And Then There's Mark McGwire...

He crushed 583 home runs at a .394/.588 clip, the most prodigious home run hitter in Major League history. (A tater every 10.6 at bats.)

He may have also used steroids, as did many of his contemporaries, some of whom we know about and some of whom we don't. Maybe Robbie Alomar and Barry Larkin did.

Without better information, I can't make a judgment about steroid use generally or his in particular. So he's in, with plenty of room to spare.

When you're Babe Ruth's superior in the power game, you're a Hall of Famer.

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A Steaming Pile of RBIs: #4 In A Series

Which player had a better year with the stick in 1997?

Joe Carter , 102 RBI
Jim Edmonds, 80 RBI

If you're a baseball writer, or a Phillies fan from Oakland, you'll take Carter's 102 runs driven in because the job of a batter is to knock in runs. Whenever you're in the company of baseball writers, get out the hip waders because you're in a big, steaming pile of buffalo poo.

It's not that Carter was a disaster for the Blue Jays that year. Oh wait, yes it is. In fact, with Carter's excerable .284 on base percentage, the BJs could have saved millions and produced more runs by replacing their aging slugger with whatever detritus was hanging around Triple-A. With just 40 walks and 12 double plays grounded into, Carter consumed 474 precious outs and graded out under AAA replacement level.

So how did he accumulate 102 RBI? Among those many occasions when his teammates filled up the bases for him, he smacked 55 extra base hits. Because RBIs are a team event -- you can't knock in a runner who's not there -- they don't reflect quality as much as opportunity.

Okay, hypothetical Oakland resident, I hear your objections: 1. You can knock in a runner who's not there with a home run. 2. RBIs show that you come through in the clutch.

Let me pause briefly on item #2 and simply say we've returned to the big pile of buffalo poo. Sabermetric studies comparing players of roughly equal production (on base plus slugging) but wildly differing RBI totals have found that RBI opportunities account for nearly the entire explanation and RBI efficiency explains somewhere between nothing and a negligible amount.

As for the self-made RBI -- the dinger -- even an anti-social, contrarian stathead geek will acknowledge that a home run is the double-fudge brownie ice cream, the Anne Hathaway, the royal flush, of every at bat. But we have other ways to account for it without subjecting the analysis of individual players to the bias of their teammates' success or failure. That's why my cat is named Tater, not Ribbie.

(As for Jim Edmonds, his .368/.500 performance added roughly four wins to the Angels even before accounting for the yawning chasm between his defense in the toughest outfield position versus Carter's weak glovework in the easiest. It would not be an exaggeration to say that Edmonds was twice the player Joe Carter was that year.)

The moral of the story is that we value RBIs because we count them, and we count RBIs mainly because we grew up counting them. But we grew up watching black and white TVs, listening to vinyl records and believing that we could feed the poor by taxing the rich into oblivion. It's time to update our understanding of the game.

It's Smarter to Be Lucky Than It's Lucky to Be Smart

Humans like to ascribe causes to effects. We like to connect meaning to events. We're loath to admit how much of life is simply dumb luck, and how often it is not simply "the residue of design."

That's why mis-employing statistics in baseball can really distort our perspective on actual performance.

I'm watching the Braves-Mets game in Atlanta. (Take I-26 west to Columbia for 100 miles and then west on I-20 for about 150 miles.) One out in inning two and Tim Hudson's pitch entices Carlos Delgado's left hip and right elbow to snap in opposite directions. The result is a puff ball that bubbles just to the right of second base. Shortstop Yunel Escobar gets a late jump and the ball scoots under his glove.

"Renteria would have had that," I noted to Tater, who doesn't seem to remember who played short for the '07 Braves.

Rightfielder Ryan Church follows that by grounding one under the mis-timed dive of second-baseman Martin Prado. Delgado rumbles safely to third when Chipper Jones goes to the wrong side of the runner on Jeff Francouer's throw.

"That kind of defense," I mutter to Tater, "is going to inflate Brave ERAs." She seems more focused on the ongoing petting.

Angel Pagan bats with first and third and smacks a double-play ball right at Escobar. He flips to Prado who fumbles the transfer, allowing Delgado to score and the inning to continue.

So Tim Hudson, a groundball pitcher, lures three consecutive batters into hitting groundballs, every one of which should have been an out. Instead, he's given up two hits and an earned run. Pagan, who did the only thing he had to avoid gets an RBI. Delgado, who was fooled worse than a Mugabe supporter, is credited with a hit and a run scored despite a semi-sorta-slide into third that would embarrass a Little Leaguer.

Multiply that by 162 games, and it's easy to see how much of a role luck can play in team results and personal statistics alike.