been a catch in 1950 and it would have been a catch in 1970 and it would have been a catch in 1990. It would have been a catch during recess, and it would have been a catch in the CFL and it would have been a catch in college football, and it would have been a catch in electric football. It would have been a catch because the eyes tell you that he caught the ball.
That, I think, is the human element.
And maybe we ARE losing that. Maybe that is a by-product of instant replay. In many ways we don’t look at plays anymore. No, we break plays down into molecules. We run the play back and forth, back and forth, magnify it 20 times its normal size, then sharpen the focus. We use high definition graphics to give us another viewpoint. We go deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper in an effort get things “right,” and maybe we do that so intently that eventually a wide receiver makes what looks to everyone like a clear catch and the officials call it incomplete because of a long, baffling and illogical series of rules that were devised because we now have the technology to enforce them.
Back to baseball for a second: We have come to see the strike zone as a box — a very specific sized box that they often show in graphic form on TV. But is what the strike zone really is? A box? I thought a called strike was supposed to be, as it was originally put by Doc Adams in 1858, “a ball legally delivered by the pitcher within the legitimate reach of the bat.” I thought that was the whole point of why we have a strike zone in the first place, so that pitchers will throw the ball where hitters can legitimately hit them. Yes, of course, there must be dimensions, there must be rules, and they should be specific. But it strikes me that by playing with the rules we sometimes lose the intent. By messing with the specifics, we sometimes lose the overall purpose. If a pitch is half-an inch outside the replay box and the umpire calls it a strike, who is really right? The replay might technically be right, but that doesn’t mean the ball wasn’t within legitimate reach of the hitter.
That’s what I think happened with Calvin Johnson (and with numerous other plays, including that non-catch in the Tampa Bay-St. Louis championship game back in 2000, the tuck call, etc). Replay puts more emphasis on the technicalities and less emphasis on the big picture. Because of this attention to even the minutest detail, replay helps us get a lot more calls right. But because of that attention to minute details, I think replay sometimes spurs us to get the calls wrong now and again too.
OK, here’s a long and rambling essay I’ve pounded out about why I like Wins Above Replacement, not as the end-all, be-all*, but as a pretty good place to start when trying to figure out a player’s value.
*”Be-all and the end-all” as phrase comes from Shakespeare, from MacBeth specifically, when MacBeth used to the phrase basically to mean “All there is to it.” He was referring to killing King Duncan of Scotland, and he was essentially saying that if killing him the be-all and the end-all — if he could kill the king and have that be the end of it — it would be done. But because there could be consequences in the afterlife, there are more issues involved.
We tend to use end-all, be-all differently, as a phrase to describe the ultimate, the very best we can get, all we would really need.
But before going to WAR (alert: I will try to avoid war puns from now on), let me talk a bit about this little discussion I had with Bill James.
Here was the starting point: Poker. Let’s say you’re playing three down, five-card stud poker (first three cards down, last two up). OK? You’ve been dealt four cards so far, and this is what you have:
2H 2D KS 8C*
*I’m suspect you know this but that’s the two of hearts, two of diamonds, king of spades and eight of clubs.
Your opponent, though you don’t know it, has this:
JC 8S 8D JS
So, basically, you have almost nothing, a pair of twos. This seems really good to you for reasons that are not especially clear to anyone else. Your opponent has two pair — jacks and eights. You have not read him right and you are sure he’s bluffing and so you put everything into the pot — your house, your car, your big screen TV, your prize copy of The Machine (now in paperback!), everything. You have a very serious gambling problem, my friend, and you should look into that.
Then it’s down to the last card. He gets the ace of spades. You, against ludicrous odds, get the 2 of clubs, which gives you three deuces — YOU WON! Woo hoo! The Giants win the pennant!* You run around, do a dance, act like a big jerk, and the guy across the table is crying because he put all of HIS prize possessions into the pot (including his copy of The Soul of Baseball), and he knows that he just got beaten by someone who does not know what he/she is doing.
*Top 32 sports calls is coming this week.
From here, Bill asks a simple question:
Which card is the MVC — Most Valuable Card?
It’s a fun question that you can look at many different ways. Looking at it one way, the final 2, the 2 of clubs, HAS to be the most valuable card. I mean it showed up out of nowhere and hit the walk-off homer or got the ninth inning save — it was the difference maker! It delivered the win! Zack Greinke — after all I’ve tried to impart upon him — would probably pick the 2 of clubs because, as he so eloquently told Bob Dutton, the two most important stats are probably “innings and wins.”*
*Zack … Zack … Zack … even with all the hard work Brian Bannister and I have put in, you’re still showing Joe Morgan announcing signs at age 26. It’s not good. Justin Verlander, Roy Halladay, Felix Hernandez, C.C. Sabathia ALL had more innings and wins than you did last year. I know you didn’t enjoy winning the Cy Young last year, and I know you’ve grown overwhelmingly frustrated with pitching for the losing Royals City, but come on.
