Besides "I love you" are there any better words than "World Series Game Seven"?
Now tonight is a pivotal game.
29 October 2014
26 October 2014
Wait, Whose Turn Is It To Panic?
Remember when the Giants emerged victorious from Game One of the World Series to steal away the home field advantage?
Talk was rampant about how the magic show was over for Kansas City. Because the winner of Game One wins 116% of all playoff series.
Then the Royals grabbed Game Two and cosmic balance was restored. Funny how life can turn on a single game.
After KC took Game Three, in San Francisco no less, the panic mode was switched to the Giants' side of the ledger. Home field was back in Missouri. The jitters started in California, and not because of a temblor. It was because the Game Three winner in a one-one series emerges victorious 124% of the time.
You heard the serious discussion about scrapping San Fran's rotation and pitching Madison Bumgarner on three days rest in Game Four and Game Seven. How else would the Giants defeat mighty Jason Vargas?
Bumgarner is 25. In five Major League seasons and 159 starts, he's never pitched on three days rest. Fortunately for West Bay fans, Bruce Bochy has a less active emotional metabolism. He let the panic consume sports talk radio nation while he calmly put Ryan Vogelsong on the hill.
Now with the Series squared at two, and seemingly headed for seven, Game Five is being called "pivotal." I've seen and heard that very word used four times in 12 hours. The winner of Game Five claims the crown 133% of the time, you know. But whoever pivots can pivot back after a day of travel. Someone will win Game Five and go up 3-2. Then someone will win Game Six. That might be the other team, after which the winner of Game Five will cease to matter in the sense that only Game Seven will.
By Game Seven the hyperbole will have been exhausted. The urge to over-state its importance will crash ironically into its actual import. Because the Game Seven winner dogpiles at the mound 100% of the time. And a broken clock is right twice a day.
Talk was rampant about how the magic show was over for Kansas City. Because the winner of Game One wins 116% of all playoff series.
Then the Royals grabbed Game Two and cosmic balance was restored. Funny how life can turn on a single game.
After KC took Game Three, in San Francisco no less, the panic mode was switched to the Giants' side of the ledger. Home field was back in Missouri. The jitters started in California, and not because of a temblor. It was because the Game Three winner in a one-one series emerges victorious 124% of the time.
You heard the serious discussion about scrapping San Fran's rotation and pitching Madison Bumgarner on three days rest in Game Four and Game Seven. How else would the Giants defeat mighty Jason Vargas?
Bumgarner is 25. In five Major League seasons and 159 starts, he's never pitched on three days rest. Fortunately for West Bay fans, Bruce Bochy has a less active emotional metabolism. He let the panic consume sports talk radio nation while he calmly put Ryan Vogelsong on the hill.
Now with the Series squared at two, and seemingly headed for seven, Game Five is being called "pivotal." I've seen and heard that very word used four times in 12 hours. The winner of Game Five claims the crown 133% of the time, you know. But whoever pivots can pivot back after a day of travel. Someone will win Game Five and go up 3-2. Then someone will win Game Six. That might be the other team, after which the winner of Game Five will cease to matter in the sense that only Game Seven will.
By Game Seven the hyperbole will have been exhausted. The urge to over-state its importance will crash ironically into its actual import. Because the Game Seven winner dogpiles at the mound 100% of the time. And a broken clock is right twice a day.
25 October 2014
Grounding Out Makes Him the Star of the Game
The Associated Press has a formula for writing news and sports stories that allows random monkeys to hew to their standards, low expectations being the key to happiness.
This formula requires in part that the story lead summarize the event before backtracking later with details. This allows subscribers to edit the story at the beginning and yet maintain the essense.
In baseball game write-ups, the formula evidently requires the writer to acknowledge the go-ahead RBI, however and whenever it is recorded.
It appears there is no adult supervision at AP to recognize when this formula is transparent tripe. To wit, the write-up of last night's Game Three Royals victory:
Lorenzo Cain knocked in a first-inning run and Jeremy Guthrie pitched shutout ball into the sixth to lead Kansas City to a 3-2 victory and a 2-1 World Series lead.
