Soxlosophy

The Faster Times dot com: "Baseball and Philosophy"

2009-07-10T02:50:00.003-04:00

Feel like you just haven't read enough philosophical baseball analysis lately? or maybe an insufficient quantity of baseballical philosophy analysis? well then, have i got news for you.

thursday at 3pm, a brand new online newspaper "launched." (i'm not quite comfortable with the industry-speak yet; hence the scarequotes.)

it's called "The Faster Times"

it is being run and staffed and written for by a very impressive and credentialed group of people- see here.

i am far less credentialed, but here i am anyway. for as it turns out, i am the "baseball and philosophy" columnist for The Faster Times.

here i am!
http://thefastertimes.com/baseballandphilosophy/

so i hope you'll check out the newspaper, and my column.

Bearly Stirring

2009-05-16T02:11:00.004-04:00

First, thanks so much to all y'all who have inquired as to when I will resume posting here at Soxlosophy; bloggers get paid in caring, as best I can tell. In a recession, even.

Second, not posting does not entail not being angry at events/processes such as getting closed out by BBrdsma in Seattle.

Third, this is not a proper post, but a programmatic one. Or, perhaps, a warning that a programmatic post is forthcoming; I'll be posting an update soon.

Thanks for checking in. Go team.

Peace in the A.L. East

2008-10-21T00:40:00.008-04:00

When the Soviet Union fell, the United States was left without a rival; it stood alone as the world's sole superpower. With alternative forms of government seemingly vanquished, some even proclaimed the end of history. But history has a way of returning. China, Iran and a reemergent Russia strut on the world stage. Now, some will have us prepare for a post-american world.

The Red Sox ended history too, vanquishing the Yankees in '04, and then finally finishing ahead of the Evil Empire in the A.L. East in '07. In '08, with a Bronx regime in transition, an aging ballclub and a pre-industrial crop of rookies, the sagging Yankees fell off the postseason map, off the edge of the globe, even. And with young stars the Sox seemed poised to enjoy the fruits of the end of history as the sole remaining A.L. East superpower.

That didn't last long. The Rays, all of a sudden, have the bomb. The balance of power has shifted. (And just as America owes a trillion to China, the Sox' luxury tax revenues help fund the emergent Rays; our profligacy has aided our enemies.) No one can be elected anything in America without asserting America's perpetual supremacy, and no Sox fan can concede too much to any opponent's acumen. But dominance is never guaranteed, it is not a given. The Sox were beaten, their title defense penetrated by a guerrilla Tampa club.

Tampa may have landed a blow, but the Sox are set up to continue their run of dominance. After 2 world series titles, 4 ALCS appearances, and 5 postseasons in 6 years, the Sox' current rotation has a 24 year old ace in Lester, and two 28 year olds in Beckett and Matsuzaka. A 23 year old Masterson, 26 year old Delcarmen, and a 27 year old Papelbon fill out the staff. On the field, Pedroia is 25, Lowrie 24, Ellsbury 25. Crisp, Youkilis, and Bay are between 28 and 30. This team has a foundation for years to come. They are hypermodernizing, taking the new scientific approach to scouting and development, investing in the raw talent of rookies that is green technology.

But the Rays are even younger. James Shields is their oldest starting pitcher, and he's 26. Garza and Kazmir are 24, Sonnanstine and Edwin Jackson 25. David Price is 23. They are not going anywhere.

The Sox, of course, can win any arms race with their superior financial resources. Their diversified wealth and geographical advantage dwarfs the banana republic that is the orange groves of St. Pete. But the Rays have locked up their talent, and will compete for years. There is a new world order.

It is the Yankees, the Europe of the A.L. east, that will lag behind. Stuck in their old world ways, slow to adapting to the changing demographic reality, shamed over past atrocities (or they should be), they will lose out to the modernizing forces and superior organization of their playoff-contending neighbors.

Hopefully.

Of course, it was foolish to think history could end, that some stasis other than complete destruction could be achieved. Victory is always short lived; there are always further battles. I often object to McCain's calls for "victory" in Iraq because war is not a sport, and the game never ends. Winning settles nothing. America won world war 1 and established the conditions that fomented world war 2. To win we all must hang up the spikes and go home. War has no rules, no final buzzer, no bottom of the 9th. Winning is not clearly defined.

But perhaps baseball isn't so different after all. We won in '04, and I distinctly recalling thinking baseball should just stop. The narrative was complete, now I can die in peace. But it doesn't stop. There are always new battles, new struggles. There is victory, but there is never total victory.

Today I watched the movie Babe, about the sheepherding pig. Spoiler: the farmer says 'that'll do, pig, that'll do,' after a job well done. It is reassuring, a job well done. Now it can end. The world is safe, finally, at long last, peace. But the Sox must battle on. '08 was just the prologue, the beginning of this next chapter of the rivalry with the Tampa Bay Rays. An ALCS just won't do. Sadly, though, even a championship won't do. They even made a sequel of Babe.

But of course each victory is an end in itself, and there are moments when time does stop, when victory is now and now is all there is. But losses get stretched out in time, and losing is always a hard blow, no matter the consolations or other joys in which we might now indulge. I, for one, can now actually return to writing my dissertation, which has been patiently waiting. And watch more G-rated animal fable movies.

Or at least I won't have any more excuses for not doing either.

Though I started this blog in midseason, I think I posted enough for this to qualify as my official rookie year. I enjoyed it, and I want to thank you all so much for reading. I'm not sure how much I'll write this off-season; I guess it will depend on how philosophical the Sox' free agent signings are. But don't hesitate to check back in. I hope everyone has a nice offseason, be well, and spring training is just 4 months away.

And as Socrates once said: "I like baseball."

No Hollywood Ending

2008-10-20T01:04:00.009-04:00

If Mystique and Aura are just dancers at a nightclub, as Curt Schilling once quipped, then perhaps History and Inevitability are just spoken word poets.

History doesn't repeat itself all by itself, and victory is never inevitable. It is not a given that once down 3-1, then 3-2, and then tied 3-3, the Sox will prevail. A Game 7 isn't decisive if it is already determined.

But it was an easy mistake to make, and many of us were eager to make it. The Rays were sloppy and spiritless in Game 6. Game 7 might have seemed like a coda, an epilogue. With a 1-0 lead in the 4th, I was guilty of the faulty induction; the future will resemble the past, and this will be enough. History and Inevitability take over, and carry the day.

But the agents in this drama are those not yet free agents, the players themselves, and their actions and their fates are coordinated not by forces named with capital letters, but by themselves and a manager too much concerned with the past.

Terry Francona made two terrible decisions in the decisive Game 7. First, down 2-1 with one out in the 6th, Tito sent Pedroia from first on a full count to Ortiz. Garza blew Ortiz away on a heater, and Pedroia was out by a yard. Instead of Youkilis batting with a runner on, inning over. Second, with the tying runs on base and 2 outs in the 7th, Francona let Varitek hit. He whiffed.

I imagine I am not alone in noticing the snafu, but as I am indignant, I will belabor the points. Firstly, Pedroia didn't wrack up 20 stolen bases in 21 attempts during the regular season by running in predictable counts. Secondly, I think the send-the-runner-on-the-full-count-with-fewer-than-2-outs is the single worst common strategic maneuver in the sport. I assure you, this is not simply hyperbole in the face of crushing, agonizing defeat, though that would be a reasonable assumption. Because second base is acquired on ball 4 regardless of whether the runner is off, the runner acquiring second on the 'steal' does not count as the play working. With nothing to gain, Ball 4 doesn't protect the runner, so there's no reason to go on that count as opposed to any other. But if there's a whiff, he risks being out- risk but zero gain. And if that base is so important, why not send him earlier in the count, when its less predictably fastball; because its better to run in non-fastball counts, but 3-2 is a fastball count, its a lower percentage steal to begin with. The play only 'works' if the ball is hit into the gap and the runner scores from first but wouldn't have scored without the head start, but this happens very infrequently, or if a double play ball is hit but the runner makes it to second. But in this matchup, Ortiz isn't likely to hit into a DP with the shift on, and Garza isn't a groundball pitcher. Instead, he predictably challenged Ortiz with a pitch he hasn't hit all year- the high heat. Huge risk, virtually no gain. The inning was over, instead of Youkilis batting with a man on. But Francona had to 'go by the book', you know, the one with many factual errors and unjustified opinions.

And for the 74th time, Francona didn't pinch hit for Varitek in the 7th inning of a postseason game. I speculated the other day that it was Theo's decision to carry 3 catchers so they could pinch hit for Tek as early as the 6th or 7th, and that way they could also PH for Cash in the 8th or 9th, but that Tito didn't like this move, and so continued to let Tek hit in the 7th. So naturally he came up with runners on the corners and 2 outs in the 7th, tying run on base, and whiffed badly. Casey may be the Mayor of the bench, but that's a small jurisdiction. As a further consequence, instead of a righty with power on the bench, there's an extra no-hit catcher; where's Willy mo Pena when you need him? Tek hit again in the 9th, and Lowrie had the honor of being the only usable right handed bat. His reward? Ending the season, matching Nomar in LA.

And don't forget that history and inevitability are no match for injustice; two atrocious calls contributed to the Sox' demise. Down 3-1 in the 8th, 2 outs, and the bases loaded, game on the line, Price threw a fastball about a foot outside. Drew checked his swing, but the home plate ump called him out! That's not even his call- there should have been an appeal to third. And in the 9th, Kotsay was called out looking on a pitch 4-6 inches outside. Its a shame to have the umps contribute so severely in the 8th and 9th innings of a game 7. Its infuriating, and may anger me more than losing 10-0. Of course, one may argue that the Sox had other chances, and should have rendered such umpirings irrelevant. But if it were a valid argument that one should have won by then to prevent umps tilting the outcome, baseball should just be 7 and 2/3 innings long.

Injustice is frustrating. A failure of ideals to manifest. The Sox pitcher met a similar problem; Lester was all too human. Giving up a hit to Baldelli in the 5th on an 0-2 count with a runner in scoring position is inexcusable. Terrible pitch selection; they went with the cutter in, and caught the plate, instead of dropping the curve in the dirt, which is how they whiffed him the next time around. No reason to throw a strike in that situation. Instead, Baldelli knocked in the eventual winning run. A similarly weak cutter was slammed by Aybar for the homer to make it 3-1.

Lester didn't catch the breaks. Longoria's RBI double in the 4th was an off-balance swing on a ball out of the zone, and Aybar's lead-off double in the 5th leading to the second run was similarly struck.

When the season has ended, its hard not to nit pick, to wonder what could have gone differently. But these are the breaks that emerge when History and analogies with the past aren't operative forces in the universe, when the simple narrative collapses into incoherent detail.

Ortiz was dreadful, and the Sox got virtually nothing out of their catcher and shortstop. Injury, old age and youth the culprits there. This is what can happen when it all comes down to game 7; the Game 2 loss looms ever larger. It's depressing and oppressive, the force of contingency and randomness. Its never an unimpeded march to glory, and the past cannot carry anything beyond the present. Loyalty to past efforts, the reliance on the habitual, all hindered the war effort. A history of comebacks can't do it for you; everything is in the hands of the players. And that, of course, is the fans' paradox: The universe of sport, and baseball in particular, is defined and governed by rules, creating the the feeling of control and the illusion of isolation from larger forces. Yet spectators, of course, can only watch, as heroes age, thoughtlessness is enacted, bad hops hop badly, and an expansion team with one slogan that's a false mathematical formula and another pilfered from a lame saturday night live skit triumphs.

Its quite humiliating, really.

- - -

I'll be back tomorrow with something with more perspective, my 'springer's final thought', if you will, and even if you won't. More preachy, less detail, more grand narrative. More big sweeping generalizations. I think I only had 1 or 2 in this post. Its the end of the year. That's not enough, by my count.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!; ALCS Game 5

2008-10-17T01:02:00.009-04:00

An agnostic doesn't believe in God due to lack of evidence. I don't believe what the Boston Red Sox did Thursday night, despite all the evidence that could possibly be. A greater leap of faith is required than I am capable of.

The Sox dropped a heartbreaker in game 2, were demolished in games 3 and 4, and down 3 games to one in the series, the Sox were down 7-0 with 2 outs in the bottom of the 7th inning. And they won 8-7. They won. Astounding. Astounding.

I need all the reassurance I can get that this actually happened. Sometimes its thought the difference between a scientific and religious temperament is displayed in the reaction to the same set of facts- a scientist looks at existence and sees something explainable, a religious persons sees that same world as mystery. I'm trying to understand how this one really happened, but I'm not sure I can, so I'm just going to go over it again, and stare ga-ga at the facts.

Lowrie lead off the 7th with a long double to right. After Varitek and Kotsay failed to deliver, Coco slapped a 2 out single to left, keeping the inning alive. Dustin Pedroia toughed out yet another 8 pitch AB, fouling off pitches long enough for TBS to run out of ways of anointing Tampa and actually get to some relevant statistics, mentioning that Pedey was far and away the league-leader in BA with 2 strikes this year, at just under .300, until Pedey shot one to right in front of Gross. Lowrie scored, breaking up the shutout, and Crisp advanced, putting 2 runners on.

And up strode the man once awarded with the greatest Red Sox clutch hitter plaque, Big Papi, but who had really come up small in this years postseason. Now, you can always watch a baseball game hoping for a homerun, but they rarely happen. The very best home run hitters only do it every 15 plate appearances or so. And Ortiz had zero homers in his last 61 postseason ABs, and was 1 for 14 with runners on in this postseason. Down 6 runs, with the season on the line, with the defense of the world championship on the line, I cannot imagine a single person watching or playing in this ballgame that was thinking about anything other than Big Papi crushing one. Had he woefully continued, a 7-1 game goes to the 8th. But he got a fastball down and in- his sweet spot- from Balfour, and he absolutely hammered it. In a rare moment, Papi looked almost surprised at himself; he did not characteristically flip the bat in a signification of dominance, and only tentatively left the box. But Fenway erupted, as did my studio apartment. A blowout had just turned into a ball game, the Sox were only down 7-4.

In that moment when Ortiz connected, fantasy became reality, wishes were fulfilled. Baseball really does do that sometimes; it makes the trite tremendous. TBS appropriately showed the guy with the 'i like baseball' sign. Three simple words, and all was right with the universe.

With the metaphorical wind at his back, Papelbon went back out there for the top of the 8th, buried some splitters, elevated some fastballs, and took 2 K's with him back to the dugout, getting those Boston bats back out there to batter the bullpen some more.

Wheeler walked Bay to start the 8th, missing badly low and away on the 3-0 pitch. Clearly rattled, he fell behind J.D. Drew, who righteously rifled one into the right field seats. It was now just a 1 run game, with the Sox only trailing 7-6. Wheeler then feel behind Lowrie, but Lowrie helped him out on the 1-0, swinging at a pitcher's pitch and popping to left. Outs are precious, and that one was squandered. And when Casey, pinch hitting for the captain in what might have been his final fenway plate appearance had he appeared, chased a splitter outside for the whiff, the realization hit that scoring 6 runs is great, but when the other guys have 7...

But Mark Kotsay delivered with 2 outs in the 8th, driving yet another liner to leftcenter field. B.J. Upton, who plays the laziest center field this side of Andruw Jones, yet again nonchalantly glided after the ball, but this time coming up empty, and deservedly so, as Kotsay's double clanged off his glove. Miraculously, the Sox had put the tying run in scoring position just 3 outs after having been down 7-0.

The lineup turned over. And even though Crisp had lined a single his previous attempt, no Boston fan hopes that the man who strides to the plate in the season's most important at bat is Coco Crisp. But whatever Coco hasn't done in his time here in Boston, and whatever he does or doesn't do from here on out, that at bat with the tying run on second with 2 down in the 8th inning of what had rapidly become a one run game was legendary. He fouled off pitch after pitch after pitch, 4 after the count had run full, even some that may have been out of the zone, as Coco was determined not to let the ump make the call; this was in Coco's hands, and he put up a noble fight. Finally Wheeler gave up, conceded, threw the 10th pitch of the at bat down the middle and Coco earned that clean, pure, single to right, that beautiful soft line drive, that sent in Kotsay and tied the ballgame at 7 apiece.

The old Red Sox would have squandered it in the 9th, of course. Carlos Pena, who has been death to Sox pitching, came up with 2 on and 1 out. But the kid Masterson buckled down and got the 4-6-3, sending a tie game to the bottom of the 9th.

But Pedroia and Ortiz went down, the former on a great play by Bartlett in the hole on a sharp grounder that had deflected off Longoria. Longoria then made an amazing stab on the short hop off a Youkilis chopper, but he threw off balance in the dirt, Pena couldn't make the stop, and the Sox had the winning run on second base. Bay was intentionally walked, and J.P. Howell faced J.D. Drew, the man who had hit the 2 run bomb to bring the Sox to within a run just one inning ago. Drew, nearly motionless, poised and ready to strike, walloped a 3-1 delivery, a screaming sinking liner over the wild leap of rightfielder Gross, and Tampa walked off in defeat, acquiescing to a Game 6.

Watching this one, logic and law goes out the window (I should get better insulation.) My girlfriend Rebecca was sitting at the kitchen table when Drew hit the homer to make it 7-6, but then moved over to the couch. Lowrie promptly popped up, and I yelled for her to go back to the table. Later, she had to go get ready for bed, but I wouldn't let her. She must sit at the table and not move. She had already made Lowrie pop up. I blamed her. She stayed put, and we won.

I imagine millions of other people refused to move from their spots too. To think logically where it clearly doesn't apply, we might reason that our not moving cancelled out the Tampa fans' not moving, that the sit in your spot jinx is a zero-sum interaction, and the players took it from there. Or one might think, as I clearly did, that my actions and mine alone were responsible for sending out anti-rays metaphysical rays from Brooklyn to Boston. When the transpiring are just so fantastic, so utterly unbelievable and absurd, doing anything to disturb that precious, teetering balance the universe has so fleetingly achieved seems like a sin.

I'm still out on the idea of retroactive meaning, both enhanced and diminished. If we lose Game 6 or 7, does that take away from game 5? I don't know. I'll cross that bridge after I pay the toll. For now, even after 2 rings in 4 years, and considering all the differences between now and '04, baseball, out of all the things in the world, still has this unique ability to perform the alchemy of turning despair into nervous hope into sheer delight, of creating a little universe where things can go right.

I like baseball.

Palling Around with Zobrist

2008-10-16T02:36:00.008-04:00

During his discussion of the presidential debate Wednesday night, Charlie Rose asked historian and Sox fan Doris Kearns Goodwin whether McCain or the Red Sox had a better chance of coming back from their respective deficits. Goodwin laughed, saying she should have expected that. Goodwin, a frequent commentator on Rose's PBS show, continued, saying that she had breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that Sox playoff schedule wouldn't interfere with the debate, but that her willingness to miss the debate meant she wasn't a real historian.

A good laugh was had by all.

The Sox' 3 games to 1 deficit is no laughing matter, of course. Naturally, however, we are all now hoping history will repeat itself, as the saying goes, and as history hopefully will as well.

I suppose not unsurprisingly, the Sox find themselves on the brink of elimination in the ALCS yet again. But history won't repeat itself without some help; only a Marxist or Hegelian might reify history sufficiently for it to be the sort of thing that can go about repeating itself all by itself. I fear it must be the Sox, and not history, that must make it happen. Besides, history, that higher and lower force, wasn't much help before 2004, when we had a whole lot more of it, and I'm not looking to it now. The cosmic patterns, the analogy of being down 3-0 or 3-1, doesn't help, as best I can tell, analogy is not an operative principle in the universe. Ortiz' wrist is. (or isn't.) Dice-K's erraticness is, and a shaky Beckett and Lester may be in the if necessaries.

Hegel and Marx would tell us its all necessary, of course, the inevitable unfolding of what was always to be. For all that, I'd like a specific prediction. Sox over Phillies in 5? Will that happen before capitalism implodes? (Or are we too late?)

I like to end with a joke.

Easier Done Than Said

2008-10-14T00:57:00.008-04:00

In Moneyball, a big deal is made of the ineffectiveness of traditional small ball strategies, and the hypothesis is floated that managers bunt, hit and run and steal because the familiarity of these strategies will save the manager from public humiliation.

Well, Terry Francona is a post-Moneyball manager, and so I suspect he has a different fear. Private humiliation. Tito seems too embarrassed to tell his players that they can't do what the player thinks they can do. Apparently, for Francona, underperforming is like performing in underwear. Decline is awkward.

This is obvious with Varitek, whose nonexistent bat baited the boobirds in Game 3. Supposedly, the Sox are carrying three catchers on the playoff roster so that Varitek can be pinch hit for early enough in the game so that Kevin Cash can be pinch hit for too. Yet Tek has continually hit in crucial spots during the 7th innings of this series. So I can only imagine that the 3 catchers idea was Theo's, and the keeping Tek in there was Francona's. Keeping Tek in is not the safe move for Francona publicly- fans are fickle and feel no loyalty at the expense of postseason results (color me that kind of fickle as well), given that a Tek AB is bound to fail, but it avoids the private confrontation. Loyalty, and dignity for Tek, rather than a confrontation with the inevitable, even in the apparent safety of the clubhouse.

Game 2 was not a highlight for Francona. He left Beckett over and over again, to see the former ace squander three separate leads, embarrassing himself and his postseason record with a 9 hit, 8 run, 3 HR performance in just 4 and a third. This wasn't a matter of simply missing spots- Beckett induced only 4 swings and misses all night. The stuff wasn't there. In a tie game threatening extras, he removed former starter Masterson after only 2/3 of an inning, depleting the bullpen. Javier Lopez threw as many pitches as he made appearances. Francona brought in Timlin, rather than Byrd, to pitch the 11th. This on a day when Maddon had burned his two best relievers- Balfour and Howell- by the 6th inning, and was vulnerable. And Ellsbury continues to bat leadoff.

All these moves simply reinforce the preestablished roles for these players. Beckett is the ace, he should stay in. Varitek is the captain, he should stay in. Papelbon is the closer, he should pitch the 9th. Lopez is the lefty specialist, he should throw one pitch. Timlin is the veteran reliever, he should pitch before a starting is thrust into the unfamiliar role of reliever. Ellsbury is fast, he should hit leadoff.

Confronting the players would create the dissonance of casted role and performance, of expectation and fact. It would require distinguishing the pre-programmed from the pragmatic, what should be from what is. Facing reality can be uncomfortable, and downright embarrassing. But its Francona's job to not be complacent, to do whatever it takes to win. Even something unconventional, risky, or even humbling or humiliating to his favorite players. Tito can't hide out in the open, he can't lose himself in the crowd to avoid that intimate conversation. A players' manager yes, but a team's manager too. A team that's down 2 games to win and needs to win.

Outs Don't Grow On Trees Young Man; ALDS Game 4

2008-10-07T01:01:00.007-04:00

One of the knocks against small ball is that it doesn't appreciate the value of an out; sac bunts are frowned upon not because they advance a runner, of course, but because that out is more valuable than that base. Mike Scioscia is pretty liberal with his outs, generously sharing and throwing them around, not realizing their value. Maybe he needs a summer job, or more appropriately, a winter one, to learn the value of the out.

Sure, a 2-0 count isn't likely to see a pitchout, and plenty of suicide squeezes have their desired kamikaze effect, but the suicide is aptly named nonetheless. Not that the warning signs weren't there; not only did the angels make that second out at third base in the 9th inning, but they gave up the first out on the bunt moving Willits from second to third. That's 2 outs in that 9th inning not due to the pitcher's or defense's proficiency (Tek's mad dash not withstanding,) but to negligence and profligacy, and with the runner already in scoring position, of all things. Instead of 3 whacks at a go-ahead rbi hit, Scioscia frittered away 2 outs with his out guzzling offense, squandering what few remaining natural resources he had left.

Bunt, baby, bunt!

On Bay's blooper to right in the bottom of the 9th, Willits, in a desperate but futile ploy to get one of those precious outs back, dove and came up empty, transforming a bloop single into a ground-rule double. In not realizing the value of the base, in this case, he put the series winning run in scoring position. Lowrie then ellsburied one into the shallow right field grass, sending the Sox to Tampa.

Scioscia now has no outs left. You just don't miss them till they're gone.

