At What Point Is the Sample Conclusive?

Egghead stat geeks like to make sport of the blatherrati for talking about who is a clutch performer and who chokes in the playoffs. In the broad sense, the evidence debunks the view that someone who performs a particular way in one or two series or one or two playoff seasons is "a great post-season player" or "can't handle the post-season."

Barry Bonds was always a good example of this. The greatest player I've ever seen, he struggled in his first few playoff series with the Pirates and Giants, managing just one home run in 27 games and a .310 OBP. 

He was labeled a choker who couldn't handle the big games.

Then in 2002 and 2003, he blasted eight home runs in 21 games, and got aboard at a .576 pace while leading his team to the World Series in '02. In that losing World Series effort against Anaheim, he hit .471/.700/1.294 for an otherworldly 1.994 OPS.

So much for choking.

Which brings us to Clayton Kershaw. After 10 seasons he has a 144-64, 2.36 career mark with seven seasons (I'm including 2017) finishing in the top 5 of Cy Young voting. 

He is without a doubt and by a wide margin, the greatest pitcher of this generation.

But he's stunk in the playoffs, and he's now played seven years of them. At what point is it fair to call him a regular season pitcher?

In 11 playoff series, Kershaw has a 5-7, 4.57 record. He's allowed 15 bombs in 100 innings, about what the league does against him in 220 regular season innings. His K/BB ratio is worse, his WHIP is worse; in short, he's not the same guy. And that's been true in almost every series in which he's pitched.

During the regular season, Clayton Kershaw is unhittable. He's Pedro Martinez. 

In the playoffs, he's a guy. He's Bud Norris, Bruce Chen, Randy Wolf.  

He's not just not Clayton Kershaw. He's leave-off-the-playoff-roster guy.

Is it possible that Kershaw just isn't very good in the playoffs? Maybe the stress gets to him. Maybe the way post-season games mess with normal rhythms of pitching unravel him. Maybe he hates cold weather, though there isn't much of that in Southern California (or Phoenix, their previous foe).

I don't know whether Kershaw isn't "clutch" or "chokes" or whether he doesn't perform as well for some other reasons. But at this point the evidence makes it pretty clear, he's not the same guy in the post-season.

The Deification of Derek Jeter Commences

Befitting his entire career, the idolatry around Derek Jeter entered its crescendo phase yesterday with the announcement that 2014 would be his final season. Expect the crescendo to remain in effect, nationwide, through October.

Derek Jeter is one of the great players of all time, warranting a Hall of Fame bust. He will get that in 2019, by which time he will also have achieved sainthood, if not by the Catholic Church than in the conclave of public opinion. 

The narrative of Jeter the great man, transcendent teammate, clutch performer, etc., etc., etc. has been written, validated and parroted so often that critical thinking is no longer expected or even desired.

Many Jeter worshippers will agree that one play above all others encapsulates his career. They are correct about the play, but not about why. It is the catch in a regular-season game against the Red Sox in 2004 in which he dove into the stands to snare a foul ball and came away with it despite a collision with metal seats that left him bloody faced and glassy eyed.

The collective wisdom about the catch is that it demonstrated his resolve, his team play, his guttiness, his selflessness, his hustle -- take your pick or choose them all. It catapulted him, or rather vindicated the catapulting that had already occurred, into the stratosphere of greats.

It is a microcosm of Jeter's career for a different reason: it is grossly exaggerated in the public mind's eye. In fact, as has been documented ad nauseum in this space before, Jeter made a lovely running grab roughly 10 feet from the stands before his momentum brought him to the railing. By his own admission on 60 Minutes, he hoisted himself into the seats in hopes of landing in someone's lap, having previously that season flipped over the railing and onto the concrete.

Like Jeter's entire career, there was greatness there, but it has been magnified and distorted, and has taken on an undeserved grandiosity that is now simply understood as fact in the collective consciousness.

Isn't it enough that Jeter is one of the five or six best shortstops of all time, that he's the all-time Yankee hit king, that he owns a .312 batting average and .381 OBP, 348 steals at a 79% clip, 13 seasons of 100+ runs scored, 94 offensive wins against replacement and all the other records? Must we lard his accomplishments with fatuous ideas about his fielding ability, his "clutchness," his leadership skills and his character? There is ample evidence that he has been a below-average fielding shortstop, he captained the worst collapse in baseball playoff history, he was lucky to play for the richest and most talent-stocked franchise in the game and he is a gentleman and a scholar who treats others with respect, but is never mistaken for Nelson Mandella.