Here's some other information you might find relevant:
1. Lorenzo Cain grounded out with a runner on third. Apparently how that runner came to be so easily transported home (a lead-off double) or who achieved it (Alcides Escobar) did not merit mention. Because RBIs are king.
2. The false shrine of the RBI was discredited by Bill James six years before the Royals won their only World Series, 29 years ago. The AP never wrote up that story.
3. Jeremy Guthrie pitched five shutout innings; however, in the sixth he was gassed. He allowed a run, left a pair of baserunners and caught a major break when Mike Morse's 900-foot blast curved foul.
4. Guthrie did not strike out a batter during his appearance but did benefit from several sterling defensive plays by the Royals' remarkable outfield.
5. Guthrie forced his bullpen to pitch four frames and failed to record a "quality start."
And according to the AP, whose cancer metastasizes to nearly every newspaper in America, those were the stars of the game. Sheesh.
This formula requires in part that the story lead summarize the event before backtracking later with details. This allows subscribers to edit the story at the beginning and yet maintain the essense.
In baseball game write-ups, the formula evidently requires the writer to acknowledge the go-ahead RBI, however and whenever it is recorded.
It appears there is no adult supervision at AP to recognize when this formula is transparent tripe. To wit, the write-up of last night's Game Three Royals victory:
Lorenzo Cain knocked in a first-inning run and Jeremy Guthrie pitched shutout ball into the sixth to lead Kansas City to a 3-2 victory and a 2-1 World Series lead.
Here's some other information you might find relevant:
1. Lorenzo Cain grounded out with a runner on third. Apparently how that runner came to be so easily transported home (a lead-off double) or who achieved it (Alcides Escobar) did not merit mention. Because RBIs are king.
2. The false shrine of the RBI was discredited by Bill James six years before the Royals won their only World Series, 29 years ago. The AP never wrote up that story.
3. Jeremy Guthrie pitched five shutout innings; however, in the sixth he was gassed. He allowed a run, left a pair of baserunners and caught a major break when Mike Morse's 900-foot blast curved foul.
4. Guthrie did not strike out a batter during his appearance but did benefit from several sterling defensive plays by the Royals' remarkable outfield.
5. Guthrie forced his bullpen to pitch four frames and failed to record a "quality start."
And according to the AP, whose cancer metastasizes to nearly every newspaper in America, those were the stars of the game. Sheesh.
22 October 2014
World Series Notes That No One Is Noting
Repose or Oxidation
The question in my newspaper on the eve of the World Series was: are five days off rest or rust? It's an apt question. The research suggests it's more rust than rest, particularly for batters and fielders. Add in uncooperative nighttime weather and you may want to shield your eyes while you watch.
Dynasty
Another question making the rounds: If the Giants win their third World Series in five years are they a dynasty? Are you kidding? How can a team that wasn't among the eight best in baseball one year or among the 10 best two years later (in fact, they were 10 games under .500 in 2013) be a dynasty in those years? The Giants couldn't make a credible case that they were the best team in baseball any of the three seasons in which fate smiled upon them and they emerged from the playoff scrum.
In the years when the league champ over the season's marathon earned a World Series berth, or even in the nascent years of playoffs, World Series appearances were marks of a dynasty.
Today, the standard for the post-season has been demoted from excellence to goodness, with lucky breaks and a timely performances paving the way to the Series. It's nearly impossible to cobble a dynasty out of that.
I'd cast my ballot for the Yankees' run of playoff appearances long before I'd consider what San Fransisco has done the last five years.
Some Royal Pain
Sure, Kansas City swept away their foes en route to the title series, but seven of those eight games -- including four extra inning affairs -- could have turned the other way on one play here or there. It just wasn't that surprising that they lost Game One of the Series.
A Giant Pain
That said, it's just a game. Anyone quoting the statistic that the Game One winner has taken 15 of the last 17 Series needs their lobotomy reversed. It's just one game. KC wins Game Two and we're back to square one.
Relax
I like how calm Joe Panick is.
