Will Mike Trout Be the Best Ever?

You can't write about Major League Baseball these days without writing repeatedly about Mike Trout. It would be like leaving out Mozart from a history of classical music. Trout, after all, has already in his young career reached heights no one else has seen in the game's 130-year history.

Mike Trout authored the greatest age-20 season of all time, batting .326 with 30 homers, scoring 129 runs, swiping 49 of 55 bases and intercepting everything in center field. He followed that with the greatest age-21 season of all time, somehow increasing his OPS 25 points. He was the world's most spectacular player (and the AL's most valuable, though not the Most Valuable) each of his first two seasons. He is the greatest player through age-21 ever to play the game.

Consider this: Before he's even celebrated his 22nd birthday, Mike Trout has produced 21 wins against replacement at the highest level of baseball on the planet. That's more than Carl Everett, a two-time All-Star who hit a commendable .271/.341/.462 with 202 homers and 107 stolen bases, produced in his entire career. Mike Trout has had Carl Everett's entire career before most great players even get a Major League call-up.

In fact, Dave Cameron of Fangraphs has determined that Mike Trout has had the greatest  career of all time through age-22 -- even though he hasn't played his age-22 season yet. He could literally play at replacement level for the Angels in 2014 -- we're talking something like .240/.300/.380 with average defense and 12 steals --  and still be considered the greatest 22-year-old ballplayer of all time. (We would re-assess him if he were that bad, but you get the point.)

Fortunately for us, nothing short of a season-ending injury in Spring Training will prevent Mike Trout from producing value in 2014. Fangraphs' Steamer projections system, which tends to be conservative with superstars, projects for Trout .306/.401/.522, 26 homers, a very pessimistic 31 of 43 steals, and about eight more wins above replacement. 

So Mike Trout is a certain Hall of Famer and is knocking on Babe Ruth's mansion to claim the Best of All Time trophy, right? In the words of the sage philosopher Quick Draw McGraw, "now just a doggone minute there, Babalooie."

Consider the plight of Cesar Cedeno, the Mike Trout of the '70s. Cedeno burst onto the scene from the Dominican at age 19 in 1970 flashing speed, power and potential. In 90 games in that rarely-mourned cavern called the Astrodome, Cedeno laid down a .310/.340/.451 with 17 steals in half a season for Houston. He regressed a bit at age-20, but then broke out the following two years, hitting .320, averaging 37 doubles, 23 homers, 55 steals and 7.7 wins against replacement. Entering the 1974 season, 23-year-old Cedeno was at the top of everyone's "next superstar" list, the top power/speed merchant since Mantle and Mays.

It's not as if Cedeno disappointed. Over the next four years he averaged .352 OBP, 35 doubles/triples, 18 homers, 56 steals and 5.2 wins against replacement. Through his age-26 season, he had collected four All-Star berths, five Gold Gloves, and 40 WAR. He was a star, just not quite a superstar.

And then the wheels came off -- or at least one wheel. Surgery following a bad knee injury cost him most of 1978 and limited his effectiveness thereafter. Cedeno never again stole 50 bases, never again hit even 11 homers, and missed at least a third of games in five of his remaining eight seasons. It's a cautionary tale for Trout and his fans.

Cedeno's tale of the tape is a study in excellence. He smacked 199 home runs, nearly 500 doubles/triples, added 550 steals and hit 23% above average while patrolling the vast center pasture. His 53 lifetime WAR ties him with Fred McGriff and places him a few spots above Lance Berkman, Mickey Cochran and Luis Gonzalez. 

Almost anyone would envy Cedeno's career, but not Mike Trout. Trout is aiming well-above 259th on the WAR list and so are his fans, which should include every baseball in North America. Now in year three, we'll be watching to see if he transitions from phenom to marvel and avoids the plight of players like Cesar Cedeno.

Las Vegas Odds for Team Wins

Las Vegas has spoken. Below is the over-under betting for teams in the 2014 season. Las Vegas believes Arizona will win 81 games. If, based on your wisdom, your profound insights or your uncontrollable fandom you think the Diamondbacks are a better than .500 team, you bet the over. Worse than .500, bet the under. 

If you have the under and Paul Goldschmidt suddenly contracts dengue fever, your $100 bet becomes $200. The same for all other bets except those so marked in the third column. In those cases, wagering on the under requires a $115 bet to win $200. Bookie's kids need new shoes.

Team	Will they win more or fewer games than ...	Special considerations
Dodgers	92.5
Tigers	91.5
Cardinals	90.5
Nationals	90.5
Rays	88.5
Red Sox	87.5
Reds	87.5	(-115u)
Braves	86.5
Athletics	86.5
Giants	86.5
Rangers	86.5
Royals	85.5
Pirates	85.5	(-115u)
Angels	84.5
Yankees	83.5
Indians	82.5	(-115u)
Mariners	81.5
Diamondbacks	81
Orioles	80.5
Brewers	78.5	(-115u)
Phillies	78
Blue Jays	77.5
White Sox	76.5	(-115u)
Rockies	76.5
Padres	76.5
Mets	71.5
Marlins	66.5
Cubs	65.5
Twins	65.5	(-115u)
Astros	57.5

Most of these seem pretty reasonable on March 1, given our limited information. The Pirates and Red Sox weren't as good as last year's records and this year are more likely to reflect that. San Francisco has too much talent to lose more than they win two years running. The Nats will bounce back. Yes, the Phillies will be awful.

Gun to your head, you should bet the over on the Yankees, Mets, Astros, Blue Jays. It's difficult to conceive the pinstripes as also-rans, particularly assuming that they will make moves during the season. The Mets, who had nothing last year and won more than 71.5 games, added Curtis Granderson to a young squad likely to improve. Everything has to go "right" for Houston to lose 105 games, even with a roster of minor leaguers. Toronto plays in a tough division but has way too much talent for last year's fluky crash-and-burn scenario to repeat itself. Maybe the same for the Angels.

