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| Friday, November 16 November 2001 Archives By Rob Neyer ESPN.com |
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FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 16 To which I responded, "I don't have any idea, and I suspect that nobody else in the media has any idea, either." Dave Stewart has been a star pitcher, he's been an effective pitching coach, and he's served as the assistant general manager for an also-ran ballclub. A, B and C. But can any of us say, with any confidence, that anyone who has checked off A, B and C is automatically qualified for D: to run a baseball team? I don't think we can. I think to guess with any accuracy whether or not Dave Stewart is the right man to run a major-league team, we would have to spend a few hours with him, and ask him a number of questions about his plans for moving the Toronto Blue Jays into contention. Blue Jays president Paul Godfrey has presumably spent many hours with Stewart, and Godfrey decided that Athletics player-personnel director J.P. Ricciardi would make a better GM than Stewart. As Godfrey said, "Why did I give it to somebody else other than the guy inside? Because J.P. Ricciardi had something no other candidate had -- he had a game plan and a strategy both for the major-league team and the minor-league team." As you've heard, Stewart didn't take Godfrey's decision particularly well. He resigned his position with the Blue Jays, and quickly signed on as Milwaukee's pitching coach. Stewart got off a nice parting shot, too: "They think the only people capable of doing these jobs are white people, not minorities." Perhaps I'm naive, but I don't think that baseball executives generally think the way Dave Stewart thinks they do. Are there baseball executives who think that people with light skin are, by definition, more qualified to run a baseball team than people with dark skin? Yes, there probably are. Dunderheaded racists are involved in all sorts of businesses, from masonry and baked beans to cobbling and professional sports. But does racism explain why there are 30 major-league clubs and only one GM who is considered a "minority"? (I put quotes around that word because it doesn't have a precise meaning, which of course means you can define it however you like.) No, it doesn't. It's one thing to suggest that there's racism in baseball, but it's a far different thing to suggest that racism led to a particular "minority" not getting what he or she wanted. But it's the fashionable thing to do. A few years ago, when Tony Perez didn't get elected to the Hall of Fame again, he accused the voters of racism (thus chastised, those racist bastards finally elect Perez a couple of years later). Stewart might not know it, but he did get closer to the truth with another of his comments the other day. Stewart supposedly had been offered the manager's job a year ago, but declined it, leading him to wonder, "Why was it OK to hire me to manage his club but not OK for me to be his general manager? It's just little messages ... It's just little signs that it's perfectly acceptable for me to be on the field but there's discomfort with me being in front-office management." Maybe he didn't mean it the way I would, but the word "discomfort" might be getting us closer to an explanation of why Ken Williams of the White Sox is the only dark-skinned GM in the majors. Have you ever noticed that people, when given a choice of companion, typically choose someone who looks like they do? I watch a lot of college basketball on TV, and over the years I've noticed something ... White head coaches tend to employ a bunch of white assistants and one black assistant, and black head coaches tend to employ a bunch of black assistants and one white assistant. Have you ever noticed that many millions of Americans will be profoundly touched -- at least for a few minutes, or a few hours -- when a large group of other Americans are killed in, say, a terrorist attack? But how many Americans lost sleep when a few hundred thousand Africans are slaughtered by other Africans? How many Americans lost sleep when thousands of Bosnians were tortured and murdered by their neighbors? The answers are "not many" and "ditto." And why? Because we don't think of those unfortunates as being like "us," whether because they look a little different than "us" or because they don't happen to live within the same borders as "us." Or, most likely, both. The vast majority of us -- c'mon, be honest with yourself -- are more comfortable with people who look like we do, who appear to share something of our background, our "culture." I don't pretend to know why this is, but it seems obvious that it's true. Is that racism? Not according to my dictionary. Rather, it's something far more subtle, far more difficult for Commissoner Bud to legislate out of existence. Frankly, I don't believe we'll see any serious progress until we STOP LABELING PEOPLE with words like "black" and "white" and "minority" and all the other ridiculous terms that we've all become so used to. Those stupid, imprecise words don't do anything to bring us together, and it seems likely to me that instead they only separate us. And for all of his other obvious talents, I don't suspect that Allan H. Selig is going to work his magic on this particular problem.
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 13 Curt Schilling will, I suppose, pick up at least a few first-place votes for National League Cy Young, because a fair number of the voters are -- and I say this with all due respect -- simple-minded. They see that Schilling won 22 games and Randy Johnson won "only" 21, and they don't look any farther. Let's look at this thing rationally, though. Sure, Schilling won one more game than Johnson did (they both lost six games). On the other hand, Johnson's ERA was 17 percent lower than Schilling's, and Johnson struck out 27 percent more hitters than Schilling. They both allowed 9.7 baserunners per nine innings, but Schilling gave up twice as many home runs as Johnson did. Does anyone really want to argue that Schilling's one-win edge outweighs Johnson's advantages? Honestly, the notion strikes me as preposterous. Whenever I write something like the above, I get e-mails that read something like, "Sure, Johnson may have pitched better than Schilling, but it's not nearly so clear as you make it sound. You're not giving Schilling enough credit." Look, either Johnson was better or he wasn't. Suppose you've got two basketball players. One of them stands 7 feet, 2 inches; the other stands 7 feet. The taller player is, of course, merely 2.4 percent taller than the shorter player ... but no matter how you choose to interpret the numbers, the taller player is still taller. That's not to say that baseball statistics are as clear-cut as heights. They're not. But Randy Johnsnon certainly looks "taller," so if you want to argue that Schilling was nevertheless the better, more valuable pitcher, then you must bear the burden of proof. Schilling was great this season, but there's only one National League Cy Young Award available, and The Big Unit deserves it. In the American League nobody's as tall as Randy Johnson, and of course that's true both figuratively and literally; none of the AL's Cy Young candidates come close to matching Johnson's physical stature, nor did any of them dominate their league as Johnson did his. But let me describe one Cy Young candidate ... This pitcher finished the season with a 3.51 ERA, which ranked ninth in the league. You might consider him one of the league's most valuable pitchers, if he had chewed up a lot of innings. He didn't, though. This pitcher with the ninth-best ERA in the league finished with the 12th-most innings pitched, behind Steve Sparks, Jeff Weaver, and Mark Buehrle (among others). This pitcher, in fact, didn't lead the American League in any of the "counting" stats; not innings, not strikeouts (third), not even wins (second). This pitcher is, of course, Roger Clemens, and he's not only a Cy Young candidate; he's the leading Cy Young candidate and might take every first-place vote. Why? Because Clemens did lead the league in one category -- winning percentage -- and he led in that category by quite a bit. Clemens went 20-3, but even that's understating the impact of his winning percentage on observers. Clemens essentially won the Cy Young on September 19, when he ran his record to 20-1. Granted, 20-1 is awfully impressive. Most baseball writers, and for that matter most baseball fans, get all goggly-eyed when they see 20-1, and you really can't blame them. Hey, I got goggly-eyed, too. Most pitchers who are 20-1, or for that matter 20-3, are indeed the best pitchers in their league. Just not this time. I probably shouldn't go over this territory again, because I've done it before and so have my colleagues over at Baseball Prospectus, and so I don't particularly want to devote another 500 words to the subject. In a nutshell, though:
1. Clemens received a lot of help from his teammates. 2. Clemens "just knows how to win." This one doesn't hold up, either. In 1996, Clemens posted a 3.63 ERA and went 10-13. In 2001, Clemens posted a 3.51 and went 20-3. Does anyone really think that Clemens forgot how to win in 1996, and then somehow remembered again this year?