The question in my newspaper on the eve of the World Series was: are five days off rest or rust? It's an apt question. The research suggests it's more rust than rest, particularly for batters and fielders. Add in uncooperative nighttime weather and you may want to shield your eyes while you watch.
Dynasty
Another question making the rounds: If the Giants win their third World Series in five years are they a dynasty? Are you kidding? How can a team that wasn't among the eight best in baseball one year or among the 10 best two years later (in fact, they were 10 games under .500 in 2013) be a dynasty in those years? The Giants couldn't make a credible case that they were the best team in baseball any of the three seasons in which fate smiled upon them and they emerged from the playoff scrum.
In the years when the league champ over the season's marathon earned a World Series berth, or even in the nascent years of playoffs, World Series appearances were marks of a dynasty.
Today, the standard for the post-season has been demoted from excellence to goodness, with lucky breaks and a timely performances paving the way to the Series. It's nearly impossible to cobble a dynasty out of that.
I'd cast my ballot for the Yankees' run of playoff appearances long before I'd consider what San Fransisco has done the last five years.
Some Royal Pain
Sure, Kansas City swept away their foes en route to the title series, but seven of those eight games -- including four extra inning affairs -- could have turned the other way on one play here or there. It just wasn't that surprising that they lost Game One of the Series.
A Giant Pain
That said, it's just a game. Anyone quoting the statistic that the Game One winner has taken 15 of the last 17 Series needs their lobotomy reversed. It's just one game. KC wins Game Two and we're back to square one.
Relax
I like how calm Joe Panick is.
19 October 2014
Official World Series Preview
Here is the most honest World Series preview you're going to read.
I have no idea who is going to win the World Series or in how many games, and neither does anyone else, even The Amazing Kreskin. The two teams are equally unexceptional in terms of their demonstrated abilities over 162 games, but even that is of little value in a seven-game series. The home field "advantage" is not worth dignifying with a mention. It hasn't worked for Ukraine.
One thing I know for sure is that the Royals' eight-game winning streak and the Giants' 2010 and 2012 world championships will play utterly no role in the next seven contests. Past performance does not guarantee future results.
Newspapers like to run position-by-position comparisons, assigning an edge to the corresponding team at each position, then adding it up and predicting a winner. It's a fun exercise the same way that hanging upside down from the monkey bars is a fun exercise. Neither tells us anything useful.
Kansas City clearly has the superior bullpen. It could blow up like a grenade in the Series. San Francisco has more power. The lights could go out for them starting Tuesday. The Royals' formula is six solid innings from the starter, three shutdown frames of relief, good defense and a few well-timed hits further leveraged with speed. The formula produced 73 losses this season and could go awry at any moment.
The Giants rely on big arms from the rotation and above-average hitting from every starter in the lineup. They've ridden that to four more losses than wins since June 1.
The Royals' are paced by outfielder Alex Gordon, starter James Shields and relievers Greg Holland, Wade Davis and Kelvin Herrera. The Giants' feature catcher Buster Posey, outfielder Hunter Pence, and starters Madison Bumgarner and Tim Hudson. Yet they are playing for the championship because of star turns by the likes of Lorenzo Cain, Travis Ishikawa and Mike Moustakas.
The MVP of the World Series will be someone on the winning team's roster. Probably a regular. Beyond that, you, Gumby and Winnie the Pooh are equally likely to guess correctly.
Whatever justifications you hear analysts provide for assigning one team or another an edge is transparent hokum. KC's youth and enthusiasm; SF's experience on the big stage; speed and defense; power pitching and the long ball -- they are all futile attempts to make sense of the unpredictable.
It's a fun match-up with a clear fan favorite, which will certainly not reveal baseball's best team in 2014. Let's skip the worthless prognostications and enjoy it for what it is.
I have no idea who is going to win the World Series or in how many games, and neither does anyone else, even The Amazing Kreskin. The two teams are equally unexceptional in terms of their demonstrated abilities over 162 games, but even that is of little value in a seven-game series. The home field "advantage" is not worth dignifying with a mention. It hasn't worked for Ukraine.
