To make a comment that is completely devoid of freshness or originality, the BCS system for determining the NCAA-sanctioned college football national champion is a complete joke. Except it’s not funny.
Kind of like this blog.
(I made a funny! I made a funny!)
Bill James had, as you would expect, a good column in Slate that outlines some of the key issues with the BCS system:
The problems with the BCS are:
1. That there is a profound lack of conceptual clarity about the goals of the method;
This is reflected in the fact that the rankings are routinely described as "computer" rankings. Computers, like automobiles and airplanes, do only what people tell them to do.
Until they become self-aware and try to destroy their creators. But at that point I doubt that we will care very much about the college football championship, so I’m willing to take this point at face value.
2. That there is no genuine interest here in using statistical analysis to figure out how the teams compare with one another. The real purpose is to create some gobbledygook math to endorse the coaches' and sportswriters' vote;
Throughout the 11 years of the BCS, whenever the "computer" rankings have diverged markedly from the polls, the consensus reaction has been, we have to do something about those computers. And they have.
I am shocked, shocked that people would disdain statistics that challenged their preconceived notion of thing. If that sort of thing really happened, websites like Fire Joe Morgan would have been wildly successful. What? Eh? Oh.
3. That the ground rules of the calculations are irrational and prevent the statisticians from making any meaningful contribution;
The prohibition against using point differentials to rank teams, of course, dates from the Nebraska-in-2001 experience, when those dirty Cornhuskers beat Troy State, Rice, Missouri, Iowa State, Baylor, and Kansas all by 28 points or more. The BCS reacted to this by requiring the computer rankings to treat a 56-7 victory the same as a 20-17 contest.
I am a rank mathematical amateur. And that’s not false modesty…I mean, I work in advertising. Outside of counting change, which I rarely use because I have a credit card, there is no reason for me to use math. (Except, of course, during baseball season, when I just look at stats in an Excel pivot table rather than watch the games because going to the games requires me to change out of my pajamas and leave my Mom’s basement. But I digress…)
The fact is that even for an amateur like me it is easy to conceive of how statistics could be used to measure the relative strength of sports teams based on competitive results among them, where not all teams play each other…just like college football where USC may not have played Texas, but they both played Ohio State.
To illustrate, imagine a small league with just four teams, in this instance, Holy Cross, Bucknell, Colgate and Lafayette. None has played before so, pre-season polls be damned, they all start with a comparative strength rating of 50 (on a scale of 1 to 100):
Holy Cross: 50
Bucknell: 50
Colgate: 50
Lafayette: 50
Holy Cross opens their season with a two-touchdown win against Bucknell. Colgate also wins by two touchdowns against Lafayette. Let’s assume, as simple math peons, that a two-touchdown win indicates a relative strength ratio of 80-20. The new ratings then become:
Holy Cross: 80
Colgate: 80
Lafayette: 20
Bucknell: 20
The next week the two losing teams play, with Lafayette running out victorious against Bucknell by a touchdown. We now have information about the relative strength of Lafayette and Bucknell. And we also have information about the relative strength of Holy Cross and Colgate, which we didn’t have before (Lafayette now being known as the more difficult opponent, Colgate’s win over them entitles them to a slightly higher ranking than the Mighty Crusaders).
From this point on, every result between any two teams must adjust, however slightly, the ratings of all other teams. The math to figure out how was beyond me. Luckily, it was not beyond Google…which took 0.00025 seconds to come back with results to my query, including the Perron-Frobenius Theorem, that may hold the answer.
I don’t claim to understand the Perron-Frobenius Theorem beyond knowing that it is different than the Infinite Sportswriter Theorem, but if a little bit of research can get me on the scent of a statistical system that could possibly determine relative strength of teams that don’t play each other, it is clear that someone who knows about these things could, too.
Except, if we used statistics to determine the best teams, what would it matter what sportswriters thought?
4. That the existence of this system has the purpose of justifying a few rich conferences in hijacking the search for a national title, avoiding a postseason tournament that would be preferred by the overwhelming majority of fans.
In the 1990s there was a strong movement, within the NCAA, to organize a national postseason football tournament. The problem was, had the NCAA in fact organized such a championship, two other events would almost certainly have followed:
1. The smaller schools, which outnumber the big football powerhouses about 5-to-1, would have voted to send a lot of the money to the smaller schools that in fact had not participated in the national championship contest in any meaningful way.
2. The big football schools would have bolted and revolted. They'd have walked out of the NCAA and formed their own organization. The two-tiered system of NCAA and NAIA schools would have been replaced by a three-tiered system with the NCAA occupying the middle tier.
It is sad that the result is neither a sixteen team playoff nor a statistical method of determining the relative strengths of teams nor even the old system that let the teams play their whole schedule and allowed coaches and journalists to vote on their relative strength based on the results of that whole schedule, but instead an arbitrary method that determines who will play for the “title game,” the winner of which MUST BE CHOSEN as the national champion.
Because that is the way these things work.
And if they don’t work, we can just adjust the computers, right?
Friday, January 9, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
MLB Hall of Fame approaching dead-to-me status
I stumbled upon a Tim Kurkjian (who I normally quite enjoy) chat on espn.com today and assumed that I would find some solid arguments. Instead, I found this:
There is no denying that Dawson's career OBP (.323) is exceptionally low for a Hall of Famer, or a strong Hall of Fame candidate. But you're right; the emphasis recently, meaning the last 10-15 years, on OBP, doesn't help Dawson's case. Believe me, I love guys who walk a lot. I love guys who get on base. But occasionally, there is a player or two who will take a pitch that would normally be a ball and hit it for a two-run double. We cannot look past guys like that just because they don't walk all the time.
[Doesn't the exceptionally low *for a Hall of Famer* qualifier effectively negate this supposed "recent" emphasis on OBP? And if Dawson so frequently took a pitch that "would normally be a ball and hit it it for a two-run double," wouldn't his, ummm, OBP have been higher? Unless by "hit it for a two-run double" Tim actually meant "swung and missed."]