It's pretty simple, gang. For the most part, Roger Clemens pitched well this season. And when he didn't pitch well, his teammates bailed him out. He might have been one of the five best pitchers in the American League this year. But the best? Hardly. So who was the best? Here are my five favorite candidates:
IP OPS W-L ERA
F Garcia 239 627 18- 6 3.05
M Mussina 229 632 17-11 3.15
J Mays 234 654 17-13 3.16
M Buehrle 221 656 16- 8 3.29
T Hudson 235 653 18- 9 3.37
As it happens, these also happen to be the top five ERA qualifiers, but that's not the only reason they made the list. For example, if Freddy Garcia, who pitches in the best pitcher's park in the league, had Tim Hudson's ERA then he wouldn't be here. Like I said, Garcia pitches in Safeco Field, which is certainly one of the best pitcher's parks in the league. Oakland's Network Associates Coliseum is tough on the hitters, too. Just looking at ERA and home ballparks, the three best pitchers in the American League this season were Mussina, Mays and Buehrle ... but that ignores competition, doesn't it? The American League West was the best division in league's best division and the West clubs played their interleague games against the National League West, the best division in that league. Joe Mays pitches for the Twins; 11 of his 34 starts and eight of his 17 wins came against the awful Tigers and Royals. (Clemens has a similar issue; only six of his 20 wins came against winning teams and he beat the Devil Rays, Orioles, Blue Jays and Tigers for 11 of his 20 wins.) The truth is that I don't know which of those five pitchers was the best (though if you forced me to choose I'd vote for Mussina). The truth is that none of them jumps out and says, "Pick me!" And the truth is that if I did have a vote, I'd spend more time thinking about this than I have, because my decision would count for something. What I do know is that Roger Clemens, the greatest pitcher of his generation, wasn't the American League's greatest pitcher in 2001.
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 12 How common was this practice, way back when? To get at least a rough idea, I went back 50 years, to 1951. The 1952 edition of the Baseball Register lists most of the men who played in the major leagues the previous season. For the first 50 hitters listed (Cal Abrams through Chuck Diering) and the first 50 pitchers listed (John Antonelli through Phil Haugstad), I entered their birth dates as listed in that '52 Register, and then their birth dates as listed in the latest edition of Total Baseball. And you know what I found? Fifty years ago, a lot of baseball players lied about their age. Among the 100 players that I checked, there's a discrepancy for 17 of them; nine hitters and eight pitchers. Ten of them are one year off, seven are two years off. And of course, this didn't happen just in the 1950s. When Rube Marquard reached the majors in 1908, he claimed he was 18; he was actually 21. When Hal McRae reached the majors in 1968, he said he was 22; he was actually 23. Today it's extremely rare for an American-born player to shave a year or two from his age, but of course it's not at all rare for a foreign-born player to do so. Just a year ago, we discovered that Rookie of the Year Rafael Furcal was quite likely not 20 years old, as he claimed, but 23. And three years makes a real difference when you're evaluating a young player's future. Which brings us to Albert Pujols. According to the Cardinals' 2001 Media Guide, Pujols was born on January 16, 1980 in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, and, "at age 16, moved with his father from the Dominican Republic to Kansas City." Maybe that's true. Probably is true. But when you consider how easy it would have been for Pujols' father to "reinvent" his son's birthday and how rarely a 21-year-old player does what Pujols did last season, wouldn't we be foolish if we didn't at least question his true age? Of course, none of this has even the slightest thing to do with Pujols' worthiness as the National League's Rookie of the Year. Jimmy Rollins and Roy Oswalt certainly had nice seasons, seasons that might have been good enough for the award in some seasons. But whether Pujols is 21 or 41, he was the best rookie in the National League by a fair piece. My ballot would read:
1. Pujols Actually, that's not exactly how it would read, because a Rookie of the Year ballot only has space for three names. And remember when Ben Sheets was the best rookie pitcher in the National League? Over in the American League, the choice is just as obvious, but let me say that if any baseball writer doesn't place Ichiro Suzuki on his ballot because of Suzuki's experience, that baseball writer should never be allowed to vote for an award. Whether you believe that Ichiro should be eligible or not, the fact is that he is eligible, and if he's eligible he's the obvious and proper choice.
