Monday, June 7, 2010

Capitol Uprising: Are the Nationals in the Fetal Stages of a Dynasty?

By Jarrad Saffren

Blogger's Note: The following entry is the 3rd in a season long series that will run every two weeks on a consistent Monday basis. After reading, be sure to become a "Chin Music" follower by clicking the "follow" link next to the title of this entry. Remember to post your comments at the bottom.

Ever since Major League Baseball restructured into it’s current six division format in 1994, the natural pecking order of the National League East has played out like a predictable Hollywood blockbuster: while two perennial title contenders have maintained separate runs at the top, the remaining three teams have been type-cast like one-dimensional movie stars. Spearheaded by their legendary, Hall of Fame-studded pitching staff, the Braves established a new high water mark for consistency by winning 11 consecutive National League East titles from 1995 to 2005. After a brief cameo by the Mets in 2006, the Phillies, spearheaded by the most powerful National League lineup since the “Big Red Machine,” have knocked the Braves off their long-standing perch. In spite of their combined total of 14 first place finishes in the last 15 seasons, the Braves and Phillies have failed to finish first in the most important category: World Series championships. That distinction belongs to the Marlins, who capitalized on a pair of spur of the moment championship tidal waves in 1997 and 2003. With two world championships and zero 1st place finishes, the Marlins are like the pesky little brother who always seems to hang around the big boy table long after his mother began pestering him to go to sleep. Every once in awhile (1997 and 2003), he pulls an all-nighter. The Mets, on the other hand, are supposed to hold court at the big boy table. Every spring, their paper roster gives off the mirage that they’re championship contenders. But from Mo Vaughn to Roberto Alomar to Bobby Bonilla, only the “Brangelina” family has made more perplexing free agent additions than the Mets. Which is why, every fall, they’re left to ponder their seemingly eternal second class status (both in their division and their home state).

Amongst the chaotic consistency of the modern day National League East, perhaps nothing has been more of a slam-dunk than the dormant status of the franchise formerly known as the Montreal Expos. Forget the wild card era for a second. The Expos entered the majors in the inaugural season of the division play era (1969). During their tenure in Montreal (from 1969-2004), in spite of the consistent wave of talent produced by their farm system (Gary Carter, Andre Dawson, Pedro Martinez, Randy Johnson, Moises Alou, etc.), the Expos made a grand total of one playoff appearance…in the strike-interrupted 1981 campaign. The city of Washington hasn’t fared much better. After the retirement of legendary power pitcher Walter Johnson in 1927, the Washington Senators were known more for a capitalistic pun, “first in war, first in peace, and last in the American League,” than their exploits on the diamond. By 1961, they had skipped town to become the Minnesota Twins. Since moving to Washington and becoming the Nationals in 2005, the former Expos franchise has yet to even post a winning season. When you put both tenures together, the Expos/Nationals franchise has exactly ½ of a division title* (see “1981” at the bottom) in 40 years of existence. Only the ancient Israelites can match such a dry spell. Yet, after 40 years of wandering in the dessert, it appears the Nationals (and Washington baseball) may finally be in the fetal stages of reaching their promised land.