Back to the card game. So, some people would say the last 2 is your MVP, your Cy Young winner, whatever. Trouble is, how do you differentiate that 2 of clubs from the 2 of hearts and 2 of diamonds? They’re all of the same importance. So what’s the difference? Timing? Clutch performance? RBIs? Wins? And anyway, how can a TWO be the most valuable card in the game? It’s a two.
Looking at it another way, the king should be the most valuable player card. It was the best card on the winning team, and the MVP award is often just that — best player on a winning team. Trouble is the king didn’t really play much of a role in winning the game and anyway it wasn’t the best card in the game.
So that’s another way to look at it: The ace has to be the most valuable card because it’s the highest value card. It clearly had the best season. Trouble is, the ace played for a losing team. And even on that losing team, he did not play much of a role.
Looking at it still another way, the 8 of clubs could be the most valuable player card. How do I come up with that one? Well, if the 8 of clubs had gone to the other team, he* would have been the difference maker, he would have made that the winning hand (three 8s would have been decisive). By having the 8 of clubs, you prevented the other team from getting him. Trouble is, you really have to kind of stretch your mind to even come up with that philosophy.
*Eight is a very masculine number.
What’s the right answer? That’s the beauty of this thing … there is no RIGHT answer. This is all just a goofy Batman could beat Superman talk. Hands, not cards, win poker games. The first hand won not because of one card but because of the three twos. The second hand lost because three of a kind beats two pair. It’s likely that if you ever won a game like that with that much on the line, yes, you would always view the 2 of clubs as your favorite card. You would come away thinking that’s your lucky card, you’d have a T-shirt made with the 2 of clubs on it, the 2 of clubs would become famous among your circle of friends. But it took a whole series of events, and a collection of cards to win. And remember, if that last card had been the 2 of spades or another king, you still would have won.
You can bring a little of that to baseball too … we try to calculate individual players’ value because it’s fun and because we want baseball cards to increase in value, and we want posters to hang on our walls. But it isn’t individual players who win games. Put the 1923 Babe Ruth on the 2010 Pittsburgh Pirates — even assuming that he would have the same kind of year, the Pirates will still stink. They will stink less, certainly, but teams win games and teams win championships and it’s telling that many of the greatest seasons in baseball history ended without the team even making the playoffs:
Walter Johnson’s 1913 season? Senators finished second.
Rogers Hornsby’s 1924 season? Cardinals finished sixth.
Ted Williams’ 1941? Red Sox finished second.
Stan Musial’s 1948? Cardinals finished second.
Steve Carlton’s 1972? Phillies finished last.
Dwight Gooden’s 1985? Mets finished second.
Barry Bonds 2001? Giants finished second and out of playoffs.
And these are some of the very greatest seasons in baseball history. Poker HANDS win. Baseball TEAMS win.
Still … it’s a fascinating exercise to think about how much less the Pirates would stink if they replaced Lastings Milledge with the 1923 version of Babe Ruth. Murray Chass on his non-blog blog printed a “letter,” from one of the “obviously intelligent, articulate people,” who agree with him on the absurdity of advanced stats like WAR. A few of the the letter’s obviously intelligent, articulate words:
When an MVP-level candidate is rated 6 to 8 (wins above replacement), you can’t help but shake your head. Because, of course, it means that an MVP is ONLY WORTH six to eight more wins than a “replacement’ player.” If that’s the case, then let’s stop going to Major League games, and cheer for AAA players, who must be only one or two games less worthy than their average peers in the Majors. Indeed, we’d all save a lot of money at the ballparks if we only embraced a WAR-inspired commitment to Triple A.
Sigh. It’s amazing how irrational people get when it comes to making arguments against things they don’t like. How many wins WOULD this person say that an MVP candidate is better than a replacement player? Twenty wins? Thirty? Has he done the math on this? His intelligent and articulate calculations would seem to assume that a team of Class AAA players would win zero games in the big leagues — they wouldn’t. The Pirates are essentially a team of replacement plyaers plus Andrew McCutcheon and Neil Walker and a couple of other guys — but they’re not going to lose 162. They’re going to lose 100, maybe even 110. A full team of replacement players might lose 120, like the 1962 Mets.