1. Ichiro As you know, Rookie of the Year awards aren't given for potential, they're given for performance. But what if they were given for potential? Who would you vote for then? The best indicator of future stardom is not performance, per se. It's age. That is, if Player A has inferior stats to Player B but is three years younger, Player A is significantly more likely to be the better player in five years. What's more, impressive young pitchers often -- what, half the time? -- flame out early because of injuries. So if I could have my pick of the 2001 rookies for the next five years, here's my draft list:
1. Albert Pujols No, I'm not sure that Pujols is really 21. But even if he's 23 or 24, that was one heck of a season he just had, and so we can expect him to still be an excellent player in five years. Suzuki turned 28 in October, but fast high-average hitters typically age well, and it's not like Ichiro hasn't been consistent over the years; this year he won his eighth straight batting title. Dunn's a monster and he might be the No. 1 power hitter in the National League five years from now ... but at this moment, his career reminds me of Ben Grieve's, so I'd like to see a little more. Why does Jimmy Rollins rate slightly ahead of Alfonso Soriano? Simple. Rollins plays shortstop and he's 22; Soriano plays second base and he's 23.
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 9
It's unlikely that a new "major league" will set up camp in the Twin Cities, but if the St. Paul Saints drew 6,423 fans per game last season -- a sellout every night -- can you imagine what they'll do if the Twins aren't playing just across the Mississippi River next season? So if there's one man who's probably ecstatic about what might happen to the Twins, it's Saints owner Marvin Goldklang, who is about to reap a huge financial windfall, as his team may well outdraw a couple of major-league clubs next summer (if they can add some seats to Midway Stadium). About this, apparently, I was wrong. With a few hours of writing the above, I had an e-mail from Mr. Goldklang ...
Love your articles and insights generally, but would like to take issue with the suggestion that the St. Paul Saints are likely to reap a windfall if the Twins are contracted. First, given the footprint and physical constraints of Midway Stadium, it would be virtually impossible to add any significant amount of seating for our fans. Since we sell out virtually every game, and are committed to maintaining our price structure, there probably would be virtually no impact on our ticket or concession revenues, the most significant components of our income. Second, and more importantly, we would be concerned that the loss of the Twins would give rise to a generally reduced local interest in the game, less media coverage of baseball and, possibly, some "backlash" against those involved in professional baseball, all of which would be detrimental to our situation. I believe we have an understanding of the Twin Cities market, and it has a very strong sports culture. Yes, we have demanding fans, as the Twins do, who let us know in unambiguous terms when we don't provide them with the product quality they expect, but they reward us with enthusiasm when we do. In short, our hope is that the Twins, even at this late hour, can find a way to solve their facility problem and remain part of the fabric of the Twin Cities community. If that doesn't happen, we will continue to do what we've been doing for nearly 10 years, providing fans with a competitive brand of professional baseball, at affordable prices and in an enjoyable atmosphere, but will neither rejoice nor profit from their absence. It will be a sad, sad day in town. Marv Goldklang Marv knows more about this than I do, but I still can't help but think that if Minnesota's baseball fans don't have the Twins, at least some of them will turn to the Northern League's Saints. And while it might not mean more fannies in the seats, if demand goes up, then of course ticket prices can go up (if only slightly). They love their baseball in the Twin Cities ... they just would rather not kick in $200 million for the privilege. And I don't blame them.
Of course, the Braves aren't trying to solve their On-Base woes, they are going to fix their "hitting" woes. I guess they'll do it through "preparation" and "professionalism." Yes, I am sure that's how Andruw Jones will learn plate discipline. Although I believe that the role of hitting instructor is overblown, I think it does show an organizational mindset of their approach to hitting.
Thanks, I agree with you on virtually everything, Jason. It's certainly true that we shouldn't pay a lot of attention to a hitting coach's statistics as a player. Neither Gerald Perry (Mariners) nor Thad Bosley (Athletics) were exactly walk machines when they played, but both tutored the hitters of walk-happy clubs in 2001. Still, Terry Pendleton's in a different league. He somehow drew 70 walks in 1987, but didn't draw more than 44 walks in any other season. Let's look at how much of Pendleton's .318 career OBP was due to batting average:
OBP Batting Diff
Pendleton .316 .270 .046
Bosley .330 .272 .058
Perry .333 .265 .068
These aren't gigantic differences. But while Pendleton's batting average was roughly the same as Bosley's and Perry's, his OBP was significantly lower than both of theirs. I simply don't think it's likely that Pendleton will be preaching the virtues of plate discipline. Which might be a problem, considering that the 2001 Braves finished 13th in the National League in runs scored, 11th in walks, and 11th in on-base percentage. But more to the point, hiring a low-OBP hitting instructor probably does say something about an organization's philosophy. And I don't see much reason to think the Braves will be any better in 2002.
"(Andy) Pettitte was horrendous. 'It was a shock for me,' he said. 'I don't expect to have a start like that, and haven't in a while in the postseason.'" Apparently, Pettitte's memory is as bad as his pitching was in Game 6. Pettitte has had a start of five or fewer innings and five or more earned runs in each playoff year since 1996. The starts are:
Series (Gm) IP ER 1996 WS (1) 2.2 7 1997 DS (2) 5.0 7 1998 LCS (3) 4.2 6 1999 WS (3) 3.2 5 2000 DS (5) 4.2 5 2001 WS (6) 2.0 6 Maybe it's time to re-evaluate his reputation as a "clutch" pitcher in the postseason. The facts don't seem to bear it out. David Hendrickson Gee, ya think? I didn't run David's note to rip Pettitte. He's a fine pitcher. Not a Hall of Fame pitcher, but just a notch or two below that, like Virgil Trucks or Milt Pappas. No, I'm running David's note because it exposes the fragility of the claims that people make for pitchers when October rolls around. There were those who said, three weeks ago, that Randy Johnson wasn't a "clutch pitcher." Is anybody still saying that? And if not, why not? Did Johnson's brain chemistry somehow change in the last two years. As for Andy Pettitte, I'm not exactly sure where he got the reputation as a big-game pitcher in the first place. After Pettitte pitched brilliantly to beat the Mariners in Game 1 of the American League Championship Series, Pettitte said, "Obviously, when you've had success in the postseason, you can always lean on it." But as David noted above, Pettitte hadn't enjoyed great success in the postseason. From 1995 through 2000, Pettitte posted a 3.99 ERA in the regular season ... and a 4.28 ERA in the postseason. Granted, that 4.28 isn't anything to be ashamed of; you face better hitters in the postseason. But wouldn't a big-game pitcher -- if such a beast actually existed -- have a lower ERA in the postseason? And of course, the difference is even greater now. After a solid 2001 campaign, Pettitte's career regular-season ERA is still 3.99 (yes, this season he matched his career mark) ... but his career postseason ERA is 4.34. Like I said, Pettitte's a fine pitcher. But he can't just throw his glove on the mound and expect to win a World Series game, and never could.
