Hall of Fame Something

I feel like I need to write something about the upcoming announcement of the BBWAA Hall of Fame ballot, but frankly, I'm struggling with what to talk about. Certainly enough has been said about PED issues, the character clause and the self-important and, in some cases, under-qualified "gatekeepers" of the Hall. So, I'm going to try to steer away from that subject.

I submitted my unofficial ballot as part of the Baseball Blogger's Alliance (BBBA) voting process. I probably should explain my choices, but it's hard to without getting into the aforementioned subjects. So, I'm going to go a slightly different direction and just see where it takes me.

That route is to predict that no one will be elected to the Hall of Fame this year, except for the three inductees (all of whom have been dead for three-quarters of a century) voted in by the Pre-Integration Era Committee: Deacon White, Jacob Ruppert and Hank O'Day. Honestly, as sad as this is to say, that's kind of what I'm rooting for to happen.

I love the Hall of Fame, despite the fact it's on the verge of becoming increasingly irrelevant. I've read many other writers who've said this before, but I just can't help but care about it. That's why I'll actually be happy, admittedly in a strange sort of way, if no one is elected by the writers this year. Of course, this is because I'm hoping that the lack of any kind of a drawing card to bring people to Cooperstown in late July will somehow effect some kind of change.

In the very least, this change has to come in the form of removing the limit on the number of players writers are allowed to vote for. Because if players as good as Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Jeff Bagwell, Mike Piazza, Mark McGwire, Rafael Palmeiro, Sammy Sosa and, in the future, Frank Thomas, Gary Sheffield, Manny Ramirez and Ivan Rodriguez continue to linger on the ballot, they will stand in the way of other worthy candidates as the battle rages on between PED blackballers and those who vote based strictly on performance.

Don't get me wrong. If I realistically thought Tim Raines—who I wrote about for this year's version of Baseball: Past and Present's 50 Best Players Not in the Hall of Fame—might get in this year, I'd certainly be pulling for that outcome. Otherwise, Craig Biggio and Jeff Bagwell can wait. Their day will most certainly come in the next few years.

The BBBA's new President made the interesting decision to not place a limit on the number of candidates we could vote for in this year's mock election. Obviously, I'm in favor of this decision, although the one downside is it does not mimic the BBWAA's process, which I believe was the original intention of our vote. Still, I think it will serve as an interesting experiment to get an idea of how the process might play out if the voting restrictions are lifted.

Finally, here's who I voted for (in order of how deserving I feel they are): Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Jeff Bagwell, Mike Piazza, Curt Schilling, Tim Raines, Alan Trammell, Larry Walker, Craig Biggio, Edgar Martinez, Kenny Lofton, Mark McGwire, Rafael Palmeiro. Of course, if I had to limit to 10, Lofton, McGwire and Palmeiro would be the odd men out.

This also means I voted no on Sammy Sosa, Fred McGriff, Dale Murphy, Bernie Williams, Don Mattingly, David Wells, Jack Morris and Lee Smith. Although the latter two have received pretty good support in the real voting process (and Morris, along with Biggio, has the best chance of actually getting in), the only omission I feel I have to justify is Sosa.

Despite the 600+ home runs, Sosa really only had a run of 10 good years, only a few of which were actually great. Because he was basically a one-dimensional player, the rest of his career rates as below average. If he was merely above average outside of his peak, I might be singing a different tune.

In the past, I've voted no on Palmeiro and McGwire, but I've changed my mind this year, although the lack of a voting limit is what allows me to do so. My basic explanation is I used to be a PED discounter, at least to the extent I previously decided not to give the benefit of the doubt to such players.

Frankly, I don't think it's anyone's place to decide to punish these players beyond Major League Baseball's collectively bargained policy. That is, since there is a disciplinary system for such violations in place, and unless the punishment goes so far as to ban a player for life, who is anyone else to decide to punish them further? As far as what happened prior to MLB's policy being in place, those "indiscretions" involved breaking the law, not the rules of the game. There's a more established system in place for dealing with lawbreakers, so that doesn't need to be dealt with in the Hall of Fame election process.