More, the letter’s author seems to assume that a team with, say, three MVP candidates and the rest filled with Class AAA players would win 100 to 130 games. They wouldn’t. There are a million examples of this — but let’s just throw out the 1996 Mets. he Mets had three players who had great years. Todd Hundley mashed 41 home runs. Bernard Gilkey was fabulous, hitting .317 with 30 homers, 117 RBIs, 108 runs scored. Lance Johnson was excellent, hitting .333 and scoring 117 runs. The Mets had some other pretty good players, much better than Class AAA players. And the 1996 Mets still lost 91 games.
Great players don’t win games by themselves in baseball. They don’t. I thought that was one of the beautiful points of baseball, that teams win games.
Look: One of the great things about watching and enjoying sports is that there are no rules. You can believe what you want to believe. It’s supposed to be fun. Dan Quisenberry said the best thing about baseball is that there’s no homework … I would add there are no pop quizzes. If you want to believe that baseball is won entirely by heart, that RBIs and wins are the two most important numbers, that defense can be measured best and entirely by what you see, that Jack Morris and not Bert Blyleven belongs in the Hall of Fame, that numbers deaden the sport, you are absolutely entitled — more than entitled, you are empowered to see the game as you want to see it, enjoy it as you want to enjoy it. I’m not sure what you’re doing here, 2,000 or so words into this essay about WAR, but you absolutely should watch all sports for the joy of it. I just hope you’re not running a team I like.
But I like WAR. I like it because while it is complicated — complicated enough that Baseball Reference and Fangraphs come up with different, often very different, results — it is also extremely simple and entirely sensible. And it attempts to answer the poker question of value and the Babe Ruth question of how much difference a player can make.
Here’s what I mean: Let’s say you wanted to calculate a player’s value. How would you do it? For an every day player — and we’ll stick with those for now — you would try to determine the player’s offensive and defensive value to his team, right? Maybe you would look at a players RBIs, stolen bases and errors. Maybe you would look at a players batting average, home runs and fielding percentage. Maybe you would look at a players wOBA, his Bill James base running numbers and his UZR. But, really, it’s all going for same thing. I think the last one is more precise than the first two, but we’re still going for the same thing.
And that’s really all WAR is — looking at a player’s value offensively and defensively. I know the replacement thing throws people — but I think you need to have a baseline to compare the player. You could do this any number of ways. You could pick a really HIGH baseline — you could make your stat read Wins Below Willie Mays (WBWM) or Value Under Albert Pujols (VUAB). But that wouldn’t be much fun to do and would probably tell us more about Willie Mays and Albert Pujols than the players themselves. You could look for value above average — that what OPS+ and ERA+ do, and those are valuable stats. But there are so many positions and so many roles that “average” is kind of a tricky concept in baseball (which is why ERA+ doesn’t make a lot of sense for relief pitchers, and a 100 OPS+ is really good for a shortstop, quite lousy for a left fielder).
Replacement level makes sense to me. On the most simplistic level, a replacement player is just what the word suggests — a player you could easily get in an emergency to replace someone. He is the sort of player that is lingering on the end of the bench or is pretty good in Class AAA — the sort of player who gets paid the minimum or could be picked up for “cash considerations” or the dreaded “player to be named later” in a minor trade that nobody would notice. Every team has loads of replacement players, even if they would not call them that. Some are starting for teams like the Royals.
Joe McEwing — he’s a replacement player. In many ways, he’s the perfect replacement player. He played nine seasons for four different teams, posted a 71 career OPS+, played every position but catcher, tried really hard and was always available. If you were going to put a name to replacement player, I would say Joe McEwing is perfect* — and it doesn’t hurt that his career WAR is 0.0. The stat could easily be WAM — Wins Above McEwing.
*I saw someone on Baseball Reference used Willie Bloomquist as his example — same principle. Others long-timers who fit the tag: Danny Bautista, Jeff Huson, Doug Strange, Matt Mieske, James Mouton, Luis Rivera, and so on and so on and so on. It should be noted that most replacement players don’t have the longevity of the players listed above. Those players offered SOMETHING that inspired people to keep bringing them back. Replacement players, necessarily, tend to have short careers.
Once you figure out what replacement level is, WAR then compares the player’s value to that level — depending on position, depending on ballpark, etc. The offensive part can be involved, but it’s the easier part. People disagree about the specifics of offense, but in a larger sense people agree that it’s about getting on base, it’s about advancing bases, it’s about avoiding outs, you know, all that stuff. Fangraphs WAR uses wOBA and Baseball Reference uses Rbat, but they’re both built around linear weights (a single is worth this, a home run is worth that, etc). Base running is also factored in — stolen bases, caught stealing, etc. Pretty straightforward.
