Of all the moves consummated so far this off-season, one of the most intriguing involves the Braves and Diamondbacks, in which the D-backs get an orange in exchange for some shiny rocks.
That is, Arizona knows what its end of the deal brings: Shelby Miller and a Single-A pitching prospect, which is to say, Shelby Miller. The 25-year-old righty enters his fourth season cost-controlled with a 3.22 lifetime ERA. If your immediate aim is a pennant, which is the profile of a team that signs Zack Greinke to a fat contract, Miller is a find.
Atlanta, by dealing Miller, is telling us what we already suspected: damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead to 2018. That's the year after the franchise basks in the fresh bloom of a new stadium in a new town.
So the Braves cashed in Miller for a haul of youthful talent. First, there's Ender Inciarte, also 25, who is all batting average, speed and outfield defense. Atlanta's young pitchers will appreciate his glove behind them in the field, not so much the lack of run support he'll contribute to.
Promising Triple-A hurler, 24-year-old Aaron Blair, might be one of those pitchers soon. Low
strikeout totals belie low ERAs in high scoring environments. A good
addition to a rebuilding club.
Then there's homeboy Dansby Swanson, the shiniest object in the bag. A shortstop out of Vanderbilt selected with the #1 pick in last year's amateur draft, he did nothing to diminish his status as a 21-year-old in Single-A. If your eye is on a distant horizon, the most recent #1 pick is a nice prize.
So the Braves relinquished their second-best starter, but got back a good defensive outfielder, a pitching prospect and a potential star at middle infield. It's the riskier side of the equation and its payoff will take a couple of years, but the likelihood is the scales will tip their way in the long run. That's the side you want to be on if you're not concerned about the present.
19 January 2016
17 January 2016
How in God's Name Do Hail Marys Work?
For the fourth time this season, I witnessed a game tying or winning Hail Mary throw into the end zone yesterday in the Packers-Cardinals game. Down seven with five seconds left, Green Bay quarterback Aaron Rodgers scrambled away from a withering Arizona rush and flung the ball past the goal line, as everyone on the field, in the stands and watching across the world knew he would.
It's as if God hears a Hail Mary and answers the prayer of the hopeless cause. Maybe the throw should be called a St. Jude. Though, honestly, Mother Mary's results are astonishing.
The gentlemen defending on this play are the globe's greatest American football players. They are athletic freaks in size, strength, speed and agility. They are experienced in the art of defending against the pass. One of the offending defenders, Patrick Peterson, is an All-Pro, which is to say he is among the six or eight greatest pass defenders on Planet Earth.
And yet neither he nor his compatriots can figure out how to knock down this up-for-grabs heave.
I am completely at a loss over how this happens. I am unathletic and middle-aged; I stand 5'9" 160 pounds. I haven't defended a pass in two decades. And yet I know how to prevent a receiver from catching a rainbow. Just get in the way!
In this particular case, Packer receiver Jeff Janis slid in front of the defenders as the ball began its ascent from Rodgers's hand, 41 yards downfield. I could see he was going to catch the ball as soon as the camera panned to the goal line scrum. There was plenty of time for Peterson or Rashad Johnson to slide in front of him. What they did instead, was a colossal, epic, jaw-dropping fail.
And it's becoming pretty common.
So, I implore you, dear reader: leave a comment, explaining how this desperation measure entirely absent a strategy, ever works. Any theory you've got is a step up from my current state of bewilderment.
It's as if God hears a Hail Mary and answers the prayer of the hopeless cause. Maybe the throw should be called a St. Jude. Though, honestly, Mother Mary's results are astonishing.
The gentlemen defending on this play are the globe's greatest American football players. They are athletic freaks in size, strength, speed and agility. They are experienced in the art of defending against the pass. One of the offending defenders, Patrick Peterson, is an All-Pro, which is to say he is among the six or eight greatest pass defenders on Planet Earth.
And yet neither he nor his compatriots can figure out how to knock down this up-for-grabs heave.