I've got more to say on the subject, but I'll leave it at that...for now.

Indecisive Umpiring + Complacent Base Running = Controversial Triple Play

There was an umpiring controversy in the Padres-Dodgers game on Sunday. A lot has been written about it since, but, for some reason, I only first read any of it on Tuesday, and have only just had enough time to collect and finalize my thoughts today.

Most of what I've read has been fairly objective—except this*—even if it's shown me the one area that is the Achilles heel of even the most well-respected bloggers is knowledge of the rules and umpiring mechanics.

*Incidentally, this particular post and most of its 500+ comments leaves me baffled as to why people seem to take it so personally when calls don't go their team's way.

Before I even discuss what happened, let me get one thing out of the way first. When I write about umpiring, I have a tendency to come down on the side of the umpires, for reasons that will be obvious to some of you. Maybe I do this to a fault, and I'm sure I could be accused of not always being objective on this sensitive subject.

In this case, there is no doubt there was a screwup on the part of the umpire at the center of this controversy. Additionally, his mistake was potentially made worse by Major League Baseball's response, which barely admitted any blame on the part of the umpire. That's not a good situation, but that's only part of the story, because there were others who contributed to the fact this crazy play was a big reason why the Padres lost the game in question.

OK, time to talk about the play. (Also, hopefully watch it below.**)



**Since the embed code was made available, I can only assume I'm within my rights to reproduce it here. If not, I'll take it down and you'll have to visit one of the above links to view the play, if you haven't already seen it.
 
With the Padres batting, and with runners on first and second and no outs of a tie game in the top of the 9th, San Diego batter Jesus Guzman attempted to lay down a sacrifice bunt. But, the pitch came up and in on him and was headed for his neck or chin when he got his bat on the ball.

The batted ball went straight to the ground and trickled out in front of home plate. Dodgers catcher A.J. Ellis immediately pounced on it and threw to third. Both San Diego base runners were frozen with indecision and the after-effect of using the bat to defend himself from getting hit by the pitch caused Guzman to recoil in the direction of the third base on-deck circle. As a result, Los Angeles was able to turn an easy triple play.

But, there's a little more to this story than what I just described.

Home-plate umpire Dale Scott created a confusing situation, to say the least. As Ellis reacted to the play, and Scott attempted to stay out of his way, Scott's arms came up to the point his hands were maybe slightly higher than the top of his head. I've read this referred to as his signal that the ball was foul. This is absolutely incorrect.

Scott's next action, however, was the confusing part. He raised his hands up over his head in an emphatic motion that would seem to indicate he was ruling the play dead (either a foul ball or hit batter). He then immediately and almost in the same action pointed the ball fair.

Both runners froze. Presumably, both were looking at Scott for his call, when they should have been running the instant the pitch made contact with the bat. Remember, I said the ball went straight to the ground. Therefore, there was no reason for the runners to hesitate, even if they weren't sure if the pitch had hit the batter instead of the bat. In that situation, the play is dead anyway.

Furthermore, umpiring mechanics dictate that a foul ball be ruled with a vocal call (with remaining umpires echoing his call on less-than-obvious rulings such as this one), while a fair ball is ruled on silently. That way, runners and fielders don't need to look to the umpire for fair/foul rulings. By all indications, Scott did not make a verbal call. Why both runners chose to look at him for a call rather than run until they heard otherwise is unknown, but was clearly a mistake on their part.

Scott's indecisive hand signals were very similar to an umpire starting to outstretch both arms to make a safe call only to change his mind and lower his left arm while elevating his right to indicate an out call. Of course, this is not something you expect professional umpires to do frequently, but something that happens because they are, in fact, human.

Note I said very similar, not equivalent. The reason for this is an unintentional dead ball call rules a play dead, and all action ceases, whereas a call of safe or out doesn't stop subsequent action (unless an out is the third of an inning).