If the post-modern NL East is a predictable Hollywood blockbuster, than the emotional core of our American sporting cycle is a classic superhero movie. With every puffy-chested protagonist, there’s an antagonistic foil waiting to burn down his city while purging its helpless natives. Based on the communal ambiance that surrounds these sporting conflicts, any athlete is capable of holding down both roles at the same time. Such a conflict reaches its historical peak when it’s carried out by a pair of transcendent superstars. You’ve seen this movie before. Two colorful, world-beating athletes, each of whom could stake a claim as their respective sport’s pre-eminent meal ticket, jostle for that elusive “king of the hill” status. Bill Russell had Wilt Chamberlain. Magic Johnson had Larry Bird. Roger Federer has Rafael Nadal. Sidney Crosby has Alex Ovechkin. But let’s reverse the psychology for a moment and imagine the possibilities if they were to team up. What if the height-challenged (by modern standards) 50’s and 60’s basketball players were forced to drive the lane against the 6’10 Russell and the 7’1 Chamberlain? What if Magic could have added a new dimension to his fast break by whipping a corner pass to Bird for a momentum-turning three? What if Nadal could use his famously wide left-handed kick-serve to set up Federer for a statement volley? What if Crosby, the NHL’s most spectacular passer since Wayne Gretzky, could feed Ovechkin, the league’s most spectacular goal-scorer since Pavel Bure, on his right wing? If you’re the Washington Nationals, these jubilant fantasies suddenly represent a potentially budding reality. At the beginning of this week, in back to back days, the Nationals will be blinded by the apocalyptic, tide-turning glow that is their future. On Monday, they used their number one overall draft pick to select catcher Bryce Harper, the most hyped position prodigy since Ken Griffey Jr. Today, they will culminate a year’s worth of hype-crazy anticipation by starting Steven Strasburg, the greatest pitching prospect of all-time and last year’s number one overall draft choice. Never before in the history of sports has a franchise struck such prodigious amateur gold in back to back years. “The Nationals could be getting two 50 year players back to back,” says their agent, Scott Boras. In his final two seasons at San Diego State, Strasburg went 21-4 with a 1.44 ERA while recording 122 more strikeouts than innings pitched (328-206). After signing for a rookie record contract of 15.1 million dollars, his minor league career has developed into a highly publicized, yet destined to be short-lived tour de force. Pitching before record crowds and ESPN cameras, Strasburg’s dominance (7-2, 1.30 ERA) has sparked a sudden wave of interest in the future of Nationals baseball. When a rumor spread that he would make his major league debut on June 4th, tickets for the game were sold out in less than 10 minutes on the team’s website. His fastball has been clocked at 102 miles per hour. His changeup is considered on par with two-time CY Young winner Tim Lincecum. As a late-blooming four year college player, Strasburg, who told scouts not to draft him out of high school because he didn’t even think he was ready, is now the most major league-ready prospect in the history of the game. Former outspoken major league pitcher and current “Baseball Tonight” analyst Curt Schilling said that Strasburg “could very well be the best pitcher in the major leagues from the day he makes his first start.” Bryce Harper, on the other hand, was ready for the show before he even hit puberty. A 17 year old with a Ruthian power bat and a Pudge-like throwing arm, Harper’s now legendary prep career has become a product of public infatuation. As a 12 year old, while playing in a travel tournament on an Alabama field with 250 foot fences (about 50 feet longer than the traditional fences a 12 year old would play on), Harper hit 11 home runs in 12 at bats. As a 16 year old high school sophomore, while playing in an International Power Showcase normally reserved for juniors and seniors, Harper hit the longest home run (502 feet) in the history of Tropicana Field. In addition to his otherworldly power bat, Harper’s fastball has been consistently clocked at 96 and 97 miles per hour. Immediately after becoming the first high school sophomore to be named a 1st team all-American by Baseball America, Harper was featured in a June 2009 Sports Illustrated cover story that dubbed him the “Lebron James of baseball.” After two scintillating seasons at Las Vegas High School, Harper became bored at the idea of spending two more seasons facing cream-puff high school fastballs. Now, after obtaining his GED from the College of Southern Nevada (where he hit 29 home runs in 62 games) in December of 2009, Harper can enter the 2010 MLB draft during what would have been the conclusion of his junior year of high school.

