by Gregg Pearlman
The Giants and Rockies play the season finale in 12 hours. If you've missed everything going on in baseball since the last installment, you'll wonder how what I'm about to tell you can be possible: With one game to go, the Giants and Cubs are tied for the lead in the wild-card chase with records of 89-72, and the Mets are a game behind. To my surprise, the Giants are one win short of their 1997 total. The difference between this year and last year is that this year their Pythagorean projections would suggest that they should have won 92 games to date; last year it was 80. In other words, the Giants haven't been any luckier than they've needed to be in 1998; less so, in fact. (This isn't unusual; "studies show" that teams exceeding their projections one year tend to do worse than their projections the next year.)
Of course, the Giants newsgroup is already getting posts from Mets and Cubs fans complaining about the fact that their teams have to play division winners this weekend -- the Mets are in Atlanta and the Cubs are in Houston -- while the Giants get to play the weak-sister Rockies. I bristle at this. As Richard pointed out in an earlier installment (well, he pointed it out on the group; I just appropriated it), if the Giants have an easier schedule down the stretch, it means that they must have had a more difficult schedule leading up to the stretch. They've already had their rough series against the Braves and Astros.
And a week ago they were 4-1/2 games back, clearly out of the hunt... but they haven't lost since -- I know; I'm jinxing them by even mentioning it -- and the Mets and Cubs, well, they haven't won a whole lot. The three teams were tied after the Giants beat the Rockies on Friday; the Giants won yesterday while the Mets were shut out by the Braves, but the Cubs held on for a 3-2 win on a controversial, game-ending call by umpire Eric Gregg.
See, what absolutely needed to happen, without fail, was that the Cubs needed to lose, so that the Giants could go into today's contest one game ahead of their pursuers, knowing that all they'd need to do was beat the Rockies, in which case it wouldn't matter what the Cubs and Mets did. Now, however, the Giants absolutely need to win and the Cubs absolutely need to lose. Tall order, that.
So here are the recent results [addendum 9/28: including the Sunday game]:
I don't know who starts for the Rockies tomorrow, but it's Kirk Rueter for the Giants. That's a bit of a concern -- well, a lot -- because, though he leads the team with 16 wins, he's had to gut it out with a bad elbow lately, and I'd listen to the elbow way more closely than the wins. Meanwhile the Cubs apparently will start Terry Mulholland against, well, some Astro. I don't know about the probables in the Mets game, because if the Giants can win, it doesn't matter what the Mets do.
This season has been one hell of a ride, and I mean "hell." Enjoyable in many ways, yes, but also tremendously frustrating and dread-inducing. The Giants newsgroup, as you can imagine, has been "jumping as Mexican bean," so this installment has gotten a lot of help from Richard, Carlos, Tom A., Jack K., Ben F., Billy, Anson, Greg L., Jeff C., Tim I., Kate, Ben H., Jonathan, Jim J., Dan M., Grant, Noah, Andrew, Dan S., David N., and Greg S.
You're wondering (or not) why I put "jumping as Mexican bean" in quotes, as if you're supposed to catch the reference, as if I'd said "Brevity is the soul of wit" or something. (I know; regular EEEEEE! readers are thinking, "Talk about irony.") The quoted material almost certainly is something you'd identify only if you're reasonably familiar with Beatles bootlegs; the song is "What's the New Mary Jane," which also appears on the third "Beatles Anthology" album -- since you asked. Criminy, EEEEEE! can't always be 100 percent about baseball, you know....
"I've been one of the worst offenders. Instead of my usual dismissing them one day and jumping back on the bandwagon the next, I dismissed them and actually stuck to it. Instead of rallying with hope and passion, I have been delivering one-liners (and the usual weak fare, to say the least.) It hasn't felt right, and it hasn't been right!
"After all, this is the Giants we are talking about. Look, being a Giants fan is all about rooting for the team against all realistic expectations. [We are the peasants who live in hope that the king will drop some gold on them. -- GP] If we only rooted for them when the odds were in their favor, we would never root for them. I know this has been a frustrating season. I know our passion as Giants fans has not been rewarded. When has it ever been rewarded? Was it rewarded in 1993? Was it rewarded in 1982? Was it rewarded in 1969? Heck, in the end, was it really even rewarded in 1997?
"Of course not! Hey, it's never rewarded. That doesn't stop us! We rush right in, banging our head against the wall once again in our foolish zeal to throw ourselves at a team that never comes through for us. It's what makes us great. It's what makes us strong. It's what makes us numb enough to do it again the next season."
It's what makes a shuddering mouse hope that the snake aroma in the tank he's just been dropped into is not in fact generated by a hungry snake.
"Don Quixote and Bobby Thomson live," says Carlos. "Always and forever."
"And this last five-game stretch of 1998 is a great, almost classic opportunity to do it again," says Richard. (And, let's not forget: bloody agony. I'm hoping hoping hoping... and yet I can't wait for the season to end, because it's been so draining. I bet the players would agree.) "We are 2.5 games behind the Cubs and Mets with five to go. Impossible, you say? We laugh at impossible. This race isn't over until we say it is. Even if it is.
And let us not forget the wisdom of John Belushi in Animal House: "Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?"
Richard says, "I haven't seen anyone write this in months, and it is time. Oh please! Oh please! Oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please!
"(Oh please) (whispered).
"Just this once, let us win this thing! Please."
I really believe this is it: penthouse now, or permanent outhouse -- at least in the sense of never getting to the penthouse again. (Of course, I said (and believed) that last year.)
"What's this 'just this once' stuff?" says Tom A. "C'mon, get with it!"
Well, I want Perpetual World Domination for the San Francisco Giants.
"Come on guys! Let's pay attention," says Richard. "After all, after they lose the next two games, we can go right back to what we were doing before, none the worse for the slight diversion but stronger and spiritually richer for having dangled our hearts out to be crushed once again. Time to step up and be heard, boys and girls. And hurry, because there is not much time left."
Two words sum up being a Giants fan: Wish hard.
"For me at least, it's been a case of lowering my expectations so if and when Our Boys fall short, the sting will not quite be as bad," says Tom A. "I've also been pooh-poohing the wild card as the vice presidency of baseball."
The Giants' recent win skein has led Richard to say, "The 'oh pleases' have been working! Would that the Internet existed in 1993. [Well, it did, but Richard knows that. -- GP] However, now we are getting into very dangerous territory. For the first time since 1993, I will be visiting my parents on the last weekend of the season. I foolishly agreed to this last Sunday, when it seemed like there was no reason not to. Now, I am very worried, not to mention already irritated at how much crap I am going to have to take from my family, none of whom, being the misguided Philistines that they are, give a shit about the Giants.
"I won't be able to share the weekend with you, my virtual support group (though I may lurk a bit from my dad's machine if the opportunity arises). I only hope that I can come back to excitement and anticipation, rather than gloom and recrimination.
"Though, of course, just being in a position to worry about it going into the last weekend is pretty amazing, considering where we were.
"To JFC, Rey Sanchez, Al Morman (whose sorry butt I better not see this weekend or, in fact, ever again) and all the rest of my favorite targets, I only have one thing to say: don't screw this up. And with regard to the Gods of Baseball, one thought comes to mind:
"Oh please!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Believe I've mentioned this, maybe several times, but the last game of the 1993 season was the day a cousin of mine got married, and there was just no way to avoid the wedding and not be disowned. (And I'm assuming that being disowned would be worse than having gone.) The wedding was in San Francisco, where we lived, so I was at least able to hear the first few innings, and I think it was either 3-1 or 6-1 by the time we parked. I thought it was big of me not to bring my walkman.
Periodically some cousin or other would come up and either ask me the score or update me. I mean, they knew I was going ape and probably thinking that if I were watching the game, maybe it would've come out differently. (I wish the happy couple had had the foresight to know that by 1998 they would no longer be happy or a couple. Then maybe they could at least have rescheduled the nuptials.)
What I did instead was record the game, both on video and audio. I set the stereo to start recording at, say three o'clock, so what I ended up with was the last inning or two, plus all the postgame stuff, including the last "Bob Brenly Show," in which he informed us that it would be the last "Bob Brenly Show," but, he emphasized, not because he'd called Trevor Hoffman a son of a bitch on the air. It was really amazingly difficult to listen to, not just because of what had happened, but also because clearly Brenly was near tears. Hell, I wasn't even near tears. At least not till I heard Brenly.
"In 1982 I was nine years old and rooted for the Giants," says Jack K. "I'm now 25 years old and still root for the Giants, but that's beside the point. Anyway, when I was young, I rooted for the Giants via the radio, TV, and attending about 15 games a year. I knew all the players' numbers and positions, but I wasn't very adept at determining ERAs, OPS, and magic numbers. I remember the 10-game winning streak they put together, I remember them pulling off a three-game sweep at Dodger Stadium in late September, but for some inexplicable reason, I didn't realize how close they really were to stealing that division.
"With three games to go in 1982, the Braves and Dodgers were tied for first, and the Giants were only one game behind them. The Giants hosted LA the final weekend, and the Braves were in San Diego. The Dodgers won the first two games of the season before Joe Morgan's memorable home run on the last day of the season. The Braves went on to sweep the Padres to win the division.
"I think there are some parallels between 1982 and 1998. In 1982 the Braves and Dodgers fought it out, and everyone just kind of forgot about the Giants, who came out of nowhere to sneak up on them. Sound familiar? Everyone, myself included, had the Giants dead and buried a week ago, but now there is a reasonable possibility that they could at least force a one-game playoff situation.