One thing I know for sure is that the Royals' eight-game winning streak and the Giants' 2010 and 2012 world championships will play utterly no role in the next seven contests. Past performance does not guarantee future results.
Newspapers like to run position-by-position comparisons, assigning an edge to the corresponding team at each position, then adding it up and predicting a winner. It's a fun exercise the same way that hanging upside down from the monkey bars is a fun exercise. Neither tells us anything useful.
Kansas City clearly has the superior bullpen. It could blow up like a grenade in the Series. San Francisco has more power. The lights could go out for them starting Tuesday. The Royals' formula is six solid innings from the starter, three shutdown frames of relief, good defense and a few well-timed hits further leveraged with speed. The formula produced 73 losses this season and could go awry at any moment.
The Giants rely on big arms from the rotation and above-average hitting from every starter in the lineup. They've ridden that to four more losses than wins since June 1.
The Royals' are paced by outfielder Alex Gordon, starter James Shields and relievers Greg Holland, Wade Davis and Kelvin Herrera. The Giants' feature catcher Buster Posey, outfielder Hunter Pence, and starters Madison Bumgarner and Tim Hudson. Yet they are playing for the championship because of star turns by the likes of Lorenzo Cain, Travis Ishikawa and Mike Moustakas.
The MVP of the World Series will be someone on the winning team's roster. Probably a regular. Beyond that, you, Gumby and Winnie the Pooh are equally likely to guess correctly.
Whatever justifications you hear analysts provide for assigning one team or another an edge is transparent hokum. KC's youth and enthusiasm; SF's experience on the big stage; speed and defense; power pitching and the long ball -- they are all futile attempts to make sense of the unpredictable.
It's a fun match-up with a clear fan favorite, which will certainly not reveal baseball's best team in 2014. Let's skip the worthless prognostications and enjoy it for what it is.
17 October 2014
Why Playoffs Narratives Are Steaming Piles of Pooh
"All good writing is storytelling."
The challenge for TV networks introducing playoff baseball to America is how to leverage six months of games into a compelling backstory and then pivot to a new narrative as the postseason games play out.
For television is all about story-telling. The baseball playoffs -- indeed any tournament -- is just a collection of games absent the organizing narrative. It's those stories, in fact, that drive interest in Olympic sports like the javelin throw, biathlon, bobseld and other competitions that we never watch otherwise. The stories tell us why we should care, whom we should root for and how it all fits together.
Without narratives, the broadcasts are not possible. And therein lies the rub.
As we have established with painful repetition, baseball's playoffs are largely random at either the game or the series level. The better starting pitcher confers a shockingly microscopic advantage, and the better team over 162 games, even with an ostensible home field edge, doesn't seem to win with any regularity. Mike Trout resembles Mario Mendoza's little brother. Lorenzo Cain channels Willie Mays. And so on.
So the narratives, for the most part, have to be invented. The Royals are a team of destiny. The great Clayton Kershaw "can't win the big one." The Giants are "clutch." Adam Wainwright is a "big game pitcher."
How else to explain why all the best teams are at home while the hitless wonders from KC play their fellow Wild Card rep from San Fran in the Series? How else to make sense of two 88-win teams squaring off for the title, particularly when the Giants played below .500 after the first month of the season? How else to rationalize eight straight high-wire wins for the Royals over superior teams?
But the explanations are all hooey. Both teams have simply gotten hot -- and lucky. Mike Moustakas hit .212 for the Royals and spent time in the Minors before his playoff hero turn. Travis Ishikawa was left on the trash heap by Pittsburgh this season before he smacked the walk-off pennant clincher for the Giants. It's just the way baseball is.
And despite the announcer bleatings, baseball is amoral. Winners aren't morally superior to losers, nor are those who struggle and persevere morally superior to the mega-talented. Underdogs have no claims over favorites; defense and relief pitching are not greater in God's eyes than three-run homers, if I may speak for God. Who, by the way, did not suddenly become a Kansas City Royals fan.