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 7 Carl Pohlad purchased majority ownership of the Minnesota Twins from Calvin Griffith on June 22, 1984, and assumed control of the team September 7, 1984. He purchased the team with a sense of community responsibility and a feeling that major league sports, particularly baseball, are vital to the standard of living any community must strive to achieve. Not only did Pohlad keep the Twins in Minnesota, but he has been committed to playing a quality, winning team on the field ... Contraction. Such a benign word, usually associated with the wonders of childbirth. But when Bud Selig uses the word, he's not talking about creating something; he's talking about destroying something. Two baseball franchises, to be precise. And we're not talking about destroying a couple of Johnny-come-latelies here. The Expos have been in Montreal longer than Bud's Brewers have been in Milwaukee. The Twins have been in Minnesota since Kennedy was in the White House, and they've existed as a franchise since Day 1 of the American League. As I'm sure you've seen or heard, no major league hasn't contracted since 1900, when the 12-team National League became the eight-team National League, dumping Baltimore, Louisville, Washington, and Cleveland. Louisville probably was not a "major league" city, but it's probably worth noting that Baltimore, Washington and Cleveland all boasted franchises in the American League, one year later. Things didn't work out in Baltimore -- the Orioles moved to New York in 1903 -- but the Washington club survived until 1961 when it moved to Minnesota, and of course the Cleveland club survives still, a century later. It's unlikely that a new "major league" will set up camp in the Twin Cities, but if the St. Paul Saints drew 6,423 fans per game last season -- a sellout every night -- can you imagine what they'll do if the Twins aren't playing just across the Mississippi River next season? So if there's one man who's probably ecstatic about what might happen to the Twins, it's Saints owner Marvin Goldklang, who is about to reap a huge financial windfall, as his team may well outdraw a couple of major-league clubs next summer (if they can add some seats to Midway Stadium). Unfortunately, Goldklang (and his co-owners, Mike Veeck and Bill Murray) is one of the few people likely to benefit from Selig's risky scheme. I suppose that Angels fans will be happy, because if John Henry really is allowed to buy the Angels and bring some of his Marlins along, the Angels could be a lot better next season. On the other hand, are there really any Angels fans? I'm being facetious ... sort of. I know there must be Angels fans, but the truth is that I've never met one. I do remember that one e-mailed me once. From the e-mail I've been getting, a lot of readers have a lot of questions about contraction, but I'm not going to deal with all of those questions. Here at ESPN.com, Sean McAdam and Jim Caple have written eloquently and accurately about contraction, as have Joe Sheehan and Gary Huckabay over at Baseball Prospectus, as has The Washington Post's Tom Boswell; if you've not already read them all, you should, because knowledge is power. Suffice to say, though, contraction won't really solve any of baseball's problems, and might instead be viewed as a callous ploy by the Lords of Baseball to improve their leverage against the players, a disgusting effort by Bud Selig to increase the value of the franchise of which he remains a part owner (35 percent), or both. Yesterday, Selig said, "Contraction, we believe, deals with this problem because ... they are teams that we judge to be not capable, now or in the future, of generating enough revenue to be a productive franchise. And by shifting teams, oftentimes all you do is shift problems." Let's take the second of those first ... Shifting teams shifts problems? Well, let's look at the teams that have "shifted" in the last 35 years. In 1970, the Seattle Pilots shifted to Milwaukee and became the Brewers. Bud Selig's Brewers. Is Selig saying the Brewers were a problem? In 1972, the Washington Senators shifted to Texas and became the Rangers. That's it. Two teams. Granted, neither of those franchises has ever won a World Series, but both currently play in shiny new ballparks, and it's safe to say neither will be contracted out of existence any time soon. More to the point, can two events that happened roughly 30 years ago really tell us a lot about what might happen if, say, the Expos moved to North Carolina or Washington, D.C.? As for Selig's first assertion, that MLB will eliminate teams that are "not capable, now or in the future, of generating enough revenue to be a productive franchise" ... well, one can only surmise either that Bud has an active imagination, or that he isn't telling us the truth. Look, I'll grant you that things look very bleak in Montreal. That market has its defenders -- the Expos did draw well in the early 1980s -- but the truth is that if you were going to sit down and pick the single team with the poorest long-term prospects, it probably would be the Expos (and yes, I know that the situation around Tampa Bay is bad). But Minneapolis-St. Paul? That's a sick joke. Look, I know this argument has been made before, but if you were looking for teams to eliminate, say, 15 years ago, where would you have started? Minnesota? Hardly. In 1985 the Twins outdrew 10 major league clubs (the Expos were right behind them). How about the Pirates? Four years running, 1984 through 1987, they finished last in the National League in attendance, failing to draw even 800,000 fans in two of those seasons. The 2001 Twins drew as many customers as the Pirates did in '84 and '85 ... combined. How about the Indians? From 1983 through 1985, the Indians drew a combined total of 2.2 million fans. Attendance boomed in 1987 ... yet the Indians barely drew a million fans, and again ranked last in the major leagues. My point isn't that the Pirates or the Indians should have been eliminated back in the mid-1980s. My point is that conditions change. Someday, if the Twins remain where they are, either a smart politician will figure out how to hold up the citizenry or a smart businessman will figure out how to build a ballpark without holding up the citizenry. But I promise you that if the Twins do remain, in five or 10 or 20 