Defense — that one’s tougher. Here’s the problem: Defense has played a very small role in the mainstream definition of a player’s value. Yes, sure, people give it lip service. GMs will constantly tell you that they are trying to improve the team’s defense. Then they will go out and sign some 90 RBI outfielder who can’t move. Media types like myself will say that defense is important and then vote defensive liabilities for MVP. You want to see something fascinating? I looked back at the MVPs in both leagues for the last 40 years. They break down like so:
First base: 17
Left field: 15
Right field: 11
Third base: 10
Center field: 6
Second base: 6
OK, does that order look familiar at all? If you’re a fan of Bill James, it should. That order is almost a precise replica of Bill James Defensive Spectrum, which ranks the positions from easiest to hardest:
The Defensive Spectrum:
Look at that: Except for a couple of extra MVPs to the glamour position of shortstop, the MVPs have gone in perfect order from easiest position to hardest. Why? Because the MVP is an offensive award. Because our idea of value in large part revolves around offensive contributions — and not just any offensive contributions but certain KINDS of offensive contribution. The last MVP to hit lower than .295 was Kevin Mitchell way back in 1989. We all know the MVP has been skewed toward RBI men. From what I can tell, the last position player to win an MVP award largely because of his defense was, I don’t know: Ryne Sandberg in 1984? Zoillo Versalles in 1965? Phil Rizutto in 1950?
All three of those players, you should know, led position players in their league in WAR.
And this is one of the big things I love about WAR — it really does attempt to look at the whole player. Defensive statistics are more advanced and more controversial than ever, and because of that Baseball Reference WAR and Fangraphs WAR can fluctuate pretty wildly (Baseball Reference uses Total Zone as their defensive stat; Fangraphs uses UZR). But the point to me is that WAR is TRYING to figure the defensive contribution. It’s TRYING to get at the whole player, and not just the obvious stuff. It’s TRYING to make an educated guess about a player’s total value. I don’t have to agree with all the conclusions. I don’t have to like the inconsistencies, don’t have to like that someone like Josh Hamilton is ranked as by far the most valuable player in all of baseball (by Fangraphs) and as the fourth most valuable player in the American League (by Baseball Reference). I don’t have to agree with all the conclusions. I can live in shades of gray, I really can. I can decide for myself what stats are worth. I can like WAR without having it determine every single thing I believe or like about baseball.
The question I asked a few hundred words back was this: How many more wins would this year’s Pittsburgh Pirates win if they had 1923 Babe Ruth in right field instead of Lastings Milledge? It’s a make-believe question without a real answer. Maybe the Pirates would pitch Ruth on days he didn’t play right. Maybe teams would intentionally walk Ruth every single time (which would actually ADD to his value). Maybe other players would be inspired by Ruth. Maybe they would play even worse because he was around. Maybe none of that would happen.
At the moment, the Pirates are on pace to win 55 games, lose 107. WAR says Ruth in 1923 had a WAR of 14.7. WAR says that Milledge, in 2010, is actually worse than replacement by 1.1 wins. So adding the numbers together, WAR makes the claim that 1923 Ruth would make the Pirates 16 wins better — taking them from 55-107 to 71-91. That seems to me about as good an answer as we can find right now.
First event: 100-meter dash
Rafer Johnson came into the decathlon 50 years ago — at the 1960 Olympics in Rome — as the heavy favorite and the world-record holder. He got off to a bit of a rough start. There were three false starts in his 100-meter heat, and on the third he ran about halfway before realizing that he had to come back. The extra energy he exerted may have depleted him, and Johnson ran a 10.9… slow by his high standards. He had run a 10.6 when setting the world record at the Olympic trials in Eugene, Ore., just months earlier.
Bob Gibson smiles hard. It’s about to happen again. Over the years, Gibson has learned to tell when someone is about remind him how ferocious… heartless… intimidating he used to be. He has learned to brace himself for those peppy, ‘You were vicious!” compliments (they are compliments, right?) and the awed “You were a killer out there!” tributes (they are tributes, right?). He has learned to see them coming, the fans — they’re definitely fans — who remember him fondly for that glare and those up-and-in fastballs, who think of him as young and raging and invincible, with fury and pride and the purest annoyance oozing from his forehead instead of sweat.
“Mr. Gibson,” this man says. “Oh, do I remember the way you pitched. I remember all those batters you hit. They were so scared of you.”
There was something beautiful lost in the Jim Joyce fiasco, something that I hope I remember for as long as I remember the blown call. Yes, it’s hard to think about beautiful things when you have just watched one of the most absurd injustices in the history of baseball. But I’m a father of two young kids. And fathers find themselves looking for lessons. And there was something beautiful in the Jim Joyce fiasco.