Hats off to Derek Jeter for a spectacular career, as no doubt will happen, endlessly, during his farewell tour around the leagues this year. It hasn't started and it is already getting old.

Surprising Chokenicity or Super Clutchanism?

If you're one of those who paddle the choke/clutch canoe, you're bailing water right now.

Until a few days ago, the narrative was simple: the Yankees choked and Tigers were clutch. Pinstripers entered the batting icebox together at the start of the ALCS, leading to historically low averages and run production in four games against Detroit.

Now in the first three games of the World Series, the Tigers' lineup has switched the clutch switch to choke. Shut out twice all season, they've doubled that total in the last two games.

Wait, what? The Tigers were clutch in Game Five against Oakland and then for four games against New York. And now they've suddenly turned to Jello? Those clutch pills wore off fast!

Oh, but maybe the Giants are even clutchier. With a foot on their necks in the NLDS against Cincinnati, they took three straight for the series win. Flailing against the Cardinals, they reprised the feat to earn a World Series berth. So while the Tigers are clutch, the Giants are Super Clutch, and by comparison Detroit is a choker. But against the Double-Secret Chokers in New York, the Tigers looked clutch.

Of course, none of this explains how a clutch team like the Giants gets down in the first place 2-0 in a five-game post-season series or 3-1 in a seven-game series. Isn't that a little chokey? Doesn't that suggest some pre-clutchy chokiness on the part of San Francisco? Does choking nearly to the point of strangulation before winning suggest Pseudoclutchiness, or Extra Clutchosity with a Cherry on Top?

Also, how could the Yankees be World Class Chokers when Mr. Clutch of All Time himself is their captain. Is their Two-Hands-Around-the-Throat-Chokerism so great that even the mighty King Clutch is no match for it? I need someone to explain this to me. I lost the rulebook.

I have a wacko friend who suggested this other outlandish theory that I mention here just for giggles and, like, knowledge. He says the Yankee lost because their bats went through a four-game cold spell, just as even the best teams do from time-to-time. He says the Tigers, after a five-day layoff (that's another meme that someone will have to explain to me: professional baseball players lose all their skills from Monday to Saturday? Wow!) and with a top-heavy lineup (can you say Avisail Garcia, .319 SLG in 23 MLB games?) have scuffled against a good pitching staff and lost three games. That's not shocking, he says, considering Detroit lost three straight 11 times over the course of the season.

Ha! What a knucklehead! Randomness and luck are no basis for settling a world championship. We need a plausible narrative to explain the inexplicable, even if it's transparent rubbish. We're sticking with clutchism and chokefulness.

Unless, of course, Detroit storms back to tie the Series. Then we create a whole new narrative. Giant Chokers!

Glaus-ing Over Clutch Hitting

Troy Glaus had a hit and an RBI in five attempts during a 4-1 Atlanta win over Philly today. So he's clutch, right? After all, he got a hit with runners on base in a close game. This is why we revere RBIs; they denote an ability to drive in runs.

Except, as copious research has demonstrated, there's virtually no relationship between RBIs and "hitting in the clutch," almost regardless of how you define it.

RBIs correlate quite highly with RBI opportunities, i.e., players with lots of RBIs tend to bat with lots of guys on base -- in fact, in scoring position. Anytime you see two players with similar production but disparate RBI totals, check your knee-jerk assumption of clutchness at the door and assume instead that one player had many more chances to drive in runs than the other.

Which is how Glaus hooked and reeled in an RBI today. In his five trips to the plate, the bases were stuffed with 11 baserunners -- bases juiced once and two on each of the other four occasions. Glaus whiffed twice and left nine men on base until the ninth, when his shallow outfield poof dropped in and scored a runner from third.

Was Glaus "clutch?" Ha! He almost single-handedly ran the Braves' aground, overcoming the consistent achievements of his fellow batsmen, like Chipper Jones. Jones reached base four out of five trips to the plate, but collected no RBIs. Perhaps he wasn't "clutch,", or perhaps he did exactly what he was supposed to do, and just had fewer opportunities. He stranded a single runner all game.