years, people are going to look back and say, "Why on earth did they want to get rid of that team?" Oh, one more thing about Selig's brilliant pronouncement ... how, exactly, will contraction deal with the "problem" of revenue disparity? There is one, and only one, solution for that problem, and it's called -- everyone together now, class -- REVENUE SHARING. Not that namby-pamby system that we've already seen, but something meaningful. As Bill James writes in his new book, there is an unbelievably simple solution here: half of the local TV revenues should be put into a pool, which is then shared equally by all of the teams. The Yankees and the Dodgers would still have a great advantage, it just wouldn't be overwhelming as it is now. Everyone knows that this, or something like this, is the only way to address the problem. And Commissioner Bud's been talking about the problem for, what, 10 years now? And the amount of progress that's been made toward solving the problem? It's not zero ... but it's close. Awfully close. If the Twins and the Expos are excised from the major leagues, all of us should spare a few minutes for the real losers here: their fans. There may not be many Expos fans, but don't we all know at least one of them? And there certainly isn't any shortage of Twins fans out there. Not only do many thousands of baseball fans live in Minnesota and Iowa and North Dakota, but kids across the country became Twins rooters in the late 1980s, just because Kirby Puckett was so darned cute and cuddly. If it happens, let us all take a moment or three, and consider how we'd feel if it were our favorite team that Commissioner Bud killed. Not a pleasant thought, is it? Scott? My heart goes out to you, buddy. John? You're a peaceful man, but I wouldn't blame you for wishing a pox upon Bud Selig's house. Frankly, though, such sympathy can only last so long. After all, bad things happen to good people every day, and if we spend all of our time thinking about the poor unfortunates in the world, we won't have time to watch many baseball games, will we? So those of us in New York and Los Angeles and Seattle and Chicago will get over it. But friends, this contraction business might affect you, too. Peter Gammons, among others, is reporting that the players might go along with contraction if (among other things) the active rosters are expanded from 25 players to 27. That's a horrible idea, one of the worst ideas anyone at MLB has floated in a long time. Here's why. First of all, larger rosters will lead to greater specialization, and specialization is generally a bad thing. Look at any sport, and what you find is that as roster sizes increase, you see more athletes who are good at only one thing. And athletes who do only one thing are boring; or rather, they lead to boring sports, because outcomes are more predictable. Just as an example, let's say that the 27-man roster makes it easy for teams to carry a player who can't hit or field, but is a brilliant baserunner, so fast that even a pitch-out won't stop him from stealing second base. So now it's the bottom of the ninth, the game is tied, and your sluggardly slugger just walked. Well, there's little mystery about what happens next. The world-class sprinter replaces the sluggard, and then he steals second base. See, while it's true that you increase a manager's options when you enlarge his roster, it's also true that you make his job easier ... and consequently less interesting for the discriminating fan. And speaking of less interesting, what is baseball's biggest "problem" right now? Aside from Commissioner Bud and the owners' inability to fix the revenue disparities, it's the time it takes to play a game. There are three obvious ways to speed up the games:
1. Call more strikes. Sandy Alderson is working on No. 1. There hasn't been any movement on No. 2, but it could certainly happen one of these years. And No. 3 isn't worth discussing because everyone involved is too short-sighted to understand that taking less advertising revenue today might result in more advertising revenue tomorrow. But if you want to shorten the games, there's one thing you cannot do, and that's expand the rosters. Because if there's one thing that larger rosters will most certainly bring about, it's more pitching changes. And that means longer games. I guarantee that if the rosters are bigger, all the progress toward cutting the game times will be wiped out -- poof -- just like that, as pretty as you please. This whole stupid thing reminds me of the way Bob Brenly ran his pitching staff during the World Series: it doesn't make any sense now and it will lead to more problems later. After all this gloom and doom, I've got some good news. Despite what you've heard on TV, contraction is not a done deal. Remember, these are baseball owners. Just because they voted to eliminate two teams doesn't mean that two teams will be eliminated. The owners can do whatever they want. If they realize tomorrow, or next week or next month, that $400 million is a lot to spend on something incredibly short-sighted and divisive, who's to stop them from dropping the whole thing? Absolutely nothing has actually happened yet. No checks have been cut, no negotiations with the players have begun, no lawsuits have been filed. So don't give up hope, fans. There are a lot of people who don't want to see this happen; if you're one of us, let somebody know. Here's another guarantee, though: If Selig's scheme does go through, he'll forever be remembered as little more than The Man Who Killed the Twins. Before we leave this subject (for now), a few words on the man who led off this column: Twins owner Carl Pohlad. Perhaps Forbes.com puts it best: "Baseball's wealthiest owner, Carl Pohlad, refuses to put his own money into the team; instead, he turns a profit on the team as a result of a $20 million+ revenue sharing cut." That's right, folks. Carl Pohlad, who's worth about $2 billion, is making money off the Twins. True, that hasn't always been the case. But the fact remains that, for his original $44 million investment, Pohlad will realize a tidy profit if this contraction scheme really happens. Which is good, because at 86, Pohlad certainly needs to pad his accounts as much as he can. Because as we all know, the more money you've got when you die, the better your chances of getting a luxury suite in the afterlife.