[Dawson] played as hard as anyone who ever played, he's one of the great character guys of the last 30 years. That means something to me.
[Well, I guess Albert Belle can go ahead and cross one name off of his pending campaign phone bank list.]
A really good stat guy told me yesterday that most Hall of Famers are better hitters at home than on the road, because they get comfortable in their home park.
[Seriously? A "really good stat guy" analyzed hitting with the use of the amorphous concept of "being comfortable" (as opposed to using, say, stats)?]
I think our best baseball fans understand that there is a difference between Babe Ruth and Jim Rice, Willie Mays and Andre Dawson. I don't think we need a tier system; we just need to understand that the greatest players of all time are in one category, and great players are in another.
[Category 1: Hall of Fame. Category 2: Owners of sports bars bearing their name.]
But they can all live in the same house in Cooperstown.
[Or we could do that.]
I voted for nine players. I voted for Dawson, Rice, Raines, Jack Morris, Lee Smith, Bert Blyleven, Mark McGwire, Alan Trammell, and of course, Rickey Henderson. Again, I am way in the minority voting for nine guys. A good friend and fellow voter once told me that I'd better have a really good reason not to vote for a player, just in case he missed by one vote. If I don't have a really good reason, I vote for him. I have some friends who vote for ten guys every year, no matter what. I have other guys who won't vote for more than one or two, no matter what. That's the beauty of the Hall of Fame voting. Everyone has a different philosophy.
[Love it. Basis for voting: A career's worth of player performance < Tim not wanting to be *that* guy.
And given the topic, it seems like there are way too many "no matter what" and "Jack Morris" references in there, right?]
There is no denying that Dawson's career OBP (.323) is exceptionally low for a Hall of Famer, or a strong Hall of Fame candidate. But you're right; the emphasis recently, meaning the last 10-15 years, on OBP, doesn't help Dawson's case. Believe me, I love guys who walk a lot. I love guys who get on base. But occasionally, there is a player or two who will take a pitch that would normally be a ball and hit it for a two-run double. We cannot look past guys like that just because they don't walk all the time.
[Doesn't the exceptionally low *for a Hall of Famer* qualifier effectively negate this supposed "recent" emphasis on OBP? And if Dawson so frequently took a pitch that "would normally be a ball and hit it it for a two-run double," wouldn't his, ummm, OBP have been higher? Unless by "hit it for a two-run double" Tim actually meant "swung and missed."]
[Dawson] played as hard as anyone who ever played, he's one of the great character guys of the last 30 years. That means something to me.
[Well, I guess Albert Belle can go ahead and cross one name off of his pending campaign phone bank list.]
A really good stat guy told me yesterday that most Hall of Famers are better hitters at home than on the road, because they get comfortable in their home park.
[Seriously? A "really good stat guy" analyzed hitting with the use of the amorphous concept of "being comfortable" (as opposed to using, say, stats)?]
I think our best baseball fans understand that there is a difference between Babe Ruth and Jim Rice, Willie Mays and Andre Dawson. I don't think we need a tier system; we just need to understand that the greatest players of all time are in one category, and great players are in another.
[Category 1: Hall of Fame. Category 2: Owners of sports bars bearing their name.]
But they can all live in the same house in Cooperstown.
[Or we could do that.]
I voted for nine players. I voted for Dawson, Rice, Raines, Jack Morris, Lee Smith, Bert Blyleven, Mark McGwire, Alan Trammell, and of course, Rickey Henderson. Again, I am way in the minority voting for nine guys. A good friend and fellow voter once told me that I'd better have a really good reason not to vote for a player, just in case he missed by one vote. If I don't have a really good reason, I vote for him. I have some friends who vote for ten guys every year, no matter what. I have other guys who won't vote for more than one or two, no matter what. That's the beauty of the Hall of Fame voting. Everyone has a different philosophy.
[Love it. Basis for voting: A career's worth of player performance < Tim not wanting to be *that* guy.
And given the topic, it seems like there are way too many "no matter what" and "Jack Morris" references in there, right?]
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Bert Blyleven for all the Right Reasons
Because Archie would be disappointed if I didn’t do this for one of Holland and Minnesota’s finest:
Yes, Blyleven never won a Cy Young Award and pitched in only two All-Star Games. But pitching for much of his career for lousy teams, the great curveball pitcher won 287 games and threw 60 shutouts. Those are Hall of Fame numbers for any pitcher in any era.
I am happy that Tim Cowlishaw recognizes that Bert Blyleven is a Hall of Fame talent. Most sportswriters don’t. Of course, he seems to base his feeling that Blyleven is eligible for the Hall based on his 287 wins. Most sportswriters think that wins matter. They don’t.
And they especially don’t in the case of Blyleven.
The dude had 60 shutouts. That means that fully 21% of his “wins” were recorded because he was so good that he kept the other team from scoring ALL GAME LONG. No image, as a thought experiment, that the bullpens on his teams were just a little bit better. Like less than 1% better. As in, just enough better that over the long haul Blyleven doesn’t finish at 287 wins but at 300 and we don’t talk about this because d-bag sportswriters anoint him into the Hall of Fame because he “won” 300 games.
Wins are so worthless as a determinant of a single player’s ability that I start to go wild when people use them as a measure of quality. Like seriously crazy. Warewolf crazy. I start to get hot, sweaty, hairy, want punch people in the face and eat them…but only if I read to the end of the article. These days I can tell the signs and just look away.
Since wins aren’t meaningful numbers, what are? Glad you asked. These numbers are:
158 ERA+, 2.52 ERA, 1.117 WHIP, 258 Ks, 325 IP. When he was 22 years old.
142 ERA+, 2.66 ERA, 1.142 WHIP, 249 Ks. The very next year.
Bert went on to have four more years of ERA+s over 133.
Blyleven is fifth all-time in strikeouts.
He has an ERA+ seven points better than strikeout leader and Hall of Famer Nolan Ryan.
He is 13th all-time in innings pitched.