Under a baseball dynamic, due to the multitude of intangible factors that can define a 162 game season, it’s virtually impossible for two superstars to consistently carry a team to a championship. If there’s a cautionary tale for the Nationals to steer away from, it’s the story of the mid to late 90’s Seattle Mariners and their intangible contrast with the dominant franchise of their era: the Yankees. Within a five year span, the Mariners drafted Ken Griffey Jr. and Alex Rodriguez, the two most hyped amateur position players in baseball history up to that point, with separate number one overall draft choices. When you add Randy Johnson, Edgar Martinez, Jay Buhner, and Jamie Moyer to the mix, the Mariners featured three future first ballot Hall of Famers (Griffey, A-Rod, and Johnson), one fringe Hall of Famer (Martinez, a career DH, would be a lock if he had played the field), a three time 40 plus home run hitter (Buhner), and one of the most consistent finesse pitchers in recent memory (Moyer). While all these players carried out their potential to the fullest extent, the Mariners won just one playoff series during their tenure as franchise cornerstones. Although they looked dominant on paper, the Mariners front office could never seem to plug the gaping bullpen holes that always seemed to sink their post-season ship. The Yankees, on the other hand, combined their deep, albeit not quite as spectacular lineup and rotation with a world-beating bullpen that always seemed to dash any faint sense of hope for an opposing comeback. They were built for the post-season. Seattle was better-suited for a video game.

Once they both reach the majors, unless Harper suffers a Josh Hamilton-like meltdown and Strasburg is the second coming of Todd Van Poppel, the Nationals will instantly elevate themselves to playoff-contender status. Once both players reach the peak of their talents, in order for the Nationals to capitalize on their dynastic potential, their front office must combine their Seattle-like headliners with a Yankee-like intangible dynamic. With an underrated core of everyday position players like incumbent superstar Ryan Zimmerman, speedy centerfielder Nyjer Morgan, and power hitting 1st baseman Adam Dunn, they’re off to a better start than it may appear. In addition to choosing their ace of the future in Strasburg with the first overall pick in last year’s draft, the Nationals nabbed their closer of the future, former Stanford fireballer and Indiana high school pitching legend Drew Storen, with the 10th overall pick. When you combine this budding flower bed of talent with a freshly minted infant stadium and a renewed sense of fan interest, the future of Washington baseball is the brightest it’s been since Walter Johnson was headlining their starting rotation. Playing in a major market, the Nationals should also have no trouble avoiding the economic pratfalls that prevented their Expo forefathers from maintaining a similar nucleus. It’s not a question of whether the Nationals will disrupt the long-standing ebb and flow of the National League East, it’s a matter of to what extent will they capitalize once they do. But as the Mariners and Yankees will tell you, hype is merely an appetizer that will leave you yearning for a full course meal.

*After a players strike split the 1981 MLB season in half, Major League Baseball decided to crown a division title winner for each half of the season. The Expos, after finishing 3rd in the NL East “first half,” finished in 1st after play was resumed for the “second half.” The Expos then defeated the Phillies (champions of the “first half”) in a pre-historic “Division Series.”

Monday, May 24, 2010

Firing of Hillman Begs the Question: Does the Manager really Matter?

Blogger's Note: After reading this entry (the 2nd in a season long series), become a "Chin Music" follower by clicking the "Follow" link next to the title of the entry above. Don't forget to post your comments on the bottom of the page.

When he took the Boston Celtics head coaching position in 1997, Rick Pitino had a reputation for resurrecting the downtrodden fortunes of every basketball program he had ever chosen to lead. Fresh off rescuing Kentucky from the scandalous depths of NCAA purgatory and restoring the program to its rightful perch among the titans of college basketball, Pitino seemed like the perfect choice for an NBA resurrection of similar stature. But after 3 ½ seasons, 146 losses, and zero playoff appearances, Pitino ended his tumultuous tenure as the prime example for a long-standing archetype: the successful college coach who couldn’t make the transition to the professional ranks. Pitino’s inability to reignite the “old Celtic flame” was compounded by the relentless suffocation he faced from the Boston fans and media; many of whom still had visions of the franchise as both a perennial champion and a lofty cultural touchstone. Pitino’s frustration reached a crescendo in March of the 1999-00 season: “Larry Bird is not walking through that door, fans. Kevin McHale is not walking through that door and Robert Parish is not walking through that door. People don't realize that, and as soon as they realize those three guys are not coming through that door, the better this town will be for all of us,” he pleaded in this now symbolic press conference outburst. On the surface, it became a figurative metaphor for the “storied franchise” that unfairly uses it’s glorious past as a measuring stick for its sobering present. Beneath the surface, it became a sobering reminder that underscored our often bloated perception of a professional coach.