It was fairly obvious that Scott's indecision created confusion in the minds of the runners, enough so that I would like to have seen the umpires get together and talk this one through. I would also have liked to see Padres manager Bud Black ask for such a conference, but judging by his quick ejection he was in an arguing rather than a discussing mood.

One or more of Scott's partners had to have been initially confused by his mechanics as well. Would it be so crazy for the crew to have the authority to collectively decide what might have happened? Quite possibly, if expanded instant replay was adopted by Major League Baseball, a replay review could aid such a process.

Clearly, the runner from second would have been out at third on a bunt that landed right in front of home plate and was quickly retrieved by the catcher and thrown accurately to third base. Since Guzman, the batter, made no attempt to run to first, he would have easily been out as well. The only thing left to rule on would be whether the runner on first, if he hadn't been confused into thinking the play was dead, would have made it safely to second.

I suspect the end result of such a conversation, if it wasn't so outside the realm of how these situations are ordinarily handled, would have been to place the runner from first on second, with the runner from second and batter ruled out. In my opinion, that's the best possible outcome the Padres could have hoped for, despite the fact their fans were clamoring for the play to be ruled a foul ball. Which, of course, means those folks are complaining they were cheated out of the benefit of an incorrect ruling. I'll let you try and figure out the logic there.

But, of course, the same baseball culture that condones the type of unprofessional behavior that is routinely directed towards umpires also dictates such a compromise ruling would have created a firestorm of controversy from the other side. Or, quite possibly, both sides would have been unhappy with the outcome.

So, instead of being able to try to reach a conclusion that's right and fair, baseball umpires are forced to continue to umpire for their survival, even when that sometimes means standing their ground when admission of a mistake might be more appropriate and equitable.

Is Credit for Success vs. Blame for Failure in Sports a Zero-Sum Equation?

After the New York Football Giants defeated the San Francisco 49ers on Sunday night to advance to a Super Bowl rematch with the New England Patriots, I spent quite a bit of time "celebrating" with friends on Facebook. Being a displaced New Yorker, that's pretty much all I have these days. Besides, with the game starting and ending on the late side, and with a two-month old in the picture, I doubt if I would have been attending any NFC championship parties anyway.

Incidentally, and this isn't the point of the post, I've recently decided, when your team is in a big game such as this one, it's much better to "hang out" on Facebook than it is Twitter. Otherwise, I definitely prefer the latter, but when the spotlight is on your team, Twitter is like hanging out in a neutral bar and having to ignore a lot of ridiculous and obviously jealous comments, while Facebook is more akin to watching the game in a hometown bar. At least that's the way it works for me.

Since most of the people I follow on Twitter are baseball enthusiasts, I had to pause momentarily to realize Rangers fans are also probably Cowboys fans, and what they're going through is kind of like being a Yankees fan in the '80s, so I can relate. Some of the comments are still annoying, but I can relate.

Another fan base's ire that I got a charge out of—yeah, you know that was intentional—is that of the San Diego faithful, believe it or not. It's directed towards Eli Manning, of course, because he spurned their team back in 2004, forcing a trade to the Giants for Philip Rivers. At times, Rivers has looked like a better quarterback than Manning, but nobody seems to be saying that anymore.

The Chargers have had some bad luck with quarterbacks over the years—only some of it their own fault—so I can sympathize. I mean they came {this close} to getting Eli's older brother, Peyton, but ended up with Ryan Leaf. Then, they gave up on Drew Brees, paving the way for Rivers. Again, Rivers has been a solid signal-caller, but he's no Brees.

Of course, none of this has anything to do with what I set out to write about in this post. During the aforementioned Facebook celebration, a good friend from New York posted the following:

"I'd say all the pressure is on the Patriots, given how they choked last time."

I disagreed with this, contending the Patriots didn't choke in Super Bowl XLII, the Giants just out-schemed and outplayed them. Sure, there was considerable pressure on the Patriots to complete their perfect season, but it didn't just kick in when they reached the Super Bowl. And they were playing a team that was on a roll, and just happened to put it all together at the right time and rise to the occasion on the ultimate stage.