Lesterranean particle collidor; ALDS Game 1

2008-10-02T03:28:00.007-04:00

If Jon Lester were any more of a force physicists would try to unify him.

Lester decided all those lopsided anaheim regular season wins were irrelevant. Ellsbury decided only the guy who hit .360 in last year's postseason would show up, adding 3 hits, 2 steals, an RBI, and one amazing clutch 8th inning catch.

I wondered yesterday about which out of all the past patterns that could possibly project would make that holiest of transitions from possible to actual. And frankly, I couldn't be much happier with the selection.

Ah, winning in the playoffs. It provokes heartfelt interjections, the 'take thats!' and 'eff yeahs' of my lexicon. So much fun. The air is crisp, the pitches are subtle, and the Sox are winning. Good times.

But I'll be nit picky anyway. Lowell looked awful; he's hurt. He had no drive from his back leg, and he swung it around on each full-hearted but half-assed (more literally than figuratively meant) cut in an attempt to ease the pressure. Drew was late on fastballs all night. Pedroia came up 4 times with runners in scoring position, and only managed a walk. Ortiz missed a couple hittable pitches, and didn't hit anything hard. Francona didn't sub Cora for defense after Lowell batted in the 7th, though he did acknowledge Tek can't hit, twice calling for the sac bunt (once successfully.)

Bay, though, pulled another bomb on an outside fastball; he just loves to hook those. Youkilis' recovery on the bloop in the 8th was heads-up; rather than field the ball and look up to see if Guerrero was running, he came up firing first and asked questions... subsequently. And Papelbon buried two nasty splitters to Aybar.

The Angels hit only 1 or two balls hard all night, and only mustered one unearned run. They've squandered home field advantage, and with Beckett and then Lester due to pitch in Fenway if necessary, that should be sufficient to send the Angels on another October vacation.

Yes, one win performs the alchemy of changing pessimism to... something else.

Between Heads and Tails There's Guts...

2008-09-30T00:10:00.013-04:00

It's not easy to determine how much of the universe is relevant to a given event, a pitch, an at bat. The event appears local; a pitcher on a hill of dirt, a batter 60 feet away. But every hitter and pitcher brings with them the mark of every hit and pitch from everywhere they've been, the stuff of prediction and maneuver.

Many psychological states are metaphorically described as physically concrete and tangible; a hitter may carry a burden, or the weight of the world into the batters box. These days, with adjusted and normalized stats, every pitch carries with it the entire league, the entire history of baseball even. Its only 4 feet by 6 in the batters box, but a whole lot can fit. If these stats are more predictive the more of the universe they encompass, are not these numbers carried with a hitter into the box, somehow making it- physically or otherwise- more or less likely that a particular something occurs? Or is the at bat isolated,a self-contained box of novelty and uniqueness? Are matters local, but statistics global?

I dunno, I just work here.

Its hard to predict playoff series, of course. Small sample size yes, flicks of contingencies and mood and clutchiness, sure, but there is also the question of relevance; which stats, if any, are most predictive in a short series? Throw out everything but that particular hitter/pitcher matchup? Or drag in the whole universe? Ignore Ortiz' stats vs. righties when Saunders is pitching? Is Ortiz the feared slugger temporarily non-existent in that scenario, or at least relegated to an irrelevant part of the universe? Or is he in there too, dormant or potent? Why am I using the rhetorical device of rhetorical questions today?

The recent head to head stats don't look good; the circumscribed universe looks confining. Beckett in two starts this year vs. LAAoA: 13.1 IP, 20 H- .345 opponents BA- 11 ER, 2 HR, 2 BB, 14 Ks. In a July 30 start at Fenway: 5.1 IP, 7 ER, 11 H, 8 K, 1 BB. And this start was sandwiched between 1 run in 7 IP vs the yankees, and 2 runs in 6.2 IP vs KC, not amidst a poor streak.

But of course Beckett is the postseason ace, the man who harnesses powers not implied by past performance, who spontaneously delivers something new and amazing, the man who finally lowers the axe after feeding the chicken every day hence (to borrow Bertrand Russell's illustration of the fowl's faulty induction; just because the farmer's always brought food, that doesn't mean tomorrow he won't bring the axe.)

New ace Jon Lester faced LA once this year, back in April: 5 IP, 9 H, 4 R, 2 HR, 2 BB 1 K. DiceK, he of the most unwatchable 18-3 record of all time, had one start, too: 5 IP, 7 H, 6 R, 2 HR, 2 BB, 3 K

But is that all that's relevant? Facing anaheim is similar, so that's one category to project, but postseason performance is another- does Lester's start against Colorado last year count for something now? Is it projectible? Does this baggage travel with each pitch?

From 2005-2007, John Lackey had a 5.53 ERA in 5 starts vs. Boston, and an underwhelming .344 opponents BA. But this year, Lackey was 2-0, allowing 7 H in 16 IP, 5 ER, and 10 K, stifling the Sox for a .132 BA. Which manifestation will show up? And Saunders was also 2-0, 3.38 ERA (though he did walk 9 and only whiff 6.)

Is that all they carry? Of course not; there are plenty of burdens and weights of the world to go around; we all know the Angels have lost 9 straight postseason games to the Sox going back to '86 (the relevance of which greatly decreases as we move backward in time, as we are wont to do), whereas anaheim has won 8 of 9 this year, including two recent sweeps.

So what projects, what predicts? Can we cherry pick; are they in season?

The Angels won 100, best in the league, but were 10th in runs scored, 9th in homers, and not even best in pitching; 5th in starting, 4th in relieving. These runs scored and against are the two legs that make the hypotenuse of their Pythagorean expected record a more humble 89-73, good for 6th in the league in +/-, just barely ahead of the Yankees, and well behind Toronto, who actually finished a run better than Tampa (+104 to +103, giving the bluebirds something to really be sad about; 94 shoulda wins.)

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the Sox were 2nd in runs and 3rd in starting pitching (though 7th in bullpen,) but good for the leagues best +/-, and an expected record of 97 wins; that's 8 ahead of the the angels in the separate Platonic realm of ideal mathematical records. So does that project, or is it the bumbling too too real team that can't win one run games on the road that takes center stage on TBS, where, contrary to popular opinion, there's only one october?

It's tempting to predict one team or another in 5, but that means saying that it will be tied after 4, which amounts to the specific prediction that one particular team will win one specific game; a hazardous guess indeed. Statistical tendencies to understand the transpirings seem not applicable to single perspirings. At the level of sweat, as the joe morgan's of the world know, the players, not the numbers, play the game.

The playoffs are fun because worlds hang in the balance, teetering on the edge of uncertainty and contingency, with no time for regressing to the mean.

Shit happens, crazy shit.

Nonetheless, 95 wins down, 11 to go.

Sometimes 95 Wins Can Be a Real Cool Hand

2008-09-29T02:59:00.006-04:00

I refused to watch these last 3 games. Once we clinched the WC, the Yankees were eliminated. That means, as far as I'm concerned, that they're irrelevant, and I was not about to let the moot york yankees get me all riled up. I can't watch a sox/yanks game and not get riled up, so I didn't watch. That's right, I'm endorsing the ostrich's ontological argument; if I can't see it, it doesn't exist.

Instead, I watched the presidential debate on Friday, and Cool Hand Luke (yet again) on Sunday. I scored the first round of the debate (on the economy) 10-8 for Obama, and the second round (on foreign policy) 10-9 for McCain. I also came up with a Hegelian reading of the Paul Newman classic. But, as neither is about the Red Sox, I shan't be posting my explanations here.

But what we do have here is a failure to see Josh Beckett pitch game 1, as he has been bumped to game 3 with an oblique injury, which is obviously disconcerting (and never straightforward. sorry.) But I remain blithely optimistic, confident that the Sox' superior run differential and scientific approach to the game will win out over the messy randomness of the angels, 100 wins be damned. (For the Angels as crapshooting foosball spinners, see here.) Less blithe and more detailed playoffosophy to come.

So the Sox end up with 95 regular season wins. Is that satisfying, or is nothing less than a championship disappointing? It's ok to admit it, I won't tell any Yankees fans...

Modal's Sporting Goods; The Best Value For Your Alternate Universe Dollar

2008-09-26T00:22:00.015-04:00

'If Buckner had fielder that grounder, then he would have beaten Wilson to the bag.' Maybe, maybe not. Usually, statements are true when they tell it like it is, false otherwise. But how is it with something that never happened?

Answering such counterfactual questions- so called because the first clause is counter to fact- is difficult not just because we don't know how it is, or could have been, but because, being counter to reality, there may not be anything at all to know.

One of the neat things about philosophy is how a little problem like this has cosmic implications. The philosopher David Lewis argued that any possible state of affairs actually exists, but at another possible universe, different from ours in just such ways. For Lewis, there exists a world where Buckner makes the play to retire the side, forcing another extra inning (remember, the tying run scored on the wild pitch), and there's a world where Buckner makes the play but Wilson beats the throw, and on the next play a grounder goes through Boggs' legs, and so forth. (There's also a world where Tampa wins the division and the Yankees finish third. Crazy, I know.)

The reason for this infinite explosion of universes is to provide grounds for the truth of counterfactual statements. Without such universes, there simply is nothing- nothing exists- that makes counterfactuals true or false; there'd be nothing to know. So according to Lewis, 'if Buckner had made the play, Wilson would have been out' is true if the existent possible world where that happens is closer to this one than a world where he makes the play and he's safe.

Don't worry, I'm not going to explain what makes one world closer than another. (Though it is pretty crucial for the plausibility of all this craziness. For more, here's the wikipedia on "modal realism.")

The point of all this, as I so often have to say to my class, is the Most Valuable Player award.

For some reason, the MVP has to play for a contending team. Now, there might be many different definitions of 'valuable', or, 'most' or 'player', I imagine, but its best to be on the same page with these things. If I say "yankees suck," and some yankees fan says "sure, if by 'suck' you mean 'awesome'", besides from forgetting to conjugate properly, this would be a pretty superficial, if short lived, agreement.

I think the definition of the sort of V that one finds in MVP is best put in counterfactual terms- I think the MVP is the player who answers this question: The hypothetical absence of which player would cause that player's team the greatest loss? Or, in other words and letters, if a player x was absent, then which team y would suffer the most? Player X is your MVP. That is, the most valuable thing is the thing which, if taken away, would harm whatever it was taken away from the most.

So if you can live without your hair, as some of us must, but not without your liver, then your liver is more valuable than your hair. And if your team can win without Manny Ramirez, then Manny ain't that valuable.

Now, what does this have to do with contending? As the Manny example indicates, the better a team is, the more able that team is to withstand the loss of any one player, even if that player is great; I'd say there's an inverse relationship between a players' value and the competence of his team. It's the worst teams, not the best, that can least withstand the hypothetical absence of their best player. The closest possible worlds are those where a bad team loses its best player and plays even worser...

'Well now,' one might say, especially if that one is you, 'take away a great player from a last place team, and they're still last.' Well, yes. But take Manny away from a wild card leading team, and they're still a wild card leading team, even though he's put up monster numbers. And standings are relative to the other teams- you can win close to 95 games and not win a division (stupid tampa), so I think its the number of wins that counts. A last place team may win 65 games with a star player, but, who knows, 50 without him. A first place team may win 96 games with a star player, 94 without him, as they are better able to absorb the blow.

Pedroia is getting a lot of MVP attention, and there's no doubt that he's a kick ass ballplayer, and the heart of this team. But if players on noncontending teams or the Twins are counted, as they should be, he doesn't really stand out. Only on the assumption that only a contending non-Minnesota team is worthy of MVP consideration puts him at the top (even though, of course, Mourneau won in '06.)

Pedroia does well in some traditional and count stats, and not in others. The top 3 in BA: Mauer .327, Pedroia .325, and Bradley .324. But Bradley is far and away ahead on OBP: .439, Mauer second at .413, and Pedey's 17th, at .375. Bradley is 3rd in slugging (behind Arod and Quentin), Youkilis 4th, Pedroia 18th at .493. Bradley leads in OPS, Youkilis is 4th, Pedroia's 18th at .868

Bradley has only played in 124 games, which hurts, whereas Pedroia is tied for third in games (and is 3rd in plate appearances, which helps his count stats.) Pedey leads in runs with 118, with the other contenders not in the top 5. He leads in hits with 210 and doubles with 54, but Aubrey Huff, of all people, leads with 329 total bases (Dustin is 4th), and Huff is 3rd in doubles with 48. Huff also leads in extra base hits with 82, Youkilis and Mourneau tied for 4th with 74. Pedroia's 6th with 73. And Youkilis has played plenty of games.

But it's not clear how much these tell us about the counterfactual situation. Some fancier stats aren't decisive, either. Bradley is way ahead in adjusted OPS+ with 165, Youkilis is 4th with 143, Pedroia's not in the top 10. Grady Sizemore leads in Runs Created with 132, Josh Hamilton is next with 125, and Pedroia 3rd with 122, Morneau 7th, Mauer 19th.

It seems to me that stats like 'value over replacement player' (VORP) are in effect counterfactual- if player x were absent and was replaced by an average player, how many 'value points' would the team lose?- in which case such a stat would be the best indicator for MVP. In this category, Pedroia is 3rd, behind Sizemore and ARod. Huff is 4th, Bradley 5th. Youk 8, Mauer 9, Mourneau 12.

But VORP is relative to a position- its easier to have a high VORP at 2nd than at 1st, and also it doesn't count defense. And particularly relevant to my conception of MVP is that it doesn't take into account the idea that a player's value is inversely proportional to his teams awesomeness, as discussed above. (The Indians would probably be more worse without Sizemore than the Sox without Pedey. And of course, as everyone knows, the Yankees would be even better without ARod and with a 42 year old Scott Brosius instead.)

But it's right about here where the fancy numbers exceed my present state of knowledge, so I have nowhere else to go. And there being another me in another possible world who knows this stuff doesn't help. As a philosopher, I'll simply say I think this is the right direction, and let the guys in the lab coats make the call...

That, and far be it for me to argue against the man. Pedey's 20/21 in stolen bases are remarkable, his f yeah attitude is f'in awesome, he curses and gets dirty, and he hits line drives like they were giving him lip.

I'm sure Pedroia is saving no-hitters in other possible worlds, and that if he were gone, and the Sox had to play Cora or Mark Bellhorn at second, they'd be a lot worse. Because they have a 7 game lead on the Yankees. (Ha), they'd probably would be the wild card without him, though of course it would have been a lot less fun. But just Pedey's swing, let alone the defense, speed, and attitude, for now, at least, make me glad I live in this world.... to the extent that I do, of course.

Bogarting the Wild Card

2008-09-24T01:06:00.007-04:00

Hippies. Among other things, hippies are about sharing, and open possibilities.

Clinching a postseason berth is very anti-hippy. It's not sharing, its grabbing and holding, clinching tight. It's staking a claim, planting a flag, putting up a fence and asserting 'its mine.' Clinching closes off possibilities, stomps on all the different ways the future might be, confines them to the path must taken. No sunny optimism this, the future is determined, its been staked out in advance, the bidding is over. We claim this space, and this time, for ourselves, for our conquest.

This time of year, sharing is for losers; the yankees can share 4th place and golf clubs if they want. And 'wait till next year' too, the refrain of open possibilities; that's the wedge between the determined, excluding territory of the here and soon, what's clinched and held tight as ours, and an open ended vague hopeful tomorrow to share with anyone who can dream.

It's hippie stuff for the Yankees.

Mattingly, shave those sideburns.

(Once More) Unto the Breach

2008-09-23T02:22:00.012-04:00

Ok, so I'll grant that Yankee Stadium at least deserves another blog post before its demolished, especially considering that two dyed-in-the-wool Sox fans have spoken eloquently in its defense.

Here's an excerpt of what my friend Maggie wrote:

"am i the only person who is angry and dumbfounded with the closing of yankee stadium? WHY ARE THEY CLOSING THEIR DOORS???? last night i felt a lump in my throat watching the festivities, listening to yogi and whitey ford, watching the clips -- even seeing bernie williams made me teary. that is sacred ground, and the yankees should play there forever. no one should have wanted to close its doors, but since some people are truly evil and actually wanted to for eventual financial gain, they shouldn't have had the chance -- it should be a historical site, protected by the national government.

when i am forced to have a conversation with a yankee fan, the way i get beyond my knee jerk distaste for them is by talking about not what makes us different (NYY vs BOS) but what makes us the same. what on earth could that be, you ask? our LOVE OF BASEBALL. and one of the most beautiful parts of baseball is its long and rich history...a history packed full of memories and moments that have been passed down for more than a century.

i hate the yankees more than anyone, and yet i am so so so sad they are leaving such a precious place. there aren't that many physical locations in the world where so much history has taken place...

and why didn't yankee fans protest this like they would in boston if they tried to tear down fenway park? didn't they all freak out when they renovated it in the '70s? you'd think this would bring even more criticism. us new yorkers are paying $70M of our tax dollars for this project. i feel so dirty to be involved.

i just think this is a crime. last night felt like a televised execution to me.

on the plus side, how cool would it be if the yankees never won another world series again after the move? long live The Curse Of The New Stadium!"

And my friend Marc wrote (in comments to yesterday's post)

"I have to say...it's a real shame for the place to go. Damn the infinite Sinatra loop, but that's a Yankee fan thing, not a Yankee Stadium thing. Same for the beer tosses; same for the asshole fans. You'll see: all that crap will follow the team across the street, but the stadium and its history will not. The history, the ghosts, the center of baseball's true capitol...that stuff is that stadium; it is in itself the closest connection to its past. Without all of that mystique, there would be no significance to that place; and if you can appreciate what has transpired there, the great well of baseball drama and lore that has sprung from that field, then you should mourn its demise at least somewhat. It's a symbol of baseball's great past, the site of the great blossoming in baseball's history, and it's an American landmark. That stadium served to represent so much about The Game, and that city, and none of it will be quite the same without it."

And that's two Sox fans.

Which makes Maggie's question- "why didn't yankee fans protest this like they would in boston if they tried to tear down fenway park?"- all the more salient.

Exactly. These are yankees fans we're talking about. i just googled 'save yankee stadium', and there's very little evidence of any public support. remember all those 'save fenway park' bumper stickers in the early'00s, and the public outcry? i've never noticed anything at all like that here. i don't remember anyone here saying the yankees shouldn't move. i've never seen one t shirt or bumper sticker or anything that indicates there's any public sentiment against moving.

this is entirely fitting with the yankees character; they know that they'll make more money in a new stadium, so the fans are in favor of it- that's what they care about. For the Yankees, 'meaning' is just 'money' spelled wrong.

Now, whether the park itself should be protected as a landmark, as Maggie suggests, upon the team moving out is a distinct question from whether the team should move out at all. Apparently, the building itself doesn't get protected landmark status due to the consensus that the renovations in the 70's so dramatically altered the recognizable features that it's virtually not the same park anymore. City agencies aren't even giving the issue a public hearing; if the public was clamoring that this was outrageous, I'm sure they would.

But this prompts the question as to what extent the stadium is 'owned' by the public, specifically Yankees fans, such that the fate of the park should be determined by such dubious entities as public sentiment or rancor, or whether the right thing to do would have to be independently discerned and executed independently of their desires. Perhaps Yankees fans, in their insatiable quest for escalating payrolls and third place finishes, are happy to molt their old stadium as befitting the snakes they are. (zing.) Or perhaps they should be saved from themselves; Marc is certainly right that they'll take their jerkiness with them to the new stadium, and aren't likely to change of their own accord. Perhaps History belongs not just to Yankee fans but to everyone, in which case the Yankees are being particularly selfish in hording it for themselves. Perhaps its not 'their' park at all. Why should they be exclusively proprietary over history? Why shouldn't Sox fans get to complain; it's our history, too, even it's lousy history.

The points about a common baseball history are well taken; even Joe Dimaggio counts as 'our' history, as Baseball, aka The Game, is a higher unity that transcends even sox/yankees division. And so the provincial history of the Bronx borough is lower in the hierarchy of Forms than is History, which in turn must defer to Baseball, aka The Game, as the ultimate in meaningful ideals which subsumes them all. And it would be just like the Yankees to think they're bigger than The Game, and to abandon History for the sake of a $250 million payroll and a 4th place finish (as naturally payroll and standings are inversely related, I induce.) So I can admit to feeling the twinge in the demolishing of even the hated Yankee Stadium, insofar as it is subsumed by its place in the Game, and I can even happily continue to hate the Yankees for thinking its theirs to destroy, and for Yankees fans for failing to stick up for the larger issues at stake, and place party, or team, over country, or sport.

On the other hand, its just so in character; the evil empire needs a new Death Star. How can we take that away from them? They wouldn't 'be' the Yankees if they couldn't do whatever they possibly could to be as corporate and tramply as possible.

Imagine: It would be funny if they were penalized for their success; suppose that because so much history took place there, they became prohibited from ever moving out, and in another 100 years when every other stadium figures out how to compress seats like microchips and have 1 million capacity stadiums, and the yankees have a fraction of that and become the lowest payroll team as they'd still be restricted to a 20th century analog stadium, and then they'd become the scrappy low payroll underdogs who'd we be forced to cheer for because of their pluck and gritty hard nosed play...

What a strange future that'd be. Maybe this is for the best.

Unto the Breach

2008-09-22T03:06:00.016-04:00

I have attended three games at Yankee Stadium; I shan't be attending any more. The Sox' record in those games? 0-3. The Sox' record in October in those games? 0-3.

Below are the box scores for those 3 losses- Game 2 of the 2003 ALCS, Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS, and Game 1 of the 2004 ALCS. (click to enlarge.)

Next, the Aaron Boone Game; I had seats in the top tier, and exiting after the trauma involved descending spiraling ramps and hearing 'new york, new york' on an endless loop; a circle of hell indeed. I got hit in the head with beer.

Next year, out for revenge, Schilling gets bombed and injured, and Mussina took a perfect game into the 7th, the Sox explode for 5, comeback falls short, I got hit in the head with beer.

I did not have many happy moments there. I can't say I'm sad to see it go.

Sobyrd Up; The Goggles are Off

2008-09-20T01:08:00.009-04:00

Plato contrasted Ideals, known through the pure intellect, with the imperfect world we see. I've been idealizing finesse pitchers lately, Paul Byrd being the salient instance, but what I saw Friday was certainly imperfect.

(Does Byrd just slightly resemble Socrates, by the way?)

Byrd was serviceable, technically delivering a quality start- 3 runs in 6 innings, though that amounts to an entirely common ERA of 4.50 (and being common, 'quantity' rather than 'quality' seems appropriate.) More important to me than the many hard hit balls that went for outs, though, disguising the weak showing, was the real lack of artistry on the mound. There was no one pitch sequence that wowed me; the art critics' epithets of 'pedestrian' and 'derivative' sprung to mind during this underwhelming performance. I never oohed nor ahhed. Pitches tailed back over the middle of the plate, Tek had to cross over, curveballs hung, suspended in mid air.

Worse, I felt critical of his approach to lefthanded hitters, rather than delighted; there was no magic, no suspension of disbelief, just a guy with his hand up a puppet's butt (as they say.) Byrd doesn't go inside enough on lefties, which amounts to pitching with one hand tied behind his back. After the Rolen double in the second, he got a called strike on a rare inside fastball to the lefthanded Zaun, which straighted him up. He then accidentally threw a changeup in, which also surprised Zaun, called for strike 2. Then he threw a backdoor curve that didn't even make it back to the outside corner, but Zaun drilled an RBI double to left anyway, obviously looking for the pitch away; Zaun saw through the smoke and mirrors, and even after two in, didn't think lightning would strike thrice.

Byrd has terrible splits this year; he pitches well against righties, .249 BA/.277 OBP/.418 SLG, but .313/.355/.528 against lefties (that's an .883 OPS). Of his 32 walks all year, 24 are to lefties, the asymmetry of which suggests trepidation, and 5 of his 7 hbp's are against righties, suggesting he goes in only to them. Remy called Byrd's "purpose pitch" up and in to Vernon Wells; finesse pitchers must pull off the illusion of looking like power guys sometimes. But to lefties too; they're not just righties in a mirror.

