I need to know that you will always be
The same old someone that I knew
Ah, what will it take till you believe in me?
The way that I believe in you?
I said I love you and that's forever
And this I promise from the heart
But I couldn't love you any better
I love you just the way you are
Billy Joel, Just the Way You Are, 1977
Adam Wainwright's unfortunate injury while running out a ground ball has given rise to the flipside of the more common argument to abolish the designated hitter. The worm has turned, for the moment at least, and now the loudest voices are decrying the travesty of forcing people to attempt to hit baseballs who are trained to throw them.
It's like, the argument goes, asking the magician's assistant to become the knife thrower.
Moreover, they've co-opted the argument of their opposites that the two leagues should hew to a single policy. They note that NL teams suffer a decided disadvantage during inter-league play (and the World Series) because their rosters aren't constructed to supply an extra hitter.
And now that offense is sagging, to the (theoretical) detriment of fan interest, replacing pitcher at-bats with real hitters would counter that regretful trend.
I don't buy it.
For the record, I love the DH. It keeps luminaries -- particularly the eminences grises -- in the game. Without it, Paul Molitor's not in the Hall of Fame. David Ortiz has no position. Frank Thomas plays five fewer years. And Edgar Martinez's knees deny us of his amazing career.
The DH makes every at bat meaningful. There's no automatic out, no automatic sacrifice bunt attempt.
The DH allows injured players to return faster. They can take a few cuts a game while they heal without the rigors of on-field exertions.
The main argument against the DH falls flat in places where brains drizzle. Deciding when to hit for the pitcher is such a cookie-cutter choice that a single monkey with a typewriter could correctly discern it 90% of the time without a SABR card or Tony LaRussa whispering in his ear. The cosmic complexities of the double switch might have challenged the intellect of Ron Washington, but they don't amount to game-deciding strategies.
That said, I like having it both ways. I'm enjoying Alex Rodriguez resurrecting the final chapter of his career and completing his assault on the record books. But maybe that doesn't move you. As it stands now, hooray for both of us.
If you don't buy my pro-DH arguments, fine, there's a league for you. If you like to see Mike Leake helping himself with the stick, you can. If the spectacle of Bartolo Colon swizzle-sticking at the plate amuses you, content yourself. Sometimes you feel like a nut; sometimes you don't.
The split in the leagues causes some slight disruption, sure, but on balance it's better that way. The current set-up makes everyone happy, which is part of the problem. Because some people hate it when that's the case.
Showing posts with label DH. Show all posts
Showing posts with label DH. Show all posts
05 May 2015
07 December 2014
Nelson Now Seattle's Cruz To Bear
There are few endeavors more narcissistic than what you are about to read, and for that this blog offers you a most humble apology. That said, you are commended to peruse this post from February, in which we surveyed the value of slugger Nelson Cruz.
To save you the distaste of consuming a product based on the producer's own review, I will summarize: Nelson Cruz should have accepted the Rangers' $14.1 million qualifying offer last year because no GM was stupid enough to offer him more. I suggested that Cruz is a one-dimensional player headed away from his peak.
In fact, Cruz's best offer was a one-year, $8 million deal with Baltimore, which cashed in on a league-leading 40 home runs that helped them win the vaunted AL East. His 140 OPS and 4.7 WAR earned him an All-Star berth, MVP votes and a fat new four-year contract from Seattle.
So that's $57 million worth of consolation for Cruz and four years of a declining asset for the Mariners. Cruz had a wonderful run with the Orioles, achieving career highs in HR, RBI, runs, walks and WAR. He also largely became a DH. And he got a year older.
Which means Seattle has shelled out top dollar for a one-position player whose skills, as he enters his age 34 season, are likely to begin declining in a home stadium (Safeco Field) that will mask some of his primary skill -- hitting for power.
As you might imagine, this is a good signing.
Wait, what?
Let's take this one concern at a time:
1. Cruz is coming off his best season. You're paying for his peak performance.
The Mariners have the money, World Series aspirations and a roster they think is close to winning it all. The cost wasn't really an issue for them.
2. Cruz is a DH at this point.
Perfect! The Mariners might as well have batted their pitchers at DH in 2014. Seattle DHs Mendoza'd .189/.271/.302 at the plate. They hit fewer home runs as a group than Cruz hit at Camden Yards alone.
3. He won't hit 40 home runs playing half his games at Safeco.
But every home run he hits there is worth a little more. So it's a wash, except if you're worried about his counting stats. But the Mariners are worried about wins, and now they have a DH and a cleanup hitter to bat behind Robinson Cano, which they didn't have last year.
4. His skills will surely decline soon.
Yes they will. Nelson Cruz almost certainly won't be worth $28.5 million in the final two years of his contract. But he'll earn every penny of 57 large if he leads them into the playoffs and, optimally, into Seattle's first World Series appearance in the first two seasons.
So the Cruz signing is a gamble, as is any free agent signing, but a gamble based on need and a real desire to win. And if that's your team, you have to be happy because in 2014 Nelson Cruz was doing this against you and in 2015 he'll be doing it for you.