Which brings me, finally, to my point. When we emphasize the opposition's failures, does that detract from our team's successes?

Here's another example: many Red Sox fans love to refer to their team's comeback in the 2004 ALCS as the greatest choke-job in the history of sports—on the part of the Yankees—rather than the greatest comeback in history, by their team.

Can we have it both ways? I suppose to some extent we can, but I contend the more you assign blame for the other team's failure, the less credit you're giving to your team's success. When I had this conversation with a few Red Sox fans regarding 2004, they seemed to—for the most part—agree with me.

We know that winning vs. losing in sports is a zero-sum proposition. That is, in order for one team to win, another has to lose. So, does that make credit for success vs. blame for failure a zero-sum equation as well?

Let's consider the 2004 ALCS again. If the Yankees truly choked that one away, don't you think that even the Kansas City Royals could have taken them in four straight? Surely a team that was wilting under the pressure of just needing to win one game out of four would be ripe for the plucking by any other professional team. If this is true, is there really any credit to give to the Red Sox for their performance?

It's obviously not that simple, but as a Red Sox fan, wouldn't you rather celebrate your team's incredible accomplishment rather than another team's failure? I know there are other factors involved—sports fans love to mock their rivals, of course—but as a Giants fan, I know I'd much rather appreciate their tremendous performance in Super Bowl XLII than get a chuckle out of the fact they ruined the Patriots perfect season.

I choose to think of that Giants team as having pulled off perhaps the greatest upset in Super Bowl history. Sure, that has something to do with the fact the Patriots were working on a truly historic season. But, when I think of that game, it's in celebration of the Giants, rather than in desecration of the Patriots. I personally do feel the latter detracts from the former, so I prefer to glorify the positive rather than mock the negative.

But, that's probably just me.

New Beers Resolution

I'm not a big fan of New Year's resolutions. In theory, they're a great idea, but in practice, they're just ridiculous. I mean, who among us hasn't resolved to give up drinking cold turkey starting January 1, only to find ourselves slurring our speech on January 15?

Not me, of course. I've never resolved to give up drinking, that is, although I'm sure I've slurred my words on a few January 15ths.

But, my point is New Year's resolutions are generally impossible to maintain. Hey, more power to you if you're one of the rare folks who've succeeded at this futile endeavor.

I actually did once keep a resolution, but it was a realistic one. In my late teens and early 20s, I had the horrible nervous habit of biting my fingernails. So, one year I resolved to kick the habit by the end of the year.

Yes, I gave myself 12 months to reach my goal. Not too ambitious, I realize. But, guess what? It worked, and in the 20 or so subsequent years, I've managed not to fall off the wagon...so to speak.

However, most people who make resolutions are just mocking themselves by doing so, and usually go so far as to admit they know they're going to fail.

So, that's what I'm going to do for 2012. I'm going to make a resolution that I know I'm going to break eventually. The real goal will be to see how long I can go before doing so.

For 2012, I resolve to go the entire year (or as long as I can, since I've already admitted I won't succeed) without drinking the same beer twice. Despite the name of the post, I'm not limiting myself to beers I've never tried before, just saying I can only drink each once this year.

Initially, it won't be that big a challenge. It might be a little more expensive, since I'll be buying mostly bombers rather than six-packs. But, since I don't drink that much as it is, this won't be a huge deal.

In fact, I really only drink about two beers per week, so we're talking about 100 beers or so to get me through the year. I suspect vacations will bump that total up a bit. But, it probably won't go much higher than 150, despite the fact my current pace is 183 (10 beers in 20 days, 366 days in this leap year).

OK, so maybe 100 is a slight underestimate. But, 150-180 unique beers in a year's time seems doable, right? I suppose the problem could occur during those rare occasions when I'm instigated to overdo it, such as at a Yankees game with Lee Mazzola.

