Is it possible to be so steeped in knowledge that you lose all sense of proportion explaining something? Are there factoids so trivial you risk getting buried by them when you take them too seriously?
I
mean, how exercised can one get about stolen bases?
If
you are Bill James, and the year is 1983, when stolen bases were all the rage
and no one noticed their lack of value when it came to winning or losing
ballgames, you took a stand and chanced the consequences.
Hear
him out before you scoff:
How
many 2-run innings do you have to lose before the stolen base becomes a bad
gamble? Damn few…It’s an invisible loss; you don’t really see the runs you
don’t get, whereas you do see it when it pays off. But I’ve noticed something
about those big innings that win ball games. You hardly ever see anybody caught
stealing in the middle of a three-run rally.
Reading
James cut against the grain of conventional wisdom is a joy that doesn’t fade
even after the hills he fought over blend into the horizon. His 1983
Baseball Abstract captures him at his most dynamic, ornery and brilliant;
in many ways more fun to read now as us baseball fans with long memories have
the ability to see what he got right (and wrong) and more fully appreciate the
wit and wisdom that lay beyond the number-crunching that made his name.
Also
adding to the pleasure is when he has a good baseball season to analyze, as he
did here with 1982, a year which saw a rise in smaller-market teams like the
Milwaukee Brewers, California Angels, and Atlanta Braves; the game-changing
dynamics of free agency and artificial turf; electrifying young stars like Cal
Ripken Jr. and Fernando Valenzuela; and the rise of analytically-minded
managers like Whitey Herzog of the champion St. Louis Cardinals.
James
had it good in 1982 and he knew it. He even found nice things to say about that
notorious atrocity of organized sports, the Astrodome:
The
Astrodome is a negative image of Fenway [Park], an exactly opposite park in
almost every way one can imagine. Beautiful, ugly. Quaint, modern. Vibrant,
sterile. Cozy, spacious. Hitter’s heaven, hitter’s nightmare. And for what were
the Astro players of the fine teams of 1978 to 1981 known? Their openness with
the press, their closeness and almost family-like atmosphere. Odd, isn’t it? As
the park knocks 20 points off every player’s average, it humbles hitters and
controls egos.
But
he could pick fights, too. Gene Mauch’s fame as a manager who couldn’t reach
the World Series won sympathetic murmurs from other baseball commentators;
James harrumphs instead “that he has taken over too many challenges and not
enough ball clubs.”
Cleveland
Indians’ third-baseman Toby Harrah surprised some when he made the American
League All-Star team in 1982. “Would you be happy if we scheduled an All-Mediocrities-Who-Had-Good-First-Halves
Game?” James scoffed.
And
then there are the 1982 New York Mets, about which the less James says, the
better: “The Mets’ best player in ‘82 [center-fielder Mookie Wilson] doesn’t get
on base enough to be a very good lead-off man, but who on the Mets is really
good at anything?”
The
fun of James is partially in his being so snarky, but mostly getting to look
over his shoulder as he explains this and that concept, drawing you in with
low-key eloquence and clarity.
That is not to say the Abstract is an easy read. At times it gets rather abstract. James has these particular devices he liked to employ, like the Power/Speed Number that determines which player was closest to the Willie Mays ideal, or The Favorite Toy, which measures the future potential of a proven player. These come off as devices designed to make James look clever more than explain some facet of the game.
What
motivated James in 1983? He announces at the outset he has a lot to say about
the influence of ballparks. “A player who creates a 5.15 runs per game in
Fenway Park, where runs are plentiful and therefore less valuable, is not equal
to a player who creates 5.15 runs per game in the Oakland Mausoleum, where runs
are relatively hard to come by.”
The
importance of the catcher was also seen by James as critical, if harder to
quantify. He argues that Gary Carter, backstop that year for the Montreal Expos
and future Hall-of-Famer, was the best player in the National League, an
outstanding hitter who also owned the best defensive won-lost percentage among
catchers for the last two years.
The
catcher’s importance was clearly more in James’ mind a product of handling
pitchers rather than throwing out baserunners. Just listen to him on the New
York Yankees:
In
the ledger of bad ideas of historical magnitude, enter now the name of George
Steinbrenner, cited for his 1981 argument that the era of the home run was over,
and that the Yankees were to become a slashing, speed-based team in tune with
the 1980s. The chance that this would work was roughly equal to the chance that
Ronald Reagan might elope with Joan Baez.
For
one thing, the Yankees didn’t have the ballpark for such strategy. Nor was it
sound. In examining the game’s best basestealer, at that moment and of all
time, Rickey Henderson of the Oakland Athletics, James calls out how much worse
Henderson made batters who came up after him, who had to hold off swinging at optimal
first and second pitches so Henderson could swipe a bag and get into scoring
position.
James
takes up other unpopular causes, like rating Dickie Thon of the Houston Astros
a better shortstop than Ozzie Smith of the Cardinals. He notes a popular canard
that Smith saved the Cards 100 runs with his stellar defense; while James make
short work of the claim, he gets carried away by his point and short-shrifts
the great Smith.
He
also predicts the Chicago White Sox will be a powerhouse in their division,
while the Baltimore Orioles will wilt after the departure of their fabled
manager Earl Weaver: “Even if it were a good team – which it isn’t, without
Earl Weaver – the new manager would still find himself at the controls of a
machine custom-built for somebody else.”
The
Orioles did find a way to win without Earl; they went on to win the World
Series in 1983. But they did collapse pretty hard after that, so maybe James
had a point, too.
What
made for a winning team in 1982? James notes the Expos had more great players
on their club than the Cardinals, who won the Expos’ division. Never mind speed
and defense; which others cited that year. The Expos were brought down, James says,
by a lousy second baseman. He compares them to “a girl with flashing eyes and a
turned-up nose and three teeth missing.”
Many
times James will just go on about the smallest topic in a way that amuses and engages. He can call attention the
fact there were only 12 1-0 wins in baseball in 1982, and that Larry Gura of
the Kansas City Royals happened to win two of them. Mean anything? Not really,
but like a crammed scorecard it makes one appreciate the layers of the game.
Just
the way James explains himself makes for an entertaining read:
The
subject of the book is sabermetrics; SABR for the Society of American Baseball
Research, Metrics for measurement, with an extra “e” thrown in so you can
pronounce it.
James’s
1983 Abstract employs this eloquence to advance some interesting ideas.
Even when I don’t agree with his preference for the four-man pitching rotation
or the designated hitter, I find his arguments stimulating. Many times, though,
he was on the money. Most importantly, he is always offering new ways of
looking at the game of baseball, and making you feel like a smarter fan by
reading him.
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