And now one of these teams, which have combined for 16 playoff victories in 18 tries, will suddenly lose its invincibility. The playoff slugger will lose his stroke, the base thief will meet his catching match and the big game pitcher will gack one up. And just like that, the narrative carefully cultivated for two weeks will have to change to accommodate the World Series. Moral supremacy will suddenly be seen to switch allegiances, as if it were momentum's cousin.
But no, it is, sadly, much more banal. One guy tries to hurl a sphere at high velocity with yaw and roll. Another guy tries to mash it with a wooden stick. A third guy tries to snatch it in his over-sized leather pouch and zing it to his friends. One gaggle of talented fellas will do it just a tad better than the opposing gaggle over the next seven games, though they might not have in some previous or subsequent seven. And that, at very last, is its entire significance.
The challenge for TV networks introducing playoff baseball to America is how to leverage six months of games into a compelling backstory and then pivot to a new narrative as the postseason games play out.
For television is all about story-telling. The baseball playoffs -- indeed any tournament -- is just a collection of games absent the organizing narrative. It's those stories, in fact, that drive interest in Olympic sports like the javelin throw, biathlon, bobseld and other competitions that we never watch otherwise. The stories tell us why we should care, whom we should root for and how it all fits together.
Without narratives, the broadcasts are not possible. And therein lies the rub.
As we have established with painful repetition, baseball's playoffs are largely random at either the game or the series level. The better starting pitcher confers a shockingly microscopic advantage, and the better team over 162 games, even with an ostensible home field edge, doesn't seem to win with any regularity. Mike Trout resembles Mario Mendoza's little brother. Lorenzo Cain channels Willie Mays. And so on.
So the narratives, for the most part, have to be invented. The Royals are a team of destiny. The great Clayton Kershaw "can't win the big one." The Giants are "clutch." Adam Wainwright is a "big game pitcher."
How else to explain why all the best teams are at home while the hitless wonders from KC play their fellow Wild Card rep from San Fran in the Series? How else to make sense of two 88-win teams squaring off for the title, particularly when the Giants played below .500 after the first month of the season? How else to rationalize eight straight high-wire wins for the Royals over superior teams?
But the explanations are all hooey. Both teams have simply gotten hot -- and lucky. Mike Moustakas hit .212 for the Royals and spent time in the Minors before his playoff hero turn. Travis Ishikawa was left on the trash heap by Pittsburgh this season before he smacked the walk-off pennant clincher for the Giants. It's just the way baseball is.
And despite the announcer bleatings, baseball is amoral. Winners aren't morally superior to losers, nor are those who struggle and persevere morally superior to the mega-talented. Underdogs have no claims over favorites; defense and relief pitching are not greater in God's eyes than three-run homers, if I may speak for God. Who, by the way, did not suddenly become a Kansas City Royals fan.
And now one of these teams, which have combined for 16 playoff victories in 18 tries, will suddenly lose its invincibility. The playoff slugger will lose his stroke, the base thief will meet his catching match and the big game pitcher will gack one up. And just like that, the narrative carefully cultivated for two weeks will have to change to accommodate the World Series. Moral supremacy will suddenly be seen to switch allegiances, as if it were momentum's cousin.
But no, it is, sadly, much more banal. One guy tries to hurl a sphere at high velocity with yaw and roll. Another guy tries to mash it with a wooden stick. A third guy tries to snatch it in his over-sized leather pouch and zing it to his friends. One gaggle of talented fellas will do it just a tad better than the opposing gaggle over the next seven games, though they might not have in some previous or subsequent seven. And that, at very last, is its entire significance.
11 October 2014
Looking Forward To A Retirement
During a recent meaningless end-of-season game between long-eliminated teams, the announcers embarked on a discussion of their choices for the big awards. It was the usual stuff -- should Clayton Kershaw be considered for the MVP, should Mike Stanton be dinged for his team's performance, does Robinson Cano get credit for Seattle's giant leap forward, that kind of thing.
And then came the manager of the year award. This is the hole into which baseball people pour all of their ignorance.
What ensued, as usual, was not a disposition on managers, but on the most surprising teams. The assumption is that when a team appears to outperform its talent, the manager must have been working some magic. It's the same logic by which we credit or blame the President of the United States for the state of the economy.