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 4 What does Game 7 mean to a baseball fan? I'll tell you what it means to this baseball fan ... Saturday night, I was up until one in the morning reading "The New Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract." And five hours later I woke up, unable to sleep further because I knew that a Game 7 would begin at the end of the day. And I read more of Bill's new book, raked leaves in the back yard, went out and bought a pair of shoes ... and yet, thoughts of Game 7 were never far from my mind. I wish the baseball season didn't have to end ... but what a way to go, right? Yesterday I wrote an article about the five other occasions on which 20-game winners faced off in Game 7 of a World Series. In a way, though, it's an artificial comparison. Were Hugh Bedient and Christy Mathewson truly similar in 1912? Not at all. Bedient was the youngest pitcher on the Red Sox roster; Mathewson was the oldest pitcher on the Giants roster. Bedient relied on an outstanding fastball thrown from a baffling sidearm delivery; Mathewson still threw hard, but was best known for his famous fadeaway pitch and his pitching intellect. Were Bret Saberhagen and John Tudor truly similar in 1985? Not at all. Saberhagen was 21 years old and relied on great control of his 90-m.p.h. fastball (it wasn't until later that Sabes threw 95); Tudor was 31 years old, and by that point his fastball barely reached the mid-80s. But Roger Clemens and Curt Schilling are, their career records notwithstanding, close to truly similar. Physically, Clemens and Schilling are similar. Schilling doesn't have Clemens' lower body, but they're both big fellows who might have trouble staying under 300 pounds when they're retired. More to the point, they've got similar stuff, as both throw mid-90s fastballs up in the strike zone, and complement the hard stuff with splitters. In terms of their stuff, Clemens and Schilling just might be the most similar Game 7 starters ever. And of course, neither of them disappointed, with both 20-game winners pitching as well as anyone might have reasonably expected. Still, Game 7 was something less than a tour de force for Bob Brenly. Schilling was shaky in the seventh, giving up three singles and all of them line drives. Schilling made enough pitches to stay in the game, though, as the Yanks scored just once to tie. And due to lead off the bottom of the seventh? Curt Schilling, who struck out. This didn't make any sense to me, and it didn't make any sense to Tim McCarver, either. With Schilling having 1) so recently been in trouble, and 2) thrown 90 pitches after three days rest, don't you have to send Erubiel Durazo (or David Dellucci, the forgotten man) to the plate, giving you a shot at taking the lead? Yes, you do. Brenly didn't see it that way, though. Schilling struck out. Tony Womack singled, but was thrown out at second base on what looked like a botched hit-and-run. At that point, I e-mailed a friend the following:
Subject: Yankees win? Alfonso Soriano led off the top of the eighth against Schilling, got behind in the count but battled, sat on a splitter and drove it over the left-field fence. It was Schilling's 95th pitch, and he simply shouldn't have been in the game to throw it. Randy Johnson should have been rested in Game 6, Curt Schilling should have been lifted for a pinch-hitter in Game 7, and Johnson should have been on the mound to face Alfonso Soriano. McCarver said, many times during Game 6, that there wasn't any point in pulling Johnson early, because he's got a “starter's mentality” and wouldn't, couldn't pitch in Game 7 no matter what happened. If that were true, then of course there wasn't any reason to get Johnson out of that game before the eighth inning. But it was not true, as we saw when Johnson did finally pitch. What's been amazing is how each of Brenly's bad decisions with his pitchers during the Series led to another bad decision. Brenly didn't remove Schilling soon enough in Game 1 ...
History will, I suppose, remember Byung-Hyun Kim as the goat of the 2001 World Series. The Diamondbacks won three games, for which the lion's share of the credit should go to Randy Johnson and Curt Schilling. But the Diamondbacks lost four games, for which the lion's share of the blame should go to Robert Earl Brenly, a rookie manager who waited until the World Series to manage like a rookie. That's on Arizona's side of the ledger, of course. If you're a Yankee fan reading this, you probably think that I'm shorting your team. And I am, mostly because there will be no shortage of laudatory things written about these Yankees. They are, after all, perhaps the greatest collection of baseball talent ever. They've won four straight World Series, and their performance speaks volumes for itself. And now, the postscript ... Sportswriters working on deadline have to make assumptions, and I suspect that most of us assumed that Mariano Rivera would take care of business just like he always does. But Rivera made a poor play on a sacrifice attempt -- once again, the Yankees' normally impeccable defense let them down -- and things just started to happen. Brenly did not pinch-hit for Tony Womack, and Womack doubled. And after Rivera plunked Craig Counsell, Tim McCarver said one of the most prescient things that any broadcaster has ever said. With the bases loaded and just one out, the Yankee infield had to play in. McCarver: “Rivera gives up a lot of broken-bat fly balls to the short outfield, which could be a problem with the infield in.” That's not exactly what he said, but it's close enough. The point is that McCarver nailed it precisely, because Luis Gonzalez's Series-winning single would quite likely have been caught by Derek Jeter, if Jeter had been playing in his normal spot. Now, it might be argued that I should rewrite this entire column, rather than harp on Brenly's series (and Series) of mistakes. But I'm not going to do that. That final, crazy, improbable last half-inning of the 2001 World Series gave us a different result than the one we expected ... but one half-inning does not change what came before it, any more than a sunrise takes away the night that it ends. There's a part of me that wishes the Yankees had won, because the 2002 edition will look quite a bit different than the group that came so close to winning yet again. They really were a great team, and perhaps they should have gone out on top. But more than anything else, I'm happy for a 22-year-old Korean pitcher whose life just might go a little easier because the Yankee defense fell apart in the biggest game of the year.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 3
And of course it's true that the Yankees make mistakes, even in October. But the relevant question is, do they make as many mistakes as their opponents? There are many different sorts of mistakes. A belt-high fastball is often a mistake, and so is a failure to hit a belt-high fastball. But when we talk about "mistakes," typically we mean the obvious stuff, the fielding miscues and the baserunning gaffes. Stuff like that. I don't have an easy way to check baserunning gaffes, but fielding miscues are a part of the public record. And the Yankees have a big edge in the Department of Errors. Since 1998, the Yankees have played 11 postseason series prior to the 2001 World Series. In those 11 series, they were charged with 25 errors; their opponents, 47 errors. Since 1998, Yankee pitchers have allowed 10 unearned runs; their opponents, 33 unearned runs. In those 11 postseason series, the Yankees: allowed fewer unearned runs than their opponents eight times, allowed the same number of unearned runs -- zero -- as their opponents twice, and allowed more unearned runs than their opponents once ... and that was in the 2000 World Series, when they allowed two unearned runs and the Mets allowed one. Mariano Rivera is the single most obvious factor in the Yankees' postseason winning streak, but perhaps just as important has been their amazing ability to make the plays when their opponents did not. Not lately, though. The Yankees have made five errors in the 2001 World Series; the Diamondbacks three. And here's the real change: prior to this World Series, the Yankees had allowed 10 unearned runs in their last 51 postseason games. But in six games against Arizona, the Yankees have already allowed six unearned runs. The Yankees have, to this point, been out-hit and out-pitched and out-fielded. But they haven't been out-won, so the dynasty may yet survive.