Come to think of it, the real trick will be when Abe (I've given my brewing partner a new pseudonym) and I finally get around to home brewing. Am I going to brew an entire batch of my own beer and then drink only one of them? I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

But, another challenge, as I was explaining to El-Squared at the Scuds show last weekend, is the suicide pool nature of it all.

Let me explain. Although I've never participated in one, an NFL suicide (or survivor) pool is where each participant picks one winner per week. If you get it right, you survive to pick another week. If you get it wrong, you're out. The goal is to be the last entrant standing, but the catch is you can't pick the same team twice, so there's incentive not to pick the best teams too early.

And that's where the analogy comes in. It's not a pure analogy, because I'm not talking about the best beers, but rather the most widely available.

Take a look at my list of the beers I've consumed so far for an idea of what I'm talking about:

Jan. 1 - Wipeout IPA (Port Brewing Co.)
Jan. 1 - Bengali Tiger (Sixpoint Brewery)
Jan. 7 - Saratoga Lager (Olde Saratoga Brewing Co.)
Jan. 7 - Saratoga IPA (Olde Saratoga Brewing Co.)
Jan. 13 - Double-Wide IPA (Boulevard Brewing Co.)
Jan. 14 - Long Hammer IPA (Redhook Ale Brewery)
Jan. 14 - Harpoon IPA (Harpoon Brewery)
Jan. 14 - Pipeline Porter (Kona Brewing Co.)
Jan. 15 - Lost Sailor IPA (Berkshire Brewing Co.)
Jan. 20 - Slumbrew Flagraiser IPA (Somerville Brewing Co.)

I'll use Untappd to help me keep track.

There are definitely some unique choices there, right? Maybe you have to be from these parts to appreciate this, but in the analogy Harpoon IPA is like picking the Patriots in the early weeks of the suicide pool. Fortunately, there's still the Packers (Samuel Adams), Steelers (Guinness), and Saints (Smithwick's).

Of course, this analogy refers to the beers—commonly available in bars with weaker selections—that are passable to me. I don't even want to get into what teams I would associate with Bud Light (1972 Dolphins?) or Coors Light (2007 Pat—er, never mind).

Anyway, if you're still reading this nonsense, I can only assume you're mildly interested. So, I'm sure I'll be providing a few updates along the way.

Cheers.

World Series or Bust?

This is a (slight) re-write of something I posted last year at about this time. Unfortunately, it's just as apt now as it was then.

Last year at around this time, I got to thinking about what constitutes a successful season for a sports franchise. Not from the perspective of players, coaches and front office personnel of the team, but from the point of view of the fans.

As spectators, what is our primary motivation for watching our favorite sports? I'm sure the answer varies a little from person to person, but I think the common denominator is entertainment. That is, we watch the games because they are enjoyable to us. Does it get any simpler than that?

Taking this a step further, why do we choose to follow a particular team, rather than just let ourselves be entertained by individual games in which we're less personally invested in the outcomes? I would assume the answers to that question vary a little more than the first, but, I think ultimately it boils down to increased entertainment level.

So, my point here is really to ask the question, is the only entertainment value associated with rooting for a specific team to witness them win a championship? If the answer is yes, then it's a pretty said state of affairs, because that means we spend 5-6 months a year worrying about an outcome that most likely will never happen.

I contend the answer, in fact, is no. We root for a specific team because it provides us with added entertainment value, and that value is measured on a spectrum, rather than being an absolute either/or proposition. That is, the more successful our team's season, the more entertainment value they've provided us with. If they kept us believing they had a chance to win a championship for over six months—and survived only a few weeks less than the most successful teams in the league—then they did a very good job of entertaining us.

Don't get me wrong, here. I'm not saying I'll ever take consolation in a season that simply exceeds expectations, especially when it comes to the Yankees. In fact, it could be argued that, since the Yankees can never truly exceed expectations—although this year might be the exception—that a little entertainment value is foregone just being a fan of theirs. But, that's a discussion for another day.