He was an awesome postseason pitcher, managing to win two World Series and record a 2.57 postseason ERA.
Those numbers matter.
Why am I even arguing this, you may ask? Because it’s the principle of the thing…I don’t care that somehow this Cowlishaw character came to the right conclusion about Blyleven as long as he did it for the wrong reasons. Baseball is the thinking man’s sport and goddamn it, it’s time that baseball writers started doing some thinking!
(Starting to get hot…want to punch someone in the face…must…turn…away…)
Yes, Blyleven never won a Cy Young Award and pitched in only two All-Star Games. But pitching for much of his career for lousy teams, the great curveball pitcher won 287 games and threw 60 shutouts. Those are Hall of Fame numbers for any pitcher in any era.
I am happy that Tim Cowlishaw recognizes that Bert Blyleven is a Hall of Fame talent. Most sportswriters don’t. Of course, he seems to base his feeling that Blyleven is eligible for the Hall based on his 287 wins. Most sportswriters think that wins matter. They don’t.
And they especially don’t in the case of Blyleven.
The dude had 60 shutouts. That means that fully 21% of his “wins” were recorded because he was so good that he kept the other team from scoring ALL GAME LONG. No image, as a thought experiment, that the bullpens on his teams were just a little bit better. Like less than 1% better. As in, just enough better that over the long haul Blyleven doesn’t finish at 287 wins but at 300 and we don’t talk about this because d-bag sportswriters anoint him into the Hall of Fame because he “won” 300 games.
Wins are so worthless as a determinant of a single player’s ability that I start to go wild when people use them as a measure of quality. Like seriously crazy. Warewolf crazy. I start to get hot, sweaty, hairy, want punch people in the face and eat them…but only if I read to the end of the article. These days I can tell the signs and just look away.
Since wins aren’t meaningful numbers, what are? Glad you asked. These numbers are:
158 ERA+, 2.52 ERA, 1.117 WHIP, 258 Ks, 325 IP. When he was 22 years old.
142 ERA+, 2.66 ERA, 1.142 WHIP, 249 Ks. The very next year.
Bert went on to have four more years of ERA+s over 133.
Blyleven is fifth all-time in strikeouts.
He has an ERA+ seven points better than strikeout leader and Hall of Famer Nolan Ryan.
He is 13th all-time in innings pitched.
He was an awesome postseason pitcher, managing to win two World Series and record a 2.57 postseason ERA.
Those numbers matter.
Why am I even arguing this, you may ask? Because it’s the principle of the thing…I don’t care that somehow this Cowlishaw character came to the right conclusion about Blyleven as long as he did it for the wrong reasons. Baseball is the thinking man’s sport and goddamn it, it’s time that baseball writers started doing some thinking!
(Starting to get hot…want to punch someone in the face…must…turn…away…)
Hall of Fame Talk: Amusing to Me, Infuriating to Others (Nils)
MLB Hall of Fame results are out next week. Let's see how Tim Cowlishaw decided to vote.
I voted for five players, although the only one I know is going to make it for sure is first-year eligible Rickey Henderson.
[OK. Henderson is fine.]
The funny thing is that I voted for three others who will either make it or come very close – outfielders Andre Dawson and Jim Rice and pitcher Bert Blyleven....
[I'm not sure why that's funny, but I am curious to see why Cowlishaw thinks that these three are Hall of Famers....]
I think Rice, Dawson and Blyleven all are borderline Hall of Famers.
[Oh, OK. Kind of like Hall of Famers. Except not. Sold!]
Yes, Blyleven never won a Cy Young Award and pitched in only two All-Star Games. But pitching for much of his career for lousy teams, the great curveball pitcher won 287 games and threw 60 shutouts. Those are Hall of Fame numbers for any pitcher in any era.
[Then he's no longer borderline, I guess? Let's just move on. I'm sure that Nils is reading this now shouting "Borderline?!? Oh, I'll show you borderline!"
The arguments for and against (although most of them all kind of sound like "against" arguments to me) Rice and Dawson have been well-documented, but I liked how Cowlishaw contrasted them with his pro-Tim Raines arguments.]
Rice had a shortened run, but it was in impressive one. He was top 10 in American League slugging eight times, top 10 in homers seven times, top 10 in OPS (on-base percentage plus slugging percentage) six times.
[OK...]
Dawson was a much superior outfielder (eight Gold Gloves) who had some great hitting seasons that went largely unnoticed in Montreal. I loved in 1987 when he told the Cubs he would play for them at any salary. That earned him an MVP award while playing for a bad team.
[THAT earned him the MVP? Really? Him saying that earned him an MVP? Hall of Fame plaque, please!]
[Raines] had 2,605 career hits, and 3,000 hits always has been Hall worthy. Why didn't Raines get there? Oh, perhaps because he led the National League in walks seven straight years from 1982 through 1988. He also led the NL in singles, doubles and triples those seven seasons. No player in major league history has a better stolen base percentage than Raines' 84.7.
[A lot of "led the NL for seven straight seasons" in there, as well as a "No player in major league history has a better...." Sounds a lot more Hall-ish than "top 10 in the American League," or "[telling] the Cubs he would play for them at any salary," right?]
I voted for five players, although the only one I know is going to make it for sure is first-year eligible Rickey Henderson.
[OK. Henderson is fine.]
The funny thing is that I voted for three others who will either make it or come very close – outfielders Andre Dawson and Jim Rice and pitcher Bert Blyleven....
[I'm not sure why that's funny, but I am curious to see why Cowlishaw thinks that these three are Hall of Famers....]
I think Rice, Dawson and Blyleven all are borderline Hall of Famers.
[Oh, OK. Kind of like Hall of Famers. Except not. Sold!]
Yes, Blyleven never won a Cy Young Award and pitched in only two All-Star Games. But pitching for much of his career for lousy teams, the great curveball pitcher won 287 games and threw 60 shutouts. Those are Hall of Fame numbers for any pitcher in any era.
[Then he's no longer borderline, I guess? Let's just move on. I'm sure that Nils is reading this now shouting "Borderline?!? Oh, I'll show you borderline!"