"I'm assuming a lot of you remember the final weekend of 1982 more vividly than I do, so what I'm asking is 1) Do you see some parallels, and 2) What was the feeling like going into that final weekend in '82? I just hope there are no Rick Monday flashbacks.
"The Rockies scare the hell out of me. I really hope Estes has his curve again on Friday night. The Giants also never seem to play well at Coors Field. Oh well, when you wrote a team off a week ago and they're still in the race, you can't really complain. Especially when I thought they'd be an average team this year."
Well, Estes had a curve on Friday, but it didn't help much, as he didn't even get through five. Meanwhile, the two most familiar seasons to this one are probably 1993 and, as Jack says, 1982. I mean, the team is completely different from the '93 version (and not nearly as good), but the dogfight sure has a familiar feel, and I have a familiar sense of dread.
Here's where some Cubbie fan infiltrates the Giants newsgroup and says, "How does feel going to the playoffs because you won the last 10 games against Triple-A lineups?"
"How does it feel watching your team collapse?" offers Ben F.
See, according to Henry Schulman of the San Francisco Chronicle, "As more than 40,000 fans at 3Com Park saw Sunday, pitcher Carlos Perez of the Los Angeles Dodgers has a unique reaction to striking out a hitter. He could be facing the opposing pitcher; it does not matter. If Perez gets a K, he will shuffle his legs, swivel around and pump his arms.
"After Perez blanked the Giants 1-0, an American League writer who never had seen him pitch wondered why no opposing hitter ever has taken a bat to Perez. Here is how some Giants view Perez in particular, showboating in general.
"Catcher Brian Johnson: 'He does it all the time. That's his personality. He gestures right after it happens. He's pumped. I don't feel like he's showing me up. He's exulting in what he's done. Barry (Bonds) flips his bat after he hits a home run. What's the difference between that and Perez making a gesture on the mound?'
"Infielder Charlie Hayes: 'Early on, when he came up here and did that, it bothered some people. But if that's what he's got to do to stay on his game.... You see guys hit home runs and run slowly around the bases. That's part of his mystique. When I first saw him I thought it was kind of weird.'
"Second baseman Jeff Kent: 'That's quite an act for a pitcher with a sub-.500 record (Perez is 11-13). Maybe if he spent a little less energy dancing he might be a better pitcher. But he pitched a good game today.'"
"Last year Perez pitched a game in Atlanta where he struck out a few guys in the first couple innings," Billy says. Then Smoltz struck him out -- and did a Perez-maneuver as Carlos walked back to the dugout. Everyone was laughing, including Perez. I think the guy is just having fun."
That's enough along the lines of the Giants players' reactions -- Kent's snipe aside, those were reasonably mature responses, along the lines of, "Oh, that's our nutty Carlos." But Kent can't be given the same credit.
That he was hit deliberately by the Jeff Tabaka pitch seemed pretty obvious to me. Mike Krukow guessed that it was because the Pirates objected to Kent having flipped his bat after the home run. If true...
... so what?
Jason Kendall jawed with Kent, as Kent idly fingers the ball (take that, Bruce Jenkins), doing what he does lately when he gets nailed by a pitch, which is to make all onlookers wonder whether he's going to sling it back at the pitcher... and then he just tosses it to the pitcher, or to the umpire, and trots to first. Then Kendall started chattering with the umpire, tattling on Kent for flipping the bat. By then the umpire was saying, "So what?" I hope.
Krukow pronounced that there will be retaliation. Predictably, Kendall came up in the eighth, against Jose Mesa. Which, I'm guessing, is something he didn't want. Mesa's first pitch was inside, and his next pitch was behind Kendall, at which point the umpire, Charlie Reliford, pointed at Mesa, then at the Giants' dugout -- warning both teams.
All the idiotic hostilities were over, evidently -- which is a good thing, given that this was the first game of a four-game series between these two teams -- but I figured we'd see Kent get hit again, and I feared he'd be stupid enough to charge the mound, given his display against the Cubs last year.
This all happened because Jose Silva, the Pirates' starter, walked Barry Bonds intentionally in front of Kent, and then was incompetent or injured enough to toss a schmecky-high, nothing fastball that I could've hit to the damn warning track, anyway. (Either it's Silva's fault or Kendall called a bad pitch.) If Kent flipped the bat... so what? You walk a hitter to pitch to me, and I hit one over the bleachers, I have every right to flip the bat. I'm reinforcing that you've just made a mistake. Besides, it's not like I've yelled "Nyaah, nyaah, nyeh-nyaaaaah, nyaaah!" at you.
So why punish me for your mistake? And where do you get off pretending you have a reason for your actions?
I'm growing increasingly tired of the macho bullshit that permeates baseball.
"Most players have accepted that this is part of the game, but I think it's about time the rules should change," says Anson. "Whenever the umps are fairly certain it's done on purpose, instead of just a warning or throwing the guy out of the game, he should issue a suspension and a heavy amount of fine, or maybe some other appropriate punishment. How does a suspension work on a pitcher, since he doesn't play every day anyway?"
Plus, it depends on the pitcher. I mean, Ricky Bottalico got four (then three) days for plunking Bonds -- so being a short reliever, it could affect four games for him. Would a starter get, say, 12 games? You know?
"How many innings could Bottalico have pitched in those three games?" says Patrick. "Six, max, I bet. Apparently it's worth six innings of pitching to a team or approximately one start. The suspension for a start should be long enough to ensure that he misses one start." One problem, though, now that I give it some thought, is the idea that umpires really would be fair and impartial in handing out suspensions in this scenario. I mean, think back to Mike Winters, the yutzmeister whose obscene remark caused Charlie Hayes to go bananas and earn himself a suspension. Evidently that guy's gotten Hayes three of the four times he's been ejected. If given the power to suspend players, this ump might look at Hayes, say, "Are you eyeballin' me?" and then suspend him for three days, you know? Whereas another ump might not see fit to suspend him for whatever misdeed.
Two umpire-related feuds I can think of were between Davey Concepcion and Dave Pallone, and Earl Weaver and Ron Luciano. I sure could see this happening:
Pallone: Strike three!
Concepcion: You kidding? That ball bounced in front of the dirt.
Pallone: You're gone! And you're suspended.
Or:
Luciano: Outoutoutout!
Weaver: I dunno, Ronnie, I mean, you're the first base ump, and the ball was thrown to the cutoff man. There wasn't even a play on that runner.
Luciano: You're gone! And you're suspended.
If the league office continues to handle the suspensions, at least this factor would be eliminated. However, they're (a) gonna have to give out longer suspensions, and (b) write down and publicize some guidelines. Sure, these would have to pass through a quorum of player reps, but hey, they just might.
There'd be a huge section for retaliation pitches alone, broken down into categories such as:
That sort of thing.
"Well, okay," says Anson. "Maybe the umps can issue the suspension, and the league would decide on how long it'd be, or to overrule it. Yep, umps have too much power already. The point is to increase the punishment so that these things will happen less frequently."
What I think may need to happen is that the league gets reports from not only the umpires but also any team personnel who want to contribute. Or something. Or maybe they need to send out a "reporter" to talk to the involved parties.
But I do feel that the punishment needs to fit the crime somehow. Sorry, but screaming at an umpire and barely making incidental contact with him don't measure up to getting nailed with a pitch deliberately or tackling a pitcher.
"I don't think there is ever call to hit someone with a baseball, with the possible exception of if the pitcher is at bat and he went head-hunting after one of your guys," says Greg L. "Then I think the catcher has the right to take the bat out of his hand and break his pitching arm with it."
Which, under certain circumstances, I'm guessing most of us would pay to see.
Here's Jeff C.'s suggestion for proper retaliation: "Heck, let's just make it like an intentional walk in slow-pitch softball, where you just tell the ump you want to walk the batter and he just trots to first base. Maybe they can have a hypnotist on call at every ballpark to come out and just plant a suggestion in Kendall's head that Mesa threw a 90 mph fastball behind his head: 'You're getting verrrrry sleepy. Mesa just threw a ball behind you. You can still throw a fit like a dork, but you'll end up gagging on that disgusting chaw." Oh, I'm dyin'. Oh, I'm dyin'. Your EEEEEE! Replay.
"The first pitch was just off the corner inside, but I could plainly see Kendall lean pretty far over in an attempt to get hit on his heavily padded left elbow," says Jeff. (That's what I was thinking, given that Kendall's basically Craig Biggio.) "He probably figured he was going to get thrown at on the first pitch and when he saw one that wasn't directly at him, he must've thought it a good idea to try to take the 'easy way out' -- since I think he's leading the league in hit-by-pitches, I don't think he would've minded one off the padded elbow as opposed to one off the ribs, particularly from a guy who throws like Mesa. Of course, I would've been interested to see Kendall's reaction if he had leaned over far enough to get hit on that first pitch."
Interestingly, Tuesday's Chronicle quoted him as saying, "You gonna hit me, just hit me in the ribs, don't throw at my head." Or something.
I just figure: Careful what you wish for, psycho....
"On a scale of face jobs, that bat toss wasn't even a 2 on a scale of 1 to 10," Jeff says. "It's not like Kent stood there for a couple seconds, carried his bat halfway down the line, and then tossed it around like Jate did in Philly, and he didn't spectate and then do a pirouette a la Barry. I guess Kent was supposed to walk over to Gene Lamont and apologize for messing up his strategy."
"Don't like bat-flipping?" Billy says. "Don't serve up gopher balls. Simple as that."
Exactly. Don't like me stealing with a seven-run lead? Don't try and win.