The Royals look like a good under bet. They lost to free agency the only Major League starter they had. Seattle seems like a pretty shaky proposition to break .500 in a tough division, despite signing Robinson Cano. It's hard to believe Baltimore doesn't finally turn into a pumpkin, though that is already accounted for somewhat by the oddsmakers.

If you follow the logic here, L.A., St. Louis and Washington win their divisions with Cincinnati, Atlanta and San Francisco battling for two wild card slots. Detroit, Tampa and Oakland/Texas win their divisions in the AL with the loser of the Rangers/A's taking one wild card and the Red Sox nabbing the other.

Bringing up the rear in their divisions, according to Las Vegas odds, will be the Padres/Rockies, Cubs and Marlins in the NL and Astros, Twins and Blue Jays in the AL. 

Here's one sure bet: it won't happen this way.

Potential New Rule Is the N-word: Nuts

Of all the silly, poorly-considered, unenforceable, counter-productive rules that have been proposed and adopted by the NFL, one stands out: the one currently being considered. And it shines a light on how American society has elevated symbols over reality to a degree that borders on cultural mental illness.

The rule would designate a 15-yard penalty for any player who uses the word, "nigger" on the field. This concept is so utterly without merit it beggars the imagination.

Make no mistake, in a particular context, "nigger" conveys a despicable sentiment that harkens to our nation's shameful legacy of slavery and oppression of black Americans. When a person who is not black uses "nigger" as a slur to denigrate a black American, that person is disgracing himself, and deserves all the antipathy that can be heaped upon him.

What's despicable about this invective is the sentiment, not the word, which we have imbued with mystical powers. I've heard many South Carolinians spew racial hatred towards the President of the United States, including fantasizing about assassinating him, without ever using the magic word. And I've heard black friends greet each other with it. The former is not one bit less racist for the absence of the word and the latter is utterly lacking in ill will despite its use. There is nothing inherent to the word, a collection of sounds after all, that is abhorrent; it's the meaning. And meaning can only be understood inside of context. 

Consider the discussions you've heard about use of what many refer to as "the N-word." Because our society has assigned such toxicity to the word "nigger," no one can say it without severe disapprobation, even when they are talking about the word itself.  So we use a stand-in for the word, a symbol for a symbol, because we have confused the first symbol with the original reality. And all of us understand that this new symbol, "the N-word" has the very same meaning as the original symbol. So what is gained? If we're talking about "nigger" why can't we say it? How is using "N-word" any better? (Ditto for all the other iterations of this trope -- the "f-word," etc.)

If racists nationwide all agreed to stop using the word "nigger" and instead expressed their narrow-minded hatred with "N-word" instead, how would that be an improvement? According to those who are supporting this potential NFL rule, if a white Southerner angrily berated the black player lined up across from him with "I'm going to kill you, you nappy-headed, spear-chucking, N-word jungle-bunny," that would be totally acceptable, but friendly on-field bantering between black teammates that included "nigger" as a note of solidarity would result in a penalty. The absurdity is palpable.

Our society already has its own 15-yard penalty for use of the word as a racist slur. Paula Deen lost millions of dollars, not for saying the word, but for admitting that she had employed it years in the past. The NFL, which is 70% black, has a built-in disincentive against hurling racial invective in the form of broken legs. 

The NFL should stay out of the idiot business and concentrate on the problems its players actually have with domestic violence, off-field violence of other types, alcohol and drug use, fiscal irresponsibility, functional illiteracy and brain injury, each of which is far more troublesome than mean language. And the rest of us should stop granting this collection of sounds such power over our emotions, and instead work harder to understand each other's American experience.

A Hart Attack in Atlanta Leaves A Franchise in Great Shape

If Carlos Baerga and Albert Belle join the Braves lineup, we'll know for sure what's afoot in Atlanta. Until then, we see the old Cleveland Indians philosophy of locking up future stars beyond their arbitration years at play in the Home of the Braves (soon to be Marietta).

The original plan, engineered by General Manager John Hart, paid dividends for the Indians, who won six AL Central titles in seven years, made two World Series and should have won one. Hart recognized that his bevy of promising talent -- Jim Thome, Manny Ramirez, Charles Nagy, Belle and Baerga -- could be locked up through their most productive years with relatively low-cost contracts if he acted early. 

With rampant salary inflation unabated and a new park opening in three years, Hart inked the bulk of Cleveland's future core to team-friendly extensions that bought out arbitration years and a season or two of free agency. His judgment was vindicated when all but Nagy produced beyond their contract terms and then again when Baerga turned into a pumpkin immediately upon the expiration of his.

In the meantime, The Jake (now Progressive Field) filled up for 455 consecutive games. The sellouts spilled into Canton, where fans gobbled up tickets for the Double-A Indians and a chance to see future Cleveland players.

With a similar set of circumstances, and Hart serving as a front office advisor, GM Frank Wren has committed $309 million to five prized on-field assets that will keep them in uniform for the rest of the 20-teens. The Braves now know they can build around Jason Heyward, Julio Teheran, Freddy Freeman, Andrelton Simmons and Craig Kimbrel for at least the next five years. Of the money committed, more than two-thirds will be spent after the Nocahomas unveil their new suburban home.

They also know that if any of the quintet age poorly, the team can let someone else pay gigantic sums for their decline years. In concept it's a beautiful thing. Braves fans know right now that three years from now a deft first baseman, an athletic outfielder with pop, a top-of-the-rotation starter, a slick-fielding shortstop and the best closer anyone has ever seen will anchor their roster. It's no coincidence that Atlanta sent aging free agents Brian McCann and Tim Hudson packing. Those savings have been invested back into the future.

What seems different about this round of Hart attacks is the cost. Though Simmons's signing is almost completely free of downside, some of the others -- Freeman's in particular -- feel mighty rich considering all the risk being taken by the team. The old formula for these deals -- team takes long-term risk ensuring player wealth at a discounted rate -- appears to lack some of the discount. Only if the players fulfill their potential and salary inflation continues to run unchecked will these deals appear to be no-brainers in restrospect.