And the fourth obvious blunder? In Game 6, Brenly should have pulled Randy Johnson after three innings, when the Diamondbacks were sitting on a 12-run lead. This would almost certainly have allowed Brenly to use Johnson for two or three innings in Game 7. But Johnson didn't come out of the game after the third inning, or after the fourth or fifth or sixth. Randy Johnson pitched seven innings and threw 102 pitches, which makes him either a small factor or a non-factor in Game 7. And so if Game 7 becomes a battle of bullpens, guess who's got the big edge? What's truly amazing about the 2001 World Series is this: even though their manager has screwed things up from here to next Sunday, the Arizona Diamondbacks still have a reasonable chance of winning. And if they do win, someone somewhere will hail Bob Brenly as a brilliant manager.
Were they pitcher's duels? Three of them were, two of them were not. Here are all five, with the winning team's starter listed first:
Year Starters Score 1912 Bedient vs. Mathewson 3-2, Red Sox 1940 Derringer vs. Newsom 2-1, Reds 1945 Newhouser vs. Borowy 9-3, Tigers 1962 Terry vs. Sanford 1-0, Yankees 1985 Saberhagen vs. Tudor 11-0, Royals Game 7 of the 1912 World Series -- actually, it was Game 8 because of an earlier tie -- matched the New York Giants and Christy Mathewson (23-12, 2.12) against the Red Sox and Hugh Bedient (20-9, 2.92). Mathewson, of course, was considered the best pitcher in the National League. Bedient's record looks good and it was, but three starters on his own team had better ERA's that season. Bedient pitched well, allowing just one run, but was lifted for pinch-hitter Olaf Henriksen in the bottom of the seventh. That move worked out wonderfully, as Henriksen doubled down the left-field line to tie the game at one apiece. It was still 1-1 after nine innings, but the Giants took a 2-1 lead in the top of the 10th. Mathewson was still in the game for New York, but he coughed up the lead when the Giants blew a couple of plays in the field, and the Red Sox won when Larry Gardner hit a long sacrifice fly to right field. Game 7 of the 1940 World Series matched the Cincinnati Reds and Paul Derringer (20-12, 3.06) against the Detroit Tigers and Buck Newsom (21-5, 2.83). Those two matched up in Game 1, but it wasn't much of a match. Derringer didn't escape the second inning, and Newsom pitched a complete game to earn the W. Newsom didn't get to celebrate for long, though; his father was in the Tiger Stadium stands for Game 1, and suffered a fatal heart attack that evening. (Just imagine what sort of horrible things the TV networks would do with a story like that today.) With Derringer having pitched so little in Game 1, he came back two days later to start (and win) Game 4. Newsom started Game 5, and pitched a three-hit shutout. And then Game 7, with Derringer working on two days' rest, Newsom on one day of rest. They both went the distance, but the Reds bunched their hits better and won the Series with a 2-1 Game 7 victory. Game 7 of the 1945 World Series matched the Chicago Cubs and Hank Borowy (21-7, 2.65) against the Tigers and Hal Newhouser (25-9, 1.81). Borowy actually won only 10 games for the Cubs; he'd won 11 for the Yankees before coming over in a mid-season trade. Newhouser was the best pitcher in the American League that season, by far. In Game 1, though, Newhouser got knocked out in the third inning -- it must have been one of his worst starts all season -- and Borowy pitched a six-hit shutout. Four days later, they met again in Game 5, and this time Newhouser won. And three days later, Borowy and Newhouser met one more time, both on two days' rest. Borowy didn't last long, though; the first three Detroit hitters singled, and Borowy got yanked. His replacements (among them Paul Derringer) didn't fare particularly well, and Newhouser cruised. Final score: Detroit 9, Chicago 3 ... and of course, the Cubs haven't even reached a World Series since, let alone won one. Game 7 of the 1962 World Series matched San Francisco and Jack Sanford (24-7, 2.43) against the Yankees and Ralph Terry (23-12, 3.19). As you might guess from the 1-0 final, both starters pitched well, but it's the memory of a line drive that survives from that Series. In the top of the fifth, the Yankees scored the game's only run when Moose Skowron came to the plate on Tony Kubek's GIDP. When Terry took the mound in the bottom of the ninth, he was working on a two-hit shutout. Matty Alou led off and beat out a bunt, but Terry struck out Felipe Alou and Chuck Hiller. Mays then doubled to right field, but Roger Maris made a good play and held Matty at third base. That brought up Willie McCovey, who zipped a line drive toward right field. A few feet either way, and the Giants would have won their first world championship since moving to San Francisco. Instead, McCovey's liner zipped right into Yankee second baseman Bobby Richardson's glove. And the fans in San Francisco are still waiting for their first championship. Game 7 of the 1985 World Series matched St. Louis and John Tudor (21-8, 1.93) against Kansas City and Bret Saberhagen (20-6, 2.87). Tudor had pitched well in Games 1 and 4, though not quite as well as the box scores suggested. Pitching Game 7 on three days' rest, Tudor didn't have anything at all. Darryl Motley hit a two-run homer in the bottom of the second, Tudor got kayoed in the third, and the Royals were off to the races. Meanwhile, Saberhagen, working on four days' rest, pitched a five-hit shutout and the Royals were champs. Now it seems so long ago ... I was a bit surprised to learn that only five Games 7 have matched 20-game winners. But you know, there haven't really been that many winner-take-all games in the World Series (Game 7 in the best-of-seven format, Game 9 in the best-of-nine). By my count, this is the 34th such contest. And it's only the second since 1991, which means that we're lucky, because baseball's best offerings are a down-to-the-wire pennant race and a Game 7 in the World Series. And perhaps those of you who aren't Yankee fans can agree on something very specific for which to root: Byung-Hyun Kim on the mound after recording the final out of the 2001 World Series, with a big smile on his face as his teammates rush the mound in celebration. Now that would be a perfect ending to a wonderful Fall Classic.