Krukow brought up a very real possibility: Kent was stoked over hitting number 30. What the hell's so wrong with that?
"The bastard's just padding his stats," says Tim I. "He's not a team player. He chokes. Oh, wait. We're talking about Kent. Never mind."
Joe Roderick of the Contra Costa Times says, "After Kent homered, he flipped the bat high in the air and took off on his home-run trot. No one knew what his gesture was all about."
This, at least, is reasonably fair.
"Perhaps Kent was celebrating after registering a career-high 30 homers and 122 RBI, breaking his high-water marks set last season."
Perhaps he was. In which case, so what?
"The Pirates obviously were not enamored with Kent's act -- the next time he came up in the seventh he was hit on the left arm by a Jeff Tabaka pitch. Kent stood at the plate, grabbed the ball and began talking with catcher Jason Kendall before taking first base."
Wink-wanks. The Pirates, I mean.
But Roderick chose not one quote from a player. Henry Schulman on the other hand, deserves congratulations for being a journalist and bothering to get some quotes:
"'If you take an intelligent look at my bat flip, it was not directed at the pitchers,' said Kent, who admitted he knew he would be drilled when he came to bat in the seventh. 'To the person to whom it was directed, I think he will understand why. Other than that, it was just baseball.'"
Of course, this is kind of a strange quote. Cryptic. I assume Kent is talking about Pirates manager Gene Lamont, as in "That's what you get for walking a hitter to get to me."
"But Kendall was upset," Schulman writes. "'The only thing I have to say is, (Kent) got hit and I expected to get hit,' Kendall said. 'But the second pitch was close to my head, a 95-mph fastball. That's no joke. If you're going to hit me, hit me in the ribs. I'll take first base. That's what I was telling Johnson, and that's what I was telling Reliford.'"
See, this all sounds reasonable, except that the ball was closer to his butt than his head. Then again, maybe Kendall doesn't know the difference.
Meanwhile, I should mention that Kent is one RBI from breaking the Giants' all-time franchise record for RBIs by a second baseman. The guy he'll beat out, if he drives in a run tomorrow? Rogers Hornsby. Jorge L. Ortiz of the San Francisco Examiner says, "Kent's reaction to taking a spot right next to the Hall of Famer in the record books? Typical -- he dropped the 's' from Hornsby's first name.
"'I do respect and credit Roger Hornsby,' Kent said. 'I know nothing about the guy.'"
And people wonder why we call him Quotron. This is a great quote.
"I don't think you could give Jeff Kent a better name," says Kate. "After the trade deadline (July 31), in the Houston Chronicle, I think, they addressed Tommy Lasorda's guarantee that the Dodgers would win the wild card. And Jeff said, simply, 'Did Tommy say something stupid again?' I appreciated that one."
"Kent's and Carter's homers were both really pretty: both gone from the minute they left the bat, rather than 'will it be gone?' fly balls. I'm glad Kent got the curtain call. I echo Ben H. sentiments on Kent: no way I expected him to be this good, last year or this. I hope he hits .300."
The next night, as Joe Rutter of the Pittsburgh Tribune-Reviewtells us, "An erroneous hit-by-pitch call paved the way to a five-run fifth inning and led the San Francisco Giants to a 8-1 victory against the Pirates at 3Com Park."
This was hysterical. Less so was Hershiser, who talked about it on the postgame show, but he was still kind of funny.
"A blown call by home-plate umpire Charlie Reliford helped the Giants score five times in the fifth to take a 6-0 lead."
Imagine that: an umpire's blown call helps the Giants. I'm gonna start buying lottery tickets.
"With a runner on first and nobody out, Hershiser squared around to bunt. Silva's pitch was high and inside, forcing Hershiser to pull his bat back and duck to avoid getting hit.
"Hershiser's batting helmet fell off, although contact was never made with the ball. Reliford saw things differently and awarded Hershiser first base."
I didn't think the helmet fell off. I thought the ball just tapped it. In the replays you could see Hershiser saying, "It hit my helmet." Well, not that Reliford should've been influenced by this or something, but there's nothing in the rules stating that "It" means "the ball." Or that Hershiser can't lie.
"But Kent," Rutter continues, "didn't win any friends in the visiting clubhouse by casually flipping his bat and celebrating his accomplishment by blowing kisses to the crowd."
For no other team would an opposing team's beat writer wet his pants over a curtain call. "Blowing kisses"? Please. Dear Joe: You're a goober.
"This led to a valid beaning as Pirates reliever Jeff Tabaka hit Kent on the left shoulder in the seventh inning."
Sorry, Joe: I believe I insulted every goober in the world, even the stupidest ones. What you just said here -- "valid beaning" -- was completely irresponsible, uncalled for, and unprofessional. Retire. Run a bait shop.
On Wednesday Joe Carter's three-run homer pretty much iced another victory. "Note that this followed Bonds laying down a sacrifice bunt," says Ben H. "Was that really a sacrifice, or was it a shift-on attempt for a hit?"
I missed the whole inning, naturally -- just as I did Garrison Hearst's winning overtime touchdown run against the Jets -- but I don't mind. Anyway, Jon Miller said that Bonds was credited with a sacrifice, which is astounding enough, but the "credited" disclaimer suggests to me that we're talking "shift-on attempt for a hit." Not that I answered Ben's question, really.
"Bunt for a hit, Miller said," says Jonathan. "Fourth sacrifice hit of his career: two in 1986, one in 1989, and this one."
Wow.
Oh, and guess what? J.T. Snow hit a double off a lefty pitcher as a lefty batter. Next up was the switch-hitting Bill Mueller -- who batted righthanded. There's a certain weird irony there.
If the Cubs lose the wild card to the Giants, well, that's as it should be; but if they lose it to the Mets, which is unthinkable, it'll be basically a replay of 1969; even though the Mets finished in first by a healthy margin that year, the Cubs apparently used Don Young's dropped fly ball as the scapegoat of their second-place finish.
Can't say I'm bummed about it, though.
"I love Brant Brown," says Jim J. -- "you know, in that way that a man can love another man solely on the basis of that other man's horrible misfortune.
"I ain't saying, my brothers in orange and black, that The Boys are actually... in... this thing.... That would be silly. We were five back with 10 to play. Thank you Milwaukee. I knew all my years of consuming your fine pork products would be rewarded.
"Go Expos."
The Expos were playing the Mets while the Cubs were in Milwaukee, which just adds to the collective laugh at the Cubs fan who bitched about the Giants playing the wussy Rockies.
"Best moment in [Wednesday's Mets-Expos] game was when Mike Maddux inherited a 1-0 count on Matt Franco with no outs and the bases loaded," says Billy. "He got him to pop out, then struck out Hundley and Luis Lopez.
"Even the Braves' relatives are trying to help you."
You betcha -- because you know the Braves would way rather play the Giants in the playoffs than, well, anybody, but especially the Padres.
I liken Brant Brown's misplay to Don Young's in 1969 -- Ted Robinson nailed that one about three minutes after I did, frankly -- but Tim I. says, "The Brown Boner. That's what they can call this. Now I know the Mets are still involved, but humor me. Let's pretend the Mets fade (and Franco blows about three more saves this week).
"On September 23, 1908, Giants first baseman Fred Merkle committed his famous 'boner' by not touching second base to prevent a force when the 'pennant-clinching hit' was made. The game ended in a tie (replayed as a one-game playoff at the end of the season) instead of a win. And the Cubs won the rematch, robbing the Giants of a playoff berth because of a Giant boner.
"Exactly 90 years later, the 'Brown Boner' costs the Cubs a game during a playoff race with the Giants. If somehow -- by some incredibly bizarre flukish event (is that enough appeasement?), the Giants overtake the Cubs (remember, assuming the Mets roll over), then exactly 90 years later, Fred Merkle can rest in peace. His screwup will have been returned in kind.
"Now if the Mets win by one game (or win a one-game playoff with the Cubs), then it's still New York's payback. Either way, if the Cubs fall just short, the gorilla has left Fred Merkle's back, either with the Giants franchise or the New York National League club.
"(By the way, in 1908 the playoff race was also a three-team race at the time of Merkle's September 23 goof. This is getting too eerie.)"
"It sounds more like 'the Brown Muff' (a la Fred Snodgrass) than 'the Brown Boner,'" says Roger. "A boner is a mental mistake (i.e., Merkle was known as a bonehead for the rest of his career), but Brown just made a simple mechanical error by dropping the ball (a muff)."
"I will say that I feel very sorry for him," says Richard, who pretty much echoes my sentiments. In fact, what I said to EEEEEE! Contributing Editor David Beck was, "The three people I'm glad not to be right now are Brant Brown, Don Young, and Chelsea Clinton. "Glad that it happened, of course, but I never really take much pleasure in seeing someone do something that might haunt him for the rest of his career. (Or, in this case at least, his Chicago career, however long that now promises to be.)"
"I doubt Brown will be haunted," says Kerry. "It was unfortunate, but he's a player of great promise and he's well liked in Chicago. He'll be a Cub for quite some time. And along with Sosa and Wood, they'll win plenty of division titles, and therefore no one will recall the blunder."
Man. Spoken like a true Cubs fan. Eternal optimism in the face of no damn pennants in over 50 years. (Well, to Kerry, and to all Cubs fans, especially those who continually complain about the Cubs not having won a World Series since 1908, I'll just reiterate the fact that the San Francisco Giants have been in their current location longer than any other team without ever having won a World Series. So there.)
