The Giants are in danger of giving one up to the Expos. There's one out in the eighth inning of a 3-3 tie. Barry Bonds' fifth-inning homer to give the Giants the lead was answered by Michael Barrett's first of the season -- of course. Joe Nathan has just given up a one-out triple to the strangely silent Vladimir Guerrero, and now Lee Stevens has been walked intentionally. The new pitcher is lefty Aaron Fultz, facing pinch-hitter Orlando Cabrera. He gets a called strike. And now a popup to second. Does Kent see it? He does. Two away. And here comes Dusty Baker again to bring in a righthander to face Chris Widger, who keeps killing us. It's John Johnstone, who'll bat in the sixth spot, as Calvin Murray runs into center field. Marvin Benard moves to right, replacing Armando Rios -- ironic, in a way, in that Rios twice entered games in Florida as part of a double-switch last week, and each time he came up with a game-winning extra-base hit.
Okay, I spoke too soon. Murray did run out thereƒ but Dusty changed his mind, so Johnstone's in on a straight-up swap.
I really need for the Giants to make it clear that yesterday's win was not an aberration. The crisp 2-1 victory was the team's first ever during the regular season in their new digs. The game lasted a whole two hours and 18 minutes -- the kind of game I love, and the kind of game I've truly missed. I mean, I love baseball, but there is such a concept as too much of a good thing.
Strike one to Widger. Ball one. Ball two. Grounded to thirdƒ Mueller has it, tosses to first, side retired. Aurilia leads off the bottom of the inning.
Okay, back to yesterday's game. Kirk Rueter pitched seven innings of three-hit ball, giving up a late run, which the Giants answered right away. Bonds homered to the opposite field against Anthony Telford in the eighth, and Robb Nen blew Montreal away in the ninth. Very satisfying, for many reasons.
One is that not only is the monkey off the Giants' backs, it's off mine as well. See, it was EEEEEE! Contributing Editor David Beck's birthday more than two weeks ago -- he's 953 years old -- and despite his pledge to do his best to avoid paying attention to professional sports because his teams (mostly the Giants) drive him crazy, I decided to tape the Pacific Bell home opener and make him a copy, because, well, he still rightly loves Our Boys, and would no doubt enjoy the spectacle. Well, you know what happened that day, and the next day I rewound the tape to just after the first official pitch thrown in the Giants' new home, then taped the second game over it. And the third. And the fourth through sixth. So yesterday's win comes as something of a relief, even though the game was so brief that bits of probably at least three losses will show up after it. Oh, well.
(The Giants went down quickly in the eighth inning of today's game, and Johnstone is in trouble again: runners on first and third with nobody out, and pinch-hitter Rondell White (whom the Giants have been lucky enough not to face until now) has a count of 1-0. Fouled out of play. And now a hard line drive to left. Bonds backs up, grabs it, and throws to second base. Sacrifice fly -- 4-3 Expos.
And now Jose Vidro grounds one deep into the hole at short. Aurilia stretches out, grabs it, and heaves to first, where J.T. Snow picks it for the final out of the inning. Still, suddenly we're in a hole.)
Now, I watched yesterday's game until about 2:15 -- through five innings, I think -- at which time I had to take my son, Adam, to his T-ball game. First, that's become increasingly hard, because ever since he got tapped in the face by a wicked throw from a seven-year-old a couple weeks back, he has decided, irrevocably, that he doesn't want to play T-ball ever again. Well, I told him, you don't have to -- next year. This year, however, you have to see this through. It's a commitment -- and besides, if you actually pay attention, you might enjoy yourself. He doesn't listen, of course, being six.
Well, yesterday was probably my most painful experience on a baseball field, including the time I broke my nose on a popup. Adam's Rockies hosted the heavily vaunted Reds -- well, I doubt they're vaunted at all; I just wanted to use some descriptive terms to waste your time. Ten Rockies eventually showed up, as opposed to 763 Reds. Now, remember that in T-ball, each side bats all the way through before taking the field, so the Reds' innings took forever, while the Rockies' innings zipped by. Bob, Adam's coach, assigned him to play in the general area of center field in all three innings, which ensures a little action. Adam was not reassured by me saying that center field is my favorite position. Nor did he choose to pay any particular attention, meaning that of the half-dozen or so batted balls that came his way, he never knew about them till they were past him. If only this made him unique among T-ball players.