Make no mistake, in the coaching universe, to compare Trey Hillman’s position as manager of the Royals with Rick Pitino’s position as coach of the Celtics would be like comparing the CEO of Microsoft to Ronald McDonald. Yet, after being canned 35 games into his third season, few would have blamed Hillman had he reacted in similar fashion. Managing the Royals is like promoting celibacy at the NBA All-Star game: regardless of how well you get your message across, the results will always be a reflection of the toxic wasteland you find yourself surrounded by. In addition to their 24 season playoff drought, the second longest in any of the four major sports, the Royals have posted just one winning record in the last 15 seasons. Only an 83-79 campaign in 2003 can elevate them above the Pittsburgh Pirates as the second most futile franchise of the post-modern era. In the 2000’s, they racked up four 100 plus loss seasons, the most by a major league franchise in a single decade. They’ve drafted poorly (Alex Gordon, Luke Hochevar, etc.). They’ve signed mid-level players to cash-strapping, multi-year contracts (Mark Gruzielanek, Scott Elarton, etc.). On the rare occasions when they’ve actually had a few star quality players, they’ve traded them away for almost nothing in return (Jermaine Dye, Carlos Beltran, etc.). Since the beginning of the Wild Card era in 1995, the Royals have had nearly as many managers (7) as all-stars (10). So is it really Trey Hillman’s fault that he can’t win with a team that features David Dejesus and Billy Butler as its 3 and 4 hole hitters?

Professional coaches operate under a two-fold sense of responsibility. In addition to implementing a stylistic strategy based on the physical strengths of the players at hand, a coach must set an emotional tone that allows him to successfully preside over a locker-room’s worth of type-A millionaires. Both concepts are linked by a cause and effect relationship. When a coach lacks a certain intellectual sense of strategy, he’s bound to lose the respect of his frustrated subjects. Once a coach “loses the locker room,” any sense of strategy is rendered meaningless. Baseball managers, on the other hand, operate under a different strategical dynamic that forces them to place more of an onus on establishing an emotional identity. While all sports feature a series of individual battles, baseball is an individualized version of a team sport. When preparing for an opponent, instead of focusing on the larger body of work as a sum of it’s individual parts, baseball managers focus specifically on those individual parts. As a result, while strategy still comes into play within the flow of a game, baseball decisions are more of a crapshoot than any other sport. For example, when a basketball coach switches to a zone defense because his players are continuously getting beaten off the dribble by a more athletic opponent, he’s making a strategic decision based on the athletic capabilities of both units. On the contrary, when a baseball manager brings in his lefty specialist to face the opponent’s left-handed power hitter, he’s making a strategic decision based on the assumed capabilities of a specific individual. There’s no scheme. It’s basically the equivalent of hand-picking a foil to play against the neighborhood one-on-one champ and then gambling on the outcome.