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 1
Remember, we're not talking about Clay Bellinger or Luis Sojo here. David Dellucci played in 115 games during the regular season, and slugged .513 against right-handed pitchers. So unless Dellucci is hurt, Brenly's got absolutely no excuse for not getting him into one of the first five games.
This got me to wondering about that team, so I looked them up in "The Sporting News Baseball Guide" from the following year. And yeah, that was a good club. They finished 89-56, the best record in the International League by two-and-a-half games, and then they beat Columbus in a best-of-five series to take the league championship. Neither Schilling nor Mussina played big roles, though. That was Mussina's first season as a professsional; he opened his career with Double-A Hagerstown, and overmatched the league in seven starts (3-0, 1.49). By the time Mussina got promoted to Rochester, there was only time for two more starts, and of course he pitched brilliantly in both (1.35 ERA and 15 strikeouts in 13 innings). Mussina was ready for the majors -- he was probably ready for the majors at some point during his junior season at Stanford -- but the Orioles sent him back to Rochester to open the 1991 season. He went 10-4 in four months and was named the International League's Most Valuable Pitcher, but the award came after he'd been in the majors for a month, and of course Moose hasn't looked back. Schilling was a contributor for the Red Wings, but he certainly wasn't a star. He pitched 15 games and went 4-4 with a 3.92 ERA, joining the big club in midway through the season. In case you're wondering, the Red Wings didn't really have a big pitching star. Only two Rochester pitchers won 10 games or more, and neither of them were full-time starters: Mickey Weston (11-1, 1.98 ERA in 109 innings) and 36-year-old knuckleballer Dan Boone (11-5, 2.60 in 121 innings), who was indeed a descendant of the Daniel Boone. Rochester's real strength was hitting, thanks to David Segui, Leo Gomez, and Chris Hoiles.
I'm not saying that McCarver's wrong, but Stanton has not recently been particularly effective against left-handed hitters. Not this season. Not last season.
vs LHB OBP Slug 2000 .362 .508 2001 .359 .425 You have go back to 1999 to find a season in which Stanton was more effective against left-handers than right-handers. This might well be a fluke -- as near as I can tell, Stanton doesn't rely on a screwball -- but there's no particular statistical case for preferring Stanton over Mussina. Yes, there's Mussina's pitch count, but this is most definitely his last game of the year. Mussina got himself into a little jam but he pitched out of it, and Torre once again looked like a very smart man.
Soriano eventually grounded out, and then Jeter struck out. But Batista wasn't making great pitches; he was making decent pitches, and the Yankees weren't doing anything with them. O'Neill walked, Bernie dumped a bloop into left-center -- Jeter would have made that play, but Tony Womack's no Derek Jeter -- and Brenly finally went to the bullpen. Batista had thrown 128 pitches.
I don't mean to be harsh; I think that Bernie Williams is a fantastic player, even better than his reputation. But this isn't the time for a rest.
What does that mean, exactly? Don't all managers make moves? If there's any bravery involved in making moves, it's in making moves that display some creativity. And how how creative was it, sending Reggie Sanders -- who according to Tim McCarver has trouble with high fastballs, Rivera's specialty -- to the plate in the 11th with the bases loaded, rather than David Dellucci or Greg Colbrunn? How creative was it, sending Byung-Hyun out there in the ninth, roughly 24 hours after he had (a) thrown 62 pitches, and (b) gotten blasted in the biggest baseball game on the planet? I understand the whole get-back-on-the-horse thing, but is Game 5 really the place for psychological ploys? Or did Brenly really think that a worn-out Kim was better than Albie Lopez or Randy Johnson? Brenly clearly doesn't have any faith in his relief pitchers, and you can't really blame him. With Bret Prinz still not healthy enough to pitch, these are Brenly's non-Kim relief pitchers:
WHIP ERA
Troy Brohawn 1.58 4.93
Bobby Witt 1.41 4.78
Greg Swindell 1.10 4.53
Mike Morgan 1.63 4.26
But this is the World Series; your relief pitchers are all of your pitchers except whoever started yesterday, whoever started today, and whoever's starting tomorrow. And there's no game tomorrow, which means that Brenly had everyone available except Schilling and Batista. Here are two more pitchers that Brenly could have used rather than Kim:
WHIP ERA
Randy Johnson 1.01 2.49
Albie Lopez 1.21 4.00
The Big Unit certainly could have pitched an inning in Game 3 or 4. Or both ... yet he never even got loose. Albie Lopez isn't any great shakes, but he's tough on right-handed hitters and I'd rather have seen him than Kim, after what happened in Game 4. Bob Brenly's in just his first year as a manager. If he's smart, he'll figure some of these things out before he gets fired. Brenly's an old ballplayer, though; chances are good that he won't learn a damn thing.
Before Jeter's home run, this felt like a World Series that might surprise us. At the beginning, the Yankees were of course favored because they're the Yankees, but it didn't take any particular image to see the Diamondbacks winning, what with them having the two best starters in the National League. After Arizona won the first two games, the balance of power had shifted, but even then didn't you have visions of a Yankee comeback dancing in your head? I did. No, it wasn't until the end of Game 4 that destiny lay before us, like the Great Plains before an all-day drive. Mussina would (easily, perhaps) beat Batista, Johnson would beat Pettitte, and then Clemens would beat Schilling. This last because Clemens would be better rested, but also because ... well, because the Yankees always win. There are small children making kindergarten plans who weren't alive the last time the Yankees didn't win. The Yankees won every year in the late 1930s, they won every year in the early 1950s, and now they win every year at the turn of the century. Seems inevitable, doesn't it? |
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