I think a large part of Mussina's renaissance this year has been his improvement throwing the front-door fastball to lefthanded hitters; it looks like its coming inside off the plate from the righthanded pitcher, but moves back over the inside corner. Byrd would benefit greatly from that pitch. (Mussina in 2008: .858 OPS vs. righties, .592 vs. lefties. In 2007, .822 OPS vs. righties, .799 vs. lefties.)

That pitch is magic, after all; it bends backwards, going against the grain, back from whence it came. It hypnotizes; lefties freeze in their tracks.

And as Derek Lowe showed both Terrence Long and Adam Melhuse in the '03 ALDS, that pitch comes about as close to approaching a Platonic Ideal as any one pitch can.

Byrden of Proof; off-day update*

2008-09-19T02:04:00.011-04:00

Start with a quote: "He who knows only his own side of the case knows little of that," John Stuart Mill once wrote.

Elaborate: If he can't refute the other side, Mill continued in On Liberty, he hasn't grounds for his position, and if he hasn't understood why another would think differently, he doesn't truly understand his own view.

Show the relevance: Not everyone likes Byrd as much as I seem to, an opinion you may know from such blog posts as yesterday's (of which this is an update), and they have good reasons which I must face. For a hard hitting case towards that end, (though also a quite flattering reference to yours truly) see Jere's as always on-the-ball blog.

And in case you're into "evidence" culled from "objective reality" (weirdo), here are some statistical measurements:

Byrd: 98 ERA+, 101 with the Sox, 1.31 whip. With the Sox, 4.74 K/9, 1 HR and 1 BB per 4.75 IP, .792 opponents OPS overall, .826 with the Sox.

Wakefield: 109 ERA+, 1.21 whip, 1 HR per 6.8 IP, 2.9 BB/9, 5.72 K/9, and only .699 opponents OPS.

My ideological preference for finesse pitchers can blind me to the facts on the ground, making me a hawk for Byrd. But I can see the other side. As long as it's not because Byrd's tipping his hand, I'm ok with that.

End with a rallying cry: San Dimas high school football rules!

* This blog post contains almost 50% recycled material. Go green!

conCERNed with the 4th Boson starter

2008-09-18T00:09:00.008-04:00

Obama knows division is bad; so who wants to win the division anyway? Wild Card it is, then. It has a nice ring to it. (Pun, as always, intended.)

So, it turns out that choosing the Sox' 4th (and final) starter for the playoffs is a philosophical dilemma. Assuming Colon is out of the running, (also intended), it's between Wakefield and Byrd. Both are perfectly capable of shut outs and getting bombed. Though Wake's numbers are a bit better overall, he has two stinkers lately, and the stats aren't too far apart. So what's left? Symbolism, naturally.

There's the dialectic of physics and luck, on the one hand, and of will. I like to think of pitching, where so much is in the pitchers hands (I'll stop point them out), in terms of the human categories of will, focus, and drive. Hitting, though, is reactive, and is so often physics and luck; trajectory, geometry, physiology, wind...ology. (By the way, for these notions applied to Beckett vs. Sabathia and the 'o7 ALDS, see here.)

Assuming this schema, I can't stand watching Wakefield "pitch." He's all physics and luck; the knuckleball simply exploits laws of physics, it doesn't finesse them. There's little craft (though of course there's skill.) Off it goes, and, as is so often said, once it leaves Wake's hand, even he doesn't know where its going. Because 'he' doesn't have anything to do with it; it's in the universe's hands, now.

By amusing to me contrast, consider what I wrote about Paul Byrd a few weeks ago; in short, that Byrd can continue guiding the ball as it travels to the plate (it's kind of like in Nintendo's RBI Baseball); that's how subtle and sly the craft of the finesse pitcher is. I like to imagine a metaphysical extension of the self in the finesse pitcher; his will extends beyond the confines of his body to continue to finesse the ball as it travels to home, its teleological destination. Wake is detached at the albeit finely filed fingertips, and the ball is as likely to end up at the backstop as anywhere else; no natural home-seeking motion with the indiscriminate blind particle that is the knuckleball.

So I just can't leave the postseason to chance. For some, the postseason is the most meaningful of events. For others, it's too small a sample size. For the postseason to be meaningful, it has to be thought of as definitive, not random, the result of the virtues- perseverance, talent, and all that etc- not either statistical determinism or fluctuation, a blip off the bell curve. People are right to feel a sting at the disproof of the existence of clutch; it's a moral category replaced by measurement. Clutch is meaningful, not metrical.

So even if Wake can throw a gem- which of course he can- it doesn't mean the same to me. I want to see Byrd battle the elements, his physical shortcomings in the form of an 87 mph fastball, the battle against physics and luck for the sake of will and guts, even if those guts get splattered, rather than take the trial and error that maybe proves that there's a Higgs boson and maybe blows up the universe that is Wakefield.

Though I could be a bit biased. I was at the Aaron Boone game, after all.

Bullp*n!

2008-09-17T12:14:00.008-04:00

They say baseball's relationship to time is unique among sports; only a baseball game can be infinitely long, where it's merit, and not time, that continues or ends the game. As such, predictability goes out the window, as we could be here awhile.

Not so when watching an archived game on mlb dot com; the video player likes to say how much time is left in the file. So when I can't watch a game live, mlb punishes me, destroying the illusion of infinitude, endless possibility and unlimited expanse; they insist on not just finitude, but the precise amount. They say if you can't quantify it, it don't exist, but, well...

So it wasn't enough that after missing the live game after teaching, avoiding newscasts and emails to watch the battle for first unencumbered by what was by then historical fact, free to revel in my own narrativologizing (not a real word, methinks), that the internet had to crash in a game tied at 1 in the 8th inning, and I had to wait until Wednesday morning to see the predetermined conclusion. No, I had to sit there, watching the Rays get the lead runner on in the 9th, and see that there was about 3 minutes left in the video file of the game. When you can see the end of the tunnel and there isn't any light...

Now of course they can't hear you when you scream at the tv, and they really can't hear you when the game isn't live, but that swing and miss by Pena on a 1-1 count with a runner on in the 9th that got reversed like a McCain policy in a campaign (ha), because apparently an umpire had called 'time', not simply to name it but to stop it, because Tampa's answer to 'what part of 'bullpen' don't you understand?' is 'pen', you know, the 'enclosure' part, because a stray ball just moseyed onto the field just before the pitch, though unbeknowst to the relevant parties, and so the strike didn't count and Pena ended up walking on a full count instead of whiffing, well, i still yelled 'horsesh*t' at the computer and its stupid finite video file. Or horsepen, or whatever.

In any case, Beckett was fantastic. Threw two tons of curveballs, with great command. Got some called third strikes on fastballs after setting them up with a curve. (See how that works, Josh?) Beckett and Tek even seemed not to bicker, for once. At one point, (the 4th?), Tek went out to the mound on a full count to Hinske, 1st and 2nd one out, and Beckett threw his first changeup, to get the whiff. Good communication, good strategy, not a law of nature that Beckett has to throw a fastball there. He's ready for the playoffs.

Reduce-K

2008-09-16T01:41:00.009-04:00

People don't like their higher emotions "reduced" to something else, by which they typically mean "explained", either at all, or by something less noble than the thing to be explained (the fancy term for that being 'explanandum').

So when someone says "you only love me because I remind you of your favorite tv show", or "you just say that because you think it will get you elected", the noble love or ideology is 'reduced' on account of explaining the base genesis of the sentiment.

I'd like to think Remy just loves the Sox. After a particularly stirring rendition of Sweet Caroline during Saturday's game (I think), Remy said something to the effect of "If that doesn't get you going, nothing will", and then added gung-ho-ly, "C'mon Sox!"

Bay then promptly ripped one off the monster, and Remy brilliantly punned 'Bay just sweet carolined it off the wall.' (At least I think he said that; maybe I misheard.)

In any case, passion begets punnery.

And tonight, in the Sox' dismantling of Scott Kazmir, leading to a blowout 13-5 victory behind now 17 game winner Dice-K, in a game for first place in the A.L. east, Remy was in a state. After Kazmir hit Tek with a pitch leading off the second, the ump issued a warning to both sides, thereby making the next HBP confer an ejection on the offending pitcher. Remy spewed and ranted, calling the decision "absolutely absurd", and accusing the ump of having "no feel for the game."

Remy was grumpy, with a capital 'grump.' After the Sox went homer, walk, and another homer off the Tampa southpaw to start the 4th, making it 7-1, Ellsbury, in classic Ellsbury form (see yesterday's post), ended up with what was called an infield single to first. But what it was was Kazmir running to cover first on a ball that took first baseman Pena off the bag, and then stopping a few steps short of the bag, allowing Ellsbury to reach. Remy, disgusted with Kazmir's utter disregard for all that is righteous, spat that Kazmir's head just wasn't in the game, and what was he thinking?, and then, seeing Kazmir look over to the Tampa bench for just a moment, decided to play 'projected thought-bubble'- 'Oh, take me out, I want out', he suggested Kazmir was whining to himself.

As I said, I'd like to think Remy just loves the Sox, and is pumped up for the pennant race. But really, I think he just needed a smoke. Ah, sweet reduction satisfaction.

Meanwhile, the Sox just reduced their deficit to Tampa to virtual nothingness, and plan to thwart the erstwhile young soon to be wild card leading Rays again Tuesday evening.

With Specimen in Scoring Position

2008-09-15T00:44:00.009-04:00

Inside 'Dry Storeroom Number 1,' in the basement of London's Natural History Museum, is the “type” specimen of the sunfish.

According to the linked above, "a type specimen is the official example of a given species, against which all creatures like it can be compared."

It is important to note that a type specimen is not necessarily typical, or average, but archetypal. An exemplar, the most blankiest instance of any given blank.

Often after a great feat, a ballplayer sends his spikes, or glove, or the ball- something commemorative of the moment- to the Hall of Fame.

Tied at 5 Saturday night, in the 8th inning, with Lowrie on third as the go-ahead run in a game the Sox once trailed 5-2, Jacoby Ellsbury, taking a full swing on a Scott Downs delivery, meekly tapped the ball about 30 feet towards first base, nestling just inside the line. Downs, in his rush to throw out the speedy Ellsbury, slipped, sprawling on his chest. The ball, with little resistance, came to a rest, just inches fair, and Lowrie scored what would be the deciding run.

Of course, they should send that ball to Dry Storeroom Number 1. It's not a typical Ellsbury hit, but it's an archetype, an exemplar, the official example of an Ellsbury cheap shot, helped along its slow slow path by the threat of speed. As such, it is the example against which all others are to be compared.

Towards that end, in Sunday's game, Ellsbury came to bat in the 2nd inning against Halladay, with another runner on third, and again with 2 out. Again, Ellsbury's bat managed to absorb virtually all the ball's energy, nudging a 90 mph pitch just a couple feet away. Yet the crowd didn't groan with disappointment, but roared in anticipation, naturally comparing this with the previous day's exemplar. But this particular hit just wasn't crappy enough, and for those of you scoring at home, it went down as your classic ground out to catcher, to retire the side.

Oh right. Just 1 game out.

Brain in a Bat

2008-09-12T02:25:00.008-04:00

It's hard to teach an intro to philosophy class without doing Descartes' search for the foundations of knowledge, which has him doubting everything including even the existence of the world outside his own mind, which he does by hypothesising an 'evil genius' who is manipulating his perceptions and tricking him into thinking the external world exists, but even if this skeptical scenario were so, the search ends happily because Descartes finally cannot doubt that he is in fact doubting, and as he's there to do all this doubting, and doubting is a species of thinking, he must, therefore, exist... but this semester I'm managing to pull it off. It's off the syllabus!

Why? If for no other reason, I'm sick of telling people its like The Matrix.

Or so I thought. Because now with no outlet for my 'what's really real?' shpiel, and because Thursday was an off-day, you're stuck with the following.

I sometimes play an antiquated baseball video game- High Heat Baseball 2004. Curt Schilling on the D'backs on the cover. I own no X station or whatever the kids use to simulate reality these days. No, it's a PC game. Apparently, these are virtually obsolete. The company that makes High Heat- 3DO- no longer exists (but did it ever really? Ooooh. Think about that.) And because no upgrade is available, I still use an old sputtering operating system because I'm afraid an upgrade will be incompatible with the game.

But that's neither here nor there. Which of course leaves it nowhere to be, which is to say, it doesn't exist. Or does it really? (See, I just have to get this stuff out of my system somehow.)

Anywho, the 2004 High Heat game has a 2003 roster (but being the active GM that I am, I've made a few tweaks.) So "I'm" the Sox, naturally, and I'm down 4-1 in the top of the 9th to Cleveland, Mark Wohlers of all people on the mound (I thought he was long gone by '03 too.) 2 down. Things look grim. But Varitek, in the number 7 slot, gets on. I'd long since traded Nomar because he kept popping up, and watching his feet move around in the box was distracting, so I picked up Jose Vizcaino to play short. He normally bats 8th. But Billy Mueller is on the DL, so I've moved up Vizcaino to the 2 slot- he's hitting a robust .320- and I've called up Shea Hillenbrand from his banishment to AAA to play third and bat 8th. But now in the 9th, and because he's an f-word, I pinch hit with Jeremy Giambi, who promptly slams a triple off the center field fence, 4-2. Next up is Timlin in the pitcher's spot- yeah, in this alternate reality, there's no DH- so I send up Trot to pinch hit- both these lefties were on the bench, by the way, as Sabathia started for the Tribe. And Trot laces a double off Wohlers. Still two out, tying run on second, the lineup turns over for Damon, who singles to right to tie the game! I ended up winning in extras, Scott Williamson coming in for the save.

When philosophers update Descartes' thought-experiment about the evil genius who tricks the mind into believing in the reality of the simulacrum external world, they talk of a mad neuroscientist keeping a brain in a vat, stimulating it with electrodes to simulate an external world that doesn't really exist. (Or does it? No.) These examples are terrifying, for, among other reasons, they stipulate an utter lack of control; one is held captive to the whims of some omnipotent and unknowable force, and any sense of control over one's life is entirely illusory.

But when do I have more control? When I watch a "real" Sox game on TV, or when I can manipulate the video game Sox on my computer? And doesn't that control make it "more real"?

No. It doesn't.

Thanks for reading. Maybe next semester I'll put Descartes back on the syllabus, and you won't have to suffer through this again.

Also, when I lose to the Yankees in the video game, I get absolutely furious. It takes me awhile afterwards to calm down. Doesn't the strength of my emotion make it real, as in "I just know it to be true in my heart'?

No. It doesn't.

Tampararily Resting... [ugh]

2008-09-11T02:21:00.007-04:00

1-1 after 3 innings, 1-1 after 13 innings, a 4-2 loss in 14. Tension so thick you could cut it with a cliche.

What a couple of games. If you have to do anything, you have to hand it to Tampa. A gutsy team, they.

Such baseball games are so plump and juicy, meaning just oozes out. The universe in cleats. This time, though, there's just so much to say, and I'm just too tired to say it. Regroup, revamp, revitalize. In the meantime, I'll take my 5 game lead in the Wild Card race, and my deficit in the division of fewer games behind than games we have left against the Rays (2.5 and 3), and be begrudgingly satisfied.

Yup, folks, I'm phoning this one in. In lieu of whatever I'd say if I wasn't so phoning, may I recommend the most interesting and profound article I've read on politics and morality in a while, or perhaps a report on a study on the psychological and economic benefits of being a sports fan, with Bostony examples?

Bonus points if you use the theories of one to explain the other.

Logical Fallacy of the Week: Says Me

2008-09-09T01:21:00.011-04:00

It won't be until the next generation of Sox fans that the Schopenhauerian pessimism and anxiety that comprised the Sox fan identity before '04 will really be cured.

But as a positive, self-affirming, Stuart Smalley step in the here and now, to combat the scars, I'm simply going to assert that the Sox will win the division, sweep Chicago in the ALDS, beat Anaheim in 6 in the ALCS, and then win another world series title against whoever that quadruple A league throws to us lions.

And I'm going to go all zealot on this one. I'm going to say providing evidence and argument in favor of this conclusion is to concede and sew seeds of secular humanist doubt, and that real faith is just saying something and deciding it's true. Yup, I'm committing the fallacy of assertion here- that I say it, I say, is an argument for its truth.

Of course there are reasons for doubt. The Sox only scored 3 runs against Tampa's, what, number 4 starter? The pen's put the 'argh' in 'inconsistent' all year, and obviously the coin has landed heads for Anaheim in our recent head to head.

But I won't put my critical period pre-rings pre- everyday sellout psychology as a basis for worrying about the future; I'll emphasize Lester's nastiness, his season high 9 ks, his beautiful sequences, like getting a called strike two on a backdoor curve in the 2nd to Navarro, and then dropping the slider in the inside dirt, inducing a meager half swing that died and went to limbo, or a fastball for a called strike on the inside corner to Baldelli leading off the 5th, followed by a cutter further in on the hands, off the plate and on Baldelli, chopping him down as he hacked, and then freezing Rhode Island's Own on a paint job, 93 mph outside corner at the knees.

Yeah, all that instead of the 1-0 fastball Lester grooved to Pena with 2 on and 1 out, as the tying run in the 6th, that Pena just got under and skied to center, or that Perez' scorcher to lead off the 8th was caught at short, that Zobrist missed a dong by about the length of the word 'dong' two batters later, and that Pena's double that knocked Lester out of the game bounced into the stands, saving a run, or that Francona doesn't trust Okacarmen in tight spots and had Lester start the 8th already having thrown 105 pitches, ultimately tossing 119 before going to Papelbon.

No, all that con stuff is for ol' timey Sox fans, and that pro and con stuff in general is for rational people. Funk dat. I don't care about bases of inferences, only bases and outs. Sox all the way. Woo. I believe it, therefore its true.

So there.

Forward, not backward, upward not forward, and always whirling, twirling, towards freedom

2008-09-08T00:22:00.014-04:00

The problem with living for the moment is that some moments are boring. And when some such moments contain portents of an imminent and interesting future, I get a little antsy.

I'm bored with Texas. Crappy pitching, violent but shut-down-able hitting. Everyone knows ahead of time how tragedies end (the guy dies), but the unfolding is the good stuff. Beating Texas- with the outcome inevitable- is more like unfolding laundry. You'll look crappy if you don't do it, but, geez, do I have to?

As an impatient Milhouse lamented during Poochie the Dog's meandering, filibustering debut on Itchy and Scratchy, 'when are they going to get to the fireworks factory?'

I love Paul Byrd, who's second in wins to Cliff Lee since the all-star break, with 8 (4 with the Sox); he's always a treat. But I'm ready for the pennant race; bring on Tampa, where each pitch's intensity is concentrated like Tropicana orange juice, and when squeezed, oozes out juicy juicy meaning.

The Sox have closed to within a game and a half, as the Famous Original Rays have lost 5 of 6, coming off a sweep from Toronto. The Rays have lost 8 straight at Fenway; all their wins vs. the Sox this year have come at Le Trop. I'd use a tennis break serve metaphor here, but blech.

The Rays look ripe for the picking, and dizzy and confused. Sunday's hard luck 1-0 loser, Tampa starter Matt Garza, said of the Sox "Right now, we're up top and they're chasing us. If we can keep playing our ball, this thing will turn around." Poor guy doesn't know which way is up; if we're chasing them, they're ahead, not on top (we don't run up.) But if they are on top, he shouldn't want anything to turn around, or else they'll fall on their heads. But it's natural for such an inexperienced team, unused to their position in the midst of a pennant race, to bungle their spatial metaphors.

Here it comes, Tampa, a fight for borders, for territory, for space. You may have drawn the line in the sand, but your expected wins based on +/- is only 80, behind our 87, and even Toronto's 82. Regress to the mean, b*tches!

(If I'm ever a pro wrestler, or a cartoon dog, that'll be my catchphrase.)

Orsilloing a Cloak; Book Review of "Dirty Water: A Red Sox Mystery"

2008-09-06T00:53:00.015-04:00

Philosophy books don’t really have endings that can be ruined. Though they contain conclusions, there’s little suspense in getting there. A reader doesn’t wonder, biting his nails- will he use modus ponens? Reductio ad absurdum? Or will he blunder, affirming the consequent? Conclusions, although the name implies the end, are typically stated up front. And so when discussing such books, I don’t have to worry about spoiling anything.

Not so with a mystery novel. I’m not sure I’ve ever even read a mystery novel before; as a philosopher, I like my problems solved right away, and as a Sox fan, I’m pretty sure ahead of time how everything will turn out. But Jere Smith, author of a great Sox blog, co-wrote a mystery novel with his mother, Mary-Ann Tirone Smith, a veteran mystery author, and as this mystery is entitled “Dirty Water: A Red Sox Mystery”, Jere sent me (and others) an advance copy of the book, asked for a review, and so here we are.

So, not sure how to talk about a mystery novel without giving away the plot, I’ll put it this way. I hate exercising. I don’t like sweating unless I’m winning. I recently bought an exercise bike, and the only way I’m going to use it is if I am sufficiently distracted from focusing on my frailty and mortality, so that 30 minutes 3 times a weak isn’t a jail sentence. I read most of Jere’s book on my exercise bike, and now I’m holding up my too big pants and grinning like a dope! In other words, the book was compelling enough to successfully pass the all-important ‘distracted me from wheezing and thinking of dying test.’

The novel features brief appearances from actual Red Sox players, and some of their imagined antics and dialogue are amusing- among my favorite lines are “Schilling unsnapped the onesie at the crotch and took off the soaking diaper”, and “Youkilis said, ‘there’s a lot of Jewish Hispanics, Papi.’” These appearances are mostly at the beginning, as the story takes off from the discovery of a baby abandoned in the Red Sox clubhouse. The mystery develops as the gritty detectives on the case follow a trail of homicide, intrigue, and felonious dealings in the shady business of recruiting foreign ballplayers.

A distinctive aspect of the book is that it features a Red Sox blogger, (presumably) penned by Jere, whose blog posts play a key role in the plot. (If only my blog posts had such clout…) Writers and readers of Sox blogs will probably get a kick out this, especially those not-fictional folks who are name-dropped (though those of us who are not, such as myself, might feel left out. :))

There is definitely a target audience for this book- readers of Sox blogs are not everyone (sadly), and the story is very much set in Boston, with jokes about navigating I-93, and references to places like the Middle East in Cambridge. And the novel does presuppose a quite a bit of familiarity with Sox culture; references to Jerry Remy smoking, Don Orsillo eating donuts, and even speculation that Globe sportswriter Amalie Benjamin thinks bloggers are “weirdos” would probably not go over, in say, Russia.

But that probably wouldn’t bother the Smiths- the setting is of course not just geographical but emotional, and the book knows it’s audience. There’s a stark division drawn between the real Bostonian and the tourist, the true fan and the pink hat, so to speak. Though this is potentially alienating for those on the other side of this iron curtain, this inclusive hardcore Boston affect will satisfy those who wish to derail the bandwagon: tourists are mocked for trying to get into the Lansdowne’s Cask’n Flagon, California is denigrated for not having Thomas’ English muffins for 20 years after Massachusetts did, and one character is surprised to see that a young Sox fan’s hat is so frayed, which belies the fan’s dedication to The Team.

In the meantime, remember, this is a twists-and-turns murder mystery. It’s just that I’m not going to talk about that.

Finally, despite the dark subject matter, the book also features a morally unambiguous community of good-seekers and well-wishers; there’s an I’ll-get-him-if-its-the-last-thing-I’ll-do ethos from the folks directly tied to the action, and a we’re-all-in-this-together-collective-emotion from folks less directly tied. (Misanthropes and others skeptical of roll-up-your-sleeves altruism be warned.)

Done with Dirty Water, I’m getting back on my stationary bike and starting ‘the Case of the Disappearing Yankees World Series Rings’…

Temporioles

2008-09-04T01:10:00.008-04:00

The expression 'its only a matter of time' implies that nothing else needs to be done for a particular something to come about, that we should just wait around until whatever is supposed to be inevitable in the future finally happens already.

Even down 4-0, I was pretty sure that a comeback was waiting in the near future, and all that stood between us and it were the intervening events...