"One would think the Cubs would never be able to rally back from this, but one has already thought that about the Giants at least three times in the last month and they are still sticking around like gum on the bottom of a worn shoe, so who knows anymore?" Richard says. "I will say that this 'stupid' wild-card chase is stacking up to be every bit as memorable in its own way as many of the more traditional pennant races in years past ever were, regardless of who ultimately wins it."
Meanwhile, you must understand that none of us really has a cogent comment about the terms "Brown Boner" or "Brown Muff." In fact, I probably really shouldn't have brought them up. So just pretend I didn't. I will.
"I think Brown was very gutsy to face the media and say that he blew it, period," says Carlos. "He didn't blame the sun or anything. And he used two hands, too, so parts of his mechanics were sound."
"Hey, let's not forget the ultimate irony of all this," says Jeff C. "Brown had come into the game as a defensive replacement for our good buddy, Glenallen Hill!"
I wonder if Cubs announcer Steve Stone was saying, "G-Hill woulda caught that"? "If it was G-Hill," Anson says, "he probably would've made an over-his-head, diving, Jim Edmonds-style, highlight-of-the-year-type catch, just to bury the Giants."
Meanwhile, Jon Miller was just killing me on Thursday. Immediately after talking about how Ron Santo was screaming "Noooo! Oh, Noooooooo!" after Brant Brown dropped the fly ball the day before, Rich Aurilia hit a long home run to left. Then, right away, Russ Ortiz did the same. Miller's call: "He swings... and that ball is gone! Yes! Ohhhhhh, yes! Yes!" Now, without the proper context, that would've been a genuine "we" sort of call, but Miller was making fun of Santo, and I was laughing, at least....
"I was howling," Richard says. "The Ron Santo call was equally funny, albeit in a more spontaneous and sincerely pained way."
The other side of this, which I didn't even think about till they mentioned it on KNBR that morning, is the fact that Santo was most likely not just being a homer of "Braves announcers" proportions, but rather was reliving 1969 -- I mean, when Don Young dropped that ball, Santo was there. They were saying, too, that evidently Santo ripped Young a new one in the locker room afterwards. Hadn't heard that part before.
"In the postgame show, Miller mentioned that he indeed did that call in honor of Santo," says Gopal. "Great sense of humor." Unbelievably great timing, too, in that case. "Miller is amazing. He called four home runs today, and each call was superb. I liked the call for Aurilia. If you noticed he said, "You can forget about it" in a Brooklyn accent -- quite appropriate, since Rich is from Brooklyn!"
First, I figure Miller clarified the call on Ortiz's dinger during the rap/wrap so as to be sure nobody would think he was a shameless homer. Second, Robinson also praised him for the Aurilia call. Miller said, however, that the connection wasn't on his mind at the time, but was just fortunate timing. Yet again. He called it a "serendipitous" call. I guess this is what makes Miller such a kick-ass announcer, though: I mean, his stuff works even when he doesn't mean for it to.
I made the mistake of saying that the dude definitely deserves some credit. Richard nearly wets his pants over this, feeling that the more we praise Carter, the screweder we are, and the more we violate the Earnest Ragging Principle, which may well be all we have right now.
"I'm not kiddin' OH here," says Tom A. "As part PLEASE of my effort to OH spur the Boys onwards, PLEASE I played hooky from work OH Thursday to attend the game. We sat in the Pavilion section, in my OH continuing effort to save a PLEASE few bucks and to sit in, if not every single OH seat at the 'Stick, at least PLEASE every section.
"We were in section 37, right-center OH field. Right PLEASE field, as it happens, is OH where Unca Joe patrolled PLEASE that day. While, as has OH been discussed at some PLEASE length, JFC is a nonpareil RBI man, his OH work in tending the garden leaves somewhat PLEASE to be desired. At one point, JFC turns, like OH the nice guy he no doubt PLEASE is, and waves to a fan. OH I yell 'Pay attention PLEASE, Joe!' Alerted by my timely OH warning, he is only a little PLEASE bit late reacting to the shot down the right-field line, and OH his throw is only a little offline, thus holding the runner PLEASE to a mere double instead of the single it would have been otherwise. Yay!
"So here it is OH the fourth inning or so, and Ortiz is PLEASE working to a lefty hitter. I notice that Benard and Bonds, as they did OH consistently all day, are playing virtually all hitters PLEASE not to pull -- that is, shaded a lot toward left field. I realize that Joe might not OH catch this subtlety, so I stand and PLEASE yell in a helpful sort of way "MOVE OVER, JOE!"
"Well, he obviously heard me, because OH at that very moment he roused himself and sauntered a good fifteen steps toward right-center, to the PLEASE very position I felt he should take.
"Then, in the sixth, JFC strode OH to the plate with the G-men clinging to a scant 3-1 lead. Knowing that we needed a home run PLEASE really badly here, and also being aware that OH, in the two games I had attended since JFC became a G, he had hit two PLEASE of his four Giants homers, I thought Joe should be reminded OH PLEASE in a suitably subtle way of my presence. I didn't yell this time; I merely said OH, in volumes suitable for a prayer PLEASE, 'I'm here, Joe.'
"There was a crack and a blinding flash of light OH!, or there must PLEASE have been because I completely failed to pick up the ball off the bat. I only heard the crowd roar OH!, and I picked up the ball in flight moments before it fell gently, dreamily into the left-field bleachers. PLEASE! 4-1 Giants.
"JFC: the man, the chicken, the curtain call.
"Oh Please."
At least the Astros beat the Cubs that day... but "Rotten lousy Jay Powell," as Tim I. calls him, abandoned a 1-1 tie on Saturday, giving up two runs in the eighth in a third of an inning, thanks to a double by Gary Gaetti. "Crap crap crap," Tim suggests.
But that wasn't the bad part. The bad part was, Jeff Bagwell had led off the ninth with a homer against Rod Beck. Okay, that wasn't the bad part either. The bad part was the way the game ended.
That would be, as Dan M. says, "with the help of Eric 'The Giant Killer' Gregg." I know Billy would disagree, but I've never thought much of Eric as an umpire. His strike zone follies have been documented extensively, but the dude just pulls the weirdest stuff out of the air. Now, what happened was, with two down and the tying run on third, Beck induced Dave Clark to hit a tapper back up the first-base side. Beck grabbed it, attempted to tag Clark, missed, then hit Clark in the back with a throw, bringing the tying run home. Gregg, however, decided that Clark had run out of the baseline, so he was called out. However, while certainly Clark veered out of the baseline to avoid the tag -- about 20 feet from home plate -- Gregg didn't make the call until well after Beck's throw, at which time Clark was smack dab in the middle of the three-foot lane -- where he was supposed to be. So I'm not saying Gregg was wrong, because I'm not sure -- but he sure didn't make a timely call.
I'm flipping between Fox Sports Bay Area and ESPN 2 -- not even caring about the 49ers game, which is only against the Falcons and is thus the Niners' third victory -- and I'm seeing Mark McGwire hit two more home runs, giving him 70 for the season, which not only "eclipses" Roger Maris' all-time record by nine (wait -- you knew that, right?) but also utterly shatters Hack Wilson's 68-year-old league record by 14. (Also broken this year was Rogers Hornsby's franchise record for RBIs by a second baseman, as Jeff Kent's run-scoring double took care of that; he later hit a solo shot, too.)
I'm making notes -- tiny, cryptic, unreadable notes -- on a single piece of paper, divided into sections for the Giants and Cubs games.
The Cubs led 1-0, and the Astros tied it up on a single by Richard Hidalgo in the third. Right away, though, Mickey Morandini walked with two outs against Mike Hampton. Then came a ground ball to short. Ricky Gutierrez tossed it to Craig Biggio -- who dropped it trying to make the transfer to his right hand so he could turn the double play... except that there were already two outs. (This is just one of the many reasons I've never liked Biggio.) Up comes notable power hitter Terry Mulholland, who rips a shot into the right-center-field gap that Hidalgo couldn't quite reach. Two runs scored, and it was 3-1.
The Astros managed to tie it in the eighth when Hidalgo led off with a double, Jeff Bagwell drove him in with a one-out single, and after Moises Alou struck out, Sean Berry hit a high popup to center -- one of those "tweeners" on which Lance Johnson didn't know whether to go for the catch or play on the bounce. With my friend Greg Spira on the phone with me going "Drop! Drop! Drop!," it looked as though all possible Cubs fielders pulled up at once, and the ball dropped, then bounced high. Bagwell scored from first on the double, and the game was tied.
The Astros loaded the bases against Rod Beck with one out in the tenth, after Derek Bell singled and Jeff Bagwell singled him to third. Alou was walked intentionally. Pinch-hitter Billy Spiers then popped up to the center of the diamond, and Gutierrez then flied out harmlessly to center.
In the eleventh, however, with one out, pinch-hitter Carl Everett bombed one to the base of the fence in left field and legged it out for a triple. Craig Biggio was walked intentionally. I thought the Cubs might walk Hidalgo, too, but Derek Bell was due up next, so they pitched to him. He hit a deep fly ball to center, and the throw home wasn't nearly in time, so the Astros won 4-3.
But less than a minute later....
Well, I'll get to that, even though you already know what happened.
The Giants got on the board first, with Barry Bonds doubling to score Marvin Benard, and Joe Carter hitting a two-out, line-drive homer that just crept over the left-field wall for a 3-0 lead. In the fifth, Bonds tripled, Kent doubled, and Carter singled him to third -- thanks to a successful decoy by Darryl Hamilton, who pretended to be able to catch Carter's ball. No matter, though, because J.T. Snow then hit into what should've been a 3-6 force, at least -- only the ball went off of Perez' glove, so Kent scored. Kirk Rueter eventually hit into a force play, but when the ball was dropped at second (and thus the double play didn't happen), Carter scored to make it 6-0. Benard then drove in another run, so the Giants were up 7-0, clearly coasting to a well-deserved victory, one that would certainly propel them into the playoffs uncontested by the Cubs. But no. Of course not. That would please me too much, which is how you know it couldn't happen.