The Rockies, who hadn't assembled since a practice on April 19, played a lot like the 49ers right after the bye-week. It seemed that none of them remembered the slightest thing they'd been taught since early March, and Coach Bob was getting kind of frustrated. He's a good guy, and doesn't get on the kids' cases, though he does push them to do what they're capable of, which seems fair, as in, "Adam, I've seen you make better throws than that" and "Nolan, stop lookin' for spiders and pay attention." He didn't have to bust Adam's hump to pay attention all that much -- that's what my job was. I was Adam's shadow in center field (as well as the third base coach). Mostly my function was to keep Adam on his feet, admonishing him to stop making grass angels while the ball was in play.
About halfway through the top of the first, Adam asked me if the game's almost over, and you know what? I didn't blame him. The coaches of the Reds employed the method I sometimes see at the grocery store, when the person right in front of me waits until all 90,000 items have been rung up before deigning to pull out a checkbook and beginning, slowly, to write out a check, making sure to ask for the date, the name of the store, and the amount, which is displayed in foot-high letters on the cash register. In other words, the coaches never had the on-deck batter grab a bat and don a helmet until after the current batter's plate appearance had ended. Then each kid went up to the plate and took at least two practice swings at the empty tee before the coach would ask the Rockies' catcher to place the ball on it. It didn't help that one of the Reds' moms would run onto the field periodically to engage in a helmet swap with a baserunner, as the Reds apparently were equipped with only one batting helmet guaranteed to fit any of the kids. So we're talking about close to two minutes between batters. It was absolutely outrageous, especially on a hot day. The visitors' innings, I'm estimating, took a total of an hour and 10 minutes; the home innings therefore totaled about 20 minutes, as the entire affair took an hour and a half. Maybe that doesn't sound like much to you, but you weren't there.
Periodically Coach Bob even barked, mildly, at the Reds' coaches about speeding up the proceedings. I tried valiantly to keep my voice down as I uttered mild profanities and frequent, almost involuntary exclamations of "Will you put the damn ball on the tee? Today?"
Then, of course, the Reds batters would hit the ball, and the Rockies' fielders would miss it, chase it down, then throw it home or to first base days after the play was over. If you listened hard enough, you could actually hear time standing still. (Yes, I ripped that off from somewhere, but this is what it was like, folks.)
As teams go, though, the Reds were significantly more accomplished than the Rockies, to the point where parents of the Reds players eventually went out of their way to compliment the Rockies -- e.g., "Good swing!" when a kid would hit the tee instead of the ball, or miss the whole structure entirely. I mean, parents and coaches of both teams do applaud good plays -- that is, putouts that actually happen -- and the Reds people seemed like a nice enough group, but it's like they were cheering the Rockies for not peeing themselves. It was almost surreal.
Adam, however, continues to be a hittin' fool, the league's reigning OBP leader. Well, he's tied with probably about 75% of the league in never having been put out as a batter, or even as a runner. He just keeps hitting those little dinkers back toward the "pitcher," who reacts with catlike reflexes -- we're talking Morris the Cat, who's been dead for years -- and throws the ball in the vicinity of the non-attention-paying first baseman. All the while, Adam's waving his hands in the air like a lunatic as he jogs up the line with the speed of Barry Bonds having been forced to second because of a walk to Jeff Kent. He has, however, reached a point where he knows that he's supposed to run when the ball's hit -- the next hurdle being noticing when the ball's hit.