The arguments for and against (although most of them all kind of sound like "against" arguments to me) Rice and Dawson have been well-documented, but I liked how Cowlishaw contrasted them with his pro-Tim Raines arguments.]
Rice had a shortened run, but it was in impressive one. He was top 10 in American League slugging eight times, top 10 in homers seven times, top 10 in OPS (on-base percentage plus slugging percentage) six times.
[OK...]
Dawson was a much superior outfielder (eight Gold Gloves) who had some great hitting seasons that went largely unnoticed in Montreal. I loved in 1987 when he told the Cubs he would play for them at any salary. That earned him an MVP award while playing for a bad team.
[THAT earned him the MVP? Really? Him saying that earned him an MVP? Hall of Fame plaque, please!]
[Raines] had 2,605 career hits, and 3,000 hits always has been Hall worthy. Why didn't Raines get there? Oh, perhaps because he led the National League in walks seven straight years from 1982 through 1988. He also led the NL in singles, doubles and triples those seven seasons. No player in major league history has a better stolen base percentage than Raines' 84.7.
[A lot of "led the NL for seven straight seasons" in there, as well as a "No player in major league history has a better...." Sounds a lot more Hall-ish than "top 10 in the American League," or "[telling] the Cubs he would play for them at any salary," right?]
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Mack Brown is the Greatest. Ish.
There is nothing like the Bowl season for blatant homerism. Let's jump right in to this beauty from the great state of Texas:
UT claims another win for the ages
It sure was a good game, but hard to celebrate squeaking by a team that lost to Penn State and was destroyed by USC.
Texas made its statement with heart, resolve and a relentless will to win.
And that statement said: "We, the Texas Longhorns, are just about as good as an Ohio State team that lost to Penn State and got destroyed by USC. You know, that team from California that also destroyed Penn State."
This is the kind of game Mack Brown will cherish long after he’s done. When people ask why he loved coaching, he’ll tell them about this Monday night.
As opposed to, say, that Rose Bowl game from the other year when his team had Vince Young and beat USC in the last seconds of one of the best national title deciders ever. Weird, but you never know about Texans. They're a different breed.
He’ll talk about Quan Cosby, who has neither the speed nor size of a great wide receiver. Yet he’s a great wide receiver because he has soft hands, terrific instincts and deceptive strength.
Or maybe he will talk about the national title he won with Vince Young at this stadium in Pasadena. Nah, probably not. Quan Cosby is a WAY better story.
He’s a lot like quarterback Colt McCoy, who is gifted in ways that can’t always be measured. He is another guy Brown will remember.
Because using stats like yards thrown for, completion percentage, quarterback rating or anything like that would totally do Colt McCoy a disservice.
This was a night two fabulous college football teams exchanged body punches for 60 minutes, each refusing to give into the other, each fighting through exhaustion and frustration.
... Brown proved again he’s as good as any coach in the country.
Beating an okay team = being one of the best coaches in the country is marginally better as a logical statement than Archie's post about Ohio State fans calling their loss a victory, but still meaningless when you consider that Mack Brown apparently showed his ability by barely edging out an offense-less team that lost to a disappointing Penn State and was torn to pieces by USC.
UT claims another win for the ages
It sure was a good game, but hard to celebrate squeaking by a team that lost to Penn State and was destroyed by USC.
Texas made its statement with heart, resolve and a relentless will to win.
And that statement said: "We, the Texas Longhorns, are just about as good as an Ohio State team that lost to Penn State and got destroyed by USC. You know, that team from California that also destroyed Penn State."
This is the kind of game Mack Brown will cherish long after he’s done. When people ask why he loved coaching, he’ll tell them about this Monday night.
As opposed to, say, that Rose Bowl game from the other year when his team had Vince Young and beat USC in the last seconds of one of the best national title deciders ever. Weird, but you never know about Texans. They're a different breed.
He’ll talk about Quan Cosby, who has neither the speed nor size of a great wide receiver. Yet he’s a great wide receiver because he has soft hands, terrific instincts and deceptive strength.
Or maybe he will talk about the national title he won with Vince Young at this stadium in Pasadena. Nah, probably not. Quan Cosby is a WAY better story.
He’s a lot like quarterback Colt McCoy, who is gifted in ways that can’t always be measured. He is another guy Brown will remember.
Because using stats like yards thrown for, completion percentage, quarterback rating or anything like that would totally do Colt McCoy a disservice.
This was a night two fabulous college football teams exchanged body punches for 60 minutes, each refusing to give into the other, each fighting through exhaustion and frustration.
... Brown proved again he’s as good as any coach in the country.
Beating an okay team = being one of the best coaches in the country is marginally better as a logical statement than Archie's post about Ohio State fans calling their loss a victory, but still meaningless when you consider that Mack Brown apparently showed his ability by barely edging out an offense-less team that lost to a disappointing Penn State and was torn to pieces by USC.
Buckeye Psychology: I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough, and Doggone-it, People Like Me
As explained by Bob Hunter of the Columbus Dispatch, for Ohio State fans, losing isn't really losing at all!
Remember the 1992 tie with Michigan that Ohio State president E. Gordon Gee called the greatest win in the school's long football history? This was something like that.
[I bet it wasn't. Let's find out.]
OSU's 24-21 loss to Texas last night in the Fiesta Bowl isn't the new greatest win, but it did feel more like a victory more than so many of the others.
[OK, so we've established that a LOSS isn't the "greatest win," but it still FEELS like a victory. I feel good about this.]
So how to classify this game? It's hard to say, exactly.
[A loss?]
It obviously didn't clinch a championship.
[True.]
It wasn't historic.
[Warm.]
It didn't set a record, mark a milestone or qualify as the first or best of anything.
[Warmer.]
If someone were to describe it, an adjective as broad and as indefinite as "big" might be used.
[Colder?]
The Buckeyes' high-profile failures no longer seem so conclusive; instead, they blend back into a wider range of big games under Tressel that show the Buckeyes both winning and losing their share.