Right away, Rueter caved in. Kirt Manwaring singled, pinch-hitter Terry Shumpert struck out, Darryl Hamilton singled, and Neifi Perez -- if you don't hate this guy yet, you will; you will -- tripled; 7-2 Giants. Larry Walker drove him in with a single; Dante Bichette singled; Dusty Baker came out... and so did Rueter. In came John Johnstone, who'd pitched just dandy lately, which is how you know that wasn't going to last much longer. He did strike out Vinny Castilla, but Todd Helton -- who probably should be the Rookie of the Year -- hit a long home run to right-center, and suddenly it was 7-6 Giants -- a lead you knew couldn't stand up.
Things stood pat until the bottom of the seventh, when Perez led off with an infield hit against Rich Rodriguez. He induced Larry Walker to hit into a force play -- but the return throw to first wasn't quick enough to retire Walker. That's when Dusty Baker brought in the completely untrustworthy Julian Tavarez, who managed to get Bichette to fly out... but then gave up a long home run to Castilla, and the Rocks led 8-7.
In the eighth, Bonds hit a deep fly ball to the biggest part of the ballpark. Out number one. Kent, though, hit his 31st homer, and we were tied again. Charlie Hayes singled, but Snow and Aurilia both hit fly balls. The Rockies went down in order in the eighth, and the Giants followed suit in the ninth.
This brought up Neifi Perez to lead off the ninth against... Alvin Morman. No. It was Robb Nen. But it may as well have been Morman. Immediately Perez hit one high and deep to right... and there's going to be -- I can't even believe I'm about to say this -- a wild card playoff in Chicago tomorrow. (Of course it can't be in San Francisco. The Giants lost all possible coin-flips after calling "tails" with two-headed coins.)
How many E's can one type before it's officially a "waste of bandwidth"? I can't tell you how disappointed I am that the Giants are playing tomorrow, rather than Tuesday in Atlanta for sure. There is no way -- no way -- the Giants should've lost today. Simply none. Dammit, if they and the Cubs had both gone out winners, it would've been agonizing, but easier. As it is now, though, we're going to Chicago where the Cubs will have a rested bullpen (except for Rodney) and the Giants won't.
Steve Trachsel is supposed to start for the Cubs (though I wouldn't be surprised if it were Kerry Wood), but we've got Mark Gardner. Whee. And whither the hell Ellis Burks? Will the guy remotely be available? And why couldn't Bonds have hit it 20 feet farther? (That's for Tom A.)
One thing that was just so, so awful was that within about a minute of us getting to be elated over the Cubs game, Nen coughs up the big one to Neifi Perez. That's Neifi Perez, not Tony Perez, or Neifi Ruth. Neifi Perez. I suspect I'll hate the guy forever.
But I'm less annoyed with Nen than with Johnstone, Tavarez, and... emgh!... Bill Mueller. Grand slam against the Dodgers aside, the man is this year's Jater With The Bases Loaded. At least he didn't take strike three. Instead, he grounded out to second against Pedro Astacio in the seventh, clearly ignoring my "get a hit and drive in some runs" strategy.
If there's a silver lining, it's that at least the game has been rescheduled at 5 p.m. PDT, so most of us can see most of it....
Let's get this started now:
Oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please.
Sorry. That's the best these palsied hands can do.
Still: I ask for so little.
"In the past nine seasons," he says, "nobody in baseball has been more consistently excellent than Bonds, and yet he's not always appreciated by those who have been watching him at 3Com Park for the past six of those seasons."
Another amazing statement. It's as though Glenn, for the first time ever, has (a) been paying attention, and (b) been reading the Giants newsgroup.
"History repeats itself," he continues: "What's happening to Bonds now happened to Willie Mays 30 years ago.
"In the '60s, there was a vocal minority which insisted that Mays never hit in the clutch. That was ridiculous, of course; Mays wound up seventh in baseball history in career RBIs."
Well, it was more than that. Granted, I don't expect any "close-and-late" stats from Dickey, but you'd think he would've mentioned the fact that Mays hit an ungodly number of home runs in extra innings, at least.
"More important, he is generally regarded by his contemporaries as the best player of his generation, and nobody who couldn't hit in the clutch would have that kind of reputation."
I don't know about that. I'm not sure I trust ballplayers' observations all that much all the time, either. More than the press, though -- especially folks who asserted that Ted Williams, despite driving in 140 runs a year, never hit in the clutch.
"Now it is Bonds who is the target of those who claim he's a rally-killer and express their views through sports-talk radio or letters to the editor, though the most cursory glance at statistics disproves that."
On this rare occasion, I'm not really in the business of ripping Dickey, but though I applaud his statement, experience shows that his glances at statistics pretty much are cursory.
"Bonds has had more than 100 RBIs every season since 1991 except for the strike year of '94, when he had 89 in just 112 games.
"More important than statistics, he is a three-time MVP and has more total votes for MVP in the '90s than any other player, almost double the second-best total by Mike Piazza. Rally-killers don't get that respect.
"Perhaps we expect more of great players like Mays and Bonds than we should, forgetting that even the best hitters fail seven times out of 10."
Well-worn... but not false.
"Clutch hitters? There are some hitters who hit better in the clutch than at less critical times. Without knowing his statistics, I'd bet that Jack Clark hit significantly higher with men on base; Jack's attention tended to wander in non-critical situations, but he was totally focused when the game was on the line."
"Without knowing the statistics," Grant says, "I'd bet that it wouldn't kill Glenn Dickey to get off his ass and do some research. Yeesh, the dude even admits he's not prepared."
"I know that was as lame as it gets," says Billy, "but you have to give this guy props for at least writing this article. You don't see enough of articles like this. I still can't get over the one where the guy rips Barry for homering in a (what was it?) 15-3 loss."
Dickey -- though, again, I don't intend to criticize him for this column in particular -- seems to be of the school of thought that says that columnists don't need to prepare.
He continues: "Other hitters get reputations because they hit well when attention is focused on them. Reggie Jackson became known as 'Mr. October,' when he hit home runs on three consecutive at-bats in a game in the 1977 World Series, and he hit .357 in 27 World Series games. But he also hit .227 in 45 league championship games, and his overall average in the postseason was .275, not much above his career average of .262."
Not only that, but the "Mr. October" label was meant to be ironic at first, because he didn't (or it was perceived that he didn't) perform well in the postseason early on.
"Most hitters in their careers hit about the same with men on base as they do with the bases empty. Hitters like Bonds who hit for both power and a good average will do the same with men on base."
Not just average, laddie-buck. Look at his OBP, and how drastically it increases with runners on, especially in scoring position.
"RBI totals don't tell the whole story."
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! Damn, who wrote Glenn's column?
"The fact that Bonds has been the most feared hitter in the Giants' lineup since he arrived in '93 is more telling than his RBIs. He often doesn't get a chance to drive in an important run because he's walked intentionally. In the National League, only McGwire has more intentional walks this season.
"But with his speed and baserunning ability, Bonds can help the team by scoring runs; he's topped 100 runs scored in seven of the past nine seasons.
"Now, with Jeff Kent and Ellis Burks hitting behind him, Bonds has more protection. His run production has increased since Burks joined the team, and if the Giants re-sign Burks, next season may be Bonds' best since 1993."
Let's hope.
"Bonds is often criticized for his habit of standing at the plate when he hits long drives, sometimes costing himself a base if they stay in the park, and for occasionally failing to run out a groundball.
"But those are minor flaws in the package he brings to the game."
God, clearly Dickey has been reading the Giants newsgroup. And EEEEEE!
"He's a student of the game, often sitting in on pitchers' meetings so he knows better how to position himself in the field. He hustles and makes great defensive plays in the outfield. Despite his back problems, he's been remarkably durable and hates to be rested even for a game."
Now, that's a gutty assertion: "he hustles." He does, of course, but saying so seems like it flies in the face of the vast majority of fans and writers, who hate Bonds.
"His one weakness is a relatively weak throwing arm, which has kept him from playing center field, though he has often been the best defensive outfielder in the Giants' lineup."
When not?
"He has compensated by playing shallow, charging balls like an infielder and throwing quickly and accurately. He's so quick, he can make unlikely plays: In one game in July, I saw him play a line-drive bare-handed off the fence in the left-field corner, whirl and throw so quickly to second base that the hitter had to stop at first."
Okay, that's how we know it's Dickey: "In one game in July, I saw him...."
Criminy, Glenn, Bonds did it, whether you saw him or not.
"Home runs are exciting, but for all-around excitement at the plate, in the field or on the bases, nobody matches Barry Bonds. I feel sorry for those who can't appreciate the best player of his generation."
Completely agreed. Something's up if I'm going along with Dickey on something.
"What ultimately irks me about Dickey writing it is that since the guy can't stand to write anything other than something contra to what everybody else is writing, he doesn't really believe any of it," says Greg L. "He's just trying to get himself noticed by being different."
Hadn't considered this. Good point, perhaps.
"I hated to find fault with such an agreeable column, but, you know, it's Dickey," says Grant. "I respect the intent, and most of the article is well written and thought out, but I wish he'd at least pretend to seem as if he entertained a passing fancy of an idea to humor the reader."