Nonetheless, if you offered the entire package as a take-it-or-leave-it deal to a smart GM he would take it in a heartbeat. The new stadium will fill team coffers if the win column is well-stocked and this nucleus goes a long way towards ensuring that. Native Americans may have given away Manhattan for $24 in beads but they're redeeming themselves in the baseball front office.

It's Hard to Find a Stupid GM

While there are plenty of baseball fans and writers allergic to the new ideas of the sabermetric movement, there aren't any general managers left in that camp. They can't afford to be; they'll get their clocks cleaned by their more sophisticated competitors.

That one fact explains why Nelson Cruz spit the bit by declining the Rangers' qualifying $14.1 million offer to enter the free agent sweepstakes.

Cruz was banking on at least one GM salivating over his big bat (123 OPS+, primarily because he slugs 34 homers per 162 games) and inking him to a fat deal. 

He may instead be firing his agent. Cruz waited out the market until pitchers and catchers reported and settled on a one-year, $8 million pact that will allow Cruz to attempt a reset on his reputation following a 50-game PED suspension.

But that's not what cost Cruz his lottery ticket. Smart brass did. 

General managers are no longer chipmunks reacting to every shiny bauble. All 32 GMs looked beyond the home runs and saw a pile of mediocrity. Cruz is 33 and won't be younger next year. He makes a lot of outs. (OBP under .330 each of last three years.) He has batted in a friendly home park outside Dallas. He's a DH in right field clothing. Signing him requires the loss of a first-round draft pick.

Not many clubs are lacking in immobile semi-slugging defensive liabilities, and if they are, they can get 90% of Cruz's value for half the cost and keep their draft picks while they're at it. So Nelson Cruz's market value, which he and his agent pegged at somewhere above $14.1 million, turned out to be $8 million, and only then with an asterisk.

The Orioles could sign Cruz only because three conditions existed simultaneously. First, they had a help wanted sign on the DH slot. Second, Camden Yards, like The Ballpark, inflates offensive stats, so the O's could offer Cruz a chance at rehabilitation under sympathetic conditions.

Maybe most importantly, Baltimore already spent its first round pick on Ubaldo Jimenez, meaning the pricetag on a Cruz singing dropped to a #2 pick. That's a significant difference that allowed them to offer Cruz more than other teams could. 

Nelson Cruz is out $6.1 million because teams no longer see a player who batted .266 with 27 homers and 76 RBI in just 109 games. They see a defensive albatross worth two wins-a-year and headed in the wrong direction. 

Perhaps Cruz should make his case to a sabermetric-averse baseball writer. He'd have a chance at three years/$40 million with them. 

Obsessed With Obsession

About nearly every great man two things can be said: he achieved great things in his life and he barely participated in the raising of his children.

About many great athletes, hagiographic observers have cooed, "he's the first to practice and the last to leave." A variation on this notes how the day after he won or lost the championship he could be found on the playing surface practicing a part of his game repeatedly.

We have an obsession with obsession, particularly at the highest level of sports. "He lives, eats and breathes (his sport)" is considered a compliment of the highest order. Pete Rose bragged that he'd never read a book cover-to-cover, and we admired how he had one of his best seasons the year his marriage dissolved.

What we fail to realize is that our sports heroes (and indeed, many of our business pioneers) tend to be one-dimensional demigods whose entire lives revolve around winning championships on the field but not on the homefront. That's another way of saying the home front revolves around them and their narcissistic endeavors.

Conversely, the way to dismiss a professional athlete is to say he doesn't love his game. He doesn't burn to win. Those tend to be the most interesting athletes, at least as human beings; they're the ones who have other interests besides competing every minute of every day to be the best at one thing.

I'm not the first person to arrive at my workplace in the morning or the last to leave, and I like it that way. I have a second job that feeds another part of my soul. I have an active social life and I volunteer like crazy, every Saturday for one organization. I read books. You might have noticed that I write a blog. If I haven't spent any quality time with my wife in a few days, I try to get directly home after work so that she's more than a roommate, or a planet orbiting my life.

Maybe I have an obsession with balance, with a multifaceted life, with a world of ideas in varied realms. Maybe that point of view is for those who lack ambition, people who will never invent the iPad, hit .300 lifetime or build Facebook. We also won't leave the nation littered with kids who never really knew their dads because they were singularly focused on winning.

When Michael Jordan left basketball, universally heralded as the greatest of all time, he had the opportunity to live the cliche of spending more time with his family in Chicago. But that transition would have come with a price. "The Greatest" would have to trade in his mantle for merely "dad." The world that revolved around him would have to reorient itself around his children and their mother. Freedom would have to give way to awesome responsiblity.

Instead he fled to the front office in Washington, D.C., and predictably his wife divorced him. He may be the best basketball player who ever lived, but it feels like he could have used some balance in his life. Keep that in mind the next time you consider a person who gave everything they had to a single endeavor.

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.

Sam's Club: Tim Tebow Deserves a Membership

It's basketball and hockey season, the Olympics are going on and this is a baseball blog. 

It's time for a football post!

It's not really about football, though. The big news this week is that Michael Sam has proposed to be the first openly gay NFL player by coming out before the draft. 

The reigning SEC defensive player of the the year had apprised his University of Missouri teammates before the 2013 season and they evidently cared so little that the information never leaked.

That, of course, is the point. It's a testament to our evolution as a society that what comes of Sam's admission will be the same as what's come of gay rights, gay marriage, gay adoption, etc:

Nothing.

Our gay brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, friends and neighbors, won legal protections and that cut into your rights not one eyelash. Gay Americans began marrying and your marriage didn't notice. Gay Americans began adopting children who are, shockingly, growing up to be people.

In short order, Sam's ability at his position will far outweigh his position in the bedroom and America will return to its primary religion: football. The Judeo-Christian bible may include some strictures against homosexuality, but the far more influential national religion of the spheroid has none. Players, even the most monkey-brained, will adapt.

Bully for us. But before chiropractors go on call for all the back-patting, it does raise a troubling question:

Why can't we cut Tim Tebow the same slack?