In a strategic sense, baseball managers are similar in their tendencies to follow such long-standing “by the book” norms. This is why their real value lies in their intangible ability to connect with personalities. Regardless of whether you have the horses to win the race, you must get your players to believe that there’s still a race to be won. When he was hired by the Royals, Trey Hillman had a reputation for his ability to connect with younger players. Even as the losses piled up, Hillman maintained this connection with his prideful legion of over-matched youngsters. “It’s a shame because he was a man I was proud to play underneath. He was a man I looked up to. He always gave us 100 % so we always returned the favor." stated Royals right-hander Brian Bannister on the day of Hillman’s firing. But there’s an old adage in sports that “great coaches are only as great as their best players.” In baseball, such a sentiment is the sporting equivalent of natural selection. With a sad-sack franchise like the Royals, it was impossible for Trey Hillman’s intangible qualities to overcome the perennially cellar-dwelling product he was asked to resurrect. But, like many successful managers before him, it’s these same intangible qualities that will enable Hillman to succeed once he lands the right opportunity. Joe Torre got fired three times before landing on a burgeoning gold mine of upcoming talent with the Yankees in the mid 1990’s. Bobby Cox made one playoff appearance in 8 seasons as a manager before he found three future hall of famers to headline his starting rotation. In four seasons with the rebuilding Phillies in the late 90’s, Terry Francona never managed a team that finished higher than 3rd place. After being handed the keys to the already championship-caliber Red Sox of the mid 00’s, Francona won two World Series championships in his first four seasons. It’s a concept that’s barely limited to baseball. Lakers coach Phil Jackson has more championships (10) than any other coach in the history of North American professional sports. Yes, Jackson’s an extremely sharp guy who built his reputation on the basis of his wildly successful “triangle offense.” But would the “triangle” be that successful if it didn’t consistently feature the most dominant player in the NBA? (Michael Jordan, Shaq, Kobe) Perhaps current Phillies manager Charlie Manuel said it best in September of 2007, after his ace pitcher Cole Hamels threw a complete game shutout to catapult the Phillies past the rival Mets and into 1st place: “When you have players like Cole Hamels who can go out and dominate like that, it’s easy to be a manager. You see, I can be a good manager.” In the end, whether you’re Phil Jackson or Trey Hillman, it all depends on who’s following you through that door.

Now that we've established just how unimportant managers can be, let's countdown the 5 best in the Major Leagues today.

5. Ron Gardenhire-No one gets more out of what he has than Gardenhire, who consistently takes the Twins to the playoffs in spite of marginal talent. With the opening of Target Field, it should be exciting to see what he can do with a payroll.

4. Bobby Cox-Atlanta's remarkable run of 15 consecutive division titles remains one of the greatest accomplishments in sports history.

3. Tony La Russa- La Russa is the master at taking statistical analysis and applying it to a game situation. His willingness to experiment keeps him one step ahead of the traditional grain.

2. Joe Torre-In terms of handling both a big city pressure cooker and the egos that come with it, Torre is baseball's answer to Phil Jackson.

1. Mike Scoscia-No manager can match Scoscia’s hands-on dictation of his team’s style of play. He’s transformed the Angels into a modern hallmark of consistency similar to the 70’s and 80’s Dodgers teams he played for under Tommy Lasorda.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Just Look with Your Eyes and Tell Me What You See: Why Baseball’s “Stat Geeks” Have Gone too Far

Blogger's Note: The following is the first in a series of baseball-related blogs that will run every two weeks from now until the conclusion of the World Series. With the exception of this first edition, all blog entries will run for the first time on Mondays (meaning the next edition will be posted on the 24th of May. When you're done reading, post your comments on the bottom of the page.

From the mind-bending Sabermetrics* of legendary stat oracle Bill James to the open-minded, five tool visualization of revolutionary scouting executive Branch Rickey, there has always been a degree of separation between Major League Baseball’s pre-eminent team-building mindsets. For years, the concept of scouting was ruled by an instinctual sense of five tool traditionalism. Prospects were judged based on their perceived potential in the five basic skill sets: running, throwing, fielding, contact hitting, and power hitting. Resident professionals were judged based on their rate of production in the most straightforward statistical categories (batting average, home runs, stolen bases, RBIs, errors). It was a system based on the discerning “What you see is what you get” perspective of the rough-necked, pipe-toting baseball traditionalists. Although it’s always been a game of numbers, baseball had no place for its wide legion of geeky mathematical fanatics who valued obscure projections over simple intangibles and proven qualities….until a highly respected baseball visionary welcomed them as both a trendy and tactical competitive advantage.