[Another high-profile loss makes the previous string of high-profile losses LESS conclusive. QED.]
So will Tressel again be viewed as a football genius?
[Really?]
Doubtful, but he is much closer than he was before the game.
[Losing = Advancing towards "genius" status. Someone get Rod Marinelli a MENSA membership.]
As losses go, this was about as positive as it gets.
[Are Ohio State fans really that dead inside?]
Remember the 1992 tie with Michigan that Ohio State president E. Gordon Gee called the greatest win in the school's long football history? This was something like that.
[I bet it wasn't. Let's find out.]
OSU's 24-21 loss to Texas last night in the Fiesta Bowl isn't the new greatest win, but it did feel more like a victory more than so many of the others.
[OK, so we've established that a LOSS isn't the "greatest win," but it still FEELS like a victory. I feel good about this.]
So how to classify this game? It's hard to say, exactly.
[A loss?]
It obviously didn't clinch a championship.
[True.]
It wasn't historic.
[Warm.]
It didn't set a record, mark a milestone or qualify as the first or best of anything.
[Warmer.]
If someone were to describe it, an adjective as broad and as indefinite as "big" might be used.
[Colder?]
The Buckeyes' high-profile failures no longer seem so conclusive; instead, they blend back into a wider range of big games under Tressel that show the Buckeyes both winning and losing their share.
[Another high-profile loss makes the previous string of high-profile losses LESS conclusive. QED.]
So will Tressel again be viewed as a football genius?
[Really?]
Doubtful, but he is much closer than he was before the game.
[Losing = Advancing towards "genius" status. Someone get Rod Marinelli a MENSA membership.]
As losses go, this was about as positive as it gets.
[Are Ohio State fans really that dead inside?]
Monday, January 5, 2009
These are a Few of my Favorite Things
You might be surprised to know that Bill Simmons and I share a number of traits. It’s true! And it makes me happier than my dog when he broke into the refrigerator and ate two hot dogs and half a bottle of ketchup.
1.We’re both graduates of the College of the Holy Cross.
2.We both write about sports.
3.We both have, at some point, lived in California.
4.We both like making lists.
And as I read his most recent list-laden column, I found myself nodding along. Mostly.
1. I want to catch a foul ball during a major league baseball game. I've come within about 6 feet twice in the double ohs. Never happened.
Me too!
And this one time, I went to a Frisco RoughRiders game and when I walked off to get beer and food this girl I was with bought a novelty baseball, scuffed it and rubbed it in the grass just outside the stadium (it’s the minor leagues, she could reach), and convinced the people we were with to pretend that she had caught it. I believed her. I blame the beer.
To her credit, she later bought a trophy holder for the ball with a little plaque that said she had caught it and gave the date. The trophy and call proudly sit in my living room.
When, one day, I catch a ball I will put it in a trophy and send it to her. This is my vow.
2. I want to see the Holy Cross men's hoops team pull off one March Madness upset. Rather than just leaving me upset.
Absolutely!
I was at Holy Cross for three heartbreakingly close NCAA tournament losses – to Tayshaun Prince’s Kentucky, Drew Gooden’s Kansas and Dwayne Wade’s Marquette. I firmly believe that small schools that value academics and graduate all of their athletes deserve a break. I have to deal with BC letting in flagrantly unqualified students to win a few games and then have to hear about it. Beating Notre Dame in the NIT does not count as an upset. My college’s alma mater is to the tune of “Oh Christmas Tree.”
I deserve this. We all deserve this.
3. I want to watch the baseball playoffs without hearing the voice of a certain announcer. House rules prevent me from sharing the name. In other news, did you know that, if you start an inning with a home run instead of a walk, you're more likely to have a multi-run inning?
Hear, hear!
I know what you’re thinking. How has he not mentioned Jimmy Kimmel yet?
4. I want one of my readers to strike it rich, purchase an NBA team and name me as general manager. Stranger things have happened. I mean, Mike Dunleavy continues to be the only coach-GM in the league. If the Clippers were a movie character, they'd be the mustachioed guy who bailed on De Niro's crew in "Heat," then gets found by De Niro lying on the ground after being beaten within an inch of his life. You know how Mustache Guy's life ended? He kept whispering, "please, please" to De Niro through battered lips, begging his friend to shoot him and put him out of his misery. And De Niro did. That's the Clippers right now. I think I have a chance.
Lukewarm agreement!
Though I do think it’s pathetic that Bill is begging to be GM of the Clippers (and trying to cover it up with a pop culture smokescreen), I gotta be honest and say that I wouldn’t say no to an offer to run the Royals so I see where he is coming from.
5. I want to finish 11-0 against the spread with my NFL playoff column.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
First of all, what are you doing betting against the spread?
Secondly, what are you doing wasting your fifth sporting wish?
Third, how in God’s name have you not mentioned Jimmy Kimmel yet?
That's probably the most realistic of the five remaining goals… Why couldn't I finish 11-0 for the playoffs? As always, we'll be leaning on my trusty Playoff Manifesto 4.0 (last updated in January '06), which should hopefully be useful during one of the single strangest Round 1s in recent NFL history.
Here’s a thought: maybe you couldn’t go 11-0 because you are making predictions based on a playoff betting guide that you made up in 2006 that hasn’t worked since its inception.
Or maybe because betting against the spread is stupendously dumb thing to do given the vagaries of luck and the fact that the line is set based on the number of people betting on each team, not on any actual performance or other factor. It’s like betting on how many cups of beer someone can drink based on how many people think that your guy can drink more than another. There is no correlation! The spread is a useless tool that allows Vegas to make money! How have you still not mentioned Jimmy Kimmel!
I feel like I am taking crazy pills.
1.We’re both graduates of the College of the Holy Cross.
2.We both write about sports.
3.We both have, at some point, lived in California.
4.We both like making lists.
And as I read his most recent list-laden column, I found myself nodding along. Mostly.