Tebow isn't Johnny Unitas, but he isn't Aaron Hernandez either. He works hard, spreads good cheer, treats everyone with respect, takes responsibility for his actions and demonstrates leadership. Yet he can't get one of the 1600 on-field jobs in the NFL, seemingly because he loves Jesus. Where's the tolerance there?

Here's what analysts report GMs say about him: He's a distraction. He brings the circus with him. Not everyone loves his overt devotion.

Isn't that the hate code that gays and their supporters decry?

Tebow might be the greatest college football player of all time. He must have useful talents even if they're not behind the center. Couldn't he contribute in a wildcat? Or at tight end?

What's Tebow ever done besides treat people with dignity? 

Knelt in prayer on the sideline? Heavens!

Inscribed a biblical verse in his eyeblack? Heresy!

Joined a mission trip to Haiti? Oh, the humanity!

I don't share Tim Tebow's religious beliefs. I don't share Martin Luther King's or Gandhi's either. 

Let's give Tim Tebow the same respect we give Michael Sam. Just judge him on his playing ability and skip the narrow-minded slurs.

Pearls of Wisdom; Nuggets of Poop

Records are made to be broken. Promises are made to be kept. Herewith, the fulfillment of a promise to scavenge the last third of the 2013 blogging year for pearls of wisdom and nuggets of poop.

The review begins with this instructive assertion from May: Cleveland and Pittsburgh would both maintain their mojo and win 85 games, but let's not order any confetti for these perennial sad sacks. In fact, both teams kept their lightning bottled and played into October. So that one goes into the loss column. At the same time, the 85-win suggestion was reasonable; neither really had the talent for their final positions. As evidence, neither shapes up to repeat that performance despite their youth and the general trend towards assuming talented young squads will improve.

Put this caution from July in the win column: don't count on Hall of Famer Derek Jeter ever returning to star form. in fact, the post was pretty prescient about Jeter's immediate future, which amounted to zero. The same caveats are in order for the upcoming season.

The post about the Phillies a week later also puts Braindrizzling on the victory stand again, though it's a pretty hollow victory. Projecting trouble for the franchise in Philadelphia is as shocking as the troubles of a government website. Still, Ruben Amaro would have been well-served to have read the post and followed its recommendations. Alas for lovers of brothers, he didn't.

Complaining about All-Star selections is as easy and fulfilling as kicking newborn puppies, so you won't read much of that here. But the following statement got lost amid the minutae in this compilation of groovy mid-season observations:
 
Three-time All-Star Evan Longoria's .870 OPS and superb defense have been worth four wins already this year. He's not an All-Star. He wasn't even in the final fan vote. That's gonna look awfully silly in October.

Here's the October version: Longoria hit 34% above average with 32 homers and 42 doubles/triples, added superb defense for 6.3 wins against replacement and finished sixth in the MVP voting. Not an All-Star. Silly.

You might use the same word to describe this August post suggesting that despite the general conviction that the Braves were not designed for the playoffs, they could in fact make some noise in the post-season. Oh, they made noise all right: the thud of a boulder hitting a wall. They lost again in the first round to the Dodgers.

But if silly is the word of the day, consider the silliest idea of all: you're reading this dreck! I predict that you're a sucker. 

Right again!

We Haven't Learned A Thing

If there's one lesson we should all have learned from the Super Bowl it is that we don't learn any lessons in sports.

Consider this: the world of football analysts, which bubbles over like soup in an uncovered blender, spent 24 hours-a-day for two full weeks analyzing a single contest. They scrutinized each player and coach down to the mitochondria in his left elbow hair follicles. They tracked the weather with the ferocity of a meteorologist in the path of a hurricane. They investigated the emotional state of the competitors like Karl Jung on amphetamines. They compared and contrasted as profoundly as a comparative literature dissertation. They considered every possible variable in this upcoming game, discussed them interminably, examined months of tape and then boldly predicted absolutely nothing like the ultimate outcome.

Seriously, I am not aware of a single "expert" who suggested before the Super Bowl that Denver didn't belong on the field with Seattle. (Perhaps there was one or two, but they were they outlyingest outliers, and probably reside in the Pacific Northwest.) Although many picked Seattle to win, they were still wrong, because none of them proposed a blowout unworthy of your viewing time.

Football analysts aren't stupid, lazy or naive. They are simply guilty of reckless disregard of an obvious truth -- that anything can happen in one game that makes analysis of past games utterly irrelevant. And the consuming public of this analysis -- i.e., sports fans -- join them in that negligence. We all conspire to ignore a fact proven repeatedly, that tiny advantages, even if piled up high, even if all accruing to one contestant and not the other, even if beyond debate, convey only tiny advantage, which can be completely overwhelmed in the heat of battle.

Think about baseball playoffs. We see the same kinds of analysis built on houses of sand and fog -- one team has home field advantage (a 55% edge in one game if and only if the teams are tied after six); one team's top two starters are superior (over the course of the season, though perhaps not over the next two starts); one team has more experience (which has been demonstrated repeatedly not to matter one iota of a scintilla of a bit); or any other matter of considerations that reasonable people could agree amount to an amoeba on a whale's back.

We go through this annually with clock-like regularity, as if stuck in an endless loop we can't escape. No one ever reminds the ESPN host that he's ignoring history and wasting his breath.

If the games were predictable they would be . . . the early rounds of the NBA playoffs. A big yawnfest. Thankfully, they're full of surprises.

When asked, in the weeks leading up, who would win the Super Bowl, the only correct answer was, "the team that scores more points." Any other answer was, well, pointless.

Deciding To Retire: It Helps To Not Be Good Anymore

You're 37, you've had a fine Major League career, one of the 250 best of all-time, according to Baseball-Reference.com. You've brought home to your family, your agent and your somewhat over-bearing Uncle $91 million. 

As an above-average hitter playing middle infield, and then third base, you made All-Star games and got down-ballot MVP votes. As recently as three years ago you batted .338, with time at DH, third, first and second, and led your team to within an out of a World Championship.

But that was in a ballpark that gets Valentine's Day cards from batters, on a team pulsing with hitters. As a second baseman and shortstop with limited range, hitting .300 was real valuable, but now that you're a first baseman and DH whose range could be bronzed, you're barely a replacement level player. 