I am completely at a loss over how this happens. I am unathletic and middle-aged; I stand 5'9" 160 pounds. I haven't defended a pass in two decades. And yet I know how to prevent a receiver from catching a rainbow. Just get in the way!
In this particular case, Packer receiver Jeff Janis slid in front of the defenders as the ball began its ascent from Rodgers's hand, 41 yards downfield. I could see he was going to catch the ball as soon as the camera panned to the goal line scrum. There was plenty of time for Peterson or Rashad Johnson to slide in front of him. What they did instead, was a colossal, epic, jaw-dropping fail.
And it's becoming pretty common.
So, I implore you, dear reader: leave a comment, explaining how this desperation measure entirely absent a strategy, ever works. Any theory you've got is a step up from my current state of bewilderment.
10 January 2016
Why Ben Roethlisberger Is An Asshole
Tracy Wolfson is a professional sports journalist, a knowledgeable sideline reporter with 10 years of experience, a wife and a mother of three sons. None of these descriptions are themselves reasons that she deserves respect.
Following the Bengals' epic collapse of composure against the Steelers in the Wild Card game yesterday, Wolfson asked Pittsburgh quarterback Ben Roethlisberger how his shoulder felt. Rothlisberger had been carted off the field after absorbing a big hit and returned to the game to lead his team on the winning drive seemingly absent the ability to throw downfield.
Evidently Roethlisberger didn't want to linger on the role his injury played in the game. He could have dismissed the question respectfully by saying his shoulder wasn't an issue or it felt good enough to play or he didn't want his injuries to diminish the team's achievement. Instead he said, on national TV, in different words and with a smile, fuck you, Tracy.
It actually sounded more like "I'm just glad we won." Tomato tomahto. It amounted to a disrespectful non-answer. If you invited your neighbor over your house and asked him or her about their ailing shoulder and they said "I'm just glad it's sunny today," you'd wonder what their problem was.
The answer didn't shock me, but her response did. Instead of pressing the question and at least demanding a respectful answer, she let him off the hook. "Why did I know that was going to be your answer?" is what she said.
Here's why, Tracy: because you've let him get away with this condescension before. Stand up for yourself!
A benign question and benign, rambling, cliche-ridden response later, Wolfson tried again, querying whether the shoulder would be ready for the next playoff game. Again, Roethlisberger could have said he'd be ready regardless, or they'd find out that week or simply that his shoulder was fine. Instead, he chose to repeat the first non-answer. That is, he chose to be a patronizing asshole, on national TV, one more time.
It seems that Bill Belicheck has made it fashionable to disdain reporters who are doing their job and asking reasonable, fair, even easy questions. Gregg Popovich is now lauded for treating interviewers like pond scum for no reason. I would like to see a reporter demand of him, in front of a live national audience, why he feels it's necessary to belittle the interviewer.
Of course, the real problem is that the networks interview these guys at all. When I was a reporter, if someone was a lousy interview, I wouldn't look to them for quotes. If Belicheck, Popovich and Rothlisberger can't be civil and respectful, find other people to interview. Everyone will be happier.
I worked as a radio reporter in one town that was having big issues with its water system. The town supervisor would purposely lower his voice or mumble when the questions got tough, so that I couldn't use those answers in my stories. As a result, I stopped calling him and instead sought out more critical voices. When he asked me why I didn't talk to him, I described why it was his own fault. We agreed that I would give him another chance and when I did he answered my questions directly.
It turns out that Roethlisberger may have a separated shoulder and miss the divisional round game against Denver. I wonder how smug he feels now that he can't insult Tracy Wolfson about it.
Following the Bengals' epic collapse of composure against the Steelers in the Wild Card game yesterday, Wolfson asked Pittsburgh quarterback Ben Roethlisberger how his shoulder felt. Rothlisberger had been carted off the field after absorbing a big hit and returned to the game to lead his team on the winning drive seemingly absent the ability to throw downfield.
Evidently Roethlisberger didn't want to linger on the role his injury played in the game. He could have dismissed the question respectfully by saying his shoulder wasn't an issue or it felt good enough to play or he didn't want his injuries to diminish the team's achievement. Instead he said, on national TV, in different words and with a smile, fuck you, Tracy.