For the first six innings, the Sox seemed content to wait for nature to take its course, but, as the players, not spectators, they had to at least do something to get the ball rolling down the inclined plane. Enter Pedroia, who occupies relatively little space, but seems to show up at just the right time. (Though with Pedroia, who is 21 for his last 34, a .618 BA, every time at bat is the right time.) Reluctantly recognizing that motion only continues unabated in a vacuum, the Sox did as little as possible to keep things going, remaining determined to wait for time to do the heavy lifting and bring about the inevitable. After the homerun made it 4-1, an HBP, a BB, and a bunt single, and then another BB scored a run, the ball traversing, oh, 30 feet of space off Sox bats.

In the 9th with the score tied at 4, after a Cora single, Crisp dropped a bunt down the first base line. As a matter of time exclusively, it appeared to be heading foul; as a matter of a quirky divot, the Sox found themselves with runners on 1st and 2nd. And then, just to show how passive they could be, given that it was only a matter of time, no action necessary, the Sox came away with the win on Ellsbury's walk-off bunt and E1 combination.

We all fight a losing battle against time; the Orioles especially.

Sense for a dollar?

2008-09-03T00:04:00.007-04:00

So I get back from vacation and Pedroia's batting cleanup and hitting bombs. Makes sense. Drew, Lowell, and Beckett are on the DL, and the Sox are taking names. Also makes sense. It's September, and Tampa Bay has the best record in baseball, and an 11 game lead over the Yankees in the division.

???

Some sympathetic to religiousish worldviews dwell on the very fact of existence- isn't it amazing that anything exists at all!?!?, they wonder. It doesn't seem to make sense. Often, they think that the question 'why is there something rather than nothing?' demands an explanation called 'god'. And either that makes sense, or else it makes such much no sense that it must go beyond all sense and reason, and be true.

Others, though, have a handle on facts, and think that there is anything at all is no big whoop, as I used to say when I was 8, (the expression, not of the universe), or that labeling some mystery 'god' is no explanation at all, or that those other guys should just get over it- this whole existence thing- and stop dwelling on unanswerable questions and do something practical, like increasing bandwidth or cleaning in those hard to reach places.

But me, I can't help but dwell at the amazingness of this tampa bay leading universe in which I find myself. And that involves repeating facts, but this time with exclamation points. 11 games up on the Yankees! Best record in baseball! Existence! Something! Not nothing! Pretty amazing stuff, really. I can't get over it, and I just can't make sense of it.

Others, though, would simply point to a Tampa team ERA of 3.70, and a bullpen ERA of 3.41, and a Yankees team ERA in August of 5.09, among many other things that would serve as a perfectly reasonable explanation of the phenomenon in question.

Not me, though. It's inexplicable, really. Tampa Bay!

And yes, the Yanks beat Tampa today, and even have 8 wins vs. Tamper on the year. And that makes it all the more amazing- Yankees beat the Rays in September, with one team out of the running, and the other tuning up for the playoffs.

Makes sense after all.

After a word from our etc.

2008-08-29T01:19:00.003-04:00

When Obama went on vacation, his 4 point lead in the polls disappeared. And so just because I'm going to be vacationing this Labor Day weekend, without computer access, that doesn't mean you should, uh, decide to vote for whoever I'm running against.

Be well, and have a nice weekend!

Hope Stick

2008-08-29T00:18:00.015-04:00

Everyone's got that warm heartfelt emotional meaningful vs. cold logical mathematical dispassionate dichotomy going. So while the numbers assure us- the Sox lead the Yankees by 6 games in the wild card race with only 29 games remaining, and according to some metric listed on the ESPN standings page, the Sox have an 87.6 percent chance of making the playoffs, whereas the Yankees have a minuscule 2.3, this 3-2 Yankees come from behind win gives the Yankees warm heartfelt emotional hope.

And when there's hope, the numbers be damned. Hope, optimism, determination yielding the miraculous, spring in your step joy in tomorrow. Yankee fans shouldn't have that. Though the odds are against them, they're not dead yet. The Sox missed their chance to put the nail in the coffin, to bury the Yanks along with their stadium. Though the numbers may hold up, for one day, at least, the Yanks get to transcend the numbers, to feel, to hope, to dream, to revel in the alleged meaning of their legacy, to ignore the cold hard numerical financial reality of leaving their traditional home.

Yet somehow the YES network got the whole emotional heartful meaningful vs. cold numbers thing wrong. During the 8th inning, they played a promo for Yankee stadiums' final hurrah with maudlin music and clips of Yankees legends with angelic auras gazing meaningfully into the distance, towards the end of which Kay's voiceover says 'come celebrate the final season of Yankee Stadium with Yankees calculator day. The first 15, 000 fans get a Yankees team calculator...'

Nothing says 'meaning and sentiment' like a calculator. And of course, they'd need one to calculate the astronomical discrepancy between the payrolls of the yanks and rays, the team taking their place in the postseason.

But I bristle. I can't get over Francona giving them hope; you just can't pitch to Giambi as a pinch hitter with two outs as the tying run in the 7th with first base open. Walk Giambi, you put the tying run on base, yes, but it's Damon up with two down, and then potentially Jeter, and neither home run hitters. Against the Yankees, I'm always defensive. Minimize the catastrophe; avoid the agony. Don't gamble on getting Giambi to pop out, even if that's the likely scenario. Against the Yankees, do whatever you can possibly do to avoid the worst case scenario, the humiliation. If your OBP is less than .500, the number says you're more likely to get out than not. But you can't give them hope, the hope that goes over and above the numbers. It's the Yankees, goddam it. I just can't stand to let them have a hero, to be dramatic, to beat the odds, to put dollar bills in the thongs of Mystique and Aura. Those women should put on reasonable clothes and take a nice desk job, by the book. Maybe some number crunching. Nothing too exciting.

Something To Believe In

2008-08-27T01:22:00.009-04:00

Karl Popper thought Marxism and Freudianism weren't genuine scientific theories, as they were often believed to be, because proponents of those systems did everything they could to interpret whatever they saw as confirmation of their -ist beliefs. For Popper, what made a belief scientific was the willingness to see that belief falsified, and not clinging to a belief despite evidence to the contrary.

Former catcher and current Yankees color commentator John Flaherty started with the simplistic belief that when Wakefield's knuckleball is up, it's hittable, and when it's down, it's not, and implied this hypothesis had predictive power- it looks like a good night for the Yanks, he suggested in the top of the 2nd.

In the 5th inning, after many high knuckleballs weren't hit, and some low one's were, Flaherty amended his statement, slightly, analyzing that now Wake's knuckleballs were hittable because they were falling down into the lefthanded hitters' zone, and they had no lateral movement. Ahh. How scientific.

Many philosophers think booing doesn't state a belief so much as express emotion. Yankee fans, no scientists they, expressed their displeasure, much to my satisfaction, booing A-Rod after he grounded into a double play with the bases loaded to end the 7th inning, keeping the Yankees down 7-3, and just moments after they had given a standing ovation, anticipating a heroic moment. But this theory was proven wrong. Clinging to their belief in A-Rod's talent, they were disappointed. Yankees play by play jerk Michael Kay said something to the effect of 'it looked like the crowd had the electricity pulled out of it', and that they were 'stunned' and filled with 'incredulity.'

Incredulity- disbelief-, the not-so-scientific response to reality contradicting expectation, theory, and prediction. I don't suppose scientists boo the petri dish when their cells don't culture. Though maybe they should. Or perhaps they could reinterpret the recalcitrant evidence; 'it's not the wrong enzyme, it just doesn't catalyze in the clutch.'

Man, A-Rod played such a shitty game. That's awesome. A K looking in the 1st, an inning ending double play in the 3rd, as the tying run in the 5th with 2 runners on- a fly out, as the tying run in the 7th with the bases loaded- an inning ending double play, and a K swinging to end the game. That's an 0-5, with 0 bases gained and 7 outs made. And he also committed an error. He was booed mercilessly in the 7th, 8th, and 9th. During the broadcast, Kay said that in the 8th and 9th innings in 2008, A-Rod has 2 RBI, contrasted with 31 in '07. ESPN said A-Rod is 0-7 this year with the bases loaded and 2 outs. David Ortiz, naturally, had 2 walks and 2 doubles. Ortizism is empirically sound; Rodriguezism is bunk.

Meanwhile, Michael Kay was looking forward to Wednesdays' starter Sidney Ponson coming to believe that his was a big game, a necessary game, a season saving game, and that he should prepare accordingly. Al Leiter strongly disagreed, and said that that kind of stuff doesn't enter the players' mind; a player can't have such different beliefs and attitudes about a big game than a regular one. Instead, he's got to keep it out of his head, clear his mind of beliefs about his place in the game, the season, the context. Kay challenged Leiter, in disbelief, asking that when Leiter started Game 7 of the 1997 World Series, he really wasn't believing it was such a huge deal? When Leiter said 'no', he had to stay in the zone, or some such, Kay responded, disappointed and a little afraid, that it sounded "robotic." Kay's theory of humans as nervous meaning-sensitive clutch warriors remained unaffected.

The inning ended. And after the commercial break, Kay returned to the subject with one of the greatest not great lines I've ever heard. He said to Al Leiter, "Al, it's not that I don't believe you. I'm just incredulous."

I can't say I know what Popper would say about that.

For Those Of You Scoring At Home

2008-08-25T03:11:00.011-04:00

So it turns out the game is less pixely sitting 5 rows behind the first base dugout than at a desktop computer via windows media player. Who knew? The shock was only slightly less, I imagine, than when my Dad went to his first game, and saw what had hitherto been a black and white field look green.

But on an grad student's salary, this was 5 rows behind the dugout of the Brooklyn Cyclones, the Mets' single A farm team. On Saturday, the Cyclones, who play with the eponymous roller coaster at Coney Island visible over the left field fence, were taking on your very own Lowell Spinners.

The bush leagues do not rely on baseball to fill the seats, and the Cyclones absorb the amusement park atmosphere; no moment between innings is not imbued with a carnival attraction- a ketchup and mustard race, multiple mascots dancing, t-shirt guns, a "wacky" mc introducing costumed weirdos, video clips and blaring obnoxious music, and even a cracker jack vendor who donned a sequined tuxedo and rode a unicycle on the dugout while juggling bowling pins.

And in between they manage to squeeze in a baseball game.

My girlfriend Rebecca has been a fantastic sport for learning about The Game from me. When I met her, she wasn't sure what direction the batter ran; these days, it's 'Ellsbury hasn't been hitting well lately'. (I count my stars, as they say.) But she's been going to the Cyclones for years, as her parents are avid fans. Rebecca's favorite thing about the Cyclones? The ketchup and mustard race. Of course.

But not this day; I was determined to further wisdomize her by teaching her to score the game. As someone who studies the boundaries of knowledge in his not-spare time, I think I know about limits, so I didn't try to get her started on keeping score until the 6th inning. But first, naturally, I explained the virtues of scoring- "what you have is a semi-graphic and symbolic representation of the ballgame, which allows for it's reconstruction after the fact. See, each plate appearance is a discrete event, an individual, but also an inseparable part of the larger whole that is the baseball game. The numerical symbolism allows for the tracking of individual plays, and the graphic layout of the lineup by inning and the diamond within each square allows the gestalt qualities to be read off at a glance. Basically, the synthesis of distinct part and seamless whole in one cognized perception yields the pleasing aesthetic of keeping score." Yup, I make things fun.

So out came the pen, and I got the ball rolling, but Rebecca quickly insisted that she get to do it, and from there the scorecard is legible. Which is nice.

She immediately took to it, but that there wasn't a baserunner for the first 2 2/3 innings she scored helped out. Brooklyn even took a 1-0 lead into the 9th inning, only allowing Lowell 2 hits thus far. But the Brooklyn pitcher walked the first Lowell hitter in the top of the 9th, and the next batter bunted him over to second. After a ground out to third, Lowell was down to its last out, with the tying run remaining at second. The next hitter, Mitch Dening, Lowell's whisker thin number 3 hitter, grounded to the left side. The Brooklyn third baseman dove to his left, and deflected the now trickling ball to shortstop. With no chance to the make the play, it should have been first and third, two down. But the shortstop forced the throw, and the ball got a lot closer to us in our 1st base dugout-adjacent seats than perhaps he would have liked; infield hit, E6, tie ball game, go-ahead run on second. The crowd, up to this point sated by t shirts and jugglers, groaned in collective scorn for the headstrong actions of the young shortstop.

Meanwhile, Rebecca has gone from enjoying the placid, pastoral pursuit of keeping score at a ballgame to frantically trying to render the transpirings semi-graphically and symbolically. Meanwhile, the cleanup hitter Luis Sumoza was intentionally walked- that's 'I' BB, Rebecca, 'I' BB!

So here we are, tied 1-1 on an unearned run, first and second for Lowell, two outs. The 5th place hitter then bounces to third, and the third baseman, opting for the force out at second, flips an easy chest high toss in plenty of time for the out. But the second baseman missed the ball!, and it rolls into shallow right field. One run scores, it's 2-1 Lowell, Sumoza rounds third, the second baseman recovers the ball, Sumoza is trying to score all the way from first, here's the throw to the plate, he's out! The inning's over, but Lowell scores 2 on 1 infield hit and 2 errors, two walks, one intentional, and a sacrifice. What an exciting inning! "I hate scoring!" wails Rebecca, "I don't want to do it anymore!" But it's just an FC 5-4, E4, with the previous batter out at the plate 5-4-2, and the one before him scoring on the E4, no RBI. What's so complicated about that?

Brooklyn went quietly in the 9th, yielding a clean and simple scorecard on their side of the program. That was a relief. It was such an easy inning I figured Rebecca was ready to relive her anxiety, so I reconstructed the wacky events of that bush league 9th inning, according to her scorecard. It's the only way to learn.

P.S. I now owe Rebecca many dinners. And flowers. And whatever else men have to buy on sitcoms when they've been too stereotypically male at their ladies.

Oniontalogical Argument

2008-08-22T01:01:00.007-04:00

In philosophy land, beliefs have to be earned- beliefs have to survive criticism and meet challenges before you get to have them. That's how I look at it, anyway.

I don't think sports fandom should be any different. (I often tell people that even had I grown up in New York, I would have seen the light and been a Sox fan anyway.) The test for deserving to stay a sports fan? This Onion satire from January. If your dignity survives intact, you've earned the right to keep rooting.

And in honor of Friday's starting pitcher, another old Onion piece.

Ah, off-days.

Grammatical Denigration of the Week

2008-08-19T18:23:00.008-04:00

I have long been distressed that my favorite novelist, Kurt Vonnegut, called semicolons "transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing." Others have suggested that real men don't use semicolons.

And according to today's Globe, semicolon use is way down. How is all this relevant to Soxlosophy? Good question. I use semicolons all the time; in my last post, I used 5 semicolons; in the previous post, 3. Right there, in that last sentence, 2 friggin semicolons; only a real man would be ballsy enough to do that!

Listen:

Periods imply abrupt stops, discontinuity; semicolons introduce distinctions yet maintain continuity. Commas separate mere words; semicolons ideas. Sometimes thoughts need to be modified by entire thoughts; thoughts are amplified, not diminished, by such qualification. Independent clauses don't require each other, it's true, but then how they are to be related is left unsaid; distinct ideas can holistically combine via the alchemical link of the semicolon.

The semicolon is suited to baseball. Baseball isn't just one damn thing after another. This. Then that. And then this. The period is such a Humean punctuation mark, severing the connection between clauses. It's also mechanistic, lifeless. And commas are just for breathing, required for life, yes, but of itself a lowest form of living; the vegetable state of punctuation. But the semicolon is the punctuation mark of the robust, meaningful life; anywhere there's narrative structure, nuance and modification, individual thoughts organically integrated into a larger whole, a semicolon is appropriate. It's the punctuation for the story of baseball; it should be in the scorecard. DP 6-4-3; didn't hustle. Sox humiliate New York; Yankees suck. And with apologies to Mr. Updike, he should have said "the other players, and even the umpires on the field, begged him to come out and acknowledge us in some way, but he never had and did not now; Gods do not answer letters."

I imagine that if Gods did answer letters, they'd use a lot of exclamation marks; Gods bark orders. But for those of us who do nuance, not imperatives, we have a plucky little overlooked Dustin Pedroia-esque punctuation mark to help out.

Hitting From the Bottom of the Deck

2008-08-19T00:05:00.010-04:00

When the skills decline, what's a player to do? Cheat, of course. Varitek continues to get beat on fastballs fair and square, so what other recourse does he have?

Tek, in the 2nd inning of Monday night's 6-3 Sox victory over Baltimore, pulled a 94 mph fastball for a homer to right field, just his third in 64 games. And then in the 7th, he pulled a grounder down the first base line on a 92 mph fastball.

How does such a slow bat get around so early on fastballs? What's the ace up his sleeve? Simple. A 2-0 count in both cases. A hitter's count. A fastball count. A count where Varitek can cheat.

I've noticed this for a few weeks now; Varitek is cheating in fastball counts, looking fastball, and starting his swing early, so he can get around on the predictable pitch. This is a last ditch effort to survive, using brains over that other quality, the one that fades earlier than brains.

Of course, cheating risks getting pinched; it's the price for living dangerously. And if Tek gets an offspeed or breaking pitch in a fastball count, he's apt to get caught redhanded. In the 8th, against stupidly named Rocky Cherry, Tek was ahead in the count 2-1. A count where one is to be selective, waiting for that perfect pitch, and only then making a move. But Tek tipped his hand; gearing up for a fastball, Tek starting his swing early, and had no choice but to chase a slider down and out of the zone. And then guessing fastball again on 2-2, he chased another slider down and out of the zone, for the whiff. In the 9th, Tek had another 2-1 count, and this time was well ahead of a changeup, fouling it off, only to then take a belt high fastball for a called third strike.

Tek was caught cheating on the basepaths last week, too. On Thursday, he tried to get an early start on a stolen base, and left before the pitcher delivered. The pitcher stepped off the rubber, and caught Tek in a rundown, the result of which was not in doubt.

Of course, I can't help concluding that all this cheating business relates to mortality; wishing to stave off infirmity, Tek is looking to cheat death any way he can, to get whatever edge he can muster before old age catches him in a run down. But of course death catches everyone in a pickle of inevitability; it's just a question of staying in it long enough for the other runners to advance.

Anywho, in cheerier news, Bay slammed two dongs, and Lester continued to be the my-subjective-ace, defined as the guy who prompts me to say to myself 'phew, he's pitching tonight.'

Yeah, I say 'phew'. Even to myself. And in private moments, no less.

Lookout! Archetypes Everywhere!

2008-08-18T00:49:00.010-04:00

Paul Byrd is 37 years old. Manny Ramirez, 36. Brian Giles, 37. Three ballplayers, each in the, ahem, autumn of his career, and during this year's trading season, three different archetypal responses to the inevitable.

Giles, on a last-place ballclub, vetoed a trade to the pennant contending Sox, citing his wish to remain near to his family in temperate San Diego. Giles' is the bourgeois response; seeking not to improve but to maintain, content with mediocrity, domesticity, and a steady paycheck as an everyday player.

Manny, it has become increasingly clear, is exclusively focused on maximizing his earnings. His is the capitalist denial of death response; just because we end doesn't mean profits have to, get whatever you can while you can because you can. So even though you can't take it with you, accumulation gets you a bigger tombstone.

And then there's Byrd. Remy, talking on Thursday about Byrd's excitement at being dealt to a winner, noted that though winning is always important for a ballplayer, first establishing oneself as a deserving big leaguer, and then getting a long-term contract, are priorities in the early years of a career. But when a player reaches a certain age, Remy waxed, and "those years pile up, and there aren't many left for you," the "more important winning becomes". This is the religious response; in old age, as the years draw to a close, Byrd eschews further personal gain, and discovers meaning and completion in a collective seeking something larger than themselves.

Remy quickly transitioned to discussing underage female Chinese gymnasts.

The cycle of life continues.

Logical Fallacy of the Week: Sox Sweep Texas

2008-08-15T00:48:00.005-04:00

How can the Sox whooping Texas be a logical fallacy, you ask? (You do ask.)

Suppose someone props up a straw man, stabs and burns it, and declares victory in battle. If this ersatz man is an idea that nobody actually believes, you have what's called a "straw man" argument. So if someone argues "I hate them thar moneyball teams, always sayin' weez shud never bunt and never steel and never swing and allways walk. Well, I seen a guy take three right over the plate, just lookin' for the walk, but he struck out, and theyze lost, so airgo moneyball duzn’t work."

That’s a "straw man" argument. It’s not a good argument, of course.

And Texas is not a good pitching team. They're last in the majors with a 5.41 ERA, and they have allowed- but allowed isn't the right word; encouraged, perhaps?- 62 runs over their last six games.

In the last three games, the Sox slapped around Rangers "pitching" for 37 runs, 42 hits- 20 of which were for extra bases- and worked 19 walks.

That’s a straw man rotation if you ask me (you do ask), a fake pitching staff I tell you, existing simply for the purpose of having the shit beat out of them. That's not really a staff that anyone believes in, but a misconception of a general manager.

Sure, like any straw man, it might be decent practice for the real thing, sparring with one's logic muscle and all, and it goes without saying it's fun to beat stuff up, straw or not. (And a win's a win, as the poets say.)

But Roy Halladay is next up. The Sox will need to rub up the bats with extra sticky validity for this one.

Texas is a AAA Battery; Sox' Energy Outlasts Rangers, 8-4

2008-08-14T00:24:00.009-04:00

With the Sox up 8-0 in the 8th inning a day after giving up 17 runs, Orsillo cited "the old adage" that 'momentum is only as good as the next day's starting pitcher', suggesting, in so many words, that Lester's performance corroborated it.

Lester, pitching brilliantly through 7, had stopped the velocity, the forward motion of the Texas lineup. But I think I recall that momentum is mass times velocity. And the Texas' heavy hitters were still massive. And mass, among other things, is involved with (in some way I don't remember) potential energy. The Texas momentum, in an ill defined sense, was still there, latent, dormant, waiting to be unleashed.

So one batter after Don's hitherto accurate pronouncement, Kinsler rocketed a dong over the monster on a 3-2 fastball, making it 8-1, and then Young shot a liner to right on a cutter down and in. After Ellison's high chopper back to the mound yielded an Ellsbury single, Francona went to the ultimate momentum stopper, the immovable force, Mike Timlin (and his 5.23 ERA.)

Even Timlin's two championship rings didn't save him from boos after Bradley's 3 run blast and then Byrd's double employed some of the previous days' inexhaustible supply of latent momentum. Potential energy became kinetic, and the crowd became frantic, anxious, fearing the hidden potent forces that animate the universe might manifest, vengefully and angrily. And Timlin seemed as good a lightning rod as any.

(By the way, Benjamin Franklin was awesome.)

But Youkilis was a badass again, and the Sox offense generated its own force, and picked up another game in the WC race- now up 6- on the suddenly impotent Yankees.

Non-Random Run Distribution; All 19 Are Meaningful

2008-08-13T02:50:00.010-04:00

In the narrative of the season, I can't tell if this one was a stark juxtaposition, an ironic reversal, a clever commentary, or a bizarre non-sequitur.

Just one day after the Sox were no-hit into the 7th against Chicago, and then brought a 2-1 lead into the 9th, the Sox and Rangers combined for 36 runs, tying an A.L. record, and 47 hits. The Sox blew leads of 10-0 (after 1) and 12-2, but came back from a 16-14 deficit in the 8th to win 19-17.

The universe is just crazy sometimes, I guess. Narratives imply authors, but the authors intent, which might help to make sense of things, is notoriously inscrutable.

I should have believed myself that it'd be one of those Hamlet typing monkey nights. My girlfriend Rebecca, empath that she is, wished that baseball had a mercy rule upon the Sox taking a 10-0 lead. I warned her that Texas has a strong offense, and it's early, plus they deserve to get their asses kicked if they do. Get them kicked, that is. But no, instead I figured it was in the bag, and I went to the local park to see Bob Dylan in concert. Well, we didn't have tickets, so we played frisbee in the dark with a Dylan soundtrack.

Goddam hippies.