Ryan Howard, whose gargantuan contract rests in part on his enviable annual RBI totals, left four runners on base in the same game. Batting in that lineup, in the number four position, in that ballpark, with that power, is a perfect RBI storm. Howard can strand four runners here and there, because there will be four more to knock in on other nights.

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Choke On This: #2 In A Series

In 2002, Barry Bonds won his fifth MVP award with one of the greatest batting years of all time. He hit .370/.582/.799, earned a record 198 walks and smashed 46 home runs. He even stole 9 of 11 bases while leading the Giants to the World Series.

In a six game series, Bonds hit a paltry .125/.364/.188 with no home runs or RBIs. He made an error in the field. His team lost four of the six games. Is that because he's not clutch? Did he succumb to pressure? Did he fail to -- I love this one -- step up?

But wait. That wasn't his World Series; this stretch of games came at the end of April. Even in what might have been the greatest batting year of all time, Bonds had some stretches when he didn't hit real well. Sometimes you're the windshield; sometimes you're the bug.

No one would accuse Bonds of choking just because he endured a six-game skid in April. But shift that week to mid-October and all of a sudden we feel empowered to ascribe all kinds of personal characteristics to the batter. I suspect there are players who crack in the limelight, but we can't tell that by a couple of bad playoff rounds.

Early in Bonds' career, critics did brand him a choker. He hit .196 in his first four playoff series, all of which his team lost. That talk evaporated when he cracked eight home runs, walked 35 times and knocked in 18 runs in his next four series, leading the Giants to the World Series in '02. Apparently he started to catch his breath.

Some radical number crunchers argue the idea of clutch is complete hokum because all MLB players have excelled in key situations through all their years of playing ball. This strikes me as almost equally fatuous as the prevailing wisdom. With the chips on the line -- really on the line -- how can it not be possible that some athletes focus better while others lose their nerve? How can human psychology be a factor in every other endeavor in life except baseball?

Reggie Jackson and Alex Rodriguez are the exemplars of the theory of clutch. Reggie's attention seemed to ebb and flow during the long season, but come October he really did appear to dig in. Conversely, ARod doesn't just have a history of gagging, it's apparent that he's trying too hard. Ever since he signed the big contract with the Rangers, he's clearly been trying to please everyone. So far only Madonna is satisfied.

I guess that makes me a clutch Agnostic. I believe there are rare instances of players who are eager (or anxious) to have the game or season in their hands, but performance alone -- particularly over a handful of games or at bats -- provides very little evidence of it, and is almost always a function of something else.

By the way, on the subject of clutch, which of these players is the guy you want in October?

Player A .309/.377/.469, 16 SB/4 CS
Player B .316/.387/.458, 22 SB/6 CS

They look like almost exactly the same player, don't they? It's because they are. Player A is Derek Jeter in 123 games of postseason play. Player B is Derek Jeter in 1,985 games of his 14 year career. If you can see "clutch" in there, you have better eyesight than I have.

Scratch That About ARod

A couple of posts ago, I posited that Alex Rodriguez was so far the AL MVP, based on his ability to get on base, hit for power, run the bases and play an important defensive position. A fellow blogger, Dickie from Clifton Park, a particular form of partisan known as Soxus Rouges Fanaticus, scoffed at the ARod candidacy, pointing out that the Yankee cornerman has come up empty in key situations.

Over the last few days, ARod has done his best to support Dickie's conclusion. He struck out and hit into double plays in a host of key situations during two critical games against Boston and Toronto.

There are sabermetrician types who claim there is no such thing as clutch hitting. They point out that very few "clutch" hitters repeat their situational prowess from one year to the next. I believe that they are right up to a point. Most of what we perceive as "clutch" is merely getting hot at the right time, and the converse for "choking." But certainly there are a few players who are psychologically pre-disposed to bear down when playing for all the marbles, or become unglued when games are on the line.

Can there be much doubt that the greatest player of this generation is affected by the spotlight? Is anyone more eager to please everyone than ARod? Has anyone failed to answer the bell at more critical moments than he?

So for now, I'm withholding my MVP support for ARod. He has accumulated great numbers -- the best in the league. But he's come up short when he needed to stand tall, and that does matter.