If the 2010 portrait of a major league front office is beginning to resemble a casting call for “Revenge of the Nerds,” then Oakland Athletics general manager Billy Beane is the sensual jock head who lets them party in his frat house if they agree to do his homework. A three sport high school superstar before he became a major league outfielder, Beane appears, at least on the surface, to fall under the “old school” executive stereotype. But as the general manager of the small market A’s, Beane doesn’t have the financial wiggle room that many of his large market competitors enjoy. Prior to free agency, such small market teams could compensate for their financial constraints by drafting and developing a strong core of homegrown players. While today’s cash-strapped franchises have no choice but to take on a similar mindset, they almost always are forced to watch their slew of budding prospects blossom (both on the field and in their pockets) with a more wealthy organization. So with the help of his number-crunching scouting branch, Beane developed a more analytical method for measuring the value of a player. The approach, nicknamed Moneyball by the 2003 best-selling book that explains the concept, is centered on the idea that the collective wisdom of baseball insiders is both subjective and flawed. Traditional statistical gauges such as stolen bases, RBI’s (runs batted in), and batting average have been replaced by on-base percentage and slugging percentage as a more cost-effective measuring stick for offensive production. For example, in the early 00’s the A’s featured an exciting young offense spearheaded by 2000 AL MVP Jason Giambi. Following the 2001 season, however, Giambi signed a 7 year, 120 million dollar deal with the New York Yankees. Aware that they would be unable to compete with the slew of big market offers Giambi would receive, the A’s went searching for a cost efficient replacement. They settled on former Red Sox catcher Scott Hatteberg, whose career was rendered all but a footnote after a ruptured nerve in his right elbow left him unable to throw or hold a baseball. In a popular chapter of Moneyball, Beane explains that the A’s pursued Hatteberg due to his unusually high on-base percentage for a hitter of his mediocre stature (.273 career batting average, .361 career OBP). For a “moneyball” franchise, such obscure statistics are considered a more direct correlation to the desired end result (Ex: OBP = runs scored). In the 2002 and 2003 seasons, after replacing one of the most prolific hitters in baseball with a tattered symbol of mediocrity (who couldn’t even grip a baseball), the A’s won a combined 199 games and back to back American League Western Division titles.