But then it turned out the game was all crazy, teaching me another lesson about unpredictability and chaos, a lesson I continue not to learn, relying, as I do, on coherent narrative structures. The temptingly familiar emotional categories of the game- humiliation at losing the lead, determination and refusal to quit, obscure the sheer oddity and randomness of the events; determination involves control, randomness is at the behest of the cosmos. In a pitcher's duel, every pitch has meaning, each sequence hand-crafted and unique, implying intent and design. In the slugfest, hits are mass-produced, aggregate copies, and individual events become mere statistics, without obvious meaning. Baseball becomes pinball, a violent, jarring series of projectiles.

Or maybe I just identify with pitchers, and cringe when they can't get anybody out.

Also, Youkilis is a badass.

Wishing Upon a Star Pitcher; Sox Really Win 5-1

2008-08-12T02:00:00.011-04:00

One of the White Sox announcers- since they're so obnoxious I won't do them the honor of distinguishing them- said, after the Red Sox broke the game open in the 9th, that this game had "turned into one of those nights you wish hadn't happened."

That's false, of course, if the second person pronoun is referring to me. But I wasn't about to let this instance of moral relativism or grammatical ambiguity vanquish the joy of this aesthetically pleasing victory.

Monday's finale of the 4 game series with Chicago had a purity, a good ol' solid baseball game-ness to it. One pitcher- Danks- took a no-hitter into the 7th, expertly moving his fastball in and out, working his slider in on righties, and keeping the changeup away. The other- Beckett- dotted fastballs around the corners of the strike zone without filling in the area, striking out 8 in 8 innings, walking none, and allowing just one extra base hit (a double.) Lest such a game be too picturesque, butts played a key role; Ellsbury's getting hit by a pitch on the butt broke up a perfect game in the top of the 6th, and Crisp fell on his whilst snagging a potential RBI double to end the bottom-pun is there, whether intended or not is immaterial- of the 6th, holding the Sox deficit at just 1-0.

Close, well pitched games tend to turn on a single sequence; after a cutter down and away that Drew missed, the next pitch was a fastball in the same spot, and Drew shot it into the gap in leftcenter for a 2 run double, putting the Sox up 2-1 in the 7th. There's often a point in aesthetically pleasing games where the competitive element creeps back in and this was it; the appreciation of an opponents' game, even while we're losing, is broken by the 'fuck yeah' of a 2 run go ahead double. This tends not to happen in art museums, and is just another reason why baseball is better than everything. Take that, art.

Part of baseball's betterness involves the contingency and luck, the element of absent design that must be admitted on pain of reality. Up 2-1 in the 8th, Cabrera's liner couldn't have been closer to the left field foul line, just missing a lead off double which would have put the tying run into scoring position. Instead, he flew out to left. The kind of thing that one- one- might wish never happened. But one- me- doesn't.

And Jed Lowrie continued to show why the concept of Lugo should no longer be instantiated. With 2 out in the 7th, Drew on second and Lowrie down in the count 0-2, the kid calmly took a changeup away, the pitch (and location) that Danks had masterfully used for the bulk of his K's that evening. Lowrie took another, and then another, running the count full; Lowrie was able to flip the pressure from him to the pitcher, (can pressure be flipped?) who was now responsible to make the perfect pitch, rather than Lowrie having to hit whatever he got. Danks didn't, and Lowrie earned the walk. In his next AB in the 9th, Lowrie turned on an inside fastball on a 2-0 count, driving a 2 run double to left, turning a 2-1 nail biter into a 4-1 nail filer, breaking open the game, revealing it's juicy series-splitting insides.

This had turned into one of those nights you wish hadn't happened, I guess, if you are Julio Lugo. Which you are probably not. But if you are, well, sorry.

Daily Equivocation; Giles is a Family Guy

2008-08-11T01:07:00.006-04:00

Last week, San Diego outfielder Brian Giles rejected a trade to the Sox after being claimed on waivers, citing his desire to stay near his family.

Speaking of families, the book to which I contributed a chapter- Family Guy and Philosophy, published last year- has finally added the 'see inside this book' feature on amazon dot com. So now you can see inside this book, and see my name! (you can also see it here!)

As an academic, I'm pretty sure this is the closest I'm going to get to seeing my name in lights, after all.

(Can you tell I wasn't able to watch the Sox games this weekend? No? Crap.)

Creating Nothing From Something; Chicago Pokes Holes, Plugs Sox 5-3

2008-08-09T02:53:00.010-04:00

Holes don't really exist; they're a privation, a lack, an absence, a nothing. Yet holes can be created- thereby bringing nonexistence into existence. How fun.

Orlando Cabrera pulled this metaphysical trick on Nonbeing twice in Chicago's 5-3 victory over the Sox on Friday night.

With a runner on first in the 3rd inning, Ozzie Guillen had the hit and run on on the first pitch Cabrera saw from Lester, a cutter in, and Cabrera encouraged a 6 hopper through the newly created bit of nothingness on the right side of the infield, sending the runner to third, and resulting in a sac fly to put the ChiSox up 1-0.

In the 5th, with runners on second and third and one out, Cabrera again swung at the first pitch, a two seamer in. Youkilis was playing in, and way over towards second in an attempt to put the Nonbeing Cabrera had created back in it's place- nowhere. But this time, Cabrera lined sharply to the new hole typically made nonexistent by the physical presence of the 1st baseman. And this hole, being a nonexistent thing, and as a result causally inefficacious, was unable to stop the liner from reaching the right field corner and knocking in both runners, which put Chicago up 3 to nothing.

Lester, who lost for the first time since May 25, didn't pitch badly, of course. But with holes, we're on the border of being and non-being, and it's a fine line indeed. Walking Swisher to lead off the 5th after getting ahead of him 0-2, and then a circle of Bay, Lowrie and Crisp letting a blooper fall in negative space, put one foot in the grave, and led to the Cabrera double.

Would that there been a hole in Sean Casey's bat, who as a pinch hitter up representing the tying run in the 9th, checked his swing on a 3-1 count, only to tap out weekly to a portion of space occupied by a physical object wearing a baseball mitt.

If you don't watch where your swing is going, you might fall into a... well.

Monism Cups

2008-08-09T02:38:00.005-04:00

The last time this came up, the problem was duality. Now, dualism's longtime philosophical opponent, monism, seems to be exposing itself.

Thanks again to Marc for the pic.

(And for a guy with a lot of, uh, chest, this Ziegler sure doesn't get scored on too often. Sorry. I couldn't help it.)

Numbers Tell You Everything, Except For What They Leave Out; 756*

2008-08-08T01:09:00.016-04:00

Rob Neyer brought up the 756* thing again. No game Thursday, so, why not?

Some people go around all the time thinking that numbers can't capture meaning. 'Cold' and 'calculating' are associatively and alliteratively linked, and cliched images of emotionless logical number crunching robots are so common as to be... cliches. Religions decry the scientific worldview that wishes to 'reduce' meaning and quality to 'mere' quantity. People complain about not wanting to be a statistic (before participating in a focus group.) Some people laud qualities that defy quantitation- sometimes called 'intangibles'- as if this defiance were a mark of greatness, rather than non-existence.

So for these folks, what's the big deal about 756*? Numbers never determined meaning before, why should they in this case? These people are free to see meaning, greatness, and intangibility wherever they want, without the constraints of numbers. They shouldn't need an asterisk to tell them about the meaning of a record. 762 happened, so what? They can always tell tale tales about whoever they once saw play the game.

But of course some may be more scientific in their temperament. They may suppose that greatness, for instance, is a function of the numbers, and so is entirely determined by them.

For these folks, there's two ways to go. Either greatness is a function of old fashioned tally count-em stats which aren't context (i.e. ballpark, era, league difficulty) sensitive, like homers and wins, or greatness is a function of new fangled more sophisticated metrics that do compare players to their league or across eras (VORP, win shares, OPS+).

For folks who go the second way of the second way, home runs don't figure especially prominently anyway; not all home runs are created equal, after all, for a home run by itself doesn't tell you if it was hit in whiffleball, the no-splitter-no-slider-no-ethnicity 1920's, or in 1968.

It remains, then, that 756* should only be a problem for those who want the relative greatness of all those players who played at different times to be entirely determined by numbers that fail to present meaningful standards of comparison of players at different times. In short, 756* should only be a problem if you want greatness determined by the wrong numbers.

So the solution, then, is not asterisks, or divided categories- most homeruns for a player who only played against white people, most homeruns for someone with backne- but realizing why context-insensitive numbers have never been valuable for comparing different players at different times anyway, and so seeing why many records are superficial to begin with.

The only problem with the steroids, then, for this way of looking at things, is that only some people used them. But on the assumption that steroid use was widespread in this era, such that there's a relatively level playing field, even if a rampaging roider broke a count 'em record, they might not stand out in their own era, and it'll take that much more for the OPS+ to go up a tick.

Though perhaps a truism, by itself, a record is just another instance of one person getting more somethings than another person. Which records matter, and why, vary greatly, and for many different reasons. Some symbolize something beyond the sport- 715 could mean that it only took black players one generation to break an old white man's record, but that's sociological, not strictly about baseball, and most records don't have such meanings. And as far as baseball goes, few individual record breaking moments are as memorable or meaningful as moments of a team's victory or defeat; Dave Roberts vs. Barry Bonds, steroids or not? Please.

The idea that records symbolize some sort of purity, the good old days of baseball is- and always has been- a myth. Steroids happened, racism happened, crappy gloves and dirty dead balls that only went 250 feet happened; no number remains unscuffed by its times. Sure, there's a sentimental attraction in remembering what you read on baseball cards, but these numbers as indicators of reality or predictors of the future are inaccurate, and they probably never determined meaning anyway. If so, they fail as science, and they fail as religion.

Numbers are everywhere. If we like baseball numbers, I think it's the baseball, not the numbers, that really matters. The numbers are just there to help. They're not everything. Except for two numbers. 2004 and 2007. I like those.

Metaphysical Impossibility of the Week

2008-08-07T01:04:00.007-04:00

Ok, this will not be a regular Soxlosophy feature. (I hope.) But the following problem isn't quite a logical fallacy, more of a two-impenetrable-objects-can't-exist-in-the-same-place-at-the-same-time sort of thing.

See if you think that even with Pedroia having the day off, this is a particularly offense-minded lineup the Sox put out there Wednesday night, according to the KC broadcast.

That One Kid With The Mustache in Little League

2008-08-07T00:18:00.010-04:00

I think Ellsbury got mad that I called him a little leaguer in yesterday's post. How else to explain his big league swings tonight?

Jacoby's had some luck with the Jeter Leaguer flares to the opposite field over the course of his short career, and rarely squares up on the ball. But in Wednesday's second consecutive 8-2 compression of the Royals, Ellsbury hit the ball solid three times, going 3-4. So solid, even, this phase change from gassy, diluted bloopers to solid line drives skipped right over the liquid phase, in a reverse sublimation.

Of course, three-run dongs to put the game away in the 7th are sublime.

The Royals announcers either jinxed this one, or used solid science to predict the outcome (I forget which is which); they repeatedly showed a graphic detailing starter Hochevar's opponent's batting average by time through the order: Well, sure, enough, that 5th inning of a 0-0 game rolled around, and the Sox, under too much pressure contained in a small volume, exploded for 8 runs in the 5th-7th innings.

It's Some Relative

2008-08-06T00:06:00.006-04:00

If motion's all relative, you don't know if its moving, or you. In little league, someone might try to score from second base on a wild pitch or an infield ground ball; weak arms make little legs fast. But Ellsbury's fast legs make strong arms look slow, and so he plays a distinctly little league style.

But many big leaguers believe in absolute space, and so it doesn't always work; in Tuesday's victory over the Royals, Ellsbury, enamored of his speediness, was thrown out trying to score from second Jake Taylor/Willie Mays Hayes style on an infield hit to third, 5-3-2.

In other parts of the universe, though, the principle of relative motion held. In the 7th, Bay's drive bounced off Royals' centerfielder Mitch Maier's glove and sat atop the leftcenterfield fence. The earth then moved quickly under it, making the ball appear to roll along the top of the fence towards leftfielder Ross Gload, who leaped and knocked the ball back onto the yet again relatively stationary earth.

Some things aren't relative, of course. Like the Sox runners orbiting the bases 8 times, to KC's 2.

Occam's Razor- Giambi's Slump Not Due To, But Despite, Mustache

2008-08-04T15:51:00.014-04:00

I have to admit it. There was one thing about the Yankees I could not bring myself to hate, not in a million cliches.

Jason Giambi's mustache.

Even when Giambi's weak glove rode the bench, that 'stache could never take a day off. It was business all over. All the time.

But now, alas, it's gone. Giambi, in a bit of superstition, has shaved off that gruff, solid 'stache, and gone back to his plain old thong-wearing self.
As a philosopher, I have a special affection for mustaches. Here's me around two years ago, being all wisdomy, broody and mysterious-looking at a Barnes N Noble cafe, where all the world's serious thinking gets done.
Notice how in touch with the profound truths of the universe I am? Can't you tell I'm cogitating nature's most abstract secrets?

And here's me, sans 'stache, more recently, a normal, not especially philosophical regular guy, still in front of books, but now less sure he comprehends them, and mostly thinking about which dry cleaner to go to.

I didn't treat my mustache with the respect it deserved, and now it's gone. And now I have even more reason to hope Giambi's slump continues; he lost faith in the power of the mustache, and the cosmos should let him know this is no small transgression, as it did with me.

I'm sad now. I'll leave you with two great philosopher mustaches- Nietzsche and a young Bertrand Russell.

And a ballplayer.

Logical Fallacy of the Week: Summer Re-Run

2008-08-04T01:07:00.012-04:00

It's tempting to let the story drive the characters. The characters, though, tend not to think their fates are being written by an author other than themselves.

Fans like stories, and fans like repetition. Baseball is pretty much the same game everyday, played over and over again. And of course each game, each season, has it's own little narrative, it's unique story to tell, but they are often just variations on a theme.

So, as Boston Herald writer Jeff Horrigan points out, "the comparisons to 2004 were inevitable when the Red Sox finally parted ways at the nonwaivers trading deadline with a disgruntled superstar and retooled with two months remaining."

Well, we liked this story so much the first time, we bought the DVD. And now seems as good as any to watch it again, maybe with commentary and bonus features of Orlando Cabrera handshakes.

Nothing wrong with that. But the sportswriter, and many a fan, like to push and stretch, to make the story drive the events, when maybe that's not what's really going on. We do like our causality in storybook form, with pictures if possible. But whether the book of nature is in fact telling a familiar story, or the similarities are added to the margins at the expense of the text, is, well, something to wonder about.

Horrigan continues, writing "Four years ago, the jettisoning of Nomar Garciaparra in a four-team, blockbuster deal shook the Sox from the malaise of a lackluster July and jump-started them for a 42-18 finish and the eventual end of 86 years of frustration. Thursday’s three-team deal that sent Manny Ramirez to Los Angeles and brought in Jason Bay from Pittsburgh involved fewer teams and players but is beginning to have the same effect."

Horrigan's blurb is filled with causation-attributing terms: "shook", "jump-started", "effect."

Horrigan, like many of us, looks to the jumble of events, the blooming buzzing confusion of the world, and tries to see a pattern, a meanginful causal sequence that brings order and predictability to events.

But of course just because two sequences of events are similar in some ways doesn't mean they'll be similar in all ways. In short, the "argument by analogy" is not valid, and this is our logical fallacy of the week, sponsored by W.B. Mason. Who else but etc?

Imagine, for a moment, that this similarity that Horrigan reads into involved 2008 and 1904, not 2004. Would anyone suppose that just because it happened that way in 1904, it would have to happen that way in 2008? Of course not. And, among other reasons, that's because the characters in this story, the ones whose actions cause victory and defeat, aren't able to come out and play today.

Of course, not many remain from the championship squad of '04 (2004. The A.L. champs of 1904 were McGraw-blocked from winning it all.) But even if we still had Curtis Leskanic the Shirtless Mechanic and our other old favorites, the everyday stuff of causality- seeing the ball, hitting the ball, catching the ball, and, in Manny's case, lollygagging- are inevitably different; every game, every inning, every pitch, is new and unique. Just as Luddites and intellegiphobes say the players play the games, not the numbers on paper, well, the story doesn't play the game either.

Horrigan compounds the fallacy by pointing to a respect in which the two seasons are not analogous- that the trades this time around involve fewer teams and players- as if THIS, rather than a billion other things that are actually relevant, was the potentially disruptive element, the reason that 2008 might not play out the same as 2004. Oh, Theo, if only you'd have gotten more players involved with this trade! Then, surely, we'd beat the Cardinals and get George W. re-elected! If only!

(Excuse me. I just threw up a little.)

Right. As earlier, the characters in stories tend not to think of themselves as in a story, and so don't see their fates as written by authors not themselves. Naturally, Kevin Youkilis resists the storybook interpretation, and attributes the recent victories to "putting together good at-bats."

The sportstwriter sees narrative, meaningful similarities. Youkilis just sees one damn good at bat after another. We'll have to see how this one plays out.

Across the Universe; Manny Finds a Wormhole, Dodgers lose 2-1

2008-08-02T01:50:00.012-04:00

There's an old old paradox about sand. (You heard me.) Take one grain of sand, that's not a heap. Add another, that's not a heap. And so on. Adding just one grain never gets you a heap, but, presumably, eventually a bunch of sand is a heap. What seems like a simple continuum reemerges as a mysterious discontinuity.

One might think that walking, jogging, and running lie on a continuum, that there's a difference in degree, not in kind. But the sand paradox applies here too.

On Friday, Los Angeles Dodgers leftfielder Manny Ramirez proved both that there is an infinite, unbridgeable chasm between jogging, and running, and that if a man continues to put one foot in front of the other, a man can run.

In the bottom of the sixth inning, with the Dodgers up 1-0, Manny Ramirez checked his swing, rolling a slow grounder to the right side of the infield. Arizona first baseman Tony Clark ranged to his right, and flipped to Randy Johnson covering. Too late. Manny legged out an infield single. That's right. Manny Ramirez legged out an infield single.

Yes, Manny really beat it out. He tore down that line like it was the Berlin wall. Like there were bulls after him. He hustled like it was 3 card monte. He hauled ass like an interstate sex trafficker.

I've never seen Manny Ramirez run so fast. Sprinting down that line, showing a lean physique in his tailored pants, he conclusively proved that there's a universe of difference between jogging and running, a cosmic gulf, an infinite divide, an unbridgeable chasm, a you-can't-get-there-from-here abyss that can be crossed simply by trying.

Manny, in Dodger blue, showed his true colors, on the other side of the country, a universe apart. The knees were strong and chipper, they made him go. He didn't just walk, or jog, and then go one step faster, and one step faster, and then one step faster. He ran. Like a ballplayer. He legged out an infield single in a one-run game.

Now, the universe being what it is, he wasn't rewarded for his act of apparent good faith. As the potential winning run at the plate with the tying run on first, down 2-1 in the 9th with former Sox closer Brandon Lyon on the hill, Manny bounced into a 6-4-3 double play. He was thrown out by just a step.

He almost made it. There's a universe in between out and safe, and Manny tried his hardest to cross that chasm.

How about that?

Manny Existing Manny

2008-08-01T00:11:00.013-04:00

Time doesn't flow the same way for all parties concerned. Fans are fans for life. Businessmen have careers that span generations. But ballplayers can only be ballplayers for a very short period of time.

After the age of 32, every second of every day sees a ballplayer dwindle and decay, and become less and less himself. Not so for the other parties. Businessmen perhaps become more savvy in middle age. Fans become more experienced, have longer memories. They grow into their skins, develop their identities over the years.

Not ballplayers. They just get shittier and shittier until they can't be ballplayers anymore, at an age where other professions are just getting started. And then there's a whole lot of life left.

They can't all go into broadcasting; too many already do.

Some ballplayers are lucky and develop other careers, and form new identities for themselves. Others live off their name, selling white wall tires or family friendly restaurants.

But every player knows their window is short, their skills are ephemeral, and what and who they are will die long before they do.

Manny may or may not know, believe, or agree with any of this. But it's in the back of my mind anytime I feel the urge to blame a player for wanting to be paid whatever he can get for the superhero talents he knows aren't long for this world, before he turns into Clark Kent forever. And it's in the back of my mind when I try to figure out who to side with in a dispute- the rare baseball talent who we pay to see, and whose life expectancy is just about up, or the front office business men, who I don't pay to see, and who can go on being front office business men for 50 more years (in Theo's case, at least), or me, who will keep on watching the games and going about my business.

That's not to say that Manny is absolved; by all accounts, Manny was a Grade A asshole. I'm not denying that. But I don't doubt that there's at least a half-truth in one of Manny's statements, because the Front Office probably did make Nomar and Pedro and Manny all feel one particular way, and whether it was intentional or not is immaterial. I suspect they were all made to feel that they no longer were who they had always thought they were.

Nobody wants to feel replaceable. Interchangeable. Everybody wants to feel unique. I bet guys like Pedro, Nomar and Manny have spent a good part of their lives feeling unique, and deservedly so, because they have been blessed with talent that millions of people would do unspeakable things for. Who they were, why they were loved, why they were the gods of Yawkey Way, was to be found in the arm, the legs, the hands, and the subtle harmonies only they could play.

Of course, superstars age, their skills wither. But to them, from their own point of view, they're still the same unique divinity they've always been, ever since that first scout raved about their tools or wheels or gun at their 13th birthday. But that age of 32 or so rolls around, and that OPS or ERA starts to regress to the mean, and suddenly, these guys are one thing they've never been. Replaceable. They can be substituted; after their prime, the front office can find someone else to put up those same numbers they will. The person goes, the numbers stay the same. Oh right. And the salary shrinks. Profits go up.

That's fine, that's business. But I don't blame the players for wanting "respect", or "mental peace", as Manny put it, which they always say they want instead of money, though of course they want the money. But they don't even need to be shrewd in their investments with the money they already have in order to stay rich for life. No, the money is a symbol. A symbol of being desired. A symbol of being that guy that everyone wants, and pays, to see. That's respect to them- respecting them as The Man they are. The money says that they're wanted, to a quantifiable degree that much more than everyone else. What they want is to still be treated like the stars they were, not thrown out and replaced for an cheaper model. Manny will have mental peace when he's desired the way Manny Ramirez should be desired. And Manny's now getting that. The Dodgers are raving about the Hall of Fame slugger they acquired. Manny can strut into Joe Torre's locker room and Be what he's always Been: Manny.

You can call it 'ego', and it probably is. But the sense of 'self' applies as much as 'conceit'. This is all they've been, this is all they know. All that lies ahead is decay and death. Yes, for all of us too, unfortunately- you heard it here first- but the rest of us still have a narrative, and not just the epilogue that a former ballplayer has. Sure, people will always want their autograph, and they'll always eat for free in the local joints, but any player will tell you, it's not the same. They're never really themselves ever again.

Do you know what the moral of Field of Dreams is? Heaven is where you get to be yourself. (spoiler alert.) Shoeless Joe gets to be a ballplayer again. Doc Graham gets his the one major league plate appearance, the one he should have had. And then, because he really was a doctor, not a ballplayer ('Son, if I'd never gotten to be a doctor, that would have been a tragedy'), he gets to be that again too. Terrence Mann, after years of public silence, gets to be a writer again- he promises to give a full account of what it's like out in the corn field. Ray Kinsella and his estranged father get to be an American Boy and his Dad, by having a game of catch.

But that's Hollywood. Ballplayers can never again be themselves. When Manny learned that he wasn't going to get the 4 year $100 million dollar contract extension that the great Manny Ramirez deserved, he shut down. Undoubtedly, Manny's response was immature and hurtful to those that knew him, and he let his teammates down, and he disappointed fans who cheered for him and paid to see him be himself.

But nonetheless, I find it hard to be mad at Manny. I love baseball, and I know The Game and The Team are bigger than Manny, and Manny didn't do right by The Game, or The Team. I don't condone his actions, but The Game and The Team are idealizations, not real people. They don't have to stare death in the face before they reach middle age. They go on. Ideals are forever, Plato taught us.

Yes, Manny needs to 'grow up.' He should learn to leave an identity behind, and learn to face one reality that he agreed to- his contract to finish out this year- and one he didn't- that who we are must change. He's blameworthy for the first, but not the second, of course. And I can't help suspect that behind the inflammatory statements and the knees and the jogging to first and the wanting his option to be picked up when the team has no reason to do so because he's a Hall of Famer worth $20 million which everyone should recognize NOW, dammit, is the idea that the only self Manny has ever known is dissolving, and that Manny won't be being Manny for very much longer.