What I am saying is I'm not going to let myself get sucked into that 29-losers-and-only-one-winner mentality. I enjoyed my team's success for much of the season, despite being disappointed in its final outcome. In the end, though, it provided me with a great deal of entertainment, and—with all due respect—that's probably more than the fans of about 18 of Major League Baseball's 30 teams can say.

Teach Your Children

KJ and I attended our first Yankees-Red Sox game together on Wednesday night, and the occasion marked Little Chuck's introduction to the long-standing rivalry as well. Well, sort of.

It was also the first time I've paid to park in the Fenway neighborhood since my first visit there back in the summer of '88. Since KJ is under doctor's orders to take it easy, we decided to suck it up and shell out for parking at Fenway's most convenient location, the Lansdowne Street Garage. $44 later—and that's actually a competitive price, I kid you not—we arrived just across the street from the park.

This, of course, did nothing to change my perception of Fenway as the worst value in baseball, but in this case, it was well worth the price.

We also sat in the right field box seats for the first time ever, and they were actually pretty good seats by Fenway Park standards.

The game took place the night after the ridiculous Cervelli-Lackey fiasco, in which Francisco Cervelli broke the long-standing and well-known unwritten rule that dictates only pitchers—even when they're showing up their own teammates—are allowed to show emotion on the field. But, that's all I'm going to say about that incident. I may revisit it in another post, but don't count on it.

During the game, David Ortiz was intentionally walked in front of Jed Lowrie. The crowd, predictably, booed the move, prompting me to tweet:

Of course, this quick list was missing a couple other important examples that I thought of a little later.

So, since I'm soon to be a brand new parent, I thought I'd share my list of the five things you (and I) need to teach your (our) children about being a fan with a clue. Because, honestly, most fans at the ballpark are really lacking in that respect, and the Fenway faithful are no different from anywhere else.

Without further ado, I present these in my favorite list format...as a top five countdown, even if I've already given a few of them away. I suppose you could call these my unwritten rules of fandom (otherwise known as the top five stupidest things baseball fans do that you should avoid).

5. Don't boo the opposition's attempted pickoffs.
When you boo the opposing pitcher for attempting to pick off your runner, you're basically complaining that the other team is trying to win. I know you're rooting for your team to win, but this is supposed to be a competition. I can, however, understand booing an excessive number of pickoff attempts against the same runner. I guess that's why this one is #5.

4. Don't boo when the opposing team makes a pitching change.
Again, what you're doing here is protesting the fact the other team is trying to win. I get that pitching changes drag out the length of the game, but if you're going to be a baseball fan, it's something you'll have to learn to deal with. Besides, if you're frustrated that the game is being delayed, why don't you boo your own team when they change pitchers?

3. Don't boo when one of your players is intentionally walked.
First of all, the intentional walk is generally a foolish strategy. This is not intended to be post about SABRmetrics, so I'm not going to over-analyze this one, but more often than not, the intentional walk improves the offensive team's chance of winning. So, don't look a gift horse in the mouth, alright. Also, since your opposition at least thinks they're doing it for their own benefit, see #4 and #5 above.

2. Don't yell "balk" at things that aren't balks.
First of all, you'll need a lesson about what is and isn't a balk. I once wrote a post—exactly three years ago today, in fact—that my pal Lee called the ultimate blog entry on balks. But, that's a little more detail than is necessary here. What I'm really talking about is when fans call for a balk when the pitcher fakes a move to second or third. News flash, folks...THIS IS NOT A BALK. It's legal for a pitcher to fake a pickoff throw to second or third, but not to first. OK, got that? I'm not even going to confuse you by explaining when it's legal to fake a throw to first. Concentrate on understanding this difference first.

1. Don't do the wave.
If I even need to explain this one, then I'm sorry, but you're a hopeless cause and probably shouldn't have little baseball fans in the first place.

Oh yeah, the Red Sox beat the Yankees 9-5, so our family tally now stands at Red Sox 1, Yankees 0...obviously.

