The Rangers are off to a torrid start this year, thanks in part to the contributions of Alfonso Soriano (.321/.357/.472 after Monday night’s victory over Tampa Bay).
Soriano has undergone a couple of changes since his last incarnation as the undisciplined Yankee second baseman whose terrible second-half and postseason campaigns were enough to trigger Bronx Jeers at his every at-bat. The switch from the neo-classical, interlocking N-Y to the tacky, scarlet T on his uniform breast is the most obvious, but Soriano has also changed batting order positions (Buck Showalter has him hitting third, instead of first, a role that he is considerably better suited for). He’s also switched birthdays–or at least, birthyears. Turns out that A-Sore was born on the 7th of January, 1976, and not the same date in 1978, as he was previously listed.
John Hart and the Rangers knew full well about the change in birthdate before agreeing to acquire Soriano for Alex Rodriguez. Indeed, baseball teams–and baseball fans–have grown pretty well used to these sorts of surprises; before Soriano, there were only a few hundred other players whose reported birthdates were revealed to be incorrect. With a few exceptions like Bartolo Colon, however, most of those guys were marginal prospects in the lower minors, and not an established star like Soriano, for whom any change in expected performance could potentially cost his club the equivalent of millions of dollars in value.
There isn\’t a whole hell of a lot to do in Lansing, Michigan. There aren\’t any mountains, and there isn\’t any seacoast. The nearest amusement park is 400 miles away. There\’s a minor league ball team there now, but there wasn\’t when I grew up. There\’s a college there–a big, state university–with lots of college parties, and lots of college girls, and a lot of kids from Lansing start behaving like college students long before they really should. But even those with precocious synapses manage to sneak in a few years of relative innocence before learning what sororities and beer bongs are, and my synapses were late to the party. There\’s a big city not too far away, but to paraphrase W.C. Fields, the prevailing sense that one has when one is in Detroit is that, all things considered, one would rather be in Lansing.
So what you do a lot is drive. You drive past the cow farms and the meadows and rolling hills or whatever the hell they\’re called in the TripTik and the dilapidated country town with the antique store that your mother likes so much. You drive with your dad in an American-made sedan and you listen to Ernie Harwell and the Tigers. You drive at 62 m.p.h. past a shuttered-up farmhouse with peeling gray paint and a half-working windmill, and Steve Balboni stands there like a house by the side of the road and watches Frank Tanana\’s fastball go by, or that\’s what Ernie tells you. You drive and you listen and you daydream and you talk about baseball.
If you’ve taken some time to explore the depth charts that are part of our new Fantasy product, you may have noticed the team-by-team projections for run scored, runs allowed, and W-L record. There’s a lot of hard work that went into generating these numbers. Runs scored are projected through what I believe to be very accurate lineup simulator program, combining the individual hitter PECOTAs and accounting for playing time at each position and in each batting order slot. Runs allowed are estimated in a similar fashion, and a W-L record is generated by combining these two figures by using the Pythagenport formula. These are good projections. I pretty much limit my gambling activities to poker and an NCAA Tournament pool or two (Go Yellow Jackets!), but if you happen to be in Vegas or something, you could make some good money by betting on these.
One thing the original version of the projections didn’t account for is strength of schedule. That never used to be much of a concern in baseball, but given both the imbalanced divisional schedule, and imbalanced interleague matchups, it can make a palpable bit of difference, especially in the case of a team like the Blue Jays that will play nearly a quarter of its schedule against the AL East Nuclear Superpowers.
With that in mind, let’s run through the divisions and evaluate each team in these departments…
My name is Nate, and I am a forecaster. I forecast how baseball players are going to perform. And I pretty much get the worst of it. Tell somebody that their childhood hero is going to hit .220 next year, or that the dude they just traded away from their fantasy team is due for a breakout, and you’re liable to get called all kinds of names. A bad prediction will inevitably be thrown in your face, (see also: Pena, Wily Mo) while a good one will be taken as self-evident, or worse still, lucky. The truth is, though, that those of us who make it our business to forecast the performance of baseball players have it pretty easy. For one thing, we’ve got an awesome set of data to work with; baseball statistics are almost as old as the game itself, and the records, for the most part, are remarkably accurate and complete. For another, it’s easy to test our predictions against real, tangible results. If we tell you that Adam Dunn is going to have a huge season, and instead he’s been demoted to Chattanooga after starting the year 2-for-53, the prediction is right there for everyone to see in all its manifest idiocy. Not so in many other fields, where the outcomes themselves are more subject to interpretation.