Varitek the Wise Pitch Caller; Fastball Fastball Fastball Fastball Fastball Fastball Fastball Fastball

2008-07-31T02:27:00.016-04:00

Ted Williams hated pitchers. Thought they were dumb. As an amateur pitcher: hey! As an everything else, he may have a point.

But somebody has to be smart out there. Crash told Nuke "Don't think, Meat, just throw." If the pitcher's the meat, the catcher's the soul, the ghost in the fleshy machine.

So we leave it to Captain Varitek to steer the ship, (to be the homunculus piloting the meat-craft?). After all, Tek is renowned for his preparation. And we all know how well he handles the pitching staff.

But in the last game before the non-waiver trading deadline, the Sox were humiliated by the Angels 9-2, who swept the Sox for the second time in 2 weeks. And Varitek put down the fingers.

Beckett breezed through 3 scoreless innings. In the 4th, Maicer Izturis lead off. Fastball, fastball, fastball, fastball, fastball, fastball for a double. Beckett then starts Teixeira with a fastball strike, drops a curve, and then gets the whiff with the fastball. Fine. But then Vlad Guerrero steps up. Fastball, fastball for an RBI single. Then Torri Hunter. Fastball, Fastball for a double, 2nd and 3rd. 1 out. Anderson steps up. Fastball. 2 run single.

John Farrell visits the mound. Kendrick to the plate. Curveball, curveball, curveball, curveball for strike 3. Then Mathews. Curveball, Fastball, fastball, and then Beckett took something off, and got Mathews to tap back to the mound.

I bet John Farrell could hit .215. But that's not his job.

After Beckett tossed a scoreless 5th, and the Sox got 2 back to cut the lead to a single run, Remy calls on Ace Beckett for a "shut-down inning" in the top of the 6th.

Beckett starts Hunter with a curve for a ball, then walks him after 3 straight fastballs. Then 3 more fastballs to Anderson, and the shot hooks around the Pesky Pole for a two run dong faster than you can say Hanley Ramirez.

When Beckett is a two-pitch pitcher, he's hittable. When he's a one-pitch pitcher, he's terrible.

But he's just the meat.

The fastball that Anderson hit for the 2 run single in the 4th was down and away, possibly even out of the strike zone. Perhaps not such a bad pitch. I believe it was at this point that Remy said "you've got to tip your hat to the hitter sometimes." Maybe so. But that particular pitch shouldn't be hittable, and a pitcher- and a catcher- do bear some responsibility for allowing it to be hit.

I have a theory of pitch complements. Basically, every pitch needs a complementary pitch that looks like it but isn't, in order to create doubt and hence delay in the hitter's mind on any given pitch. A fastball down and away, as textbook as it sounds, is worthless without a changeup (or splitter) down and away that that fastball might be, as far as the hitter is concerned.

From Anderson's point of view, he sees the pitch moving down and away. But there's no chance that that pitch is a breaking ball because breaking balls can't start that low, and because Beckett NEVER THREW A CHANGEUP, that leaves a 100% chance that that pitch is a fastball. So Anderson's neural timing mechanism yells 'swing, dummy', and he is able to get out in front and pull a Josh Beckett fastball that is down and away from him, and hook it into rightfield, which should be next to impossible.

If Beckett's been dropping changeups there all night, or at least once in a while, there is no way Anderson leans out and hooks that pitch. Instead, concern about the change either has him take that pitch, or slows him down enough that he tops over it and grounds out to second.

And whose job is it to have Beckett drop some changeups down there? Captain Varibelli, that's who. He's the brains of this operation. The guy whose great catching and pitch selection is what makes his atrocious hitting palatable. Everyone knows Manny isn't the leader. Varitek is. And he hasn't figured out how to lead the staff against the Angels, who have battered the Sox for a 6.26 ERA over these 8 straight Angels victories.

I've said it before- Josh Beckett is only as good as his changeup. In '06, there wasn't enough differential between his 95 mph heat, and his 90 mph changeup. In '07, he got the change down in the mid to high 80's, and was dominant. Now, he's abandoned the change, it seems, in favor of two seamers and an alleged cutter, in the 90-92 range. Not good enough. He needs that third speed, an offspeed pitch down in the zone to complement the low fastball, to get the hitter a) looking low, and b) waiting on a low pitch, both of which then make the high 4 seam fastball that much more difficult to reach.

I don't care if Beckett isn't "feeling" the changeup that day. Meat doesn't feel. Meat's a zombie. Meat throws. Varitek should know better.

Yankees Acquire Name and Brand of Ivan Rodriguez, for Kyle Farnssomething

2008-07-30T18:06:00.016-04:00

The Yankees today acquired a brand name 36 year old catcher for a relief pitcher, the lowest form of baseball celebrity. Baseball's extras, really, is what they are.

This brand name catcher had an road OPS of .686 last year and .671 this year (with only 7 XB hits) away from his home park , which the Yankees, in related talks, failed to acquire.

The current replaceable Yankee catcher, a man so not famous that he's easily confused with two of his brothers, only had a .581 OPS this year, but Molina- whichever one it is that catches for the Yankees- had nabbed 47.3% of attempted base stealers this year, better than the Great Famous Original Pudge's average of around 34 % over the last 2 years.

The Yanks of course extended their largesse in return for the Famous Catcher in the form of Kyle Farnssomething, who before his most recent outing had held opponents scoreless in his 11 appearances. Farnswhatever had filled up the hole in the bullpen that had been opened by the move to the starting rotation of the Very Famous And Hyped Fat Prospect.

But as the Yankees retain the option of simply playing commercials during the 8th inning, this was deemed not to be a problem.

Curses; Lackey's No-No Foiled by Magic Single

2008-07-30T00:06:00.015-04:00

It's not criminal assault to stick an effigy with a pin if voodoo magic doesn't really exist.

But it's still not nice.

Despite betraying an odd view of the cosmos, Sox broadcasters Remy and Orsillo did their best to put a hex on John Lackey's potential no-hitter, which was indeed broken up with 1 out in the 9th inning of an eventual 6-2 Angels victory, their 7th in a row over the ragdoll Red Sox.

Repetitive to the point of ritualistic intonation, Remy and Orsillo uttered the magic word 'no-hitter' before Lackey had yielded a hit, violating the sacred taboo of no-hit superstition: never utter that which is happening in front of you (typically not a problem for Joe Morgan.) NESN even showed a graphic listing the pitchers that had "no-hit" the Sox since 1763. Never daring to speak these words during Sox gems, this was no accident; they were attempting to raise the dead, to cast dark spells, to curse the fortunes of the Angels hurler.

Of course, words don't do that. It's a primitive view of language that conflates meaning and causality; a rock may vibrate slightly in response to the soundwaves emitted by vocal chords, but it will not step aside because those soundwaves encode 'open sesame.' Or, as it's sometimes put, if an opera singer sings "shatter" and the glass breaks, it's the intensity of the sound, not the meaning of the words, that does the trick.

Though this makes Remy and Orsillo's hexing all the more ridiculous, it renders it morally ambiguous. They had malicious intent, but they stuck a doll with a pin. On the one hand, this renders the assault benign. On the other hand, not only are they mean, but they're dumb. I'm not sure which is worse.

Given that I just drank unattended rum and a bat hit the back of my head, I think I've changed my mind. Maybe Jobu made that curveball not quite reach the corner. Maybe the magic words pushed Pedroia's groundball just out of Izturis' range. Maybe the Sox can actually someday beat the Angels.

[sigh]

Mannystein's Poker

2008-07-29T00:52:00.009-04:00

A poker face is intended to exploit the appearance/reality distinction. Manny Ramirez probably doesn't have much of a poker face.

His two run single in the 4th off Jered Weaver produced a bemused, even condescending grin. After Weaver's cartoonish limb-flailing sideways delivery ejected a fastball, Manny simply swatted it away, sending it back up the middle for the two RBIs, and sending Weaver's assorted limbs after it.

The sequence had a bit of the 3 Stooges to it: Weaver's windup, all appearance and bluster, was an exaggerated windmilling set-up for a why-I-oughta-roundhouse right, only to be met by Manny's short, quick jab to the face. Manny's bat provided the reality principle yet again.

But K-Rod's huge, violent windup is the real deal. When Manny hit a towering bomb with 2 outs in the 9th to cut the Angels lead to 7-5, he began to lift his arms over his head, in his trademark 'there is exactly no shit left in that ball' pose. Manny then thought better of it, and lowered his arms, but his bad poker face left no doubt of his hand. This was only the appearance of victory, not reality. One out later, the Sox had dropped their 6th straight to the Angels.

Logical Fallacy of the Week; Manny vs. Tito

2008-07-28T01:20:00.013-04:00

[Editors Note: 'Logical Fallacy of the Week' is the segment where I'm a real dick about language.]

Manny says stuff, Francona says stuff. And in this most recent episode, it turns out Manny was logical and well-spoken, whereas Francona packed fallacies and mal mots like they were his last chaw.

Let's start with Tito. "We've run into bumps in the road ever since I've been here and there have been some before I've been here." I know this is an expression, but doesn't one run onto bumps in the road? One falls into holes, runs into friends or brick walls, but onto bumps. Moving on.

Tito continues: "The result of two of the times has been a World Series ring."

But just because the Sox won the World Series after Manny's - or anyone's- bumpiness, that of course doesn't mean that they won because of or as a result of those bumps. This is our fallacy, known as 'post hoc ergo propter hoc', or 'after this, therefore because of this.'

It's like with Jeter. Just because Jeter couldn't field a routine grounder to his left after I said he couldn't doesn't mean that the result of my saying that was Jeter's not having any range. My yelling doesn't cause Jeter's shitty fielding, and Manny's bumpiness didn't cause the World Series victories.

But maybe I'm picking on the word 'result', and Francona only meant- but didn't say (despite talking at the time)- that the Sox have weathered the storm, and have won the Series despite Manny's bumpiness.

Maybe so. Nonetheless, there are two strikes against Francona on this one because what we need most in this media maelstrom is some clear thinking about causality, and muddled thinking and talking on the subject only exacerbates the problem.

For instance, there's all this talk about Manny being a distraction. Presumably, this is bad because this distraction will somehow result in more losses for the Sox. But does Manny's behavior actually affect the team? Is there any evidence for his whatsoever? Does Youkilis stand up there, stroking his bat, thinking:

"Look for the fastball up. He's gotta come with the cheese. Relax. Relax. Quick bat. Pop the clubhead. Open the hips. Relax. You're thinking too much. Get outta your fuckin' head, Crash [Youkilis calls himself Crash.]... Throw that shit again, meat. Throw that weak ass shit. Now he's gotta try to slip the cheese by me. One and one. You're on top. Now bring me the gas --This son of a bitch throws hard... Manny, Manny, Manny. Who is this Manny? Jesus, get outta the box you idiot, where's your head? Get the leftfielder outta your head."

I hope not. Manny causes beat writers to write lousy articles. But that's about it.

Secondly, the rest of Francona's quote was jibberish, which disturbs me. Tito then spake: "As a team, sometimes you fight through things, sometimes you work through things. It's not always perfect, but how you get to the end is what counts and that's what we're trying to do."

Huh? How you get to the end is what counts? It's not whether you win or lose, but how? Really? How much do they pay Tito? And what's the 'that' in 'that's what we're tying to do'? Is it ''How you get to the end'? That doesn't make sense. 'Get to the end'? If so, is he not contradicting the noise he made 1 second earlier by suggesting it's the end, not the how, that counts?

Contrast Manny. "If the Red Sox are a better team without Manny Ramirez, they should trade me."

Absolutely. Only Tampa Bay Yankee fans would disagree with this.

Manny continued "Enough is enough." That's definitely true. A necessary, tautological truth, even.

Manny said: "I could choose a team that offers me the best conditions or one in the chase for the postseason." Manny clearly lays out his options in the form of an exclusive disjunction.

He even said: "I don't care where I play, I can even play in Iraq if need be. My job is to play baseball," and "I don't want to be a problem and a distraction to the Red Sox in such a critical moment of the season. I want to help the team, even if that means I have to go."

Here, Manny selflessly offers his services to wherever Duty takes him, and nobly understands that his true Love for the Sox means that even if they're better off without him, then that's something he must accept.

Also, Francona said this in response to questions about Manny's possible bad mood: "I'm not sure that matters. I'd take a guy that's hitting .500 that's miserable as opposed to a guy that hands out bouquets to his teammates and is hitting a buck 45."

Really? I could have sworn Francona didn't pinch hit Casey for Varitek...

On Our Rug, In Our Universe; Yanks Win 10-3

2008-07-26T20:46:00.010-04:00

Some people use the word 'philosophical' to mean 'stoic', and 'stoic' to mean 'able to withstand an asskicking'.

And though transitivity implies that I'm getting a degree in being able to withstand an asskicking, which I surely am not (since I can't), I'll temporarily accept the appellation 'philosophical' in regards to how to take today's 10-3 drubbing at the hands of the resurgent M F-ing Yankees (who since the break have won 8 straight, and have posted an .858 team OPS and a team ERA of 1.56.)

Today's game was a real gutshot. Shots like these do have to be suffered. And if you can make it through with your dignity intact, and without vomiting, you earn the glory you achieve later. Champions- teams and their fans- have to be able to take a punch too. (But we know that.)

The long view cosmic scheme of things stoicism is justifiable; The Sox are the defending champs, Ortiz is back, we (yes, we) have the best run differential in the American League at +88, 46 ahead of Tampa and 30 better than the Yanks. This is something to bite down on, you know, to be philosophical.

But this was also the kind of game that makes me check the movie listings and resort to posting homoawkward pictures that have probably circulated the interweb twice over by now.

(photo by Stuart Cahill)

You heard it here third. Lester's the stopper tomorrow.

Red Sox (Indig)nation; Umpire K's Lowell

2008-07-26T03:36:00.012-04:00

I hate losing. And I hate the Yankees. And I really hate losing to the Yankees. And yes, the crappy whole is greater than the crappy parts.

I also hate injustice. And I know there are starving people in lands of plenty, and crooks get away with it, but blown strike calls are injustice too. They pervert truth and put a penny on the tracks of destiny.

With one out and the tying run on first in the bottom of the 9th in a 1-0 game and Mike Lowell at the plate, Mariano Rivera and human umpire Marty Foster teamed up to punch out Lowell.

Admittedly, the level-headed-give-peace-a-chance-let-science-have-its-say part of me wasn't a thousand percent sure of this salt-in-the-eye-Mr.-Fuji-tag-team-machination until after the game, because the so called 'My 9' television station in New York- a station, I assure you, of which I own none and which I have no right to prevent others from using- didn't see fit to replay the pitch from any angle other than the crooked one from which they first showed it.

But according to MLB Gameday, it looked like this

See that, pitch number 8? You know, the one that's belt high, oh, 3 or 4 inches off the plate inside? You know, the one that made temperate-tempered Mike Lowell jump up and down and then look like this?

Yeah, they called that strike 3. Lowell, up to that point, had a righteous AB, fouling off tough cutters away. Al Leiter and David Cone astutely pointed out Lowell's ability to turn on the inside pitch, and Rivera pitched him away. That Lowell would get punched out on his strength- the inside fastball- was particularly unjust, and egregious. He was cheated, the natural conclusion of his at-bat interrupted. He was made to look weak precisely where he is strong. That's not justice.

Neither was this.

I'm still bitter. Indignation doesn't expire.

Yankees Suck; Metaphysics, not Physics or Subjectivity

2008-07-24T14:41:00.007-04:00

Everyone knows the Yankees Suck. Some people think saying it is rude, or stupid, or old hat. But it's true.

Today, another boring article claiming that people shouldn't state what they know to be true oozed from the Globe, and great reaction here and here.

What I enjoy most about the fact that the Yankees Suck is that it is a metaphysical fact, and not a physical fact. You see, as a philosopher, I worry that there are few distinctly philosophical facts that go over and above scientific or physical facts. And this- the Yankees Sucking- is one of them.

That is, obviously the Yankees don't suck in the physical sense; they're good at baseball. (Usually.) No, they suck in the metaphysical sense.

They really do, but we have to be careful about the reduction-to-taste interpretation. For example, in a blog linked to above, Red Sox Chick wrote "'Yankees Suck' is shortened version of 'Good God I hate the Yankees and their obnoxious fans and big-mouthed owner' or some other similar phrase."

But I don't like this interpretation because it changes a statement about the Yankees to a statement about a Sox fan. And that changes everything.

To say beauty is in the eye of the beholder is to remove the beauty from the object, and put it in the subject. When philosophers want to deny that there are moral facts or moral truths in the universe, they attempt to reduce statements like 'torture is wrong'- putatively about a state of affairs in the world- to 'I disapprove of torture' or 'boo torture!', which now only express sentiments of the person making the statement, and leave the rest of the universe alone.

The real problem with this is that it makes feelings arbitrary; if the painting isn't actually beautiful, then the perception of it as beautiful can't be entirely due to the properties of the painting. If torture isn't actually wrong, that you feel it to be wrong comes from you, and not from it, and perhaps it's only because of your faulty wiring or arbitrary upbringing that you feel the way you do.

And as a result, those feelings can't be true. If the wrongness isn't in the torture, then it's not true that torture is wrong, though it may be true that you don't like torture. Instead, the only way to guarantee the truth of the perception of beauty or wrongness is to have that property reside in the object of that perception or feeling.

So I don't prefer to think that the Yankees have only a bunch of physical properties pertaining to their baseball-playing abilities, and I generate, on my own, feelings of antipathy that another observer, observing the same physical properties, wouldn't have if he were from New York or were himself sucky. No, I prefer to think of the Yankees actually sucking, as a metaphysical truth about them, not merely as an expression of my own arbitrary tastes and dispositions

The Yankees actually have the property of suckiness, and if you do hate the Yankees, you have that feeling in addition to the suckiness the Yankees actually have.

The Yankees Suck, in a metaphysical sense, and there are philosophical facts distinct from physical scientific facts.

Hooray!

Duality Cups

2008-07-24T00:08:00.003-04:00

Philosophy. Wisdom. Thought. So high-brow.

But high-brow couldn't exist without low-brow to contrast with. It takes two to have a duality, after all.

Hence, the following picture, and comment, from my friend Marc (a fellow philosophy major):

um...what is wrong with this picture? does he have...? are those...? nah...

King Hippo They Ain't; Sox Drop M's, 4-2

2008-07-23T02:31:00.012-04:00

The Mariners' only weakness is their lack of talent. The Sox' weakness is that they aren't perfect.

This was not a game played between equals; while the Mariners struggled to keep up, the Sox sparred.

Though the cliches are true- the games aren't played on paper, these are the teams you're supposed to beat- and there is always joy in any victory, imperfections were visible, the kind that are noticed when victory goes without saying, and a team is really playing against it's idealized self.

Dice-K lamented not going 9- "If I couldn't throw a complete game today I don't know when I'm going to do it." The Sox wore down M's starter R.A. Dickey without even a single strikeout, but left 10 men on base. Papelbon notched the save, but failed to record a strikeout.

These imperfections were hidden by the dim light of the last-place Mariners, but they might appear under the bright lights of the postseason. The '08 Sox aren't yet ready for the big stage; a training montage might still be necessary.

Dice-K has shown better command of the breaking stuff, which is most effective when it catches plenty of the plate and falls off the table, rather than starting on the corners and leaving familiar territory.

But Seattle is last in the league in runs scored and OBP, and 12th in walks. If Dice-K couldn't keep a low pitch count today, I don't know when he could. And even when successful, Dice-K is never entirely in control; a Seattle broadcaster appropriately described him as "effectively wild," as he walked 3 in 7 1/3 shutout innings; his control was intermittent. At times his fastball was spotted at the knees, in the classical style, other times he'd decapitate a righty if only a lefty wasn't up.

Papelbon's jabs are true, but his haymakers haven't made hay lately; though saving consecutive games, he hasn't recorded a strikeout in either. He of the 12.96 K/9 IP in '07 hasn't had a multi-strikeout game in 10 outings, dating back to June 24 in Arizona. As Rob Bradford pointed out a few days ago, Papelbon's getting fewer swings and misses, and far more ground balls this year. That characteristic explosive escalation on his fastball has stalled, and hitters are not just making contact but are even getting on top of the ball.

Championship teams, even in victory, can ill-afford to overlook their imperfections. There are always hungry contenders out there, looking to knock the champs' block off while the champ wrestles Thunderlips for charity and comic relief.

Lester Returns Home, Claims Territory, Inhabitants

2008-07-22T02:52:00.017-04:00

Jon Lester crowds righthanded hitters. He gets all up in their grills, or their kitchens, or wherever they prepare foodstuffs.

His cutter is relentless, and territorial. Lester lays claim not just to the inside part of the plate, but inside off the plate, even spilling into the righthanders' batters' box. There's nowhere to go. Lester's cutter invades hitters' personal space.

Just watching him makes my studio apartment feel smaller. Lester's a close talker, and he's saying 'broken bat.'

Personal space is about boundaries, and exclusion. If matter is impenetrable, two things can't exist in the same place and time. But Lester's cutter gets in there. And something's got to give. Those maple bats sure look penetrable.

In going 7 1/3 scoreless, Lester was dominant, and efficient. Only 3 three-ball counts, and no walks. A hitter's count implies possession, but tonight hitters had no title, no claim, no land, no property. The batters box provided no sanctuary. Lester owned, moved in, and planted his flag in the righthanders' batter's box.

Lester won his 8th, lowering his ERA to 3.20, good for 7th in the league. The Sox looked at home against a second-division Mariners club, shutting them out 4-0. The Sox' struggles on the road this year are well known. Regaining their imperialistic tendencies- claiming soil foreign to Fenway and annexing exotic batters' boxes- would go a long way towards capturing glory and treasure.

Small Ball Doesn't Work; Sox Swept in Anaheim, 5-3

2008-07-21T00:46:00.014-04:00

Losing to the Angels is like losing to a guy who spins his foosball players; you concede they hit the ball, and that they scored more, but you're just not sure how much credit they should get.

Much is made of the Angels' aggressive small ball style, but I don't like it. They swing at everything, and so I don't know that it isn't random when they do hit the ball. They look to me like a team with a lower on-base percentage than batting average.

The Sox are disciplined; patience, which suggests passivity, isn't the right word. The Angels, though talented, are wild and uncontrolled. They are Nuke LaLoosh to the Sox's Crash.

It's obvious that the organizations have different values. The Angels have only 1 player with an OBP above .350 (Chone Figgins at .379), and only 3 qualifiers above .310. Egregiously, they have 7 players with at least 90 AB's below .315 in OBP, including qualifiers Mathews Jr and Anderson, and Jeff Mathis way down at .288.

Compare the Sox, with 8 players above .350 in OBP, including Casey (129 AB's) at.418, and qualifiers Drew .410, Ramirez .396, and Youkilis .382. The Sox have just 3 players with at least 90 AB's below .315 in OBP, and two are catchers.

National media types are inclined to call the Sox a "moneyball team", and Beane is famously cited as saying his shit doesn't work in the playoffs. But the Sox have trounced the Angels, 6 games to 0, over the last two A.L. Division Series (in '04 and '07. You should know this.) It's the Angels' shit that doesn't work in the postseason, because they are the far inferior offensive team- the Sox have outscored the Angels by 74 runs this season- and they're only even in pitching (with the Sox staff ERA at 3.84, the starters 3.77, and the Angels staff at 3.81, the starters 3.74)

The Angels win with pitching, not with small ball. And perhaps with Luck; the Angels' run differential is a mere +33, to the Sox' +87.

The philosopher Dan Dennett talks of "elbow room" for free will in a deterministic universe. Maybe, just maybe, says the ghost of Joe Morgan past, small ball creates some "elbow room" in the deterministic universe of wins as a function of random run distribution (i.e. the expected record based on +/-.)

Maybe. But a team with such a low OBP playing to the score only works with great pitching, and those goddam foosball spinners are f'ing lucky and should learn to play the real way.