In the last two games, opposing players have made actual putouts on balls hit in the air -- soft line drives, of course. These are rarer than goals in World Cup soccer, so the crowd goes pretty nuts. "What happened?" the kids ask. Well, the last batter of each half-inning is charged with the task of running around the bases, no matter where the ball's hit. The baserunners are supposed to do this also. (Usually the kids just go station to station, no matter where the ball's hit. Sometimes the batter even stays on base after being put out.) The Rockies' last batter in the first inning hit a dead bird to one of the Reds' several second basemen... and I thought I was finally going to get my wish: a quadruple play. I mean, all he had to do was run around the bases, tagging them, but no. So after this putout, there are four Rockies circling the bases. Very weird.
During the top of the third inning, when the mild hallucinations began, I started realizing how effective the strategy used by the Reds' coaches -- I mean, lull the opposing fielders to sleep and annoy their coaches and parents, all of whom will be concentrating on how much they're hating being there rather than playing well. And no sooner did I voice that thought internally than Coach Bob said, "They sure are using an interesting strategy, aren't they?" I said, "Yeah. How 'bout when our kids bat, we have them walk very slowly up to the tee and take six or seven practice swings? And we could do a kind of Candlestick Cap Dance thing with the baserunners' helmets."
Mercifully, the game finally ended at 4:30, by which time I figure that the Reds beat the Rockies about 7 to 2 -- not runs, putouts. Even though the Rockies had far more opportunities to get people out, because of the disparity in team size, they did virtually none of this.
And as I was helping put equipment away afterwards, I made sure to step in the warmest, meltiest wad of chewing gum in the world. I mean, it was a fantastic day. Thank goodness, though, that T-ball does give you plenty to laugh about.
Interestingly, Bob's wife let on that he considers these kids too young, which I consider a given, but I really have to hand it to him: he's been far more patient with them than I ever could if I were the coach. He's nice to all of them, even Adam, who dislikes being there more than the rest of them put together.
Swing and a miss, strike one. Fouled back, strike two. And now a swing... and Bonds hits one toward McCovey Cove. Foul. Still 0-2. Here it comes: ball one, to the backstop. And he fouls another one back. And now ball two. Ball three. Ball four, just off the outside.
Jeff Kent takes ball one. Inside, 2-0. And now a high fly ball to center. A popup. Party over. Eee.
Sigh.
The following recent results have led to the Giants' current record of 10-13, which is still a hell of a lot better than it could be:
The Giants have made another pitching change, and here to tell you about it are Tim I., Andrew K., Adam C., Carl, Tobias, Ben W., Greg L., John G., Jon R., Anson, Deek, Richard, Chris C., John M., Doug R., Eric R., Roger, Michael N., Voros, Jack C., Capel, Lyfwork," Julie, Lev, David N., and Brad.
"You know what, I don't think you are overstating the importance of this series with the Diamondbacks," says Andrew K. "Irrespective of the fact that it is so early in the season, I think if the Giants would have lost two of three or had gotten swept, they would have dug their own graves; and unfortunately I don't think they'd climb out of it.
"Still, a [sweep] accomplishes two things: it moves the Giants to 4-1/2 games back and also gives them tremendous momentum heading back home. If they lose, it is a two-game swing and it kills momentum. After such a shitty start to the season, 4-1/2 games back is music to my ears."
In a message titled, "Bonds, the sick, selfish bastard," Adam C. says, "Even when he's sick, the guy just has to get in there against Omar Daal so he can pad his stats some more, tie Yaz for home runs, etc. I don't know how our hardworking boys tolerate this kind of prima donna in the clubhouse."
Understand that this is tongue in cheek, and that Adam is just playing on the kind of stuff we see frequently in the Giants newsgroup. Still, at least one poster didn't get it, thinking Adam's criticism was legit. I only bring this up, though, to point out what an incredible money player Bonds is. He finishes April with 10 home runs, including a go-ahead homer yesterday and a game-tying shot today. He sure doesn't seem to be batting with runners on base much, though. Marvin Benard has had a pretty slow start, despite a recent hot spurt; ditto Bill Mueller. Consequently, Bonds is leading off too many innings. Oh, well.