It actually sounded more like "I'm just glad we won." Tomato tomahto. It amounted to a disrespectful non-answer. If you invited your neighbor over your house and asked him or her about their ailing shoulder and they said "I'm just glad it's sunny today," you'd wonder what their problem was.
The answer didn't shock me, but her response did. Instead of pressing the question and at least demanding a respectful answer, she let him off the hook. "Why did I know that was going to be your answer?" is what she said.
Here's why, Tracy: because you've let him get away with this condescension before. Stand up for yourself!
A benign question and benign, rambling, cliche-ridden response later, Wolfson tried again, querying whether the shoulder would be ready for the next playoff game. Again, Roethlisberger could have said he'd be ready regardless, or they'd find out that week or simply that his shoulder was fine. Instead, he chose to repeat the first non-answer. That is, he chose to be a patronizing asshole, on national TV, one more time.
It seems that Bill Belicheck has made it fashionable to disdain reporters who are doing their job and asking reasonable, fair, even easy questions. Gregg Popovich is now lauded for treating interviewers like pond scum for no reason. I would like to see a reporter demand of him, in front of a live national audience, why he feels it's necessary to belittle the interviewer.
Of course, the real problem is that the networks interview these guys at all. When I was a reporter, if someone was a lousy interview, I wouldn't look to them for quotes. If Belicheck, Popovich and Rothlisberger can't be civil and respectful, find other people to interview. Everyone will be happier.
I worked as a radio reporter in one town that was having big issues with its water system. The town supervisor would purposely lower his voice or mumble when the questions got tough, so that I couldn't use those answers in my stories. As a result, I stopped calling him and instead sought out more critical voices. When he asked me why I didn't talk to him, I described why it was his own fault. We agreed that I would give him another chance and when I did he answered my questions directly.
It turns out that Roethlisberger may have a separated shoulder and miss the divisional round game against Denver. I wonder how smug he feels now that he can't insult Tracy Wolfson about it.
05 January 2016
A Fan's Identity Crisis
In 1993, following the death of Ewing Kaufman and eight years after the Kansas City Royals' only World Series championship (to that point), David Glass took the reins of the franchise. At that point, I had been a diehard Royals fan, despite growing up 1200 miles away, for 23 years. I attended the 1976 playoffs at Yankee Stadium and died a little inside when Chris Chambliss belted a ninth-inning, game-seven home run to foreclose the Royals' World Series aspiration.
Though I had never been to the state of Missouri, I followed my team and clung to my idolatry despite a string of losing seasons, because that's what a fan does.
Glass, former CEO and board chair at WalMart, was not so much a fan. Glass was a businessman who had made a career racing to the retail bottom. He deduced that a similar strategy would work in Major League Baseball, as long as he defined "worked" as "made a profit."
So Glass bled the franchise, secure in the knowledge that fans -- short for fanatics -- would continue to buy tickets and watch games on TV, not only because fanatics are fanatical but also because every game featured an opponent who might be worth watching. If the buying public wasn't interested in purchasing a ticket to see Mike Macfarlane and Hipolito Pichardo, a sufficient percentage of it would pay to see Mo Vaughn, Jim Thome, Roger Clemens and Cal Ripken.
Here's the Wikipedia entry extolling Glass' early "accomplishments" as owner:
Under Glass' leadership, the board cut the payroll budget from $41 million to $19 million. During the Major League Baseball strike of 1994-1995, Glass opposed any settlement with the players' union without a salary cap, and supported the use of strike breaking "replacement" players, despite a court ruling that the use of replacement players violated federal labor law
Lovely. So my favorite team was being guided by a Neandethal who cared not one whit about his team's place in the standings.
Letting Go of My Team
As you might imagine, my fanhood waned in the '90s, both because I grew other interests and because my team was literally a lost cause. By the early 2000s I had largely stopped following the Royals, who had not been competitive for 23 years and had no prospects of improving upon that record.