Last year at this time, when we were first unveiling PECOTA, I was besieged with questions about the system’s accuracy. From the very start, the system has always had its believers and its skeptics; all of them wanted to know whether the damn thing worked. My evasive answers to these questions must surely have seemed like a transparent bit of spin doctoring. One of my readers suggested to me, quite seriously, that I had a future in PR or politics. But I was convinced–and remain convinced–that a forecasting system should not be judged by its results alone. The method, too, is important, and PECOTA’s methodology is sound. It presents information in a way that other systems don’t, explicitly providing an error range for each of its forecasts–which, importantly, can differ for different types of players (rookies, for example, have a larger forecast range than veterans). Its mechanism of using comparable players to generate its predictions is, I think, a highly intuitive way to go about forecasting. Besides, all of the BP guys seemed to appreciate the system, and getting the bunch of us to agree on much of anything is an accomplishment in and of itself. Now that it has a season under its belt, however, we can do the good and proper thing and compare PECOTA against its competition.
The Yanks took far more balls per plate appearance than any other playoff team, but relatively few strikes. That’s a sign of a mature, disciplined team. Taking bad pitches could be especially beneficial against the Red Sox: Boston’s two best starters, Pedro Martinez and Derek Lowe, are not known for their stamina, and the bullpen is in tatters between Byung-Hyun Kim’s breakdown and their heavy use in the Oakland series. Knocking Pedro out an inning earlier because of higher pitch counts could well be a game-winning strategy. Despite their refined approach at the plate, the Yankees don’t have a better offense than the Red Sox, who outscored them by nearly 100 runs during the regular season. The Sox remain the best offense in baseball, with a lineup that has absolutely no weaknesses in it. Both of these teams have the capability to knock a starter out early and put up crooked numbers in multiple innings. Even if you don’t want to get into the numbers, think only about the two main criticisms of these offenses over the course of the year: Yankees: “Alfonso Soriano isn’t suited to hit leadoff.” Red Sox: “Walker, Ortiz, and Nixon can’t hit lefties.” Think about that. The problem for the Yankees is that the leadoff guy has too many extra-base hits, and too few walks. The Red Sox somehow have to work around the issue that their three worst hitters, who average about a .950 OPS against righties, don’t hit lefties particularly well. Think the Tiger front office would like those problems?
When the season begins each spring, the ivy on the outfield wall at Wrigley Field is not a lush green, but a vine-bare patch of brick and brown. Botany is not among my hobbies, and I do not know whether this condition results from some half-intentional negligence, or the natural distaste of Parthenocissus tricuspidata for the cool Midwestern spring. But in either event, the effect is unsettling: that feeling you get in a dream when you see a place familiar but vaguely and profoundly incomplete. That was the feeling I had on Friday night when I walked through Gate F at Clark and Addison Streets and into the nation’s most beloved ballpark. Though the architecture of Wrigley Field is the same as always–an array of ascending ramps, chain-linked fences, city vistas, and dank inner concourses pierced by streaks of evening sunlight–the atmosphere is palpably different. Gone are the rowdies, the drunks, the tourists; present instead is the eerie timbre of quiet before battle. It is the playoffs, the third game of the first series against the Atlanta Braves, and whether owning to the somber, rainy weather, the melancholy brought on by raised expectations, or, more likely, the Trans-Atlantic airline fares that have passed as market rates for scalped tickets, these fans were here to win.
Even as we enter October, it’s strange to think of the Braves as a club that’s led by their offense. Then again, I’m one of those people that was still writing “2002” on his checks until just a couple of weeks ago.
But there’s little doubt that Atlanta is a deep, superior offensive club. All eight Braves regulars have EqAs better than the league average (Fick and Castilla making it just under the wire). Nitpick away if you like: Lopez, as horribly as PECOTA mangled his projection, was almost certainly playing over his head a little bit. Fick had a an awful second half and has been flipped with Lopez in the batting order. Vinny Castilla is still Vinny Castilla. It doesn’t matter: the Braves simply mash the ball (235 home runs), a skill that holds up perfectly well in high- and low-scoring games, against soft-tossers and power arms. Hell, even their pitchers can hit a little bit.
What could matter more is that the Braves are overwhelmingly right-handed, and will be facing an overwhelmingly right-handed pitching staff. Too much can be made of the platoon advantage; Sheffield, for example, has never had a huge split; and Giles actually hit righties better this year. But as a team, the Braves were about 25 points worth of OPS better against lefties this year, and we’re at the stage where those little things can make a difference.
The Cubs’ offense, to borrow the old line, runs a lot like CTA buses: nothing at all for a long time, and then a bunch all at once. Well, that’s not quite right; the Cubs didn’t exhibit any particularly unusual patterns in their run scoring. But theirs is an offense that has its holes, especially in the bottom four slots in the order.