Tell me if this sounds familiar: On Tuesday I had to miss the seventh, eighth, and top of the ninth, and I turned on the radio with one out in the bottom of the ninth -- immediately before the sacrifice fly off Nen that tied the game.
I later had to turn off the radio again -- just as Armando Rios was about to come to the plate and hit his game-winning double.
I forgot about Wednesday's game, a 10:00 start. At 12:45 I remembered... and against my better judgment, I turned on my radio. The Giants led 7-4 in the ninth. Livan Hernandez had thrown 113 pitches through eight innings, and three of those runs were unearned. He'd walked one, but given up 12 hits.
Ellis Burks had just been thrown out on a hit-and-run, the very nanosecond I turned on the radio. The inning ended without scoring. That is, the half-inning.
Hernandez gave up hits to the first two Marlins in the bottom of the ninth, the second of which was a bloop that dropped just inside the right-field line.
Dusty Baker brought on Robb Nen to face Mark Kotsay.
Home run. Game tied. The Giants, in fact, barely got through the ninth.
Zeroes in the tenth and eleventh. J.T. Snow singled to start the twelfth, and Calvin Murray ran for him. Rich Aurilia couldn't get the runner to third, though... but that's okay, because Marlins reliever Antonio Alfonseca balked. So up came Bobby Estalella, with one out and the go-ahead run on third and Armando Rios on deck. Strike three. Two outs. Great job, Bobby.
But Rios -- in the ninth slot as the result of a double-switch for the second straight day -- smacked the first pitch toward right-center, and it's an RBI triple, after his game-winning RBI double yesterday.
Naturally, now that Snow had been removed for a pinch-runner, the Giants needed him in the field to protect a one-run lead in the bottom of the twelfth. And in a move that tells us way too much about Russ Davis, Dusty instead moved Jeff Kent to first base and brought Ramon Martinez in at second. Aaron Fultz was on the mound, which was scary.
Full count to Preston Wilson... and then a high fly ball to Murray. One away.
Mike Lowell, 3-for-5 with a home run to that point, took, yes, a called strike three.
Kevin Millarr, the last hope, also struck out, and the Giants' streak reached five. Yay. And... phew. And yet I continue to listen, even though I know I truly am the cause of the Giants' woes. Will I never learn?
"Three-run homer in the bottom of the ninth," says Carl. "What is with his pitching in Florida?"
"Got nothing to do with Florida," says Tobias. "Got everything to do with whether or not his slider is working. And if he's healthy. And Dusty was an idiot (for the umpteenth time) for letting Livan start the ninth. That was sheer lunacy. He should've brought Nen in to start the ninth. You don't bring in Nen with runners on base. You just can't do that with most closers anymore. They are creatures of habit, and they like coming in at the beginning of the inning."
I suspect that has a lot to do with the difference between pitching from the windup and pitching from the stretch, though lots of closers always pitch from the stretch.
Tobias provides these numbers for Nen as a Giant in Miami:
W-L S ERA G IP H ER
1998: 1-0 3 1.80 4 5.0 3 1
1999: 0-1 0 6.75 2 1.1 4 1
2000: 0-0 2 0.00 2 2.0 0 0 (first FL trip)
2000: 0-0 0 9.00 2 2.0 2 2 (second FL trip)
The thought has been offered up in the Giants newsgroup that there is nothing to complain about.
"Take it, Gregg," says Ben W.
Well, they keep playing those idiot "Wanna get away?" commercials during the game, featuring those two women who should be working but instead are poring through the want-ads, finally calling one... and reaching "Lewis?" and then laughing hysterically at him... even though he's probably working hard to cover their lazy butts. But are they grateful? Are they appreciative? Noooo....
Or my new favorite: The teenagers at the end of a date. The girl with the nasal voice and nervous chuckle. The boy complains that evidently her curfew is "10:16," but clearly doesn't realize how lucky he is... and yet she has the temerity to thank her mother for extricating her from an awkward moment....