Last year, you got shipped off to the geriatric ward in Philadelphia before getting rescued toward season's end by the Dodgers. You made $16 million, but no one is offering you more than a million or two this year to pinch hit, school the youngsters and bid adieu one road trip at a time.

It might have been tempting for Michael Young to discount his services to a contender in hopes of securing a ring and taking a run at 3,000 hits. But the odds of the former are long and the latter are astronomical considering he's 675 base knocks away. Moreover, Young is perched at .300 in the batting line and would almost certainly compromise his status.

So Michael Young has traded himself to his family with a batting title; a Gold Glove, however unearned; two 100+ RBI seasons; four seasons of 100+ runs and four seasons of 20+ homers. He led the league in hits twice, made seven All-Star appearances and conducted himself with class every day for 14 years. 

That's not a bad resume. It's not a bad way to go out.

A Post With Tremendous Impact

When Congress was battling last year over maintaining reduced tax rates for everyone but wealthiest households, it was my opinion that the proposal on the table was a reasonable offset to all the reductions in services and increases in fees and taxes that everyone else was going to have to endure. It seemed to me that if we were going to slash services for households with low income, as surely we must given our Everest of debt, it's only fair that it be paired with a small sacrifice from those who can most afford it and will be least affected.

Democrats ultimately won that small concession, after which I awaited their plan to begin slashing the deficit without stunting growth. It never came. And so, in my mind, we have a situation reminiscent of a car commercial decrying "or" in favor of "and," as in sweet or sour chicken, cops who serve or protect, and staying in a bed or breakfast.

Similar sentiments accompany discussions among the lords of baseball with respect to the home plate collision. Evidently some higher ups, recalling the devastating crash that wrecked Buster Posey's ankle and leg in 2011 -- so injurious was it that he returned in 2012 and won the NL MVP and the World Series -- are seeking ways to outlaw this violent encounter.

I'm all for it. The human wreck takes place at no other base and is borne of two peculiarities of the play at home: runners can overrun the base without penalty and catchers, emboldened by body armor, physically block the base without the ball.

These two issues are as conjoined as Chang and Eng Bunker. Attempting to eliminate one without the other will result in mayhem, the proverbial one hand clapping. If base runners are prohibited from mowing down catchers then catchers must not be allowed to impede the runners' progress. Like Tennille and The Captain, you can't have one without the oth -- oh, nevermind.
   
The point remains, ban bumper pool at fourth base, but only while enforcing the rule against blocking it without the ball. Impact isn't possible if there's no one there.

Now, if we could just get about reducing our nation's spending...

Can Ben Revere Ride Into History?

For his three years and a cup of coffee in Major League Baseball, speedster Ben Revere has contributed some wins to his teams - first Minnesota and last year the Phillies. He's swiped 96 of 123 bases, batted .285 and reached base at a roughly average .324 clip.

Given roughly average glovework with plus footwork in the outfield, Revere would grade out to an above-average player except for one small issue:

Revere has come to the plate exactly 1400 times. He has fanned 136 of those, walked 73 and gotten himself plunked on five occasions. He has accumulated 326 hits, 45 of them doubles and triples. He has slapped four sacrifice flies. But he has never gone yard.

This is significant because, in the history of baseball, only seven non-pitchers with more at bats than Revere have finished their careers without a dinger. All of them played before the turn of the century, by which we now mean the century before the last one, led by Bill Holbert, a catcher and outfielder who lasted 13 seasons from 1876-1888 for the likes of Syracuse, Troy, the NY Metropolitans and the Brooklyn Bridegrooms. Holbert collected 2335 mostly fruitless at bats, posting a .208/.228/.232 career line, good for less than half the average output. How he hung around so long could only be explained by your dearly-departed great-great-grandfather.

The most recent career slapper with significant visits to the plate was Gil Torres, an infielder for three years with the wartime Washington Senators. His record comes with a double asterisk: he was a fill-in from 1944 to 1946 and he played for the Senators.

So Revere is in rarefied air. Three more years of this, followed by retirement, puts him at the top (bottom?) of the list. But in case he manages to smash one over the fence, or more likely blitz around the bases while his double ricochets around outfield walls, he still has opportunities to enter the record books.

First, Revere can challenge Tommy Thevenow, a shortstop mostly for the Cards, Phils and Pirates in his 15-year career culminating in 1938. In his breakout 1926 season, Thev blasted 15 doubles, five triples and a pair of unfortunate home run blemishes en route to a .254/.291/.311 line in 156 games. He never powered a four-bagger again, despite 3,347 more at bats, the longest unbroken string of staying in the park in history.

More recently, Indian and Giant second-sacker Duane Kuiper failed to remain yard-bound just once in his 3,754 plate appearances from 1974-85. Unlike all the aforementioned, Kuiper was not necessarily pinch-hit fodder. He coaxed 248 walks in his day and posted OBP over .330 four of the 10 seasons in which he played more than a handful of games. But he is the poster boy for modern slugging ineptitude to which Ben Revere can aspire. 

(Kuiper was also a paragon of pointlessness on the basepaths, to the point that his managers eventually forbid him from attempting to steal. In his first five seasons, he attempted 112 swipes and was returned to the dugout 64 times, a 43% success rate. In his next five seasons he lit out for the next base on just nine occasions, failing in six of them. For Revere to equal Kuiper's futility rate on the bases, he would have to run into outs his next 202 consecutive attempts. Bet the under.)

Bold Prediction: Either New England or Denver Will Win!

Coming up next, expert analyst gives us his picks for the championship ga -- click!