To save you the distaste of consuming a product based on the producer's own review, I will summarize: Nelson Cruz should have accepted the Rangers' $14.1 million qualifying offer last year because no GM was stupid enough to offer him more. I suggested that Cruz is a one-dimensional player headed away from his peak.
In fact, Cruz's best offer was a one-year, $8 million deal with Baltimore, which cashed in on a league-leading 40 home runs that helped them win the vaunted AL East. His 140 OPS and 4.7 WAR earned him an All-Star berth, MVP votes and a fat new four-year contract from Seattle.
So that's $57 million worth of consolation for Cruz and four years of a declining asset for the Mariners. Cruz had a wonderful run with the Orioles, achieving career highs in HR, RBI, runs, walks and WAR. He also largely became a DH. And he got a year older.
Which means Seattle has shelled out top dollar for a one-position player whose skills, as he enters his age 34 season, are likely to begin declining in a home stadium (Safeco Field) that will mask some of his primary skill -- hitting for power.
As you might imagine, this is a good signing.
Wait, what?
Let's take this one concern at a time:
1. Cruz is coming off his best season. You're paying for his peak performance.
The Mariners have the money, World Series aspirations and a roster they think is close to winning it all. The cost wasn't really an issue for them.
2. Cruz is a DH at this point.
Perfect! The Mariners might as well have batted their pitchers at DH in 2014. Seattle DHs Mendoza'd .189/.271/.302 at the plate. They hit fewer home runs as a group than Cruz hit at Camden Yards alone.
3. He won't hit 40 home runs playing half his games at Safeco.
But every home run he hits there is worth a little more. So it's a wash, except if you're worried about his counting stats. But the Mariners are worried about wins, and now they have a DH and a cleanup hitter to bat behind Robinson Cano, which they didn't have last year.
4. His skills will surely decline soon.
Yes they will. Nelson Cruz almost certainly won't be worth $28.5 million in the final two years of his contract. But he'll earn every penny of 57 large if he leads them into the playoffs and, optimally, into Seattle's first World Series appearance in the first two seasons.
So the Cruz signing is a gamble, as is any free agent signing, but a gamble based on need and a real desire to win. And if that's your team, you have to be happy because in 2014 Nelson Cruz was doing this against you and in 2015 he'll be doing it for you.
03 November 2013
Is David Ortiz a Hall of Famer?
With another set of post-season heroics in the rear view mirror, Hall of Fame buzz is beginning to swirl around David Ortiz. At 38, Big Papi delivered his best season since '07, with a .959 OPS in 137 games. Since joining the Red Sox in '03, Big Papi has authored a .292/.390/.572 resume with 373 home runs and an offensive record 48% above league average. That includes 2008-09 when a wrist injury hampered his swing and sapped his power; absent those two seasons he's raking at 55% above average. That Coopestownish.
The major Hall of Fame problem for Ortiz is that his career did not start with Boston in '03. In his first six years with the Twins, he hit just .266 with 58 homers. There was no Big and no Papi until he landed in the Bay state and began mashing behind Manny Ramirez. Ortiz has performed at a Hall of Fame level with the bat over an 11-year period, but that's not long enough and it's not the entirety of his playing career.
There's another barrier to a bronze bust for Ortiz: he's a DH. You will hear and read irrelevant analysis about how a DH doesn't belong in the Hall or about how no DH has ever been elected. Neither is the point. Cooperstown has a long history of enshrinement of one-dimensional players, in case you mistook Harmon Killebrew for a speed merchant (19 of 37 steals in 22 years) and defensive wizard (19 career wins below replacement with the glove).
The problem with rostering a player who can only DH is that it has an inherent negative effect on team construction. The various sabermetric measuring systems assess this against a player's defense, but the restrictions such a player imposes on lineup flexibility may accrue to offense instead or as well. Between his lack of range when he donned his mitt and the lack of managerial range created by carrying a non-fielder on the roster, Ortiz has cost his teams 18 wins over his career. That offsets a goodly chunk of his overall value.
There are four widely-used systems designed to predict a player's Hall of Fame case. Three of them say Ortiz has a fair amount of work to do. For example, the average Hall of Fame first baseman leads the league in 27 seasonal categories over the course of his career. Papi has led the AL in home runs once, RBIs twice, walks twice, OBP once and total bases once, well short of that standard. The JAWS Hall of Fame valuation model, which compares a player's value to the average Haller at his position (Ortiz is considered a first baseman since there are no DHs to whom we can compare him) suggests Ortiz is well short in both his peak and his overall career numbers, by distances he cannot bridge even if he performs well into his 40s.
None of this captures the special character that sparked the speculation to begin with. "Clutch" hitting is a vastly exaggerated notion, but Big Papi delivers in key situations so relentlessly there can be no denying that he loves the spotlight and thrives on pressure. Recounting all his game-changing home runs in season-altering games would amount to gilding the lily. His .455/.576/.795 line in three triumphant World Series speaks for itself. In addition, his unquestioned leadership was captured exquisitely when he gathered his bearded brethren around him in the dugout in Game 4 of the just concluded championship. It is tempting to assign cause and effect to that confab and the three consecutive victories that turned a 2-1 deficit into a parade.