"Well, he doesn't realize all the changes she was going to put him through so that when he's 32, he's Lewis, posting a want-ad and getting laughed at by the girl with dorky horn-rimmed glasses on the other side of the cubicle who hasn't had sweet lovin' since she broke up with the guy who used to drink beer all day and make her pick up the cans," suggests Greg L.
And what's up with that strip of grass beyond the warning track at Bank One Ballpark? Huh?
"I was thinking about this the other day," says John G., "and I concluded that I liked the extra grass strip, for one reason: it makes it less likely for there to be ground-rule doubles. At least it should. I hate ground-rule doubles because they almost always have the effect on the Giants of preventing a run from scoring that otherwise would have. The warning track is further from the fence. This also has the effect of provide an earlier warning to outfielders going back, I should think."
But we're not really complaining about that -- we're complaining about Robb Nen.
"There's plenty to complain about," says Jon R. If Nen keeps pitching like this, then we're going to have to dodge bullets just to get a win... each and every time. Yeah, the end results are good but if the process is flawed, and continues to be so, then the law of averages will eventually kick in and we'll be screwed.
"I've said this before and I'll say it again: I'm not so sure that Nen's problems last year were 100% due to his injury. I think that he had an independent suck component working last year as well -- it doesn't have to be mutually exclusive. I think Nen's main problem (other than his injury) is his windup/mechanics. It has to be 'just right' or the guy simply can't pitch. I think other pitchers don't have a big of a problem in that regard; it's probably that stupid slide step that he uses. He is either on or off, with no gray area in between. Either he is completely dominant or simply caves in; there is no in-between, usually. Other pitchers can sort of get by and eke out a victory or save, but not Nen. The guy obvious has the physical tools to be a dominant closer but I think if he continues to be up and down, he really has to rethink his approach toward pitching."
"Well, how about this thought," says Richard: "I am thinking Fultz may have the makings of a closer to replace Nen after he leaves at the end of the season."
I don't know. I like Fultz okay, but I'll reserve judgment about this idea for another month or so. I do agree with Jon, however, that Nen's "mechanics" are always in question. I've said before that two things I'm tired of hearing about are Nen's mechanics and Shawn Estes' emotional fragility. Just pitch, guys.
Mike Phillips of the Miami Herald writes, "After watching his team's 12-inning, 8-7 loss to the Giants -- the Marlins' second extra-inning loss in a row after their second ninth-inning comeback in a row -- Boles held a closed-door team meeting and ripped into his Marlins for almost half an hour. Then he let the media enter the dead-silent clubhouse, and he ripped his team again.
"'I'm so angry I could spit nails,' said Boles, his voice shaking."
Anson adds, "Boles continues: 'Damn you guys! We should've lost both of these games in nine innings. Why the hell did you guys make it 11 or 12 innings? I could be home watching TV by then! We don't get paid by the hour you know! Why work overtime, all you idiots!'" "All I could think of when I saw that paragraph was the final scene of Planet of The Apes," where Charlton Heston drops to his knees to curse mankind at the foot of the broken Statue of Liberty," says Deek.
"'Bonds' base-on-balls totals are impressive, averaging 102 per season to Griffey's 68. And Bonds' base stealing (33-15 over Griffey) turns walks into doubles. But what fan wants to pay $20 to see a slugger steal bases?'"
There's Barry, paddin' his stats again.
Michael N. says, "From the Giants team report on The Sporting News website: 'Time and time again, Kent, and not Barry Bonds has proven to be the linchpin of the offense.' Wow."
"I can only assume this guy thinks 'linchpin' means 'not the best,'" says John M.
"Question of terminology here," says Doug R.: "What exactly is the difference between a 'linchpin' and a 'sparkplug'?"
"I believe a 'linchpin' is something that, when missing, causes the rest of whatever is left to fall apart, says Eric R. "A 'sparkplug' is more like a 'pepperpot.' Hope that helps."