Could anything be more futile and less edifying than this? Consider what knowledge must be willfully suspended in order to care about his prediction:

1. There are two games. Four teams. We all know who they are. Two of them will win. Either Seattle or San Francisco. Either Denver or New England. What can the analyst tell you that you don't know? That underdog Jacksonville is going to surprise everyone?
2. They are more-or-less evenly matched. So even the most insightful observer hasn't the foggiest idea who is going to win. No to put too fine a point on it: give the four choices to a mentally retarded seven-year-old and she would have exactly the same chance of being right as the "insider."
3. It's one game. The best team often doesn't win. So even if you know who's better, you don't know who will win.
4. Games rarely proceed as expected. All the knowledge in the world about what happened before has limited value now.
5. There are external variables that the prognosticator can't know in advance, like weather and injuries. If Tom Brady breaks his leg in the second quarter, do you suppose that might have an impact on the outcome?
6. He's constantly wrong. (Everyone is.) Publicly. And yet people still value his predictions.

Thank goodness for Baseball Prospectus podcasts.

Arbitrosity: Why Craig Kimbrel Has No Chance of Getting His Nine Million

For three seasons, Craig Kimbrel is the greatest closer we've ever seen. Mariano Rivera's transcendence arose from his consistent greatness, but Rivera was never this dominant for three straight seasons.

How dominant? How about awe-inspiring? For three years and a 20-inning drive-by in 2010, Kimbrel is owns a 1.39 ERA with 15 whiffs per nine and a nearly 5-1 K/BB ratio. He's allowed a .155 batting average and a .243 on base percentage, and a home run about every 23 appearances. He's led the NL in saves all three years, converted 93% of his save opportunities the last two years, scored the Rookie of the Year award in 2011 and finished in the top 10 in Cy Young voting all three seasons despite facing one third as many batters as the starters he regularly out-polls.

Now in his first year of arbitration eligibility, Kimbrel is asking for $9 million. By nearly any baseball economics it's millions less than his full value. Fangraphs estimates he has provided the Braves with $42 million-worth of value for the low-low price of $1.664 million. 

Unfortunately for the 5'10" fireballer, the Braves have no obligation to even the balance sheet. Low early-career salaries are recompense for the massive investment teams make in players from the draft to MLB call-up. Kimbrel's first three seasons were spent compensating Atlanta for all the Minor League busts the ballclub is paying to float around its system.

Nor is the franchise obliged to offer him market wages. Teams are paying $10-$15 million for closers packing 40 saves. Measured another way, teams paid roughly $4.5 million per win against replacement last season, pegging Kimbrel at the same $10-15 million, depending on whose metrics you like best. (Fangraphs pegs his 2013 value at $11.1 million; Baseball-Reference at $13.5 million.) 

First year arbitration cases generally yield roughly 40% of market value. That explains why Atlanta brass has offered the greatest closer of all time (first three years only) "just" $6.55 million. They are saying that they value their closer at $16 million or so.

The difference between Kimbrel's $9 million request and the Braves' $6.55 million offer is the largest in percentage terms, by far, among the 39 cases headed towards arbitration. Kimbrel will have to convince an arbitrator either that he is a five-win pitcher despite throwing just 70 innings or that the value of a win against replacement has skyrocketed to $7 million.

Last year, not a single case went to arbitration. The arbitration proposals served as a foundation for settlements, avoiding what baseball executives, players and agents all agree is a disagreeable process in which the club must denigrate in writing their own highly-prized employee. But the chasm between player and team in this case does not suggest a middle ground. Unless Kimbrel agrees to something much closer to $7 million, or unless his agent and the team are a whisper apart on a multi-year deal, he's headed to an ugly and ultimately futile arbitration case.

After which he'll strike out the side.

Letters To the Arbitrator

Dear Mr. Arbitrator,

Thank you so much for saving our franchise $24 million in 2014. We plan to use that money on a new starting pitcher. It will help us remain under the $189 million luxury tax threshold while staying competitive, which in turn will save us millions more in future years. 

Gratefully,
Brian Cashman
Bronx, NY

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Dear. Mr. Horowitz-san,

Your most admirable decision is most cherished, like chrysanthemum. Will add $3 million at least to the bids for my services in United States of America. Very sincerely good news that New York Yankees enter bidding aggressively, like Samurai warrior. Many appreciations for you.

Very sincerely yours.
Masahiro Tanaka
Rakuten, Japan 

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Dear Fred,

Appreciate the vindication. And not calling me to testify. You certainly stay on our arbitrators list.

Bud

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Dear Mr. Horowitz,
Whatever. 

Tony Clark
Executive Director, MLBPA

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Dear Mr. Arbitrator,
Way to go: you cost the bastard twenty-something million dollars! If I could have done that, I wouldn't have bothered drilling him with a fastball. Right on!

Ryan Dempster
Boston, MA

---------------------

Dear Mr. Horowitz, sir,
Although I won't be making an further comments about the adversity that I have had to face, I want to take this opportunity to express my deep appreciation for your work in diverting attention away from my situation. With the ghost of Alex Rodriguez hovering over every conversation, people will quickly forget that I made a mistake, which I have admitted. In fact, they will see that I bravely stepped forward and accepted my punishment while ARod self-righteously persisted in tilting at windmills. 

I'll be happy to take your questions.

With great respect,
Ryan Braun
Milwaukee, WI

Let the Gnashing of Teeth Commence

Your guy didn't get into the Baseball Hall of Fame this year. He was the best player on your favorite team or he once signed an autograph for your kid when he didn't have to. Enlightened voters recognize how great he was but the majority has failed to achieve that exalted state. Or he's one of the greatest players of all time and you feel that the bellyaching about unproven drug use is utterly beside the point.

He didn't get elected by the Baseball Writers this year but he might next year, or the year after, or in 2016.

Or a guy you despise did get in. You hate him. He always killed your team. He cursed out your kid in a parking lot. He wasn't as good a player as that other guy who is still waiting.

Whatever the reason, you are taking it out on the Baseball Writers this year. They're a sclerotic old lot who get positions for life even if they haven't covered a game since Duffy Dyer's Expo season. Their ranks don't include broadcasters, meaning cantankerous Neanderthal Murray Chass has a vote, but Vin Scully does not. They couldn't find their way to enshrine seven or eight surefire Hall of Famers this year after failing to elect anyone last year. Let the gnashing of teeth commence.