Free to Exist You and Me

2008-07-18T12:23:00.008-04:00

"David Ortiz can’t just be. He has to be David Ortiz," suggests the Herald's Rob Bradford. I am slightly amused that we sort of know what he means, despite it appearing that he is contrasting David Ortiz with existence, which doesn't really make sense.

It's a bit Platonic, Bradford's statement, encoding, as it does, the difference between mere existence and a higher plane, giving a hint of Plato's contrast of the actual with the Ideal.

For on the one hand, we have David Ortiz, existent. Thing in the universe. Occupant of a portion of space-time. Detectable with the senses. On the other hand, we have David Ortiz, David Ortiz. Great thing. Ideal Designated Hitter. Big Papi. Team Leader. Object of incredulity and awe.

So really, there's no pressure on Big Papi at all. All David Ortiz has to do during the pennant race is not exist, but transcend existence into the realm where his true self -David Ortiz- lies; that is, for Bradford, it's not enough simply that David Ortiz- that thing that answers to the name 'David Ortiz'- exists, but that the David Ortiz that exists also exists as David Ortiz.

What I love best about philosophy is the clarity it affords.

The Golden Mean Team; The All-Time Average Red Sox

2008-07-17T00:43:00.020-04:00

For Aristotle, virtue lay between two extremes. Take social conduct for example. One extreme is being a kiss-ass, the other extreme is being an asshole. In between lies friendliness.

This is the doctrine of the Golden Mean, the Middle Path, the Warm Porridge.

Towards celebrating Aristotle's idea, and because this year's All-Star break is excessively long, I've compiled the Golden Mean Team: the Most Average Red Sox Team of All Time (well, just going back to 1986, actually.)

These are not your All-Time Great Sox, with Williams in left, Boggs at third and Fisk behind the dish. And these are not the comically poor Sox, with whoever the hell they had in the 1920's, way before this.

No, this is the The Golden Mean Team, the most middling, mediocre, lump of average Red Sox players imaginable by someone with 50th percentile creativity.

So, a bit about method.

OPS+ is OPS (on-base percentage plus slugging percentage) adjusted for ballpark and league, with 100 defined as league average. ERA+ is basically the same for ERA, again with 100 defined as league average.

I figured the most average Red Sox team would be composed of players whose seasons were as close to 100 in OPS+ or ERA+ as possible.

I've named a starter for each position, a 5 man starting rotation, and a closer.

In the case of ties- to be expected when dealing with such mediocrity- I went with the player whose career OPS+ or ERA+ was closest to 100.

So now, without making a federal case about it, here are the few, the moderately happy few, whose run of the mill contributions make up the Golden Mean Team, the All-Time (well, since 1986) Average, the Mediocre, the you-win-some-you-lose-some Boston Red Sox.

Position/Name/Year/Season OPS+ or ERA+/ (Career OPS+ or ERA+)

C Scott Hatteberg, 1997: 103 (101)
1B Carlos Quintana, 1990: 103 (93)
2B Marty Barrett, 1986: 100 (86)
SS John Valentin, 1996: 104 (109)
3B Scott Cooper, 1992: 100 (90)

LF Troy Oleary, 1998: 99 (97)
CF Carl Everett, 2001: 97 (107)
RF Darren Bragg, 1999: 99 (85)
DH Dante Bichette, 2001: 103 (106)

The cleanup hitter could hit 9th on this team. And vice versa.

Starting Rotation

John Burkett, 2002: 101 (99)
Hideo Nomo, 2001: 101 (97)
Bruce Hurst, 1987: 103 (104)
Tim Wakefield, 2004: 100 (108)
Mike Boddicker, 1989: 103 (108)

Closer:

Bob Stanely, 1986: 96 (118)

Somewhat honorable but fairly indifferent mention goes to the entire 2005 Red Sox starting rotation. Without doing any more research, I'm guessing this is the most mediocre starting rotation of all time.

Wakefield at 109, Bronson Arroyo: 100 (106), Matt Clement: 99 (96), David Wells: 102 (108), and Wade Milller: 92 (110)

So there you have it, the Boston Salieris. These guys get awards for attendance. A living room full of participation trophies. They have 2.4 kids. They put the meh in mediocre. Between the ages of 40 and 70 they may experience erectile dysfunction.

I'll stop there. That joke's OPS+ is 100. If that.

What Kind of Universe is This, Anway?; All-Star Cosmology

2008-07-16T02:09:00.014-04:00

I thought perhaps the moral universe might save Dan Uggla.

In an All-Star game, one can be forgiven for thinking the stars might be aligned just so.

Uggla whiffed in the 8th. With runners on first and third in the top of the 10th, he bounced into an inning ending double play. In the bottom of the 10th, he perpetrated two errors, loading the bases with nobody out.

But Cook got out of the jam. So in the top of the 12th, the beleaguered Uggla tread to the plate, bases loaded, one out.

Perhaps the moral universe might have seen fit to reverse Uggla's fortunes. Instead, he got the filthiest jelly legging cartoony curveball I've ever seen, courtesy of Joakim Soria. It was 67 mph of pure you've-got-to-be-shitting-me. Uggla poked at it like he wasn't sure it was dead. Strike 3.

Uggla ended up 0-4 with 3 Ks and 3 errors, an All-Star game record. If it smells like a goat, and chews like a goat...

But I should have known the universe contained pockets of injustice and I'll-be-damned on this night; Tim McCarver, the butcher of Oxford, actually had a good line.

When that adorable and sophisticated Bronx crowd chanted "overrated" at Papelbon in the 8th inning, he responded by overpowering the aforementioned Uggla. McCarver quipped (yes, McCarver actually quipped) that with that K, "Papelbon is saying 'if you think I'm overrated, get a bat.'"

F yeah, McCarver. F yeah.

It was that kind of night. Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.

On the other hand, a Red Sox player won MVP in the last All-Star game at Yankee stadium. Ortiz is coming back, and the Sox are in first place at the break. So all is right in the universe, after all. Uggla will have to take care of himself.

Logical Fallacy of the Week: Introduction

2008-07-14T01:12:00.016-04:00

As I'm sure you're well aware, baseball folks make erroneous statements and draw invalid inferences and derive conclusions from nothingness and arbitrarity. All the time. And as someone in the thinking business, I feel duty-bound to point out such things when I notice them.

So, in what might become an irregular regular feature of Soxlosophy, I've decided to introduce the "logical fallacy of the week," a feature that in all likelihood will not be updated every week.

But it's a better name than "logical fallacy of the unspecified time-unit."

Now, strictly speaking, many errors in reasoning which I'll discuss (and by discuss I mean 'ridicule') are not logical fallacies at all, so the name's inaccurate on both fronts. But "the sloppy informal cognitions and ambiguous and misleading assertions of baseball folks of the unspecified time unit" is actually a worse name than 'Pujols' or 'Asdrubal Cabrera'.

For the trial run, I thought I'd start with a valid syllogism like 'modus ponens'- you know, the one that goes

(All) Yankees suck

A-Rod is a Yankee

therefore, A-Rod sucks

and work up some fallacies from there. But I changed my mind.

For what better place to start on the butchering of thought and language as we know it than with Fox's A-team, Joe Buck and Tim McCarver?

So lets take a trip down memory lane to last week's Fox national broadcast of the Sox vs. the Yankees, and with Tim McCarver in a moment, this is Joe Buck.

Buck has this habit of putting the predicate of the sentence in the place normally reserved for the subject, namely the beginning. So, for instance, last week Buck said "overpowered was Varitek by Veras", and "on deck is Ramirez".

And though one might think such Yoda-speak is cute, the habit of saying everything backwards led to the following vacuous statement, our very first "Logical fallacy of the week."

Buck said of Sox starter Justin Masterson after Masterson left the game, "he can only be the loser if he gets a decision."

Spot the f- up? Well, can Masterson be the loser if he doesn't get a decision? Buck seems to be laboring under the mistaken impression that he's saying something, namely "if Masterson gets a decision, he will be the losing pitcher." But he didn't say that. I had to guess that's what he meant. Because what Buck actually said was equivalent to "in order to be the losing pitcher, Masterson must get a decision." Thank God I watch Fox, or else I might not know that getting a no-decision precludes a pitcher from being the losing pitcher.

Thank you, Joe Buck. Thank you.

And then there's McCarver.

McCarver's analysis following a sacrifice fly was that the ball went "high enough and far enough" to drive in the run.

Apparently, there is a height the ball must reach before the runner can successfuly tag up. I did not know that.

But there's more. In light of A-Rod tying Mickey Mantle's career home run mark of 536, McCarver went on to wax sentimental about the Mick. Near to wiping away a reverential tear, Timmy McC said the Mick was "anything but slow, and anything but weak."

Wait, is McCarver saying Mickey Mantle was a communist? Or that Mickey Mantle was addicted to Robitussin? Apparently, according to McCarver, Mickey Mantle was every single attribute there is except slow and weak. And because 'communist' and 'addicted to Robotissin' are attributes, after all, and they are not the same as 'slow' and 'weak,' it sounds like McC thinks that these, among all others, are things that Mickey Mantle was.

The Mick sure was a lot of things to a lot of people.

But if McCarver meant something else, he should have said something else.

Of course, that probably would have been wrong too.

This is Mel Allen. See you next time-unit for another installment of "logical fallacy of the week." In Baseball.

No Bones; Sox crumple, lose to O's 7-3

2008-07-11T22:36:00.012-04:00

Clay Buchholz entered the game with an ERA+ of 78, and he lived up to the billing, allowing 4 runs in 5 innings as the Sox dropped a snoozer to the Orioles, 7-3.

Much has been made of the attempt for Clay to increase his command of the fastball, but tonight that big overhand curveball that makes scouts drool was all seasoning and no meat. He consistently left the curve high and inside on righthanded hitters and away from lefties, which belies an early release point and perhaps some here-you-take-it anxiety.

Perhaps to hide the criminal neglect of his talent, Buchholz flashed his potential like a fake badge, striking out 5 in the 3rd and 4th innings. In the 4th he whiffed Luke Scott on an archetypal changeup, down and away, a pitch that added to the sum total of beauty in the world.

But true baseball beauty comes in patterns and repetition. The mechanical aspect of pitching in command is the discipline to duplicate previous motions; Clay was not pitching so much as his body was throwing, and save that one stretch, was not in control of anything. With 5 walks and 107 pitches in 5 innings, he fought a losing battle.

The game as a whole had no bones; and before the last gasp failed rally in the 9th, the Fenway crowd was unusually silent. Sox hitters uncharacteristically took a rather blase approach to mediocre Orioles starter Brian Burres, who somehow made it into the 7th inning with a low pitch count despite walking 3. Instead of the grinding approach characteristic of the Sox that erodes top starters and pulverizes the middling, the Sox seemed to think that with minimal effort on their part, the bats would hit Burres' underwhelming stuff for them. But sluggish is not slugging, and the Sox failed to capitalize on the Yanks and Tampa losses.

Reserve Psychology

2008-07-11T13:11:00.007-04:00

The master negotiator Marvin Miller, at the age of 91, still has it.

In his on-going battle with the baseball establishment, the wily former executive director of the MLB Players Association (1966-82) has shown that he still has another card up his sleeve.

The cagey Miller's artful tactics led to the overthrow of baseball's reserve clause and allowed for the advent of free agency in the 1970's, forever changing the game. Yet he continues to be passed over for inclusion in Cooperstown, and it seems that he has finally given up hope of being enshrined among the immortals in the Hall of Fame.

And that's just what Miller wants them to think.

Miller, who according to the Boston Globe "says he will never set foot in the Hall [of Fame] again", and called the Hall "a crock," has requested that his name be kept off future Hall ballots, in perpetuity, thereby ensuring that he never be elected to baseball's hallowed hall.

What brilliance!

Miller's advanced age has clearly not diminished his negotiating skill; if anything, he's only that much more beguiling. After all these years, Miller is finally employing perhaps the most advanced negotiating tactic known to man: reverse psychology. This difficult maneuver comes with its own risks; not since Bugs Bunny outwitted Elmer Fudd has such a maneuver been used with so much at stake.

When asked for comment, Miller's arch rival, former commissioner Bowie Kuhn posthumously said "Ooh, I'll show that wascawy Miller. I'll put him in the Hall so fast it'll make his head spin." Kuhn then rolled over in his grave.

Look But Don't Touch

2008-07-09T15:20:00.016-04:00

In the bottom of the 5th inning of today's series finale against the Twins, Manny missed a home run by inches, and a fan's too too grabby hands by even less.

Keeping your hands to yourself is something we learn early in life. And generally speaking, people are pretty good at it. But not for not wanting to touch; there are, after all, many smooth and soft and bumpy things out there, just begging to be touched.

But, typically, there are penalties for touching what's not yours to touch. Upon seeing an attractive woman on the street, you can't grab her just because you feel like it, and you can't walk into a museum and run your hands over the art just because you feel like it.

If you did, the penalty would be severe, and rightfully so. As adults, we have to control what we want (or better yet, we should learn not to want certain things; you may want to poop in your pants when you're two, but hopefully not anymore.) And who do you think you are, anyway, diminishing that woman's dignity, or ruining that painting so that countless others cannot enjoy it?

And yes, grabbing a ball in play is definitely the same kind of thing. You shouldn't want to do it at all, and it drives me nuts when it does happen, to the point of advocating draconian (if not Franconian) punishment.

Consider the following. When a fan reaches into the playing field, he's implicitly saying a number of things, each entirely indefensible.

First, he's saying 'I hereby claim ownership of this ball, this ball which I didn't make, buy, or even ever see before two seconds ago, and which nobody offered to give me.'

(A rejection of the Lockean principle that ownership derives from "mixing one's labor" with an object.)

Second, he's saying 'even though the fate of this ball is the intense emotional concern of millions of people, I am going to take it so that only I can enjoy it.'

(A rejection of the utilitarian principle of the greatest good for the greatest number.)

Third, he is saying 'I am claiming this ball as mine at the only moment of its existence that's ever mattered, at that very moment at which all its previous existing moments were aimed.'

(A rejection of natural law ethics, which holds the interruption of teleology to be immoral.)

I think saying these things makes you an asshole.

And there's no stealing a loaf of bread to feed the starving family mitigating factor here. Unless it's a milestone homer, when removed from its context as a ball in play, all it is is a dirty ball. And clean balls aren't expensive. By taking it from the field, just like smudging a painting in a museum, you're making it worth even less.

And for what? So you can look like a jerk on TV, publicly declaring your selfishness? So you can regale your grandkids about the day you interrupted what millions of people were doing for no good reason other than that you felt grabby?

In short, you reach into the field of play to grab a ball, you're saying that having that particular small round leathery thing is more important than the happiness of millions of people.

I think it's pretty obvious what we should do with people like that.

Hunting Game on Lansdowne; Manny Leads Comeback Party, Bags Twins 6-5 (cont'd)

2008-07-09T03:26:00.013-04:00

A good win feels good.

That's my profound statement of the day.

Winning is awesome.

That's my second profound statement (and why I get paid the big philosophy bucks.)

After dropping 6 straight one-run games, you'd figure the coin would flip the other way (i.e. theyze was dueze), and now the Sox have won 2 straight by the smallest of margins.

But these can be the biggest of victories, and citing the law of averages just doesn't capture how fun it is to come back and win.

Winning is fun. (Now I'm a Pedroia-esque 3-3)

And with Manny taking charge with go-ahead and tying RBIs in the 8th inning of consecutive games, he's finally shoving back against the bullying slump that comped him a great seat from which to watch his teammates try to do his job.

With morale high after cutting the deficit to 5-3 in the 8th, and with Pedroia on 2nd, Manny tagged the first pitch from Guerrier like he wanted to study its behavior.

But I don't think this one's coming back.

Off-Brand Coco Crispies; Sox Comeback Pays Dividends, Beat Twins 6-5

2008-07-08T22:01:00.013-04:00

Monopolies grow lazy, the free marketers say. Fat cats get fatter and lazier without nips at their heels. Sans competition, what prods the post office to deliver the mail any more promptly?, (or U.S. Steel to be any steelier), they wonder. In a competitive market, they say, entrepreneurs take risks. Only the postoffice can afford to play it safe.

Coco Crisp has had to compete for the center field post, and he's become a risk taker. Remy pointed out that with no outs in the 9th, with Papelbon trying to close out a one run game after a thrilling 4 run burst in the bottom of the 8th, better for Crisp to play it safe; allow the blooper to fall in for a single and concede the base, rather than gamble on making an out, when a double- and the tying run in scoring position- is at stake.

But Crisp, weak all year with the bat, wanted to be the hero, to prove himself with the glove in a competitive field, to corner the center field market, when what was needed was a self-assured fat cat.

Or, if not, perhaps the better investment here was the risk-averse strategy.

Papelbon had a similar portfolio; perhaps heeding Idiot Joe Morgan's advice, he didn't get beat going to his second best pitches after numerous fouls off the bat of Punto, nor in any subsequent situation. All heat, from Papelbon, who went with what got him there.

So Casilla found himself looking down the business end of a 95 mph fastball.

Adjusted Legendary+; Schilling, Mussina and the Hall of Fame

2008-07-07T13:15:00.020-04:00

Two caveats before we begin.

First, I'm not entirely sure this kind of thing is kosher, but this post is an expanded version of a comment I left on this Joy of Sox post. But as a footnote using-academic who's also busted people for plagiarism, I figure I can get away with it on the strength of self-anointed authority alone. (They call this bootstrapping, I think.)

Second, though this one's based on new fangled sciencey numbers, I do end on a philosophimical note.

So with only some further ado, there's been talk of Schilling's and Mike Mussina's Hall of Fame candidacy recently. (The comment I posted was in response to a discussion of the latter's.)

Judging Hall of Fame candidacy requires comparing pitchers from different eras, and ERA+ is a one-stop metric that shows how good a pitcher is relative to the league (and thus era) in which he pitched.

More precisely, and to quote Joy of Sox from the same post,

"ERA+ is the ratio of the league's ERA, adjusted to the pitcher's ballpark, to that of the pitcher. 100 is league average. Top-shelf starters will finish their seasons with ERA+s around 140."

For completeness, here's the all-time career list. For relevance, perhaps gerrymandered, here's a condensed list. Pedro Martinez, at 157, is far and away the best all time. Roger Clemens, that cheating douche, is at 143. Johan Santana 141. Sandy Koufax, 131.

Tom Seaver, a Hall of Famer, is at 127, which is the same ERA+ as Curt Schilling and John Smoltz. Jim Palmer, a HoF'er, is at 126.

Juan Marichal, who's in the Hall, has a 123 career ERA+. Mike Mussina has a 122, which is better than HoF'ers Don Drysdale's 121 and Warren Spahn's 118.

In the comments of his post, Joy of Sox suggested that Mussina's comparables are Schilling and Marichal.

So, that's the backstory.

According to my calculations, and by 'calculations' I mean 'copying from columns I see',

Mussina's 6 best full seasons for ERA+ are 163 (in the strike year of '94), 157, 145, 142, 137, and 134 (and no more above 130.) But he's also had 6 seasons at 109 or lower, including 3 out of the last 4 under 100 (not including this current bounce-back year.)

Juan Marichal's 5 best seasons of ERA+ were 169, 168, 167, 144, and 132, (and no more over 130), and had only 4 seasons of lower than 113 (not counting his last two seasons, which totalled 60 innings), though 3 were under 100 (98, 97. 95)

As a starter, Curt Schilling has 4 seasons in the 150's, 2 in the 140's, and 3 more in the 130's. In seasons with at least 90 IP, he's had just 1 season under 100- 99 in '93- and just one other under 120.

It looks to me that Marichal's peak was better than Mussina's in the same amount of time, and Schilling has been better for a longer period of time than Mussina.

Burt Blyleven has just missed the cut for the Hall many times, and is the recent archetype of the borderline Hall candidate. His career ERA+ is 118, but a quick glance at Burt Blyleven's ERA+ numbers show him to be the better comparison to Mussina. Blyleven recorded 6 seasons over 130 (158, 151, 144, 142, 140, 134), but 7 under 110.

I don't know where exactly the cut off should be, but it might very well be around Blylevan and Mussina. And as of now, Blyleven has 1000 more K's than Mussina. Mussina might reach 3,000 k's (he's around 2700), and he might get pretty close to 300 wins, which obviously would help his candidacy.

At its best, the Hall might represent the dialectical synthesis of statistics and legend, of quantity and perception.

And I think the numbers show Mussina to fit a certain perceptual type; not quite the ace, never the very best pitcher, not the The Man you want on the mound in the big game, but instead a very good pitcher for a long time.

Schilling, on the other hand, has the regular season numbers to match his well-documented postseason heroics; for an entire decade, he was one of the very top pitchers in the game, and when healthy, never mediocre. I think Schilling is in.

One way to look at the debate is whether certain milestone numbers are both necessary and sufficient for Hall entry, or whether such numbers are only necessary, but insufficient without the stuff that legends are made of.

In other words, there's a symbolic debate here; is the Hall exclusively for the very best, those few players of each generation who attained the revered status as The Man, the kind of guy the old timers tell tall tales about, or is it also for those players who performed well-above league averages for a long period of time, but never reached the heroic levels that encourage the formation of legends in addition to statistical analysis?

I don't know. I just work here.

That Old Familiar Feeling; Sox Comeback Falls Short, Lose to Yanks 2-1

2008-07-05T19:04:00.008-04:00

Entering the 9th down 2-0 to the Yankees, against a Hall of Fame closer, scoring 1 and loading the bases with NOBODY out and stranding them there?

Now that's a classic Red Sox loss. And by 'classic', I mean a good ol' fashioned pre-2004 rip-your-heart-out-edge-of-total-victory archetypal Red Sox catastrophe.

I forgot what that felt like.

These days, it's all take the long view this, we'll come around come October that.

But this was a throwback, even without the old uni's. It has a familiar trajectory. The Sox are outplayed. 2nd best seems assured. The upcoming loss is accepted with a numb melancholy. But then a big hit, an opponent stumbles, and the numbness starts to wane. Hope emerges. Another hit. Hope becomes expectation. And just when the Sox couldn't be better positioned to win, when miraculous victory becomes not just possible but probable, they collapse, and fail.

I would have been fine, taking the long view, waiting for October, losing 2-0 on a random July afternoon. You can't expect to win 4 straight in the Bronx. But that's post- "Queer Eye" Red Sox talking. That's the 'of course we'll win 3 in a row down 3-1 in the ALCS- We're the Sox!' But they forfeited the long view by fighting back. They trigger all those old memories of being One Strike Away, of coming so close, just to fall short. They played the Red Sox. Classic Cubs is losing 2-0. Classic Sox is doing just what they did; coming back, having the bases loaded and NOBODY out, with the tieing run on 3rd, and not scoring. 3 times. To lose. To the Yankees.

This being a classic Red Sox loss, it triggered that long dormant bitter and reactionary psychology that I thought had been cured with victory and Zoloft. Instead of the ol' 'you fail 7 out of 10 times in this game and you're great' line, or falling back on lame non-explanatory cliches like 'you can't expect to win 4 straight in the Bronx', I'm screaming for Crisp's head, wanting to bench Varitek and cut Lugo.

Because, as everybodywho's ever seen baseball before knows, ANYBODY would be better than those guys. ANYBODY.

That's classic Sox talking. That's calling up WEEI and saying 'trade him for a bucket of balls'. That's the anger and the depression and the desperation, the losers' complex. That's not the attitude of a team that is just out of the division lead despite lacking their most powerful hitter for over a month, or the attitude of dropping a game on the road with the number 5 starter matched up against the opponent's ace.

Man, I haven't screamed that someone should be cut since, oh i don't know, Chad Fox or Rudy Seanez. Or Curtis Leskanic the shirtless mechanic.

I even hate it when I lose to the Yankees in a video game. I guess I'm just not totally over them yet. Minds aren't that malleable. Scars don't always heal. You can forget them, but they're there. Sometimes it takes until the next generation. Scars aren't heritable, I don't think.

Unless, of course, these are your father's Red Sox.

Pulp Pulp Pulp; Sox swept at the Trop, 7-6

2008-07-03T00:56:00.026-04:00

Foul balls are not do-overs. There are no do-overs. Time goes forward. Thermodynamics and such.