He's never struck me as one who's particularly interested in what his readers think....
Meanwhile, Noah comes out from under his bridge to inform us that Barry Bonds is "a disgrace to Western Civilization" because sometimes he forgets to hustle.
Dickey's assertion that admiring a home run is a "minor flaw" is met with, "Standing at the plate, sometimes costing himself (and his team) a base? Occasionally failing to run out a groundball? Minor flaws? Just what is the statistical threshold which permits a player to give less than 100 percent on every play?
The rest of the rant goes something like this: "What if Little Leaguers did it, too? Why, if you carried it out far enough, the Earth would spin off its axis, and we'd all perish horribly, and as we hurtled toward the sun we'd all cry, 'Barry Bonds, you son of a bitch!'"
What he actually says at the end is, "Analogously, why cost taxpayers the trouble, time, and expense of allowing criminal defendants a fair extended trial when there are credible eyewitnesses and overwhelming circumstantial evidence against him?
"Or, why have doctors waste valuable time and resources bothering to treating terminally ill patients?
"Bonds is an insult to humankind."
Tragically, the Giants newsgroup -- your humble EEEEEE! guy included -- hasn't yet learned not to respond to this stuff. I started typing a response to the guy -- something along the lines of not rejecting, say, Cindy Crawford for, say, eating crackers, or even biting her toenails or something -- but decided, on balance, to let someone else reply to Noah's posts. Brick wall. On the other hand, I later allowed myself to be sucked into another discussion in which the gentleman simply won't listen, one in which he posits that all we need to know about a hitter is his batting average. I'll get to that later, if I can stand to go through it again.
"But seriously," Billy says, "would it kill Bonds to bring peace to the Middle East? Plus he has done nothing about stopping Hurricane Georges."
"True," says Tim I. "Or how about saving an entire village from poverty and hunger? Heck, Bonds has the money -- unlike some $20-million-per-film Hollywood types who always talk about these issues, and then try to raise other people's money to make them better despite being worth 300 gazillion bucks.
"Who's the phony here?"
But why should we be ashamed of ourselves, Tim I. wonders. "Without it there would be no Earnest Ragging. Who knows what JFC would do without Earnest Ragging?"
Richard says, "I don't back down at all. Nor will I, until perhaps after the end of the season."
"Not even if he hits a grand slam in the ninth on Sunday to win the game and the wild card? Man, you're stubborn!" Anson says. (If only....)
"After the season, maybe," Richard insists. "JFC is having a good time showing me up, and I intend to give him every chance to continue on doing so."
Man, for all the serious, and deadly Earnest Ragging I've heaped upon this guy since late June, he sure as hell has put on a show for the Giants, especially in the last several days.
The dude definitely deserves some credit.
"On the one hand, you have to admit we've gotten more out of Carter in the last few weeks than the big club would probably ever have gotten out of Darin Blood," says Greg L. "On the other hand, I'm convinced that without our Earnest Ragging, he doesn't accomplish anything at all."
"In a surprise twist," Andrew says, "he will now bat righthanded against righthanded pitchers."
Wow! Another EEEEEE! replay.
"I guess I'm a minority," says Satoshi (so I guess it's a pretty good pun), "but J.T. is one of the reasons why I go to the ballpark. That guy's defense is so awesome I often just stare at him as the pitcher delivers the ball.
"As for whether he's having a positive effect or not... say, assuming he's 40 or 50 RBIs short of a 'typical' offensive first baseman, do you really think he's not saving at least one run every three games or so?"
I really don't know about that, but he's still awfully damn good out there.
"First of all, in order to save a run, you have to assume that any great play he makes prevents that runner from scoring," says Greg. "If he makes a diving stop at first with a man on third with two out, that definitely saves a run. If he scoops a throw on a double play, maybe if he didn't make that scoop, the next guy would strike out anyway and no runs would score. What he's really doing is preventing baserunners."
Well, that's still cool, given that baserunners are what you need to score runs anyway. Just ask Noah. (Sorry. Kidding. Noah would disagree.)
"And the more important thing in my mind is that although Snow's defense is great, it's not so great that it's that much better than other first baseman in the NL who can field their position pretty well (Helton, Galarraga, Grace, Bagwell, just to name a few), but are far superior hitters.
"Yet despite all that, I do have a soft spot in my heart for the guy. But not when I'm in Hot Stove League"
mode.
"If the Giants miss the playoff by one game, I want Morman's," says Anson.
Now, this is a perfectly reasonable question. A bunch of us gave perfectly reasonable answers, none of which involved anything complicated or "obscure." Jonathan says, "I'll take a shot at it. The goal of teams while batting is to score runs, right? That's the starting point for stats."
Let me take this a bit further with the Pythagorean Theorem, which states, in essence, that the more runs you score and the fewer you give up, the more you'll win. The actual formula is the square of runs scored (actually the exponent is 1.83, but it doesn't really matter) divided by the sum of runs scored squared and runs allowed squared:
RS^2 / (RS^2 = RA^2) is roughly equal to winning percentage.
Now, I'm not bringing this up to add confusion to the mix, or bring up some weirdo obscure contrived stat, or anything like that. Quite the reverse. First, Bill James, who came up with this, did tons of research which shows that the theorem works to within a small margin of error -- like 4% at most. I think it's more like 1%, actually.
I promise, I'm trying to come to the point, which is this: Wins and losses are about runs. Period. Not when they score, but that they score -- or don't score. You could say that a team will suck if it wins three games by a score of 500-0 and loses 159 games 1-0. This is true. But it doesn't happen.
Last year Carlos posted a lot of game-by-game stats, and there was some mention of "Wow, these guys all did better in wins then in losses," at which time Ben H. said, "Duh. That's because teams score more runs in wins than in losses." Well, of course they do -- because runs are what you need to win. (I'll admit to having blushed a little when I read that, because it's so obvious and yet escaped my notice.)
Last year the Giants outperformed their Pythagorean projection by 10 wins -- the RS/RA ratio suggested that they should've finished 80-82, but they did better than that. Reasons were ascribed, such as the fact that they tended to win close games but lose blowouts, which I guess would accounted for some of the discrepancy.
I've restated in about a million words what Jonathan said in 17, which was that the goal of teams, while batting, is to score runs, and that's the bottom line. As Jonathan goes on to explain, stats such as on-base percentage and slugging percentage measure the "building blocks" of runs -- the former describes getting on base, and the latter describes moving runners along.
"The question then is how many runs a combination of singles, doubles, triples, HRs, walks, and outs usually produce," Jonathan says.
"The easiest accurate relationship that has been found from looking at actual team results is that runs are highly correlated to a combination of OBP and SLG. [I object to that abbreviation, because "SP" had always been what I was used to... but I'll gladly suffer Jonathan using it. -- GP]
"OBP, on-base percentage (or OBA, on base average) is the players' success at reaching base: times on base (hits + walks, mostly) divided by plate appearances.
"SLG, slugging percentage, is total bases (home runs * 4 + triples * 3 + doubles * 2 + singles) divided by at-bats."
"If these stats are so much more indicative of a player's at-the-plate value, why is the batting average still the first thing you see on the scoreboard when a player comes to bat?" says Noah. Another fair question.
"A variety of answers to that," says Jonathan. "Tradition. Ignorance of what creates runs by the people at that particular park who are in charge of putting stats on the scoreboard."
Smack dab dead-on right on the button. Fans (and sportswriters) understand batting average. That is, they think they do. Often they don't. But they do understand, for instance, what a .300 average means. Sort of.
It has to do with context -- which we can say about all of this stuff, really. A .300 hitter in a league where the average is .300, well, he's no better than average, at least in terms of batting average. (The average sentence contains the word "average" less than once, so I guess the last sentence, and this one, are above average.) A .300 hitter in a .250 league, well, that's an accomplishment, though I'll talk more about this below.
"Everything flows from batting average," Noah says. "If a player is batting .300 or more, the other stats will flow naturally."
"No, that's not true," Jonathan counsels patiently.
Not even close. It's like saying that a .300 hitter will "get his home runs." That being the case, why the disparity between, say, Barry Bonds and Bill Mueller? More on this below, too.
"If he isn't batting over .300," says Noah, "maybe he draws more walks, or hits sacrifice flies, or gets hit by pitches, or forces fielding errors, or who-knows-what, but that's only a small percentage of his general offensive production measured by his batting average."
"Not at all," says Jonathan.
What Noah says here is backwards. Offensive production isn't a part of batting average; it's the other way around. Some hitters, like Willie McGee, will hit .300 for you every year, more or less, but it's what you'll hear called an "empty .300," or a "soft .300," because he doesn't hit for power and doesn't walk much -- and thus that .300 is a very large percentage of his offensive contribution. Just the fact that people use those expressions -- "empty/soft .300" -- indicates that, on some level, they understand that batting average isn't the be-all and end-all offensive stat. I don't know anyone who'd really think, for instance, that a .325 hitter with no power (.375 slugging percentage, say) or walks (.350 OBP, say) is more valuable to a team than a .250 hitter with a .500 slugging percentage and .375 OBP. Let's translate that into some sample numbers:
AB H 2B 3B HR BB AVG SP OBP
First Guy 600 180 26 2 5 46 .300 .375 .350
Other Guy 540 135 35 5 30 108 .250 .500 .375
I mean, you can see that the first guy is way less valuable than the other guy. The first guy is basically Willie McGee.