Indeed, despite the hiring of Dayton Moore as GM from the successful Atlanta franchise, KC had little to show for a string of high draft picks -- among Alex Gordon, Mike Moustakas, Eric Hosmer, Lorenzo Cain, Luke Hochevar and Billy Butler, only Gordon had performed as advertised. When they hired Ned Yost, a dinosaur manager who disdained new and improved baseball analytics, I scoffed. It occurred to me that not only was KC a pathetic shell of an organization, its mission was at odds with my fandom.
So in 2005, when the Montreal Expos moved to Washington, I seized upon the opportunity to attach myself to a new team. Living by then in Charleston SC, I was a lot closer to the District of Columbia than to Kansas City, and I could begin anew with a franchise whose long-term goal of a championship justified the lean times early on. And indeed, early investments paved the way for a pennant contender by 2012.
Falling Back In Love With My Ex
And then a funny thing happened in Kansas City. Moore's new strategy of signing glove-first, high-contact players for his spacious ballpark, combined with a pitching rotation built from back to front, began paying dividends. The Royals won 86-89-95 games the last three years, earning two playoff berths and winning a World Series title with thrilling never-say-die performances. The Little Engine That Could is eminently rootable.
Meanwhile, despite a pile of talent, the Nationals have stumbled the last few years, unable to win a single playoff series. Their stars can be cantankerous and their new ballpark is a junk pile. My head says I'm a fan but my heart is not with the program.
What's a boy to do? I don't have a favorite football, basketball or hockey team. Being a Royals fan, and later a Nats fan, has been part of my identity, and now I seem to be suffering from a split personality. In a baseball sense, I'm bipolar. It seems clear to me that a fan divided against himself can't stand, but if I return to my childhood crush it would require divorcing my current partner, to whom I have promised fidelity, til death do we part.
I am vexed. I must choose by Opening Day. Stay tuned, or help.
Though I had never been to the state of Missouri, I followed my team and clung to my idolatry despite a string of losing seasons, because that's what a fan does.
Glass, former CEO and board chair at WalMart, was not so much a fan. Glass was a businessman who had made a career racing to the retail bottom. He deduced that a similar strategy would work in Major League Baseball, as long as he defined "worked" as "made a profit."
So Glass bled the franchise, secure in the knowledge that fans -- short for fanatics -- would continue to buy tickets and watch games on TV, not only because fanatics are fanatical but also because every game featured an opponent who might be worth watching. If the buying public wasn't interested in purchasing a ticket to see Mike Macfarlane and Hipolito Pichardo, a sufficient percentage of it would pay to see Mo Vaughn, Jim Thome, Roger Clemens and Cal Ripken.
Here's the Wikipedia entry extolling Glass' early "accomplishments" as owner:
Under Glass' leadership, the board cut the payroll budget from $41 million to $19 million. During the Major League Baseball strike of 1994-1995, Glass opposed any settlement with the players' union without a salary cap, and supported the use of strike breaking "replacement" players, despite a court ruling that the use of replacement players violated federal labor law
Lovely. So my favorite team was being guided by a Neandethal who cared not one whit about his team's place in the standings.
Letting Go of My Team
As you might imagine, my fanhood waned in the '90s, both because I grew other interests and because my team was literally a lost cause. By the early 2000s I had largely stopped following the Royals, who had not been competitive for 23 years and had no prospects of improving upon that record.
Indeed, despite the hiring of Dayton Moore as GM from the successful Atlanta franchise, KC had little to show for a string of high draft picks -- among Alex Gordon, Mike Moustakas, Eric Hosmer, Lorenzo Cain, Luke Hochevar and Billy Butler, only Gordon had performed as advertised. When they hired Ned Yost, a dinosaur manager who disdained new and improved baseball analytics, I scoffed. It occurred to me that not only was KC a pathetic shell of an organization, its mission was at odds with my fandom.
So in 2005, when the Montreal Expos moved to Washington, I seized upon the opportunity to attach myself to a new team. Living by then in Charleston SC, I was a lot closer to the District of Columbia than to Kansas City, and I could begin anew with a franchise whose long-term goal of a championship justified the lean times early on. And indeed, early investments paved the way for a pennant contender by 2012.