"A 'sparkplug' gets things started, while a 'linchpin' holds things together," says Roger. "Thus a great leadoff hitter is often thought of as the sparkplug at the top of the order, but is rarely classified as the linchpin of the offense. The sparkplug thing is especially used for a fiery veteran player, like Tony Phillips, who also helps to get the team fired up emotionally. The linchpin, on the other hand, is much more likely to be a number-three or number-four hitter, a Barry Bonds or Babe Ruth type, who is so obviously valuable that the offense centers around him. Linchpins are not as often fiery, emotional types, either."
Now, you should know that this topic came up in the baseball newsgroup, not the Giants newsgroup, meaning that fans of all teams see how ludicrous this is.
"You know, I'm virtually never the first one to start throwing racism charges around," says Voros, "but this Kent/Bonds thing sure has me convinced this the case here, at least indirectly (i.e., Bonds' rep with the media is poor at least in part due to generalizations made because of his skin color)." "I dunno," says Jack C. "The Redneck contingent of the BBWAA has had 50 years to get used to the idea of black men playing baseball. Surely most of the really biased ones are dead or retired by now. Admittedly, Kent sure does look like a good ol' boy poster child. I think the runs vs. RBI imbalance is mostly to blame. Joe Carter, a vastly inferior player, is still considered to be a better player than Bonds by a lot of baseball writers.
"I'm also not sure that white arrogant athletes have an easier time of it than black arrogant athletes. Take Eric Lindros for example. He's one of the better players of his generation, but the media hates him because he's arrogant about it."
To sort of fuel this fire, Capel says, "Today's National Post devoted an entire page to an article [by David Robbeson] on Ted Williams' .400 season. I don't mind an attempt to debunk baseball's 'sacred cows,' but somebody really ought to ask this guy to check how many times Mr. Williams scored a run for his team after taking a walk... or how many times one of those walks kept an inning alive so someone else could drive in a run... or how Ted Williams, beneficiary of all-white baseball, managed to hit .388 in 1957's almost-integrated league...or... aw, hell, there's just too much there that's idiotic."
"The thing is truly abysmal," says Roger. "It's riddled with completely unsubstantiated opinions and bald factual errors. Among the points that I found particularly galling:
"Most tellingly, of course, he didn't bother to check to see if any of the complaints that he leveled against Williams applied to any of the other players he was comparing him to. No checking to see whether Bill Terry's larger number of hits in 1930 actually led to him driving in a lot of runs -- it didn't, as he was lower on the RBI leader board than Williams was in 1941 and an astounding 62 RBI behind league leader Hack Wilson. No checking to see if Hornsby's .424 season in 1924 actually helped his team win -- it didn't, as they finished in sixth place, 28 games behind the Giants. (In fact, none of the .400 hitters this century played for the pennant winner. The closest was Sisler in 1922, whose Browns finished one game behind Ruth's Yankees.) No checking to see if DiMaggio was actually better protected than Williams in 1941 -- he was, as Foxx was well past his prime and hit worse than Charlie Keller.
"The whole article is just a classic case of the 'drunk using a lightpost' attitude toward statistics. The author wants to claim that Williams' .400 season wasn't that impressive, so he's going to dig up anything that he can that might support that position. It doesn't matter if the points and logically inconsistent, or if they apply more strongly to the players that he wants to put ahead of Williams. Anything that helps the case is mentioned, and anything that hurts it is ignored."
"Wow," says "Lyfwork," "that may be the dumbest article that I've ever read."
"The whole article does start off badly, doesn't it?" says Eric R. "It mentions a few players and the numbers we all know, like Cobb and 4,191 or Johnson and 511. Ummm...."
Capel says, "The difference between [Williams and DiMaggio] was summed up to the effect that DiMaggio was looking to drive in the winning run, while Williams, in a similar situation would, in the words of an anonymous teammate, 'let a pitch one inch outside of the strike zone pass for a ball.'"
"Really?" says Lyfwork. "So in 85 more at-bats, DiMaggio drove in five more runs. Obviously an effective strategy."