"For example," Jonathan says, "I can look at two hitters on the St. Louis Cardinals; through Sunday, they were both hitting at about the same batting average. One of them, however, has an extra 58 home runs and an extra 94 walks. Obviously, batting average isn't telling you much about which one is better."
Well, it ain't McGee.
"Though it might be a crude indicator, batting average is still the most useful yardstick or else why haven't they replaced it?" says Noah.
"It's not the most useful," says Jonathan, "and many of us have replaced it."
I still use it, even knowing that what Jonathan says is true. Again, I'll just say that if batting average were the most useful, there'd be no reason to talk about an "empty/soft .300." Darrell Evans, whose lifetime batting average is at or below .250, is an "almost borderline" Hall of Fame candidate. Dave Magadan, who hits about .300, isn't even close.
"'They' [i.e., the "they" who haven't replaced batting average] haven't, as I said, for reasons of tradition or ignorance," says Jonathan. "Or, because it's not 'their' job to educate people who don't know or care which stats are most related to putting runs on the scoreboard."
Key statement right there. It's their job to report, not to educate. That position is silly, but it's the one "they" take. The result is, facts are ignored.
"Once you have OBP and SLG," says Jonathan, "you can combine them in a variety of ways, and different people differ on the best way to do that, but ultimately it doesn't matter very much. That's why most people seem to be simply adding them to create a stat usually called OPS (for On base Plus Slugging). It's not the most accurate way to combine them -- it undervalues OBP. But it's close enough that you won't mistake a great hitter for a bad one, which is easy to do with batting average.
"Essentially, what's wrong with batting average is that it collapses the basic stat line badly, losing tons of information. The basic line is:
PA 1B 2B 3B HR BB OUTS"Batting average pretends all hits are the same, which obviously isn't true (nor do all hitters have similar ratios of 1B/2B/3B/HR). And it completely ignores successful plate appearances that are not hits; that is, walks. Again, those are valuable (although not as valuable as hits), and again, there are large differences between hitters in walk rates.
"It's easy to see how important these things are at the team level. Through last Sunday, here are the stats for the Giants, Cards, and Rockies:
Runs AVG OBP SLG
Giants 786 .271 .350 .412
Rox 787 .291 .346 .458
Cards 781 .258 .340 .438
"The Rox are probably a few runs low, considering their SLG... but if batting average was the important stat, the Rox would be destroying the Giants and Cards.
"The last thing to add is that all of this is just based on the basic stat line I listed above. Other things can matter, too: hit-by-pitches, stolen bases, caught stealing, grounded into double plays -- all can make a real difference, and even the more marginal stuff can matter. But not very much; if stuff like moving runners on outs mattered, then the various formulas that ignore those things wouldn't be able to predict runs scored from the basic stat line, and in fact they can, with only a small margin of error.
"Hope all that helps."
It certainly helps me. I love seeing stuff like this -- I mean, the well-thought-out explanations to reasonable questions that I feel I already know the answers to... but haven't necessarily taken the time to think about them.
Quick aside: I will always, by the way, rail against the fact that OBP doesn't include sacrifice bunts. The fact that they're "voluntary outs" (unless you're Barry Bonds trying to bunt against the shift) is immaterial to me, because (a) they're plate appearances, and (b) they're outs. They count, no matter what the intent.
Jonathan's one of several who replied to Noah's questions, and we all talked along the same lines. Noah, however, says, "I still think all these auxiliary stats are unnecessary."
The problem is that Noah, and those thinking as he does, are defining things like OBP and slugging percentage as "auxiliary." They're not. They're just outside many people's "comfort levels" -- to which I can only say: tough darts. A lot of true things aren't easy to deal with.
"The plain vanilla batting average tells you 95 percent of what you need to know about a hitter," Noah insists.
No. If you're going to tell me that, for instance, Andres Galarraga and Gerald Williams are roughly the same because they're both hitting .304, I'm just going to laugh.
"Inasmuch as batting average counts a single as the same as a home run and a walk as a non-event, it tells you little of what you need to know about a hitter," says Billy. "You're free to hold your hands over your ears and scream, though."
"Please post some hard data to the contrary," Noah insists, ignoring the hard data that has been posted, because if you can ignore someone else's argument, you won't bother to worry that your own argument might have holes in it. He exhorts us to show how "any one of these more detailed categories, e.g., OBP, OPS, FCKU, etc., change a batting average more than five percent over hundreds of at-bats."
He's still missing the point, because the point is not "changing a batting average." We're saying that batting average is not only not the Alpha and Omega of offensive statistics, it's not even close. But in ignoring everything that's been said, Noah is making it clear that he's not seeing the answers he wants to see, so why even ask the questions?
Dan S. says that if it's true that batting average told us virtually all we needed to know about a hitter, "then team batting average would correlate very highly with team scoring. It doesn't. The team with the highest OPS is much more likely to lead the league in runs scored than the team with the highest batting average.
"Also, if this were true, a low-batting-average team would score less runs than a high-batting-average team with identical on-base and slugging percentages would score. They don't.
"Throughout baseball history, the primary determinant of how many runs a team will score is their OBP and SLG."
"Well, the goal [of these newfangled, young-whippersnapper statistics] isn't to affect batting average. The goal is to maximize team runs. And based on what has actually happened in baseball history, the primary way to score a lot of runs is to have high on-base and slugging percentages.
"Just to elaborate, using the Giants as an example: The Giants have an on-base percentage of .353 and a slugging percentage of .418. Using the simplest method (OBP * SLG * AB), you would expect a team with a .353 SLG and a .418 OBP to score 814 runs. The Giants have scored 826. For an error of a bit over 1%.
"And you can do this for every team in baseball history and still be within 3% of the actual total 95% of the time.
"That's pretty convincing evidence that OBP and SLG are, by far, the most important ingredients in scoring runs. It's not based on some stathead's wild guess or some complex theory. It's based on what has actually happened in baseball."
But Noah has had trouble extracting walks from batting average -- in other words, he seems to think we're telling him that walks are a part of batting average, and he's gracing us with the knowledge that they're not.
Jonathan says, "It's not effects on batting average; it's effects on team runs scored that matter. And you need to see the range of these things. Here's the really dramatic example, through last Sunday (ignoring hit-by-pitches)"
PA 1B 2B 3B HR BB OUT
McGwire 644 57 21 0 65 157 344
Womack 664 141 25 7 3 37 441
"See, not only are McGwire's times on base far more productive, they are also far more frequent. McGwire's batting average at that point was .013 better, which is very small. But there's a .150 difference in their OBPs, which has translated into Womack making 100 more outs over the course of the season (with 20 more plate appearances).
"That's an enormous difference -- almost four games worth of outs."
"No, no, no... you've got it all wrong," says Tim I. "Look at the number of triples. This proves that McGwire sucks and that Womack is more valuable." Tim's being facetious, folks.
"If you reduce the above lines into batting averages, you are tossing out lots and lots of information: the extra-base hits, the walks, and the outs. OBP gives you the outs, since out percentage is (1 - OBP). And SLG gives you the extra-base hits."
"Batting average would have you think that McGwire isn't among the top 20 or so hitters in the National League this year. However, in reality, he is far and away the best: he makes outs less often than anyone else, and his hits are more productive than anyone else's.
"And, as Dan pointed out, this is easy to test on the team level. I'm not going to do it, but if you want to see for yourself, try ranking the teams by batting average, OBP, SLG, and OBP + SLG, and then check it against what you really want to know, which is runs. You can find the team numbers at the ESPN site, and probably lots of other places."
If Noah did this research, he'd be in danger of learning something.
"What are the batting averages for these two based on these numbers?" says Noah, who is on a completely different plane from the point.
"Everything you need to calculate it is included here," says Tim I.:
McGwire: (57 + 21 + 0 + 65) / (57 + 21 + 0 + 65 + 344) = .294 Womack: (141 + 25 + 7 + 3) / (141 + 25 + 7 + 3 + 441) = .285"Which makes Mac only a 'slightly better' hitter according to your batting average theory. Never mind that McGwire has reached base 87 times more than Womack in 20 fewer plate appearances.
"Heck, I'll humor you. Let's take four homers away from McGwire and turn them into outs, making him an identical .285 hitter. That's right -- let's turn four homers into outs."
(Why not? Happened to Rich Aurilia in the space of about three games in midseason.)
"In that case, McGwire still reaches base 83 more times than Womack, has 129 more total bases than Womack and makes 93 fewer outs than Womack, in only 20 fewer plate appearances. Let's summarize:
"But hey, both would be hitting .285 here, so they're roughly equal hitters, right?
"[Noah's] comments are as mindless as saying 'I think all these elements and atomic particles are unnecessary. Fire, Earth, Air, and Water tell you 95% of what you need to know about a substance," says David N., who guesses that Noah thinks that McGwire, with his .293 average, is basically having the same year as Gregg Jefferies," who's hitting .294."
"'So what if the guy walks 58 times instead of 36 times?' 'So what' is that the guy then makes 22 less outs. That's a big deal. Or do you not care if a batter gets out when he comes to the plate?"
"If you're going to be rude and arrogant," counters Noah, "then explain why every team announces the batting average and not all these other initials. Citing 'tradition' is a mindless answer, so please try again."
Because they don't know any better. Simple as that.
If I wanted to give them more credit, the answer would be: "Because they don't expect the fans to know any better."
"Tradition" is not only a perfectly fine answer, but also almost certainly one of the top two reasons. However, if Noah doesn't want to hear it, I guess it's "mindless."