As if We Needed Any More Evidence That Wins and Losses Are Flawed Statistics

The old school types were up in arms over the fact that Felix Hernandez, and his 13-12 won-loss record, won the American League Cy Young Award last year. One of them actually went so far as to use some ridiculous argument about the morale of a pitcher's teammates when he takes the mound, and that when players make great defensive plays behind one pitcher and not another, it is not an accident.

Think about this for a second. The pitcher whose ERA—a measure of the number of earned runs per nine innings he allows, in case the author of the aforementioned article needs some reminding—was a half run better than anybody else in the league apparently didn't instill enough confidence in his teammates for them to play to the fullest extent of their abilities. Honestly, if this was the case—that his teammates were only playing half-heartedly behind him—then Hernandez was even more deserving of the Cy Young Award.

But, that's not really my point.

My point is we don't need to look any further than this afternoon's contest between the New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox to see one of the worst applications of won-loss credit there could possibly be.

John Lackey pitched five innings, allowing six earned runs on seven hits and two walks, while striking out just two, and "earned" the win. Bartolo Colon pitched 4 1/3 innings, allowing one earned and one unearned run on two hits and one walk, while striking out five, and was tagged with the loss.

Lackey spotted the Yankees two runs in the top of the 1st inning, just what an 0-6 team needed as a morale boost. When Dustin Pedroia cut that deficit in half with a solo homer in the bottom of the inning, Lackey promptly gave one back.

But, Lackey's teammates' increased confidence from seeing him on the mound resulted in a five-run rally in the bottom of the 2nd, giving the Red Sox a nice 6-3 lead and knocking Yankees starter Phil Hughes—I'll get to him later—out of the game.

What did Lackey do with this newfound advantage? He proceeded to squander it, one run at a time over the next three innings.

But, of course, his teammates were bolstered by the confidence of having him on their side, and scored the go-ahead unearned run in the bottom of the 5th. That development is what resulted in Lackey being credited with the first win of the 2011 season for the Red Sox. Now, if you look up clutch pitching performances following six-game losing streaks to start the season in Merriam-Webster, I'm quite certain you'll see a photo of John Lackey right next to its definition.

Bartolo Colon came into a game that his team trailed 6-3 after two innings, and were looking at needing seven innings out of their bullpen to have a chance to win the game. He proceeded to pitch shutdown baseball for four innings—allowing only an unearned run—and giving his team exactly what they needed to claw back into the contest. If not for said unearned run, the score would have been tied following his fourth inning of work.

But, I suppose we could make the argument here that Colon's three-plus innings of shutout baseball up to the point of the defensive miscue just weren't enough of a morale boost to his team. So, essentially the error was, in fact, his fault.

Then, to begin his fifth inning, he gave up a bunt single to the Red Sox third-place hitter, Adrian Gonzalez, a tactic employed by such a dangerous hitter due to the Yankees' use of an extreme shift to the right side of the field. When Colon was subsequently pulled from the game, with a runner on first and one out, that runner eventually came around to score, resulting in the only earned run Colon was charged with.

But, Colon gave up the run that put the Red Sox in the lead for good, and everyone knows that's the most important run of the game. Everyone also knows that great pitchers find ways to avoid giving up those runs, something that Phil Hughes did masterfully on this day.

Yes, that's right, Hughes earned the right not to be charged with the loss by strategically giving up a bunch of runs early and getting the heck out of there before a decision could be rendered. Hughes gave up six earned runs in two innings, and Colon gave up one earned run—one that easily could have been stranded by the pitcher who relieved him—in 4 1/3 innings, yet Colon is considered the losing pitcher.

But, of course, wins and losses are the true measures of a pitcher's effectiveness.

Is Roy Halladay Overrated?

How could I suggest such a thing?

While I'm not trying to imply that Roy Halladay isn't as good as everyone thinks, when it comes to the recent National League Cy Young voting, I do have a bit of a beef.

My complaint is not that Halladay's season was undeserving of the award. Rather, it's with the way in which he won it. That is, unanimously.

What I don't completely understand is how all 32 voters considered him the top choice when there was another candidate who was equally deserving by most measures, and even more deserving by others. That candidate is Adam Wainwright.