1. I want to catch a foul ball during a major league baseball game. I've come within about 6 feet twice in the double ohs. Never happened.
Me too!
And this one time, I went to a Frisco RoughRiders game and when I walked off to get beer and food this girl I was with bought a novelty baseball, scuffed it and rubbed it in the grass just outside the stadium (it’s the minor leagues, she could reach), and convinced the people we were with to pretend that she had caught it. I believed her. I blame the beer.
To her credit, she later bought a trophy holder for the ball with a little plaque that said she had caught it and gave the date. The trophy and call proudly sit in my living room.
When, one day, I catch a ball I will put it in a trophy and send it to her. This is my vow.
2. I want to see the Holy Cross men's hoops team pull off one March Madness upset. Rather than just leaving me upset.
Absolutely!
I was at Holy Cross for three heartbreakingly close NCAA tournament losses – to Tayshaun Prince’s Kentucky, Drew Gooden’s Kansas and Dwayne Wade’s Marquette. I firmly believe that small schools that value academics and graduate all of their athletes deserve a break. I have to deal with BC letting in flagrantly unqualified students to win a few games and then have to hear about it. Beating Notre Dame in the NIT does not count as an upset. My college’s alma mater is to the tune of “Oh Christmas Tree.”
I deserve this. We all deserve this.
3. I want to watch the baseball playoffs without hearing the voice of a certain announcer. House rules prevent me from sharing the name. In other news, did you know that, if you start an inning with a home run instead of a walk, you're more likely to have a multi-run inning?
Hear, hear!
I know what you’re thinking. How has he not mentioned Jimmy Kimmel yet?
4. I want one of my readers to strike it rich, purchase an NBA team and name me as general manager. Stranger things have happened. I mean, Mike Dunleavy continues to be the only coach-GM in the league. If the Clippers were a movie character, they'd be the mustachioed guy who bailed on De Niro's crew in "Heat," then gets found by De Niro lying on the ground after being beaten within an inch of his life. You know how Mustache Guy's life ended? He kept whispering, "please, please" to De Niro through battered lips, begging his friend to shoot him and put him out of his misery. And De Niro did. That's the Clippers right now. I think I have a chance.
Lukewarm agreement!
Though I do think it’s pathetic that Bill is begging to be GM of the Clippers (and trying to cover it up with a pop culture smokescreen), I gotta be honest and say that I wouldn’t say no to an offer to run the Royals so I see where he is coming from.
5. I want to finish 11-0 against the spread with my NFL playoff column.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
First of all, what are you doing betting against the spread?
Secondly, what are you doing wasting your fifth sporting wish?
Third, how in God’s name have you not mentioned Jimmy Kimmel yet?
That's probably the most realistic of the five remaining goals… Why couldn't I finish 11-0 for the playoffs? As always, we'll be leaning on my trusty Playoff Manifesto 4.0 (last updated in January '06), which should hopefully be useful during one of the single strangest Round 1s in recent NFL history.
Here’s a thought: maybe you couldn’t go 11-0 because you are making predictions based on a playoff betting guide that you made up in 2006 that hasn’t worked since its inception.
Or maybe because betting against the spread is stupendously dumb thing to do given the vagaries of luck and the fact that the line is set based on the number of people betting on each team, not on any actual performance or other factor. It’s like betting on how many cups of beer someone can drink based on how many people think that your guy can drink more than another. There is no correlation! The spread is a useless tool that allows Vegas to make money! How have you still not mentioned Jimmy Kimmel!
I feel like I am taking crazy pills.
My Post-Playoff Overreaction by Terence Moore
There is nothing like the playoffs to inspire irrational sports journalism, especially for a writer whose hometown team has just lost. And, if I may torture a metaphor sportswriter style, the NFL playoffs are like the Hanukkah of irrational sports journalism – days of the same piece written about each team that loses.
I love this time of year.
There is a formula for playoff loss analysis pieces: forget for a second that the NFL playoffs are among the greatest of small sample size crapshoots and that there are circumstances mitigating the loss, just make a big deal about how the players are not playoff ready/clutch enough, make sure you meet your word count, call it a day.
And Terence Moore of the Atlanta Journal Constitution is fantastically formulaic:
Falcons need more playoff-type players
Because the regular season-type players who were good enough to get the Falcons into the playoffs immediately became crappy in the playoffs. I hate when that happens. I call it A-Rod Disease.
Just because you soared or slid from the regular season into the playoffs, that doesn’t mean you’re a playoff team.
Actually, that is exactly what it means.
Ask the 2008 Falcons.
Me: Hello, Atlanta Falcons?
Falcons: Hello.
Me: Hi! This is Nils Nilsson and I am sorry to bother you but I just wanted to confirm that by winning enough games to qualify for the playoffs you actually became a playoff team.
Falcons: Who is this?
Me: My name is Nils. Just need confirmation - were you a playoff team?
Falcons: We were a football team playing in the playoffs, so yes, we were a playoff team.
Me: Yes, but you lost in the first round.
Falcons: But we played in the playoffs. You asked if we were a playoff team.
Me: That sounds altogether too logical. I think that I am going to ask writer Terence Moore to further define what playoff team really means. Thanks for your time and, by the way, good job losing to the Cardinals yesterday. That has gotta hurt.
Falcons: It does.
Better yet, ask Steve Wallace, the former San Francisco 49ers offensive tackle with three world championship rings.
Better yet, I’ll ask Steve Wallace.
Said Wallace, combining his 49ers past with the Falcons’ present and future, “To win Super Bowls, you have to have those guys that will be playmakers — those guys that won’t sit back and watch somebody catch a ball in front of them. That won’t sit back and make a half-hearted effort at pushing a guy out of bounds. That always will have the mind set that this particular moment in a playoff game could be the difference in the game.”
This is why sportswriters exist. Before Terence got his killer interview with Steve and cracked the big egg of knowledge all over my head, I never knew that not letting other players catch a ball in front of you, not sitting back and not making half-hearted efforts were playoff-type player specific skills. I thought that they were more general skills. Skills that could be the difference between a good player and an average one. Silly me.