The article states, "Among [the things to debunk] is his now-legendary .406 batting average in 1941. "But when you consider the pre-integration era, the numerous free passes and the wonky Connie Mack pitching strategies, the legend approaches myth."
"Williams slugged .735 and had a staggering OBP of .551 -- the highest in history," says Lyfwork. "He made outs in fewer than 45% of his plate appearances. (As opposed to 56% for DiMaggio.)
"Whereas Williams hit seven more homers than DiMaggio and out-batted him by 50 points in 1941," says the article, "The Yankee Clipper was voted to his second MVP by the AL writers. Rather than being biased against Williams, as Williams and his supporters would have you believe, it's more likely that the writers of the seven other AL cities valued DiMaggio's desire to win more than Williams' fetish for looking after his numbers."
Lyfwork supplies these numbers:
DiMaggio Williams
Plate appearances 617 601
Batting Average .357 .406
OBP .440 .551
SP .626 .735
Out rate .560 .449
Walk rate .123 .241
Per 100 PA
At-bats 87.682 75.874
Hits 31.303 30.805
Total bases 54.889 55.767
Outs 56 45
"Which looks more valuable? Which would you rather have on your team? It takes a lot of 'desire to win' to overcome that kind of offensive differential. (And DiMaggio had a great year. Fabulous. Most players never have a year like that. But no one except Babe Ruth ever had a year like Williams did.)
"And if the pre-integration pitching was so bad, why didn't anyone else hit like that?
"Going back to look at it -- it looks more like something out of myth. My Lord! what a year!"
"Doesn't [the writer] seem to be saying that Ted Williams only batted over .400 because he got walked a lot?" says Julie. "Someone explain the logic of that before my head bursts into flames."
And "Speaking of factual errors," says Lev, "did this seem a touch odd to anyone:
"'One of either Dom DiMaggio or Lou Finney (The Boston 1-2 hitters) were on base for 418 of Williams' 601 plate appearances.'
"I have the two reaching base 436 times; it seems hard to believe that only 18 times all season did they do it in the same inning (to say nothing of their 11 combined caught-stealings and the fact that Dom must have hit into a double play or five to erase Finney sometimes). Admittedly I don't have HBP data nor do I know how often one of the two hit into a fielder's choice erasing the pitcher or number-eight batter.
"I looked at one of the most extreme examples I could think of: Robby Alomar, batting third last year, had Lofton (.405 OBP) and Vizquel (.397) ahead of him. Alomar had 320 plate appearances with none on, and 342 with runners on. You want me to believe that for Williams, with Finney (.340), and Dom (.385), that ratio was 179/418?"
-- "But note that Williams had 601 at-bats plus walks, so unless he was never hit by a pitch, the author of that piece-of-crap article wasn't even considering them when he mentioned plate appearances," says David N. "Also, Williams missed 12 of Boston's games that year, so presumably some of the times they got on base he wasn't even in the game. And were those really the only two guys who ever batted in front of him?
"Bottom line: we've already put more thought into this article than the author did."
Williams is sort of being downrapped because the numbers 1 and/or 2 hitters reached base just prior to two-thirds of Williams' plate appearances (never mind the probable inaccuracy of Robbeson's statement) -- the idea being along the lines of, "Well, if guys get on base in front of you, of course you're gonna drive in runs; credit them, don't credit yourself, Mr. RBI Man."
But if you look at the Kent/Bonds thing in 1997, for instance, the prevailing attitude seemed to be that Kent was the team MVP because of all them RBIs, especially compared to Bonds... ignoring the fact that (a) Bonds was the key reason for Kent's RBI total, and (b) the fact that OBP non-dynamos Darryl Hamilton and Jose Vizcaino batted ahead of Bonds for most of the season.
In other words:
a. Williams is criticized for driving in people who get on base."Bonds is also criticized for driving in people who are on base, but doing it 'arrogantly,'" says Julie. "I'm not sure how you can drive someone in arrogantly, but I've seen Bonds accused of it."
b. Kent is praised for driving in people who get on base.
c. Bonds is criticized for not driving in people who don't get on base.
d. The actual "people getting on base" part doesn't seem to matter much.