Everyone has his own standards when it comes to MVP voting, ranging from Player Rated Highest by Win Shares (PRHWS) to My Favorite Yankee (MFY). Most debates about the MVP turn out to be pointless because they devolve into reiterating those standards over and over, rather than actually applying them. And people aren\’t likely to change their standards in the heat of an argument. So instead, I\’ve become something of an existentialist when it comes to MVP voting: Pick whatever standards you like, just make sure you apply them consistently. If you don\’t think starting pitchers deserve consideration for the top spot on your ballot…don\’t vote for one of them for second. Same goes if you only want to consider players on contending teams. We can debate semantics all day, but the fact is that the voting standards outlined on the official ballot are sufficiently vague so as to permit multiple interpretations. And that\’s OK. As an analyst and would-be cultural critic, though, I am interested in looking at looking at the nature of people\’s biases–what are they, and how do they arise?
Once upon a time, a long time ago, September was a cruel month for baseball. The weather dampened, the children went back to school, the nation’s attention turned to the Second-Best Sport, and many teams soldiered on with only pride and the next season’s paycheck to play for. Year after year, attendance slumped badly, with nothing to bridge the gap between the long, baseball-and-B-B-Q evenings of summer, and the crackling drama of the post-season. It was, like the moment just after intimacy, a time of unspeakable melancholy.
Then, one day, the Commissioner made the Wild Card. The Commissioner was a wise man, and he knew that the self-styled defenders of tradition would not like his creation. But they had complained about westward expansion and night baseball and the Designated Hitter and too many other things to count, and every time they had come back, first to queue in line when the gates opened in spring. Tradition wasn’t marketable anyway, not in the way that a tense battle for fourth place between the Marlins and the Phillies was.
The Wild Card, in fact, was a remarkable success. The Commissioner, never known for his fondness for crowds, became omnipresent in those Septembers, maintaining a furious itinerary, shaking hands with awestruck fans at every ballpark from Yawkey Way to Elysian Fields. The Commissioner took no credit for the Wild Card; he had created it, after all, in the Best Interest of Baseball, and what reward did a man deserve for the mere execution of his duty? It was, he said, remarkable only that it had not been thought of earlier, but that was the hallmark of all great inventions, like post-it notes and garage door openers.
And they lived happily ever after.
It is an awfully good time to be a baseball fan in Chicago, with teams on both sides of town good bets to reach the post-season, something that hasn’t happened since the Cubs and Sox met in the World Series of Base Ball in 1906. In their honor, let’s take look at the dynamics of the two-team market in Chicago. It’s a well-established fact that teams that have a rival in their own market compete for scarce resources like television and radio contracts, media exposure, and fan loyalty. For those reasons, it’s safe to assume that a club in a two-team market will not make as much money, or draw as many fans, as if it had the market all to itself. But we want to get at a somewhat more specific question here: How much does the success or failure (as opposed to the mere presence) of the crosstown rival affect the success of the other club?
As I sat in the upper deck at Jacobs Field last Saturday, taking in the Indians-Blue Jays tilt and shivering in the Lake Erie breeze with our Cleveland Pizza Feeders, the conversation turned to Texas Hold ‘Em. Poker is a natural fit for baseball fans, especially the sort that are likely to attend our events. Like baseball (or at least the ‘game’ of baseball management), poker is a game that’s grounded in mathematics, and in optimizing the use of limited information. Like baseball, it’s also a lot of fun–at least when you’re winning. Just a bit of background here, which will be unnecessary for some readers and inadequate for others (if you’ve never played poker at all, this probably isn’t your column). Texas Hold ‘Em is a variant of poker in which each player is dealt two ‘hole’ cards face down, and makes the best five-card hand he can between his own cards and five common cards that are dealt to the entire table. The ‘face down’ part is the key: a player’s hole cards are never revealed until the last round of betting has been completed. In fact, in a tight game, the hands are often not revealed at all–every player but one will have folded before the showdown occurs. I’ve always found that last bit fascinating: players are willing to risk (sometimes large) sums of money on hands that they’re never able to see. While a good player can pick up plenty of information between observing the table’s betting patterns, running and rerunning the odds of particular hands occurring, and observing the other players’ “tells,” there’s always the lingering possibility of a bluff, which as a game theorist can tell you, will occur just often enough to keep a bettor on his toes. Lest you think this is a Bill Simmons-style off topic diversion, there are lessons that can be drawn from Hold ‘Em and applied to baseball. Let’s take a break from the usual dose of number crunching and look at those this week.