That dynamic led to some hysterical assertions. The in-the-stands reporter touted Buck Showalter for manager of the year because of how 31-year-old Steve Pearce contributed 10 times more wins against replacement than in his previous seven-year career, leading the O's to lay waste to the AL East. The same reporter noted how Showalter's team overcame the decline of Chris Davis, who misplaced 90 points of batting average and 27 home runs from his breakout 2013. By this logic, the skipper earns points for employing over-achievers but is not responsible for under-achievers.
The color analyst touted Ned Yost for AL manager of the year, citing the surprising rise of the Royals. Yost is generally considered one of the more daft field generals who required the intervention of George Brett and the front office to construct productive lineups. Once learned, his expertise extended to filling out the same lineup much of the season and relying on a trio of shutdown relievers to shorten each game to six innings.
I suspect that if the award were being bestowed at the end of July, the A's Bob Melvin would have run away with it, much as his Oakland squad was unexpectedly running away with the league's best record. Evidently Melvin contracted a major case of stupid, because the A's hardly won a game in August and September.
The manager of the year award is a joke and should either be retired or entrusted to managers and GMs to vote on. Sportswriters and broadcasters have little basis for choosing the best manager and have proved that time and again.
And then came the manager of the year award. This is the hole into which baseball people pour all of their ignorance.
What ensued, as usual, was not a disposition on managers, but on the most surprising teams. The assumption is that when a team appears to outperform its talent, the manager must have been working some magic. It's the same logic by which we credit or blame the President of the United States for the state of the economy.
That dynamic led to some hysterical assertions. The in-the-stands reporter touted Buck Showalter for manager of the year because of how 31-year-old Steve Pearce contributed 10 times more wins against replacement than in his previous seven-year career, leading the O's to lay waste to the AL East. The same reporter noted how Showalter's team overcame the decline of Chris Davis, who misplaced 90 points of batting average and 27 home runs from his breakout 2013. By this logic, the skipper earns points for employing over-achievers but is not responsible for under-achievers.
The color analyst touted Ned Yost for AL manager of the year, citing the surprising rise of the Royals. Yost is generally considered one of the more daft field generals who required the intervention of George Brett and the front office to construct productive lineups. Once learned, his expertise extended to filling out the same lineup much of the season and relying on a trio of shutdown relievers to shorten each game to six innings.
I suspect that if the award were being bestowed at the end of July, the A's Bob Melvin would have run away with it, much as his Oakland squad was unexpectedly running away with the league's best record. Evidently Melvin contracted a major case of stupid, because the A's hardly won a game in August and September.
The manager of the year award is a joke and should either be retired or entrusted to managers and GMs to vote on. Sportswriters and broadcasters have little basis for choosing the best manager and have proved that time and again.
09 October 2014
Just As We Called Them...
...so after one round of the MLB playoffs, if you still don't think they're a lottery, it's time to send for the men in white coats.
Teams with three of the four best records, including the top team in each circuit, are gone, winning two games among them. The fourth team was an underdog. They swept.
Both Wild Cards moved forward, dropping one game between them.
The clubs that executed brilliant trade-deadline deals to score several of the best pitchers in baseball, stacking their starting rotations and inducing favorite status come post-season, won a grand total of zero playoff games.
The pair of AL squads with the worst records since 2000 will square off for the pennant. Neither has been to the World Series since Barak Obama was in law school.
It makes for a fun October, but it gives credence to the complaint that April through September doesn't matter.
Teams with three of the four best records, including the top team in each circuit, are gone, winning two games among them. The fourth team was an underdog. They swept.
Both Wild Cards moved forward, dropping one game between them.
The clubs that executed brilliant trade-deadline deals to score several of the best pitchers in baseball, stacking their starting rotations and inducing favorite status come post-season, won a grand total of zero playoff games.
The pair of AL squads with the worst records since 2000 will square off for the pennant. Neither has been to the World Series since Barak Obama was in law school.
It makes for a fun October, but it gives credence to the complaint that April through September doesn't matter.
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