We're all still mystified as to why Noah is interested in OBP and slugging percentage "changing" batting averages. "Um, none of them change a batting average at all; that's the problem," says Greg S. "If they changed the batting average, we wouldn't be using them. Let's compare, say, Al Oliver and Mike Schmidt from 1983:
AVG OBP SLG
Schmidt .255 .402 .524
Oliver .300 .348 .410
"Schmidt was a much much much better hitter. But if you just looked at batting average, you'd think the opposite."
And many do. Wrongly. Schmitty was a great third baseman -- but that ain't why he's a Hall-of-Famer.
"Oliver finished his career with a batting average 36 points higher than Schmidt. But Schmidt was the greatest third baseman who ever lived, while Oliver was a slightly above average outfielder.
"Or compare these two players from 1992:
AVG OBP SLG
Tettleton .238 .383 .469
Gwynn .317 .373 .415
"Now Gwynn, of course, has had the better career. But Tettleton was significantly better offensively that year despite a batting average 80 points less."
"This illustrates my defense of pure batting average perfectly," says Noah (who doesn't know that he means, "Oh, you're right.") "What's Gwynn's lifetime batting average: 325, .335? What else do you need to know about him?"
"A lot?" suggests Greg. "How much he walked? How much power he had? What position he played? How well he played the field? How good a baserunner he was? How long his career was?
"If I say that both Jimmie Foxx and Earle Combs have lifetime batting averages of .325 (they do), does that tell us the players were similar hitters? I hope not, because Foxx was one of the all-time greats, and Combs was little more than mediocre, even though they both hit for the same lifetime batting average."
"So what if the guy walks 58 times instead of 36 times?" says Noah. "The effect that has on his batting average is negligible over hundreds of at-bats during a season, and more negligible with the high-average players."
We're not talking about walks and batting average. Walks affect on-base percentage. The difference between 58 walks and 36 walks, over, say, the course of 600 plate appearances, is .037. If you're going to tell me that's negligible, then why not say that the difference between .300 and .337 batting averages is negligible, too? Or even .248 and .285 -- one of which would be defined as a "good" batting average, the other as a "bad" one.
Noah says, "Correct me if I'm wrong: doesn't .037 mean less than 4 out of 100 chances? Is that statistically significant?"
"Correct me if I'm wrong," says Tim, "but you are the one saying that batting average is the best indicator of a player's offensive performance. Now you're saying that a .300 hitter is no better than a .263 hitter -- that the difference is statistically insignificant?
"Color me confused. I suggest you curl up with a good book on statistics and pay special attention to the sections about 'sample size' and 'confidence levels.'
"Maybe 8-for-28 is not significantly better than 7-for-28 (.286 vs. .250), but you can't tell me that 200-for-700 isn't significantly better than 175-for-700 (.286 vs. 250 again)."
"Hitting .300 versus hitting .263 is insignificant? This is too funny!" says Anson.
Noah says, "The difference between 36 walks and 58 walks is only 22 walks -- out of 600 at bats it's only .037, or 4 out of a 100 chances to get a hit. That's not the same probability as a .300 hitter hitting .263 -- since a differential of 22 walks out of 600 at-bats is a much smaller percentage than a differential of 263 hits out of 1,000 at-bats vs. 300 hits out of 1000 at-bats." "Really?" says Tom A. "Let's try it out: 22/600 = .03666666666666666666666667; 37/1,000 = .03700000000000000000000000."
"You're absolutely right," says Tom. "That's a whopping difference of .000333333333333333333333333333, or, 3 out of 10,000. "much smaller."
"That's precisely the reason why walks aren't filtered into a batting average," Noah continues: "they're less statistically significant than actual hits."
"You just make this stuff up as you go along, right?" Tom says.
"Look at it this way," Noah persists: "Only the better hitters draw more walks, since pitchers are trying to take away the hitters' strengths."
Wrong. Rickey Henderson's got 118 walks this year, and he's batting .237. Noah's assuming that walks are entirely a function of the pitchers' fear or incompetence, and giving the batter no credit. That's barmy.
"Wrongo," agrees Dan S. "The primary determinant of walks is the hitter not the pitcher. It's obvious from the spread of occurrence. No pitcher walks batters as infrequently as Dante Bichette walks. No pitcher walks batters as frequently as Mark McGwire walks (except Brad Pennington)."
"Therefore," Noah insists, "a higher batting average implicitly shows that the hitter can get on base despite less juicy pitches."
But a higher OBP doesn't?
"If you want to include walks to juice up the on-base-percentage, fine, but as the McGwire example illustrates, it's his extra-base hits which make him more than an ordinary singles-based .285 hitter -- but rating players solely on slugging percentage doesn't reward the value of the solid singles-oriented players who get into scoring position, providing RBI fodder for the big lumber."
Okay. Fine. So Noah's acknowledged, finally, that more extra bases would make one .285 hitter better than another. This means that he's negated his argument that batting average can tell you "95 percent of what you need to know about a hitter." The other part, here, is that no one has said anything about rating players solely on slugging percentage. Also, these "solid singles-oriented players" don't deserve any reward. By Noah's definition, if a hitter is "95 percent" defined by his batting average, a singles hitter hits singles and thus doesn't get into scoring position, thus not providing RBI fodder for the big lumber. Extra-base hits is what gets folks into scoring position. Or walking with someone on first base.
"So, in summary," Noah says, "though on-base percentage and slugging percentage are more detailed determinants of run production, the unadorned batting average is still the best all-around barometer of a player's long-term worth."
Not that I need to exactly point this out, but Noah has paid no attention to anything anyone has said here. He goes to the trouble of asking a good, provocative question, but he decides to blow off the answers, even when these answers are well thought out and heavily researched. So why ask the questions?
I had a boss once who sent us all to some training courses, but who decided not to go because "I have nothing new to learn." I remember thinking, "Well, then you may as well kill yourself, if you don't want to learn." If you refuse to be taught, why should anyone bother to teach you?
"In fact," Noah continues, "since Reggie Jackson only had a lifetime .262 average despite all his slugging fireworks, it could be argued that his team would've scored more runs in the long run -- over a period of years -- with a singles-oriented .300 hitter who got on base more and put more runners into scoring position."
It could be argued, but not by anyone who had a clue. See, this is the point that's been made all throughout this discussion. There's a reason Ralph Kiner said, "Singles hitters drive Fords. Home run hitters drive Cadillacs." To find out what that reason is: Read this discussion again -- unless you're the type of person who simply doesn't value learning.
Noah -- speak of the devil -- says, "A constant balanced attack of singles is much more valuable than all-or-nothing marquee swatters with lower all-around averages -- who are dependent on these very nickel-and-dime base runners to maximize their own value."
A .300 hitter who never walks gets on base 30 percent of the time. A .250 hitter who walks even a reasonable amount gets on base 32 percent of the time. Which guy would you rather have?
"Also, I don't agree with all the stubborn statophiles who claim that teams announce batting averages because fans can understand the concept more easily than on-base percentage."
Yeah? Clearly Noah has just proven that point.
"By not crediting the batter for walks, a higher batting average is a better reflection of a consistent hitter and is the best all-around indicator of productivity despite its actuarial crudities."
I think Noah meant "crudité," as in "croo-dee-tay", as in sliced vegetables, which is what has been made of Noah's argument to date, and which he refuses to see. I'd like to make plain that no one's out to get Noah, gang up on him, or show him for a fool; we all have opinions. It's just that, for instance, Noah and Jonathan can't both be right -- and they're not; Noah's wrong. He asked a question, and answers have been provided by thoughtful people who want to help him learn something. The fact that he keeps stating your position, long after it's been shown to be wrong, is why people are calling him a troll. I don't know that that's fair in itself, because just asking the question suggests that he wants to learn something... but his responses to all of these interested replies suggests the opposite... which suggests that we're wasting our time.
My aforementioned boss had this habit of asking us what approach we'd take to solving certain problems. We'd answer, and the reply would, in effect, be, "Yeah, well, no, we're just gonna do it this way, because it's my way, even if your ways make more sense. Those other approaches are invalid because they're your approaches."
But back to the issue at hand: The objective for a batter is to do something that will lead to runs being scored -- basically, it's to get on base and/or facilitate baserunners' trips around the bases. That's "getting on base," not "getting a hit."
If you're really going to tell me -- I don't know how many times this has to be illustrated -- that you'd rather have a .300 hitter with a .350 OBP and .375 slugging percentage than a .250 hitter with a .350 OBP and .500 slugging percentage, I'll trade you the first guy for the second guy. And if I have a whole team of "second guys," I'll beat your "first guys" team most of the time. Because I'll have guys with an OPS of .850, and you'll have a team with an OPS of .675.
Maybe that means nothing to Noah, but -- and here is the point -- that doesn't mean that it means nothing, period.
What's going on here is that a whole bunch of people who actually spend time studying baseball and its statistics -- including at least two here who write about this stuff professionally (no, not me) -- are telling Noah "A," and he continues to argue "B." Fine. He's entitled to his opinion. However, in this case -- and David N. said more or less the same thing -- "A" is analogous to "The earth is round," and "B" relates to "Nope, the earth is flat, and if you sail too far, you'll fall off the edge."
Want evidence? It's in bunches and bunches of books.
Want to learn something? Do what I did: hang out in the Giants newsgroup, because there are some awfully knowledgeable folks there, folks who've taught me a great deal.
Okay, folks. It's buckle-down time: Gardner against Trachsel today at Wrigley, around 5 p.m. Pacific Time. Wish hard, Giants fans.
Copyright ©1998 by Gregg Pearlman
Last updated 9/28/98 Gregg Pearlman, gregg@EEEEEEgp.com