Voros guesses it'd go like this: "'Hey you, Mueller. You are such a worthless ballplayer that you don't ever deserve to have anything good happen to you on the field. But just to show you how much better I am than you, I'm going to hit a two-run homer and let you score ahead of me, since without me, you never would.' Something like that being said from the on-deck circle maybe."
The antistathead position appears to be that statheads overvalue walks, while statheads seem to believe that antistatheads undervalue walks. My position is that antistatheads resent statheads for daring to recognize the walk as a valuable offensive skill, which flies in the face of the traditional philosophy stating that walking is not an offensive skill so much as wussily taking advantage of a pitcher's inadequacy.
This doesn't mean that walks are never overvalued, though. I mean, I'd rather hit a home run than walk. I'd rather hit a single than walk -- most of the time... the exception being the knowledge that the guy on base ahead of me is slow, foolhardy, and certain to get thrown out. In this case, the walk would be preferable -- but it's not as though this can be foreseen.
Where walks are undervalued is in arguments from, say, the anti-Bonds crowd, or the anti-Williams crowd, who complain that a guy takes close pitches when it's truly vital for him to come up with a big hit. But what kind of dummy would rather risk an out by swinging at a bad pitch than get on base? If you don't get a pitch you like, why swing at it? On the off-chance that it'll be carried out of the yard on a slipstream?
For a hitter, walks are good. I mean, sure, I'd rather see Barry Bonds hit a home run with a man on second and the Giants down by a run, but (a) how often will he get that opportunity, and (b) does that mean he should eschew any possible walks by swinging at a low-percentage pitch on the "mayhaps" that he'll get lucky?
And for crying out loud, if Kent is the "linchpin," then Bonds should take the walk and let the hero drive in the big runs, right?
"On that note, I tried it with 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game.' Some words in some languages wouldn't translate back to English no matter how I 'tweaked' the original, so I left the hiccups in. At any rate:
Take me out to the ball game, take me out with the crowd. Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack, I don't care if I never get back. Let me root, root, root for the home team, if they don't win it's a shame. For it's one, two, three strikes you're out at the old ball game.Take me along to the play of ball, leave me with crowd. Buy to me some groundnuts and Jack biscuit, I do not worry if I never return. Let encourage to me, encourage, encourage for the team which receives, if they do not gain it is a shame. For him is one, two, three strikes which you are outside with the old play of ball. (French)
If you execute me to the ball play, execute me with the mass. If you buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack, do not interest me I, if I never receive back. Let me verwurzeln to verwurzeln to verwurzeln for the main team if they are not it a dishonor win. For it is in, two, three impacts, which are you out at the old ball play. (German)
Eliminarlo to the game of the sphere, eliminarlo with the crowd. Comprarlo some peanuts and cracker Jack, I do not preoccupy myself if I do not obtain never behind. Lasciarlo to uproot, to uproot, to uproot for the domestic square, if they do not gain it are one shame. For it it is one, two, three blows that you are outside to the old game of the sphere. (Italian)
The game of the sphere removes me it, removes me with the multitude. It buys me some peanuts and biscuit Jack, I do not import myself if I never to start he stops backwards. It leaves to take root me, to take root, to take root for the team home, if not to earn it will be a shame. For it he is ones, two, three strokes that you are for you are in the old game of the sphere. (Portuguese)
LlŽveme towards goes to the game of the ball, t—meme towards outside with the crowd. C—mpreme some peanuts and cake Cat, noncare if never with himself behind. DŽjeme to root, to root, to root for the homemade equipment, if he does not gain it is a shame. For him he is one, two, three strikes that you are towards outside in the old game of the ball. (Spanish)
I have to think Babelfish is about 90% for entertainment purposes, as opposed to practical purposes, and that the people who did the programming had the same kinds of laughs we've had. You'd think Dave Barry already would have done at least one column about Babelfish -- it's his cup of tea, I think.