At the risk of defending a generally incompetent lot, calm down. The selection committee, whoever they've been over the years, has done a pretty good job of honoring the worthy eventually and declining the rest. Who's the worst player elected in the last 40 years by the writers? (Not by the Veterans Committee, which has an execrable record of throwing the doors open for their friends.) Tony Perez? Andre Dawson? Kirby Puckett? Catfish Hunter? Bruce Sutter? There's a level of nitpicking there, no?

It's not like U.L. Washington earned a spot because of his unique toothpicking abilities. Within a couple of percentage points, the crowd wisdom, even of baseball writers, knows wheat from chaff.

Who is the best player definitively barred in the last generation? (Let's skip Mike Piazza, Mike Mussina, Curt Schilling and their ilk. They are still eligible for election.) Lou Whitaker? Bobby Grich? David Cone? 

The BBWAA sometimes takes a circuitous route, but they ultimately get it right 98% of the time. It's a standard we'd be thrilled to apply to government social programs (they'd all disappear), blog predictions and gas gauges. (But not to airplane flights.) Cell coverage is spotty and you have to reboot your computer a lot more than two percent of the time.

So cut the Hall some slack. The backlog will work itself out. Biggio and Bagwell will get in. The steroid guys are a complication whose code no one has yet cracked. And if they crash on Edgar Martinez or Tim Raines, well, we all have our blind spots. As Mets announcer Bob Murphy used to say, that's why they put erasers on pencils.

And in case you're wondering why Jack Morris ultimately fell short, consider this: To end his career with Morris's IP and ERA+, Kevin Appier would need to throw 1228 2/3 more innings with a 6.23 ERA. If you think Kevin Appier's career, with seven full seasons of well below-replacement level pitching added on, equals a Hall of Famer, then you have a right to be upset. But you wouldn't have the acumen of a baseball writer.

Predicting the Future Is Easy. Getting It Right Is Hard.

The hip new toys in baseball analysis can magnify and sharpen our understanding of the game to levels of resolution we didn't know enough to dream about in the past. But they can't foretell changes in players' hearts, minds, eyes or habits. They can describe how unlikely an event is, but not whether unlikely event X is the unlikely event that will actually occur this year.

That's how the most advanced statistical models of the Predictolator, which ran 50,000 seasonal simulations, projected before the 2013 season got underway that the Angels, Blue Jays and Nationals would make the playoffs, that Washington would play in the World Series, that the Reds would win the NL Central, that the Red Sox and Pirates would lose more games than they won, that the Giants and White Sox would contend for playoff spots and that the Phils would have a better record than the Orioles. Back then, who could have argued?

Everything anyone could reasonably know in advance about the teams was factored in. The sharpest fielding independent pitching analysis, the most cutting-edge defensive efficiency metrics, the most newfangled catcher framing valuations, and the most atomized BABIP-affected hitting trends  -- all ingredients in this statistical bouillabaisse. And yet, the Boston projection was off by 17 wins.

How could anyone predict that Josh Hamilton would suddenly hit like Alexander Hamilton?  Or that Jeff Locke, who had pitched all of 51 innings with a 5.82 ERA in his career, would throw 166 innings of 10-7, 3.52 for Pittsburgh. Or that four-fifths of San Fransisco's vaunted rotation would blow up like a middle-school science project (ERA 30% worse than average). Or that the Yankees would go on the disabled list and stay there.

They couldn't project that four rookie hurlers would catapult St. Louis to 12 extra wins, or that everything going right in Pittsburgh would reduce the Pirates' losses by 19 and propel them into the playoffs. They were off by 15 games in their Cleveland projection because Indian catchers (31 home runs) and second basemen (33 home runs) hit like right fielders and their first four pen jockeys (2.77 ERA in 271 innings) turned out the lights.

Individuals eluded the grasp of the best minds too. Baseball Prospectus's PECOTA system pegged Roy Halladay for 12 wins in 183 innings with a 2.82 ERA. Ineffectiveness and injury led to a 4-5, 6.82 campaign and retirement. BP had known-commodity Max Scherzer at 12 wins, 184 strikeouts and a 3.84 ERA, a far cry from his Cy Young performance of 21 wins, 240 strikeouts and a 2.90 ERA.

In short, the best systems in the world are still just a little bit better than mere mortals at predicting the fickle movements of humans who throw and catch a round, white ball and smack it with a sitck. If you know a handful of broad rules -- for example, hitters gain power and lose speed as they age; lefty batters boost their homer totals in Yankee Stadium; a pitcher with a very low BABIP-against in year X is likely to regress in year X+1; -- you can predict player performance approximately as badly as the Predictolar. 

Or, you can just enjoy the surprises that the game doles out annually.

The Eight-Man Rotation

"Too much of a good thing is . . . wonderful." --Mae West

One might eyeball the Red Sox rotation going into the 2014 season and consider trading one of their six quality starters for an outfield asset or an upgrade at third. But new research by Fangraphs' Jeff Sullivan suggests that this would be a bad idea.

You are officially discouraged from linking to his fine article because if you do there will be little reason to read this. Let's instead review his work on the fallacy of the five-man rotation and then draw the obvious conclusions.

First, a disclaimer: when you read the conclusions you're going to think they are so obvious they weren't worth the trouble. Everyone knows that pitchers get hurt or otherwise become ineffective, giving rise to the cliche that "you can never have too much pitching." Yet we all act as if his findings are unknown and focus all out attention on each team's starting five. You'll read many articles in fine publications during Spring Training about this team or that's fifth-starter competition, as if the battle is for an Olympic spot that's never relinquished.

Here's the upshot of the research: A quick and easy review of the five pitchers who made the most starts on each team reveals that the fill-ins amount, on average, to a whole other rotation spot. They averaged 32 starts and 170 innings per team. In other words, the average team uses the equivalent of six starters.