To hear Wallace tell it, the Falcons don’t have enough of those players.
That’s because they don’t.
The Falcons went 11-5. With a rookie coach. And a rookie quarterback. They lost in Arizona by less than a touchdown to a team playing in front of energized fans who had never seen a home playoff game. Even if you blame sub-par players, there have been worse losses.
Wallace watched it all. Then again, he hadn’t a choice. The Falcons are deep inside his still solid frame of 6-foot-5 and 280-something pounds. He’s an Atlanta native who lives in Buckhead, where he remains so enthralled with the hometown team that he rarely has missed a millisecond of its games since his retirement as an NFL player 12 years ago. “You know how much of a diehard Falcons fan I am?” said Wallace, 44, who graduated from Chamblee High School along the way to Auburn. “As a kid, they were always blacked out locally, so I was glued to the radio listening to Bob Neal and Harmon Wages.”
When sportswriting goes bad:
1. “Wallace watched it all…he had no choice.” Why? Because he is an Atlanta native who lives in Buckhead. Air tight logic.
2. “He rarely has missed a millisecond of [Falcons] games since his retirement…12 years ago.” How? Dude has a bladder of steel, never blinks and watches games in a sensory deprivation chamber.
3. “You know how much of a diehard fan [he is]? He listened to the Falcons on the radio.” And…that is what passes for diehard in Atlanta.
Wallace laughed. Then he sighed…
Then he hugged Terence. In his big beefy diehard arms. It was weird.
There were numerous gaffes by Falcons linebackers and defensive backs.
Bummer. But with a single game sample size, it’s hard to indict an 11-5 team.
Star defensive end John Abraham and his aching thigh finished with just two tackles and no sacks.
Especially when a star player was injured.
So this isn’t surprising: More than half of those on the Falcons’ roster on Saturday hadn’t been in a playoff game before.
Yet another reason why this loss may not be because of non playoff-type players, but rather something that could be put down to other factors. Just saying.
Said Wallace, who went to the playoffs every year during his decade with the 49ers. “You walk into the stadium, and you can barely hear yourself talk. It can pretty much handicap your offense if you’re not ready, and the Falcons weren’t ready.
They would have been ready, however, if they had playoff-type players. Because playoff-type players don’t need a game plan or intense tactical preparation or anything like that. They shit on stuff like that. Then they go out and make a full-hearted effort at pushing a guy out of bounds and their team wins the game.
That’s how football is played!
“You could see early in the game where their offensive line wasn’t even putting a hand on guys. The crowd noise was bothering them and the whole team. After a while, you could tell that (offensive coordinator) Mike Mularkey made some adjustments.”
Mularkey bought the O-Line those Bose sound-cancelling headphones.
It was too late then.
He had missed the post-Christmas sale, shipping was a total rip-off and FedEx doesn’t guarantee before-game delivery for items that are ordered during the game. It was a mess.
Maybe next year, but the Falcons have to get those playmakers first.
Because the current young team that went 11-5 and lost a game by a touchdown despite having at least one key injury, playing away, and struggling without their Bose sound-cancelling headphone is total crap.
Logic. Fail.
I love this time of year.
There is a formula for playoff loss analysis pieces: forget for a second that the NFL playoffs are among the greatest of small sample size crapshoots and that there are circumstances mitigating the loss, just make a big deal about how the players are not playoff ready/clutch enough, make sure you meet your word count, call it a day.
And Terence Moore of the Atlanta Journal Constitution is fantastically formulaic:
Falcons need more playoff-type players
Because the regular season-type players who were good enough to get the Falcons into the playoffs immediately became crappy in the playoffs. I hate when that happens. I call it A-Rod Disease.
Just because you soared or slid from the regular season into the playoffs, that doesn’t mean you’re a playoff team.
Actually, that is exactly what it means.
Ask the 2008 Falcons.
Me: Hello, Atlanta Falcons?
Falcons: Hello.
Me: Hi! This is Nils Nilsson and I am sorry to bother you but I just wanted to confirm that by winning enough games to qualify for the playoffs you actually became a playoff team.
Falcons: Who is this?
Me: My name is Nils. Just need confirmation - were you a playoff team?
Falcons: We were a football team playing in the playoffs, so yes, we were a playoff team.
Me: Yes, but you lost in the first round.
Falcons: But we played in the playoffs. You asked if we were a playoff team.
Me: That sounds altogether too logical. I think that I am going to ask writer Terence Moore to further define what playoff team really means. Thanks for your time and, by the way, good job losing to the Cardinals yesterday. That has gotta hurt.
Falcons: It does.
Better yet, ask Steve Wallace, the former San Francisco 49ers offensive tackle with three world championship rings.
Better yet, I’ll ask Steve Wallace.
Said Wallace, combining his 49ers past with the Falcons’ present and future, “To win Super Bowls, you have to have those guys that will be playmakers — those guys that won’t sit back and watch somebody catch a ball in front of them. That won’t sit back and make a half-hearted effort at pushing a guy out of bounds. That always will have the mind set that this particular moment in a playoff game could be the difference in the game.”
This is why sportswriters exist. Before Terence got his killer interview with Steve and cracked the big egg of knowledge all over my head, I never knew that not letting other players catch a ball in front of you, not sitting back and not making half-hearted efforts were playoff-type player specific skills. I thought that they were more general skills. Skills that could be the difference between a good player and an average one. Silly me.
To hear Wallace tell it, the Falcons don’t have enough of those players.
That’s because they don’t.
The Falcons went 11-5. With a rookie coach. And a rookie quarterback. They lost in Arizona by less than a touchdown to a team playing in front of energized fans who had never seen a home playoff game. Even if you blame sub-par players, there have been worse losses.