After Varitek fouled off a hit-and-run attempt with 1 out in the 9th, trailing by a run, Lowell on first, Tito tried again.

But a hit-and-run that is fouled off is not a case of the play neither working nor not working. The law of excluded middle is not violated; there is no third option. Logic is immutable. Don't fuck with it. A ball fouled off on a hit and run is a failed hit and run. Though no out is recorded, the play happened. It existed. Adjustments will be made.

That, and Varitek misses pitches like they're his long-distance girlfriend.

Perhaps Tito Jr. was desperate for control; he had seen his hurlers throw almost 50 pitches in Tampa's 6 run 7th inning, a mere 20 for strikes. The Sox had left 10 men on base. Perhaps he felt he had to step in there and do something. But there are no do-overs, and sometimes it's best to do nothing. Or pinch hit Casey for a struggling Captain. Where's Damian Jackson to pinch run when you need him?

3 losses to Tampa, by a total of 4 runs. Not necessarily projectible; a Lugo slide here, Hansen throwing a strike there, all within the realm of possibility (it would seem), and the outcome is different. But you can't go back, there are no do-overs.

Also, I have to dust off an old one. Varitek hits like he has 20 in blackjack.

Choosing a pitch from the list; Tampa squeezes Sox, 3-1

2008-07-01T22:21:00.007-04:00

Connoisseurs are selective, discriminating. They distinguish between the good and bad, the worthy and the base, and select only the finest. What is common and bountiful is vulgar. Only the perfect sample will do.

There are plenty of pitches. Pitches are common. The selective hitter, especially when in a hitters' count, discriminates between the pitch of his liking, and everything else. He knows what is worthy of his swing.

In two crucial at bats in the 6th inning, J.D. Drew and Manny Ramirez opened the wine list, couldn't read French, and pointed randomly.

Two runners on, Sox down 2-1, top of the 6th. Drew up with a 3-1 count. He hacks at a fastball on the inside corner- a pitchers' pitch- shatters the bat, and pops out. Manny, up next with a 2-1 count, chases a high fastball out of the zone, fouls out to first.

Foul indeed. Gauche, even.

The 3 and 4 hitters, on a championship team, down by a run, late in the game to the division leaders, have to show poise and selection. They have to be connoisseurs. When the pitcher is ahead in the count, they take what they can get. But this wasn't one of those times.

The Rays come away with the victory. They came through in the clutch. They chose the right pitches, they attacked the strike zone with fastballs, forcing the Sox to take what they were given.

This is going to be a race.

Lord of the Orange Groves

2008-07-01T14:03:00.014-04:00

Wade Boggs would be rolling over in his grave.

If he were dead.

How else to express the betrayal by his beloved Tampa Bay Famous Original Rays?

In first place. Widening their lead, even. They're spitting on Bogg's legacy. And Fred McGriff's. And Brent Abernathy's. How could they?

People love an underdog. Speak truth to power. The meek shall inherit something or other.

I used to tease a friend of mine who would always root for the underdog by saying he had to switch allegiances with every lead change.

Nietzsche saw 'master morality' as the identification of strength and goodness; virility and virtue are one. Slave morality is the inverse; power is oppression and subjugation. To automatically root for the underdog is to identify weakness with goodness. It's a sort of slave morality.

Tampa's a good team. They are strong. James Shields has great 12-1 movement on his fastball (tailing back into a righthanded hitter.) Javier Lopez should not have thrown a fastball strike to the righthanded Gomes on an 0-2 count with the sacks full of Rays, but they earned it. The Sox are no longer the underdog. That aspect of the narrative has played out.

What we have here is a rivalry. When Gerald Williams charged Pedro, I was indignant. How dare a commoner? I took umbrage. That was a peasant revolt. He should have known his role. But now, well, the 3rd estate is moving up in the world. The Rays are contenders.

Sox fans who were in it for the underdog story, the plucky rag tag fighters against the Evil Empire, might have a hard time making the transition to playing the bully, the establishment, the $140 million juggernaut, squashing the upstart Rays and their impossible dream.

Not me. Last I checked, the point was winning. That master/slave thing is for losers anyway.

Pink Hat and Tails

2008-06-26T11:11:00.018-04:00

Alright, fine. The pink hat thing.

This will require some credentials and caveats before I talk about it. I went to my first game in April of '86, cried when Buckner. I went to Rich Gedman All-American Baseball Camp for half a dozen summers, where I met Roger Clemens and Ellis Burks and Mike Greenwell, and even saw Bob Stanley throw a ball at Mark Fidrych's moving truck. He missed. Many years later, I attended Game 7, at Yankee Stadium, of the 2003 ALCS- That's right, The Grady Game- and lived to tell about it.

The moral of the story is I'm a suffering Sox fan (or was, now that we can play a ring toss game) as much as anybody my age, in contrast to, apparently, a 'pink-hat.'

Now, a caveat. I don't live in Boston anymore; Brooklyn, in fact, so I don't make it to Fenway all that often (also, as a philosopher, a ticket is about a year's salary), and I don't see much of the Kenmore rabble, so I haven't had the visceral experience of walking amongst, and feeling superior to or annoyed by, the pink hats. In fact, that expression, starting with the definite article (as opposed to a definite article?), is mostly foreign to me.

Another caveat. Not having NESN, I watch the games streaming from mlb.tv. So rather than the crisp, clean, shahp images of an HD broadcast, I get the wonders of a pixely Beckett and a blurry Manny, jumping discretely from stance to followthrough, leaving the swing merely implied, a subtle bit of subtext.

Basically, these third-world conditions have made me grateful, grateful I tell you, for whatever I can get.

So, that being said, I'm just not bothered by the pink hat thing.

But what's an opinion without a philosophical rationalization?

Notwithstanding the anachronism or meter, Its not 'take me out to the ballgame, take me to see how much the off-camera fielders cheat towards the opposite field when the hitters are behind in the count', its, well, 'take me out with (to?) the crowd'.

For many people, being a sports fan is about identification with others; feeling what the players feels, oohing and ahhing with the crowd, bonding over beers, chanting 'Yankees suck' (a metaphysical proposition, not a physical one, given their talent in previous years.) For Sox fans in particular, its about going through the drama, acting out that too familiar narrative of the team, living and dying with every pitch when none of them are even yours, physiologically speaking.

Religion is about collective bonding too; in fact, etymologically (yeah, i went there) 'religion' is related to 'ligament' or 'ligature', all of which means 'to tie together'; religion is about supernatural bonds. (perhaps a nickname for HGH Barry.) People who pray together stay together, I'm told, and this works for Sox fans as much as anybody. Maybe more.

Identifying with a collective, at least momentarily, involves taking on the traits of those others with whom you identify, blurring individuality, and allowing one, for example, to take pride in the accomplishments of others (as when I take pride in Kevin Youkilis, Gabe Kapler, and a Mr. Sandy Koufax.)

But what's the point of the group if you don't get to feel special? So one has to earn membership; initiation rites are as old as groups. For Sox fans, the initiation is suffering (as with fraternities and monasteries.) If not for this, and just anybody can get in, one risks taking on, through metaphysical osmosis, traits of those objectionable shouldn't-be members.

So to keep people out, groups define themselves in opposition to an Other which doesn't share their values or stories.

In the past, the suffering and oppressed Sox were contrasted with the tyrannical Yankees. Now that they actually suck, and we've whooped 'em good, Sox fans, as the article puts it, are having an identity crisis. Not willing to give up their identity as sufferers, they seek a new Other to define themselves in contrast to, now that vis-a-vis the Yankees, we are, at least temporarily, the ass whoopers, not the ass whoopees. (My old school Sox pessimism dies hard.)

So the pink hats are taken symbolically (whether any particular person who owns a pink hat is a 'real fan' or not is ignored- this is symbolism we're talking about), as playing the role of the Other, the fairweather fan who doesn't suffer through the storms and freezes and the being left out in the woods for a week to have a vision quest so that the 'real' Sox fans, who aren't yet comfortable in their new role as ass kickers (something with which I'm quite comfortable, I should point out. Also, I'm real- and as a philosopher, I'm an expert in existence), can maintain their traditional sense of collective self which is built around suffering. Cultures are intrinsically conservative and reactionary, Red Sox nation is no exception.

But its not an entirely symbolic attack; it's fair weather fans, presumably, that give that extra revenue bump that leads to big market victories, and so, to the extent that the Sox wins are a function of the market, the diehards can actually cite such fairweathers as a partial causes of their identity loss.

But what's with the massochism? (Bad pun intended.) The suffering is supposed to be redeemed through winning. And I like winning. I do, I admit it. I don't need another Grady Game. So the more fans, the better. They make it possible for Theo to give Julio friggin Lugo a 4 year contract and not have it sink the ship.

Also, I'm just not all that into the collective identity stuff. I'm more of a hermit monk type than a church picnic type of guy, so to speak. I watched the Sox win the Series in '04 with just one other friend. I typically watch games by myself. I enjoy a close, personal relationship with my Sox, (have you heard the good news?), unencumbered by sociality. I try to avoid thinking too much about those superfluous aspects- whether the players are really good people deep down inside or whether Wild Thing Vaughn slept with Dorn's wife last night. These get in the way of my spiritual whatever.

Look. People stink. Forget about them. I had standing room monster seats (an oxymoron) for Game 2 of the '04 World Series- Schilling pitched a gem, I recall. And who was sitting rows in front of me (in a seat, no less, the show-off) but Tom Hanks. People kept looking at him, not the game. Its the F'ing world series, I'd yell. Just watch the game. Jimmy Dugan would have told you the same thing.

What is it Like to be a Bat...sketball Player?

2008-06-24T01:28:00.003-04:00

From the Archive: June 18, 2008

Reporters ask dumb questions. And it is especially dumb to ask athletes what something feels like. 'What does top of the world feel like, Kevin,?' she says to a newly championed Kevin Garnett.

I don't even know what this means. Does she want to know what being on top of the world feels similar to? If so, and say, for example, it feels similar to having sex and eating ice cream and being commended for a job well done, do we then have to ask what that is similar to? Either this never ends, in which case its a stupid question, or else it ends with the feeling being similar to something we're unfamiliar with, in which case it's pointless to ask, or it ends with something that we're already familiar with, in which case we're not interested. After all, the question only seems appropriate to ask because one assumes that being on top of the world is unique, a sui generis nature that none of us will ever experience, and that even many elite athletes never experience. But of course if this rare moment is unique, then we can't possibly understand what it is like by comparing it to something else, which makes it a stupid question (q.e.d.)

But the question could just mean 'can you describe the feeling of being on top of the world'. And of course he can't. What is he, a poet? Only a brilliant writer can get someone to feel things that he actually hasn't done- eating ice cream and hearing about it are two different things- and only through the gift of wordsmithing, perhaps, can an audience get a taste of the real feelings involved. And athletes, from what I gather, do autographs, not monographs.

Though maybe KG should have responded to "whats on top of the world feel like?" with "that's real fucking original. I've been getting 'how's the weather up there?' since I was 7 years old."

Aramark it Zero

2008-06-24T00:44:00.003-04:00

From the Archive: June 12, 2008

Buy me some peanuts and cracker jack... because they're made off the premises and stored in sealed containers...

Everything You've Ever Wanted to Know About Pitching But Were Afraid to Ask

2008-06-24T00:02:00.005-04:00

From the Archive: June 9, 2008

Ok, ok.

So a few time units ago, some people either claimed they didn't know much about pitching or prodded me (you know, in the good alien way) to explain stuff, starting from first principles.

So I’ve actually gone ahead and done that- written an expository, pedagogically friendly essay on the basics of pitching. Find the link to the pdf. file below.

And yes, by normal people email standards, its very long. But in all honesty, if you don't know that much about pitching, you might get a lot out of it, and if you do get a lot out of it, you will understand baseball games a lot better, which will make them a lot more fun. So it might be worth a shot.

On the other hand, if you think I’m a pompous long winded grandiloquent jerk, you might not want to read it. Unless you simply want confirmation.

http://www.scribd.com/doc/3576978/An-Introduction-to-Pitching-Goldwater?secret_password=spvq8bj71tulhma4c15

Clemens is sorry for everything he did, except for the everything

2008-06-23T22:57:00.003-04:00

From the Archive: May 5, 2007

[Barry said:]
What the hell is Roger Clemens apologizing for? He claims he didn't use steroids or bang the 15 year old. So what did he admit to doing? As far as I can tell, he hasn't admitted to anything specific. So he's just sort of issuing a catch-all apology? Why?

[My response]

Barry, what sort of callous person are you? Don’t you care that Roger is sorry? Don’t you feel how sincere he is, how full of regret and shame and rue roger is? How can you not forgive a man after the deep and profound process of redemption the man has gone through?

It’s like when I got into a fight with Rebecca and hurt her feelings. I needed her to know how badly I felt, so I said, "look, honey, I’m sorry for what I did. Now, I’m not going to say what those things were that I’m apologizing for, and I completely deny having done the very things you are asking me to apologize for, and in fact I’ll sue you for defamation for alleging that I did those things, but can't you see how sorry I am? Good, we're made up. Lets have sex."

Apparently, she's the same sort of jerk as you are.

Jerk.

I love the new camera angle!

2008-06-23T22:50:00.001-04:00

From the Archive: May 2 2008

To: sports@nesn.com

I just want to say that I love the new straightaway center field camera angle! I've been hoping for years that NESN would adopt this.

If you would indulge me, I'd like to briefly explain why I think its so much better:

On the 2 dimensional TV screen, from the shortstop/ left center default camera angle that is the industry standard, the pitcher stands to the left of the hitter. So on the screen, the pitch appears to move from left to right as it approaches the hitter- no matter what kind of pitch it is. But in reality, of course, the pitcher is straight ahead of the hitter, not to the left, and moreover, in reality, any and all breaking balls, including cut fastballs, thrown by a righthanded pitcher move to the left, and not to the right; in reality, the ball moves in the opposite direction as seen on TV!! The shortstop/left center cam isn't just inaccurate, it’s actually completely deceptive.

I hope NESN continues with this straightaway center camera angle, and perhaps helps people who are uncomfortable with the change to adjust to the transition by way of a helpful explanation.

Thanks so much, and keep up the good work.

2008 Season Preview

2008-06-23T03:10:00.010-04:00

From the Archive: March 12, 2008

In case anyone doubts my expertise, feast your eyes on the words describing the following representative anecdote.

I was flipping through the channels the other day, and came across a scrambled baseball game. For a brief instant, (as opposed to a lengthy one), the pitcher was visible only from the knees down. He then delivered a pitch to the plate.

'That’s Andy Pettitte!', I said.

'and Pettitte throws low, ball one', said the announcer.

Yes, that's right. I recognized Andy Pettitte just from how his calves look when he pitches. (No Clemens ass jokes please. well, ok, maybe three.)

Granted, I’m a bit of a specialist. More general knowledge, such as how to make money or where relevant body parts are, well, that eludes me.

Be that as it may, nonetheless, and regardless, per your request, here's my four cents (two cents with inflation, of course.)

The Sox rotation is in an enviable position. 4 starters at or below the age of 27. I feel good now, and for the long haul (assuming we can get some migrant workers to make such a long haul.)

Now I’m no doctor, nor do I go to them or do what they advise, but Beckett's back spasms don't seem like that big of a deal. He’s just coming into his prime years, and if last year was any indication, well, that'll be pretty sweet. His command of the two seamer and sinking fastball improved dramatically, he was able to take a couple of mph off his changeup, thereby increasing the differential, and it’s now a more effective pitch. He cut his homeruns in half last year. And, then, of course, was the playoffs. Where he owned like the landed gentry.

Some theorized that Dice-k will have an analogous development to Beckett, presumably on the supposition that Japan is quadruple-A like the National League, and that it takes such a bus league star a year to adjust to the show, where they hit white balls for batting practice, the ballparks are like cathedrals, the hotels all have room service, where the women have long legs and brains, and where even the players' wives are on roids.

However, his last spring start was more of the same- though big k's, far too high pitch counts for anybody's good, unless he gets paid by the pitch, which I don't think he does, except when he does commercials, unless I’m equivocating. But Dice K did have quite a debut last year- 200 IP and as many K's. Good stuff. I think he'll be ok. No reason to think he'll get worse, at least.

I very quickly became a Lester fan at the end of last year, after being quite doubtful for a while. (It was his last minute negative campaigning, and his ability to answer a phone that did the trick, methinks.) First I thought he was Casey Fossum, now he might be Andy Pettitte. (They have such similar calves, after all.) The key for Lester is fastball command. (I hope this isn't a McCarver esque truism, though I fear it be so.) He could probably benefit by taking an mph or two off, and going for movement, especially down in the zone. Even if he did, he'd still be throwing 90, 91, with some sink, and then he could amp it up to 92-94 with the four seamer up in the zone. Not many lefties throw hard enough to get away with that. And offset that with a Pettitte or Al Leiter type cutter in on righties, as he's started to do more successfully, particularly as he did in the last postseasons appearances, and that's an algorithm for victory. He was quite sharp the other day- and remember, before Papelbon emerged as a closer, Lester was the more highly tauted as a starter. He could really turn into a very good pitcher.

I want to love Bucholtz- his stuff is Mussina esque- big palmball like change, with huge separation from his fastball, great overhand curve. (Why am I comparing all these guys to Yankees? its eerie. I mean, I was even just about to say that Justin Mastersons's neck is as sweaty and appealing to disease-ridden flies as Joba Chamberlain's.) But he's a small guy, and clearly has durability issues, so hopefully he can figure out how to throw his fastball at less than maximum effort, like, say, Mussina does. I read this spring that his mechanics are out of whack, (whereas mine were in whack, at least, before I whacked them off...) which can happen if a guy is using too much effort, throwing too hard. But if we can treat him as a 5th starter, skipping a turn now and then, not expecting too much, and he gives us 25, 27 starts this year, he could be a real asset.

I think Colon has a chance to be good. (He has to be- for such a blob looking guy named colon, well, if his pitching starts to stink...) But (I wonder if parentheses tip off a joke (or if parentheses embedded within other parentheses do))... but his stats for the last few years are respectable; his defense independent stats- k, bb, hr- for the last two years are as good, if not better, as is the case of k's/ip, then they were in previous years. I’m not a doctor, but I do like Scrubs, so I'm going to say if he's healthy, he's not yet over the hill. Early reports on him are optimistic, though last I heard about his velocity it was barely up to 90. But he's never been a big strikeout guy, despite his reputation, and has a pretty heavy two seamer, so he can probably live there.

And Wake is Wake. Although this may prove false, if business isn't business anymore, or, more generally speaking, it no longer is what it is.

And who knows about Schilling? I think we were lucky to get 3 wins out of him in the playoffs last year. We got 2 championships out of that shithead. And I’m no doctor, nor do I believe their precious science, but he's a long shot. I don't think we can count on him coming back. But if so, he's a plus. A plus size, a 3 plus 3 more ERA. I kid, I kid. I have to, because the fucker is anti-choice.

At least, I think he is.

As I often say, comedy over truth, or more modestly, attempting comedy over looking something up. I do it with my students all the time.

I’m not entirely excited about the prospect of Julian Tavarez making starts, in the case of injury, but he wasn't always awful last year, and he gave some decent innings, and even though 4 runs in 6 innings is a 6.00 era, (and though I didn't major in math or miracles), that kind of performance keeps a team with a strong offense in the game, with a chance to win. And I do think Kyle Snyder actually has some potential as a spot starter. Anyone with a 47 mph John Burkett curveball and who's been called a poor man's Bronson Arroyo has got to get people excited.

So, uh, I think that's it for this installment of 'analysis of local baseball men do battle on the field of play'.

Free range shortstop

2008-06-23T02:54:00.003-04:00

From the Archive: February 23, 2008

Its been known for some time that Jeter sucks in the field.

People have a hard time with this conclusion because he looks good at short, in that he's fluid and makes athletic plays, and because the scientific approach involves hypothesizing about plays he should have made, but didn't get to, and comparing him to others in similar situations that of course aren't observable at that moment from that same seat in the ballpark (or on the couch).

More generally, its another case of the battle between objective (observer-independent) detailed statistical analysis versus a subjective anecdotal perception, a.k.a science versus religion.

So that's always fun.

But I’ve often wondered why Jeter has such poor range- after all, he's a speedy baserunner, and an especially brilliant basestealer- check out his percentage of successful steals. One would think such things would translate into fielding range, but I guess they don't.

Sucks for him, that asshole.

Cont'd: Free trade: money and competition

2008-06-23T02:30:00.002-04:00

From the Archive: 10/27/07
[continuation of http://soxlosophy.blogspot.com/2008/06/free-trade-money-and-competition.html]

I don't think anyone is going to dispute that few other teams could have made Theo’s mistakes, or that payroll can be statistically correlated (though causation is a whole other issue) with regular season victories. Unfortunately, this is all irrelevant.

The relevant issue is whether the causes of this scenario- payroll discrepancies- are such that they render the scenario unethical. That is to say, the issue is whether this situation has come about in such a manner that we should, in good conscience, not follow/patronize/enjoy the game; the issue is not that there are payroll discrepancies, but who bears responsibility for the payroll discrepancies.

I deny that the only object of blame is 'the system'. My basic point in the last email was that the individual franchises are to an important degree responsible because they are in fact rich, and by 'rich' I mean 'able to spend lots and lots of money on things.'

One might be inclined to make the following claims: a) that payroll is a function of a team's revenue stream, b) there are 'small market' teams that have less revenue, and so can't afford the same payroll, and c) that a team doesn't bear any responsibility for that revenue stream (and by extension, doesn't bear responsibility for its payroll, because of a)- that payroll is a function of revenue.)

But a), b), and c) are false.

Firstly, teams make a profit. That means they have more money then they're spending. Therefore, they could choose to spend more. Secondly, all teams are owned by companies or people with stakes in other companies, and so have revenue streams outside of their baseball franchises. A megacorporation like Coors, which owns the Rockies, could choose to use profits from any of its subsidiaries to invest in players if it wanted to. But it doesn't. So a) is false. That’s not my fault, nor The System's, nor Bud Selig's, that's theirs.

Is it bad business to do this? Maybe. But the point of the examples of Toronto and Cleveland is that fans everywhere, no matter the market, will pay to see winning baseball- there's no such thing as a small market when the team is winning. If a team puts a World Series caliber team on the field, guess what: the revenue will increase. If a team chooses to invest in its team, and it wins, it'll make money. A team can also choose to spend less money, and thereby make less money. In other words, a team does bear some responsibility for its revenue stream- c) is false.

But spending money isn't a sure thing- (the statistical correlation of payroll with wins is not causation; payroll does not determine with physical necessity the outcome of games.) the point about the Rockies in particular is they tried this strategy with Hampton and Neagle and it failed. They spent the money, it didn't work, and so they decided to not spend money anymore and be satisfied with a team with a lower payroll. (Granted, it was a different ownership group, so 'they' is a bit vague.) But Colorado had the money, just like Baltimore, or Toronto, or whomever, regardless of whether they are in a 'small market,' have money, and choose not to spend it. So b) is false.

Again, and generally speaking, if the team invested money in a winning team, they'd get more fans, more national attention, more advertising, etc.- they'd make more money, and then they could have a higher payroll. The System does not stop anyone or everyone from doing this, they way the system in the real world does require unemployment and low wages and such. All teams are rich enough to do this if they chose to take the risk. But some teams are run poorly, or cheaply. They either don't invest, or they invest poorly. Why do you assume its fault of the system that the pirates and royals don’t' succeed? What evidence do you have for this? They fail every year because they are poorly managed. The A's are well managed, and compete every year despite a comparability low payroll. Every year some or a few small market teams make the playoffs. The reason Pittsburgh and KC aren't on this list is because they suck and spend money on Gil Meche.

Look, the overall issue here is one of culpability. Teams bear some amount of responsibility for their payroll, their revenue, their choices in free agents or draft picks, in which case one need not boycott the whole thing. The system is not necessarily unjust. It can be lopsided at times, and yes, there do exist inequities. And by all means, as I’ve said before, I am in favor of various balancing measures. But just like the players on the field are responsible for their performances, so are the suits. But I don't pay to see the suits play, and when they choose poorly, I’m not going to not watch my boys on the field play well.

And Josh Fogg still sucks.