And that understates the issue. In many cases, the five hurlers with the most innings on a given team were not the five comprising the rotation on April 1. For example, the Dodgers entered the season with a first-rate quintet of Clayton Kershaw, Zack Greinke, Hyun-jin Ryu, Chad Billingsly and Josh Beckett. Greinke sustained a separated shoulder in a fight, Billingsly lost the season to injury, Beckett to injury and general uselessness. They brought in Chris Capuano and Ted Lilly, but Capuano got hurt, requiring a parade of plug-ins until trading for Ricky Nolasco. L.A. got 101 starts out of their planned rotation and needed help for the other 61. Even then, a Plan C was required for 36 of the 61 they thought they had replaced.

Which brings us to the Red Sox. They feature a starting rotation of Jon Lester, John Lackey, Jake Peavey, Clay Bucholz, Felix Doubront and Ryan Dempter. Six square pegs and only five square holes. The obvious temptation is to swap out Dempster, the weak link in the group, to fill a hole elsewhere. Ah, but not so fast, grasshopper.

Consider how the Pirates made the playoffs last year. Their starting rotation made just 82 starts, 60 of them out of A.J. Burnett and Jeff Locke. Wandy Rodriguez was effective -- for all 63 innings he contributed. James MacDonald made six desultory starts and the Bucs invoked the mercy rule on Jonathan Sanchez after 13 tightly-packed frames that included seven jacks and 18 runs.

The aces of the staff turned out to be lefty back-up plan, Francisco Liriano (16-8, 3.02), and rookie call-up Gerrit Cole (10-7, 3.22). Another emergency starter, Charlie Morton, contributed 20 starts of 7-4, 3.26, while young reliever Jeanmar Gomez chipped in eight solid starts and ended up 3-0, 3.35. The Pirates coaxed 94 wins out of eight pitchers they had on the depth chart at season's commencement.

That's no guarantee that Boston will ever need Dempster to start this year. In 2012, the Cincinnati rotation made all but one start for the season. (The following season, Johnny Cueto, Homer Bailey, Mike Leake and Mat Latos all blew up. Only the indestructable Bronson Arroyo made every start in '13.) But that's the exception that proves the rule and is so unusual that the previous team to do likewise was the Curse-busting Sox of 2004.

Where does Boston stash Dempster if he's not going to start until needed? Conveniently, the same place the Cubs put him from '04-'07 when he came out of the pen to save 87 games. He's not closer material -- he wasn't then, for that matter -- but he can keep the arm loose in long relief while the rotation sorts itself out. Lester, Lackey and Bucholz are all well-acquainted with the Disabled List.

Dempster might not even be number six on the Fenway depth chart. He's contributed at roughly replacement-level the last two seasons and might be slotted behind some youngster(s) who can retire batters more efficiently. Where the 37-year-old Canadian might be able to contribute is by eating innings, which he accomplished 171 times without complaint last year. Anyway, there's not much market for an aging, replacement-level, $13 million, number-six starter. Whatever the Red Sox could squeeze out of a trade partner probably isn't worth the insurance he provides on the mound.

So, the research is clear: you can never have too much pitching. Teams need six starters -- at least.

Another Spin in the Wayback Machine

In honor of the upcoming movie Mr. Peabody, based on the old-time cartoon in which an erudite dog schools a bespectacled youth on history via his time machine, we put our own thrusters in reverse and examine recent Braindrizzlings to see how the future turned out. Spoiler alert: objective analysis doesn't lie.

This January post unveiled a drizzle on Kyle Lohse's parade, casting his breakout 2012 (2.76 ERA in 211 innings, 3.76 K/BB, best year of his 12-year career) as a flash in the pan. Well. He experienced a second flash (3.35 in 199 innings, 3.42 K/BB, second best year of his 13-year career) in 2013. He's now produced 40% of his value in his past two seasons.

In this brief foray into March Madness, Oregon's indefensibly-low seeding in the NCAA tournament was paradoxically described as a boon to the Ducks and a travesty for their first-round opponent, Oklahoma State. Oregon blitzed the Cowboys en route to a Sweet 16 berth.

What must Adam Dunn have to bat to earn his roster spot? The answer from this early season post was .230. Sure enough, Dunn belted 34 homers and got aboard 32% of the time, but slotted in below replacement level because of a .219 batting average. A handful more hits would have raised the on base to 34% and the replacement value to black ink.

It was the same formula for Mark Reynolds, another Three True Outcomes star who walks less than Dunn but plays better defense. Reynolds hit .236 and delivered less than a win above replacement.

If the suggestion in this May post that the return of injured stars would catapult the Yankees into contention was slightly off-base it's because the premise was flawed. The stars didn't return as expected and the regression gerbils began nibbling at their replacements. 

There was no more regressing left for righty Joe Blanton, whom we pronounced cooked and served after an 0-6, 5.66 start. He actually improved over the rest of the season, which is all the sadder given his 2-14, 6.04 final record. Absorbing 180 hits and 29 home runs in 133 frames is the first step towards bar ownership back in Bowling Green.

The same post provided the rough draft on the obituary for Toronto's playoff hopes. The rationale, even that early in the season, rested on a lack of injury, bad luck, or other reversible factors for their slow demise. Small sample size be damned, the Jays captured the AL East cellar with 88 losses.

Here's one sure to elicit a chuckle: May 12 brought the assertion that the scrubs and stars Dodgers would not ascend to dominance unless someone not yet currently producing emerged as a star. Five regulars and Clayton Kershaw were booming but the rest of the team had less value than lunch at Sonic. It's doubtful this was the plan: three weeks later, a young Cuban named Puig and a former child star named Hanley joined the roster and lit rocket boosters under the team, driving them to the NLCS.

A week later, the first of several Shin-soo Choo homage sitings in this space proclaimed the Red Korean from non-Red Korea a beneficiary of the sabermetric movement. His modest lifetime averages (.293 BA, 18 HR and 73 RBI) would not have warranted much esteem from the baseball community 20 years ago, but today teams recognize his.389 OBP, base running proficiency and defensive flexibility. Sure enough, one Hot Stove League later, the Rangers bestowed their appreciation on Choo in the form of 130 million of their Texas-sized dollars.

So, with apologies to Kyle Lohse, calling 'em like we see 'em worked out pretty well, at least through the first third of the 2013 season. A peek back at June and beyond in a future post, when your attention span is rejuvenated.