Wallace watched it all. Then again, he hadn’t a choice. The Falcons are deep inside his still solid frame of 6-foot-5 and 280-something pounds. He’s an Atlanta native who lives in Buckhead, where he remains so enthralled with the hometown team that he rarely has missed a millisecond of its games since his retirement as an NFL player 12 years ago. “You know how much of a diehard Falcons fan I am?” said Wallace, 44, who graduated from Chamblee High School along the way to Auburn. “As a kid, they were always blacked out locally, so I was glued to the radio listening to Bob Neal and Harmon Wages.”
When sportswriting goes bad:
1. “Wallace watched it all…he had no choice.” Why? Because he is an Atlanta native who lives in Buckhead. Air tight logic.
2. “He rarely has missed a millisecond of [Falcons] games since his retirement…12 years ago.” How? Dude has a bladder of steel, never blinks and watches games in a sensory deprivation chamber.
3. “You know how much of a diehard fan [he is]? He listened to the Falcons on the radio.” And…that is what passes for diehard in Atlanta.
Wallace laughed. Then he sighed…
Then he hugged Terence. In his big beefy diehard arms. It was weird.
There were numerous gaffes by Falcons linebackers and defensive backs.
Bummer. But with a single game sample size, it’s hard to indict an 11-5 team.
Star defensive end John Abraham and his aching thigh finished with just two tackles and no sacks.
Especially when a star player was injured.
So this isn’t surprising: More than half of those on the Falcons’ roster on Saturday hadn’t been in a playoff game before.
Yet another reason why this loss may not be because of non playoff-type players, but rather something that could be put down to other factors. Just saying.
Said Wallace, who went to the playoffs every year during his decade with the 49ers. “You walk into the stadium, and you can barely hear yourself talk. It can pretty much handicap your offense if you’re not ready, and the Falcons weren’t ready.
They would have been ready, however, if they had playoff-type players. Because playoff-type players don’t need a game plan or intense tactical preparation or anything like that. They shit on stuff like that. Then they go out and make a full-hearted effort at pushing a guy out of bounds and their team wins the game.
That’s how football is played!
“You could see early in the game where their offensive line wasn’t even putting a hand on guys. The crowd noise was bothering them and the whole team. After a while, you could tell that (offensive coordinator) Mike Mularkey made some adjustments.”
Mularkey bought the O-Line those Bose sound-cancelling headphones.
It was too late then.
He had missed the post-Christmas sale, shipping was a total rip-off and FedEx doesn’t guarantee before-game delivery for items that are ordered during the game. It was a mess.
Maybe next year, but the Falcons have to get those playmakers first.
Because the current young team that went 11-5 and lost a game by a touchdown despite having at least one key injury, playing away, and struggling without their Bose sound-cancelling headphone is total crap.
Logic. Fail.
Peter King: Vol. 15
Pete does a pretty solid job covering the Wild Card weekend, but I had a few quick hits.
I'm actually starting to like Deion Sanders on TV. I know that'll rankle some peers, but he's confident, he's opinionated, he backs up opinions with good arguments (some of which I think are bunk, but who cares?), and he's good at the sound-bite game.
[Wait. So are his arguments good or bunk? I'm confused.]
I think Brett Favre is perilously close to leaving the game -- for good, this time -- and disappearing into a Mississippi deer stand for a long time.
[Why "perilously" close? Dude is washed up. If he returns, the Jets would be periously close to missing the playoffs again (they will in any event, but you get the point).]
Favre also told me he declined to have right biceps surgery, even though Jets doctors advised him to have the surgery if he thought he was going to play football in 2009.
[What do they know. They're only doctors.]
The fact he didn't choose to have the surgery, however, isn't a definite indicator that he's retiring, because a similar injury to his left biceps once went away without surgery in Green Bay.
[That biceps injury "went away?" Favre = a magic healer.]
I don't know why Adrian Peterson, ridden hard all season, didn't touch the ball on the last 16 Viking plays of the season. Not that it would have mattered much, most likely, but he's your horse, Vikes. Ride him.
[Because it... wouldn't have mattered...?]
ESPN's Chris Mortensen had a great nugget on Boston College coach Jeff Jagodzinski being told if he interviewed for the Jets job to just keep walking and not come back. That's a ridiculous demand by Boston College, unless there's a clause in his contract that the coach cannot interview for NFL jobs, which I don't believe exists.
[Odds that Pete has actually reviewed the contract in question??]
Caught "Bobby," the Bobby Kennedy assassination movie. Compelling and interesting. Emilio Estevez is smart.
[Ha. Great point to finish on. Emilio!]
I'm actually starting to like Deion Sanders on TV. I know that'll rankle some peers, but he's confident, he's opinionated, he backs up opinions with good arguments (some of which I think are bunk, but who cares?), and he's good at the sound-bite game.
[Wait. So are his arguments good or bunk? I'm confused.]
I think Brett Favre is perilously close to leaving the game -- for good, this time -- and disappearing into a Mississippi deer stand for a long time.
[Why "perilously" close? Dude is washed up. If he returns, the Jets would be periously close to missing the playoffs again (they will in any event, but you get the point).]
Favre also told me he declined to have right biceps surgery, even though Jets doctors advised him to have the surgery if he thought he was going to play football in 2009.
[What do they know. They're only doctors.]
The fact he didn't choose to have the surgery, however, isn't a definite indicator that he's retiring, because a similar injury to his left biceps once went away without surgery in Green Bay.
[That biceps injury "went away?" Favre = a magic healer.]
I don't know why Adrian Peterson, ridden hard all season, didn't touch the ball on the last 16 Viking plays of the season. Not that it would have mattered much, most likely, but he's your horse, Vikes. Ride him.
[Because it... wouldn't have mattered...?]
ESPN's Chris Mortensen had a great nugget on Boston College coach Jeff Jagodzinski being told if he interviewed for the Jets job to just keep walking and not come back. That's a ridiculous demand by Boston College, unless there's a clause in his contract that the coach cannot interview for NFL jobs, which I don't believe exists.
[Odds that Pete has actually reviewed the contract in question??]
Caught "Bobby," the Bobby Kennedy assassination movie. Compelling and interesting. Emilio Estevez is smart.
[Ha. Great point to finish on. Emilio!]
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