How do you measure leadership and clutch hitting? What are their value? Are they enough to overcome a career gap of 24 wins against replacement. The answer, for me, is pretty clear: not even close. Big Papi is a great player and a character who will live forever in baseball history, but he hasn't done enough to earn a bust.
On to the elephant in the room: steroids. The New York Times reported that Ortiz was among 100 players who tested positively for steroids in 2003. Ortiz denied he took steroids and the Players Association claims those relatively unsophisticated tests returned false positives for supplement use. For some cynical followers of the game, that's enough to convict a player even though it amounts to nothing.
Others point to the spike in Ortiz big flies from 2004-2006 (40-47-54) at ages 28-30, followed by a dramatic decline to 35 after 2006, never to return. This argument is specious: that's normal career peaking. Indeed, in the four years preceding his home run spike he hit 10-18-20-31. In the four years following his peak, his home run totals declined to 35-23-28-32. He also played more games during the peak than in any other years.
In other words, there are several good reasons not to elect David Ortiz to the Hall of Fame -- a short peak and bad defense chief among them. There are a couple of good reasons to consider him further -- palpable leadership and clutch hitting that helped propel his team to three more championships in 10 years than they had won in the previous 86. But denying him a bust because of steroids is pure electoral malpractice, on par with electing Ted Cruz or Jesse Jackson Jr. to Congress.
The major Hall of Fame problem for Ortiz is that his career did not start with Boston in '03. In his first six years with the Twins, he hit just .266 with 58 homers. There was no Big and no Papi until he landed in the Bay state and began mashing behind Manny Ramirez. Ortiz has performed at a Hall of Fame level with the bat over an 11-year period, but that's not long enough and it's not the entirety of his playing career.
There's another barrier to a bronze bust for Ortiz: he's a DH. You will hear and read irrelevant analysis about how a DH doesn't belong in the Hall or about how no DH has ever been elected. Neither is the point. Cooperstown has a long history of enshrinement of one-dimensional players, in case you mistook Harmon Killebrew for a speed merchant (19 of 37 steals in 22 years) and defensive wizard (19 career wins below replacement with the glove).
The problem with rostering a player who can only DH is that it has an inherent negative effect on team construction. The various sabermetric measuring systems assess this against a player's defense, but the restrictions such a player imposes on lineup flexibility may accrue to offense instead or as well. Between his lack of range when he donned his mitt and the lack of managerial range created by carrying a non-fielder on the roster, Ortiz has cost his teams 18 wins over his career. That offsets a goodly chunk of his overall value.
There are four widely-used systems designed to predict a player's Hall of Fame case. Three of them say Ortiz has a fair amount of work to do. For example, the average Hall of Fame first baseman leads the league in 27 seasonal categories over the course of his career. Papi has led the AL in home runs once, RBIs twice, walks twice, OBP once and total bases once, well short of that standard. The JAWS Hall of Fame valuation model, which compares a player's value to the average Haller at his position (Ortiz is considered a first baseman since there are no DHs to whom we can compare him) suggests Ortiz is well short in both his peak and his overall career numbers, by distances he cannot bridge even if he performs well into his 40s.
None of this captures the special character that sparked the speculation to begin with. "Clutch" hitting is a vastly exaggerated notion, but Big Papi delivers in key situations so relentlessly there can be no denying that he loves the spotlight and thrives on pressure. Recounting all his game-changing home runs in season-altering games would amount to gilding the lily. His .455/.576/.795 line in three triumphant World Series speaks for itself. In addition, his unquestioned leadership was captured exquisitely when he gathered his bearded brethren around him in the dugout in Game 4 of the just concluded championship. It is tempting to assign cause and effect to that confab and the three consecutive victories that turned a 2-1 deficit into a parade.
How do you measure leadership and clutch hitting? What are their value? Are they enough to overcome a career gap of 24 wins against replacement. The answer, for me, is pretty clear: not even close. Big Papi is a great player and a character who will live forever in baseball history, but he hasn't done enough to earn a bust.
On to the elephant in the room: steroids. The New York Times reported that Ortiz was among 100 players who tested positively for steroids in 2003. Ortiz denied he took steroids and the Players Association claims those relatively unsophisticated tests returned false positives for supplement use. For some cynical followers of the game, that's enough to convict a player even though it amounts to nothing.
Others point to the spike in Ortiz big flies from 2004-2006 (40-47-54) at ages 28-30, followed by a dramatic decline to 35 after 2006, never to return. This argument is specious: that's normal career peaking. Indeed, in the four years preceding his home run spike he hit 10-18-20-31. In the four years following his peak, his home run totals declined to 35-23-28-32. He also played more games during the peak than in any other years.
In other words, there are several good reasons not to elect David Ortiz to the Hall of Fame -- a short peak and bad defense chief among them. There are a couple of good reasons to consider him further -- palpable leadership and clutch hitting that helped propel his team to three more championships in 10 years than they had won in the previous 86. But denying him a bust because of steroids is pure electoral malpractice, on par with electing Ted Cruz or Jesse Jackson Jr. to Congress.
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