As you are all unfortunately aware, Bobby Bonds died this past Saturday after a long battle with cancer. Bobby came before my time, and I’m not fit to eulogize him. But perhaps I can honor his memory in some way by looking at players of the sort that Bobby exemplified: power-speed sluggers.
A lot of analysts are fond of disparaging the value of speed (this Web site has been no exception). Speed is perceived as a scouty thing, a tool that looks impressive, but has little practical value on a baseball diamond. The one definitive advantage that speed would seem to provide–the stolen base–is rightly considered an overrated tool. Even within mainstream circles, speed seems to be losing currency. As ballplayers bulk up, and deeper lineups grow ever more capable of scoring runs with the bat alone, stolen base attempts become less frequent. Entire teams are willing to put together their rosters without so much as giving speed the once-over.
Well, I think speed has gotten a raw deal. Certainly, speed isn’t as important for a position player as the Big Three skills–hitting for contact, hitting for power, and controlling the strike zone–and to list it alongside those three, implying that it is of equal significance, is confusing. But speed is still plenty important for a number of reasons…
Having played the first half of his career before the Second World War, Joe DiMaggio is not eligible to be on Albert Pujols’ PECOTA comparables list. However, there’s little doubt that the Yankee Clipper would place high atop the table if he had been born just 10 years later. The similarity scores at baseball-reference.com listed the pair as the best age-based likenesses for one another entering the season, and the events of this year are only likely to enhance the comparison.
DiMaggio won his first batting title and his first MVP award in 1939–at age 24, he was one year older than Pujols is currently listed. DiMaggio, unlike Pujols, had been heralded as a top prospect from the time he was a teenager playing in the PCL, and was coming off of a fine triplet of seasons in the big leagues. But 1939 was his coming out party, much like 2003 has been for Pujols.
Conveniently enough, DiMaggio, limited by a foot injury that he suffered in April, played in just 120 games that season, almost exactly the total that Pujols has accumulated up until now. Compare DiMaggio’s ’39 against Pujols’ current campaign, and the similarities are striking.
The Red Sox ended Tuesday night four games behind the Yankees in the AL East. What are the odds that they can make up that deficit to take the division? And, failing that, what are their chances to edge out the A’s for the wild card?
Seriously. Grab a pencil and a piece of paper, come up with your best guesstimate, and write it down. Harder than you thought, huh? Keep reading, and we’ll have an answer for you in a bit.
Whether they realize it or not, major league teams are making calculations like this all the time. Implicitly or explicitly, they can determine the direction that a team chooses to take: whether to move prospects for veterans at the trade deadline, whether to shut a young pitcher down for the season, or try (injury risk be damned) to get as much work out of him as they can. Wins are the currency that baseball transacts in, but for many purposes, they’re only as good as the pennants and postseason appearances that they can be redeemed for. Much as some pundits like to talk about Mystique, Aura, and Veteran Leadership, the postseason is a lottery of sorts. Winning 11 playoff games is often a lot easier than winning 90 or 95 in the regular season, and many teams consider their season a success if their postseason ticket is punched, and they get to take their chance in the playoffs.
Up until this season, my clearest memory of Jose Guillen is as the object of some very unflattering jeering in the right field bleachers at Wrigley Field. The bleacher bums are never kind to opposing outfielders, but Guillen, being young, bad, and foreign, was a particularly vulnerable target. Guillen reacted to the taunts by alternately appearing hopelessly dejected and demonstratively angry, only making matters worse. Though he got his revenge that day–hitting a home run off crowd-favorite/headcase Turk Wendell–I’ve always had trouble watching him play without the phrase Jo-se-do-you-suck! running warbled, drunken, Francis Scott Off-Key through my head.
However cruel, the taunting had proved prescient. Back in 1997, Guillen had time and an abundance of raw talent on his side. Bouncing between four organizations and failing to demonstrate any development, Guillen had regressed to the level of benchwarmer; his career .239 EqA entering the season was below replacement level for a corner outfielder. If not for his powerful right arm (an impressive tool, but overrated in its importance) and his much-tarnished Topps All-Rookie Team trophy, Guillen might have been riding shuttles between Louisville and Chattanooga or selling real estate instead of holding down a fourth outfielder job in the bigs.
This season, of course, Guillen has had the last laugh. Easily the most productive hitter on the Reds this year, Guillen filled in admirably for Ken Griffey Jr. Now traded to the A’s, he’s been charged with the Herculean task of trying to make up for an entire outfield’s worth of mediocrity, salvaging Billy Beane’s reputation as a deadline dealer nonpareil in the process.
But what if Guillen turns back into a pumpkin?