04/04/2005 { just beat 'em and leave them. }
As part of an interesting, interesting series about how stats are working with scouting in one of the lamest-seeming front offices in baseball, the Cincy Post put out an article featuring a chunk of this:
In 2004, according to the Bill James Handbook, Dunn ranked seventh in the National League in OPS against fastballs (1.113) and changeups (1.035). . .***
Off the cuff, the Reds' left fielder initially thought OPS might have something to do with strikeouts, a topic he is weary of examining. Told that the numbers represented his on-base percentage plus slugging average against each type of pitch, he saw the light. Almost.
"Ohhhh," he said. "No, that's cool. I did not know that. I have no idea what that is. But I promise to God it means nothing to me. "
So right. There is this baseball game on Sunday night that I've been thinking about non-stop for the past three weeks or so and been half-dreading, half-anticipating since they annoucned this season's schedule. Consequently, when people asked me at a 5:30 dinner on Sunday whether I'd seen "the game," I promptly had a full-scale freakout and started doubting my sanity because HOLY FUCK had there been a game on Saturday? I'd checked the calender like six times to make sure that the first game was on Sunday. Had I somehow missed a day in my consciousness? Was today actually Monday? Had I missed an entire day of classes and, more importantly, THE GAME?
And then they pointed out that there had been something called the, um, Final Four basketball NCAA champsionships the night before. I looked at them for a second, tried to understand why anybody could possibly care about that when the YANKEES and RED SOX were playing in three short hours, and then went back to dreaming about Randy Johnson old-school and Bubba Crosby's high socks.
The rest of the night ( went something like: )
music: Lil' Kim - The Jump Off
This is how I get through the winter:
Gisli picked up the ball . . . and pitched it between Thorgrim's shoulders, so that he fell forward; then Gisli spoke:'Ball on the broad shoulder
Banged. I feel no anguish'
From The Saga of Gisli, as translated by George Johnston.
Four days and twenty hours and four minutes until first pitch.
03/21/2005 { pettitte makes 17.5 million in 2006 ahahahaddfjaoiduh HA }
From the BPro 2005 writeup of the Oakland Athletics:
But instead of noting the aspiring mediocrity of a line-up no longer among the league's best, most of the finger-pointing has been directed at the pitching staff.The rotation went from famous to troubled down the stretch, with Mark Mulder going flaky, Zito staying flaky, Tim Hudson breaking down, and Mark Redman doing an excellent impersonation of himself.Wow. The things you learn from Baseball Prospectus! I mean, I had no idea that A's only had four starting pitchers. They must've sent Rich Harden down; he must have earned that 2.97 ERA in August in AAA or something, and it's clearly just more of that golden calf ERA worship to put any faith in the 3.54 that Zito put together in that same period, too.
And hey, I didn't know that the last week of June , which is when Timmy actually got injured, was part of the stretch! August, when he was actually back and throwing eight-inning shutouts, clearly isn't!
. . . Sorry, BPro. Good writing. Shitty, shitty, shitty analysis and research right there.The only part of the Oakland A's review worth the ink it took to print it is the part where the writer points out that nobody got Rule 5'd out of Oakland.
( More nuggets of fun writing that are at least only sorta inaccurate. Hippos, for the record, do not menstruate. )
music: Cat Power - Wonderwall
03/14/2005 { *pours oil on fire, rubs salt into gaping wounds, etc* }
So I have this MP3 player. It was an expensive piece of gadgetry, but damn, if it isn't the handsomest MP3 player on the block -- forget those sanitized white iPods. My Philips has a glossy black finish, stainless steel trim, and silver navigation buttons tucked discreetly against the side and textured for easy location in the dark. The interface screen? Black with white lettering, man. 20GB. Five equalizer settings. Integrated microphone but room for a plug-in one should you so desire. Excellent, crisp treble. It promises to be the total incarnation of yuppie badassery.
The problem, though, is that keeps breaking down. I've had it for nine months, and I'm on my third one, courtesy of the warranty. Admittedly, I run it into the ground day after day, but no, the MP3 player has never really lived into its promise, and I'm starting to have questions about its fragility.
In other words, me Dusty Baker. Philips HDD120 Mark Prior. I am sorry, Cubs Fan.
03/10/2005 { hi other incredibly promising lefty now in st. louis and in possession of control problems!!! }
Ankiel, Ankiel, Ankiel. Oh man. There are no words. Apparently, he was his old self -- low nineties fastball, spectacular curveball, respectable command -- in his first two spring appearances, but in the appearance after that, they had to pull him out of a BP session that he was pitching because they were afraid that he'd injure the players.
The B-Primer discussion is worth skimming through, particularly the post in 94, where a baseball coach talks movingly about how one of his kids came down with something similar. Unlike Jordan, he doesn't think it's some kind of childhood or pressure-related trauma, and there's another guy on the thread who thinks that it's actually some kind of physical arm injury, but regardless. From post 94:
It's not wildness. And it's worse than the loss of a gift. Imagine having your greatest natural talent turned into something that is an embarassment, [something] that you can't ever use again.
mood: hit me baby one more time.
music: i have to confess i . . . still love losers.