Nearly a decade after Billy Beane allowed them to sip his beer; the nerds are now hosting the frat parties. The 2003 release of Moneyball ignited a league-wide ripple effect that has severely altered the traditional perception of a major league ballplayer. While not all teams have adopted the “moneyball” philosophy, the idea of hiring “stat guys” to more accurately project a player’s future rate of productivity has become a necessary modus operandi for even the wealthiest organizations. But what happens when these “stat guys” begin to abuse their suddenly authoritative positions? What happens when their obscure percentages become capable of relegating a once-in-a-generation player to the level of his more down-to-earth peers? If there’s a single variable to the “moneyball” constant, it’s Phillies first baseman Ryan Howard. In his four full major league seasons, Howard has averaged 49.5 home runs and 143 RBI’s (a 4 year stretch topped only by Babe Ruth from 1926-29, when he averaged 51.75 homers and 151.5 RBI’s). In 2007 he became the fastest player to reach 100 home runs. In 2009 he joined Babe Ruth, Ken Griffey Jr., and Sammy Sosa (no slouches in their own right) as the only players to record four consecutive seasons with 40 plus home runs and 130 plus RBI’s. He won Rookie of the Year honors in 2005 (after starting for only half the season). He won an MVP in 2006 (his first full major league season). He’s been the catalyst and cleanup hitter for the most successful team in baseball over the last couple of seasons (2 consecutive pennants and a World Series championship). Both statistically and objectively, Howard is the most prolific pure power hitter since (and I don’t hold my breath before saying this) the “Great Bambino” himself. In another lifetime, he would be a pop culture icon of Ruthian stature. But when the stat geeks inherited the earth, they brought with them a cunning sense of numerical cynicism. Instead of lauding Howard for his incredible power and intangible value, they instead focus on how his equally prolific (yet not uncommon) tendency to strikeout is the primary benefactor that constipates both his batting average and on-base percentage. Last week, when the Phillies awarded their franchise meal-ticket to the tune of a 5 year 125 million dollar contract extension, the stat geeks reacted as if Texas Instruments had ceased production on any new calculators for the foreseeable future. During his afternoon drive program on 97.5 “The Phanatic,” local sports talk radio host Mike Missanelli lambasted ESPN insider and former Toronto Blue Jays “stat guy” Keith Law when Law proclaimed that, by virtue of a Sabermetric-based projection, Howard’s value as a player will steadily diminish as the contract goes on. “His skill-set doesn’t translate well to an older player,” explained Law, referring to Howard’s power heavy offensive persona. Law even went as far to say that fellow NL first basemen Adrian Gonzalez and Prince Fielder were “better all-around players than Howard.” When Missannelli subsequently proved him wrong through a series of straightforward statistics (essentially beating Law at his own game), Law retracted his argument by explaining that Fielder and Gonzalez have “better value” because they’re better suited to maintain an elite level of play for a longer period of time on a cheaper salary. Law’s reaction to the Howard signing represents the essential core problem with a Sabermetric mindset. For people like Keith Law, a baseball player’s “value” is nothing more than numbers on a stat sheet. Never mind the fact that Ryan Howard carries the Phillies through the scorching fever-pitch of their annual September pennant surge. Never mind the fact that he lost 40 pounds and showed up two months early to Spring Training in a tireless effort to improve his defense over the last two off-seasons. Never mind the fact that, when the Phillies were down to their final out in game 4 of the 2009 NL Division Series against the Rockies, Howard confidently pleaded with his teammates to just “Get me to the plate, boys.” (When they obliged, he responded with a 2 run game-tying double). Logic will tell you that the Phillies rewarded Howard because he’s the pre-eminent power hitter in the game. The clincher, however, was his intangible value that simply can’t be measured on a stat sheet. Think about it in terms of his peers: Would the Phillies lineup be nearly as imposing with Adrian Gonzalez batting cleanup? Prince Fielder stands 5’11 and weighs 270 pounds. So how did he go about improving on this less than ideal ratio? Not by embarking on a more demanding workout regimen, but by becoming a vegetarian. The concept of intangible value is barely limited to this one specific example. When the A’s replaced Jason Giambi with Scott Hatteberg, sure it made for an inspiring chapter in a perspective-altering book, but were opposing pitchers honestly weary of Hatteberg’s penchant for drawing walks? With game-changers like Giambi, pitchers are often relieved when they draw a walk.

In spite of their front line status as modern baseball visionaries, Billy Beane and his geeks can boast of only one playoff series victory (in 5 appearances) for the A’s during the “moneyball” era. The fact of the matter is, it becomes difficult to compete for championships when you’re replacing core players with statistical experiments. Don’t get me wrong, I understand the dire financial constraints that hamper many smaller market franchises. Instead of settling for the scrap heap, why not trust your instincts and lock up a core player long before he becomes subject to a free agent bidding war? Even though the Phillies have the 4th highest payroll in the major leagues, do you think they would have had a chance of re-signing Ryan Howard if they were forced to bid against the Yankees or the Red Sox? By setting the market on their own terms, the Phillies have found a happy medium between the nouveau riche of Sabermetrics and the old guard of instinctual rationale. Unless other franchises can do the same, they will always be forced to settle among the quick-sanded mediocrity that buckles the majority of major league franchises. The rise of statistical analysis has transcended the economics of baseball into a broader realm of 21st century idealism. But as any rough-necked, pipe-toting old hack will tell you, sometimes it’s still better to just look with your eyes and tell me what you see.

* Sabermetrics refer to the analysis of baseball through statistical evidence; coined by the Society of American Baseball Research.