Falling Back In Love With My Ex
And then a funny thing happened in Kansas City. Moore's new strategy of signing glove-first, high-contact players for his spacious ballpark, combined with a pitching rotation built from back to front, began paying dividends. The Royals won 86-89-95 games the last three years, earning two playoff berths and winning a World Series title with thrilling never-say-die performances. The Little Engine That Could is eminently rootable.
Meanwhile, despite a pile of talent, the Nationals have stumbled the last few years, unable to win a single playoff series. Their stars can be cantankerous and their new ballpark is a junk pile. My head says I'm a fan but my heart is not with the program.
What's a boy to do? I don't have a favorite football, basketball or hockey team. Being a Royals fan, and later a Nats fan, has been part of my identity, and now I seem to be suffering from a split personality. In a baseball sense, I'm bipolar. It seems clear to me that a fan divided against himself can't stand, but if I return to my childhood crush it would require divorcing my current partner, to whom I have promised fidelity, til death do we part.
I am vexed. I must choose by Opening Day. Stay tuned, or help.
03 January 2016
MLB Demonstrates the Uselessness of Projection Systems
Major League Baseball is touting today the Steamer baseball projections for 2016. Steamer is one of several Sabermetric projection systems -- including Fangraphs' ZIPS, Baseball Prospectus's PECOTA and the Hardball Times' Oliver -- that offer a crystal ball of sorts on future player and team performance.
These systems generally work the same way, projecting the accomplishments of players by comparing their careers to similar players in history, averaging the performances of those similar players in their next season and adjusting that to the player in question.
The MLB.com story is not a particularly interesting read. It projects that Miguel Cabrera will win another batting title, Clayton Kershaw will again top the pitching charts and Giancarlo Stanton will once more outslug the field.
Shocking.
This is what you get with projection systems, which have no ability to predict the unpredictable. The 2015 accomplishments of Jake Arrieta, Dee Gordon, AJ Pollock, Dallas Keuchel, the Kansas City Royals and New York Mets were no less a mystery to these projection systems than to you.
They also have no ability to predict outlying performances. They will never project any player will slam 58 home runs, bat .360 or accrue 21 pitching wins unless he has done that regularly in the past.
Moreover, Steamer does not attempt to project playing time, so even though Stanton has missed 40 games a season in his career, the projection assumes he plays 150 games. (Some of these systems do take playing time into account, which means they are wildly wrong slightly less often.)
These systems gave us the Angels, Dodgers and Nationals as baseball's best teams in 2015. They got the AL East and West almost exactly wrong. They offer some mild insights that can be almost completely encapsulated in 13 simple rules.
So don't bother reading the article. (Read this one about Statcast instead.) And let's just enjoy the raging unpredictability of the game that served us so well last year.
These systems generally work the same way, projecting the accomplishments of players by comparing their careers to similar players in history, averaging the performances of those similar players in their next season and adjusting that to the player in question.
The MLB.com story is not a particularly interesting read. It projects that Miguel Cabrera will win another batting title, Clayton Kershaw will again top the pitching charts and Giancarlo Stanton will once more outslug the field.
Shocking.
This is what you get with projection systems, which have no ability to predict the unpredictable. The 2015 accomplishments of Jake Arrieta, Dee Gordon, AJ Pollock, Dallas Keuchel, the Kansas City Royals and New York Mets were no less a mystery to these projection systems than to you.
They also have no ability to predict outlying performances. They will never project any player will slam 58 home runs, bat .360 or accrue 21 pitching wins unless he has done that regularly in the past.
Moreover, Steamer does not attempt to project playing time, so even though Stanton has missed 40 games a season in his career, the projection assumes he plays 150 games. (Some of these systems do take playing time into account, which means they are wildly wrong slightly less often.)
These systems gave us the Angels, Dodgers and Nationals as baseball's best teams in 2015. They got the AL East and West almost exactly wrong. They offer some mild insights that can be almost completely encapsulated in 13 simple rules.
So don't bother reading the article. (Read this one about Statcast instead.) And let's just enjoy the raging unpredictability of the game that served us so well last year.
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