Of course I'm not going to make such a statement without backing it up. So, let's start by looking at the mainstream statistics, the three categories commonly considered the Triple Crown of pitching.

• W-L record: Halladay 21-10, Wainwright 20-11
• ERA: Wainwright - 2.42, Halladay - 2.44
• Strikeouts: Halladay - 219, Wainwright - 213

Pretty even, right? Halladay's six-strikeout edge and slightly better won-lost record, while playing for a team that won 7% more of its games than Wainwright's, certainly isn't justification for the wide margin by which he won the award.

So, let's take a slightly deeper look. Halladay is lauded for his 7.30 K/BB ratio, and compared to Wainwright's 3.80, this appears to be a pretty big edge, on the surface. But, taking a closer look, Wainwright actually averaged 8.32 strikeouts per nine innings to Halladay's 7.86. So, obviously this means Wainwright had a considerably higher walk rate (2.18 to 1.08). However, Halladay made up for this by giving up more hits than Wainwright.

In fact, looking at opponents' batting statistics versus each pitcher, Halladay yielded a higher batting average (.245 to .224), which effectively canceled out Wainwright's higher walk rate, as evidenced by their almost identical opponents' on-base percentages (Wainwright - .274, Halladay - .271). But, Halladay not only got hit harder, he also gave up considerably more home runs (24 to 15). This gives Wainwright a considerable edge in opponents' slugging percentage (.330 to .373) and OPS (.604 to .645).

Let's dig a little further and look at a few SABRmetric statistics. I'm providing simplistic explanations regarding each, rather than attempting to explain how each is calculated, which would be quite difficult.

• ERC (Component ERA) measures a pitcher's ERA based on the hits and walks he allowed, rather than actual runs: Wainwright - 2.38, Halladay - 2.69
• DIPS ERA (Defense-Independent ERA) attempts to measure a pitcher's ERA independent of the defense behind him: Wainwright - 2.97, Halladay - 3.09
• ERA+ is park-adjusted and league-adjusted ERA, expressed as a percentage relative to the average pitcher: Halladay - 165 (65% better than average), Wainwright - 161

As you can see, Wainwright outshines Halladay in two of three SABRmetric measures that attempt to normalize a pitcher's ERA, one of them by a pretty wide margin.

So, where does Halladay have a clear advantage over Wainwright? Well, he pitched more innings (250 2/3 to 230 1/3), and threw more complete games (9 to 5) and more shutouts (4 to 2). His other considerable edge is in the fact that he's Roy Halladay.

Is he overrated? Well, not really. But, did he receive preferential treatment in this year's Cy Young voting due to his reputation? Quite possibly, yes. Did he have a season that was deserving of the award? Of course, but Adam Wainwright was just as, if not more, deserving and how he managed to earn zero first-place votes is a question I can't possibly answer.

Win or Else?

After the New York Football Giants defeated the Dallas Cowboys last Monday night, and—more significant to this story—knocked Cowboys Quarterback Tony Romo out of action for the next 6-8 weeks, I thought about sending an old friend a text message offering my condolences on the end of his team's season. Said friend is a Dallas fan, of course. I knew that, in the process, he would return my dig by denigrating the Yankees, but I didn't care.

I never sent that text, not because I feared the repercussions, but simply because I forgot. Still, it got me to thinking about what constitutes a successful season for a sports franchise. Not from the perspective of players, coaches and front office personnel of the team, but from the point of view of the fans.

As spectators, what is our primary motivation for watching our favorite sports? I'm sure the answer varies a little from person to person, but I think the common denominator is entertainment. That is, we watch a game because it is enjoyable to us. Does it get any simpler than that?

Taking it a step further, why do we choose to follow a particular team, rather than just let ourselves be entertained by individual games in which we're less personally invested in the outcomes? I would assume the answers to that question would vary a little more than the first, but, still I think it boils down to increased entertainment level.

So, my point here is really to ask the question, is the only entertainment value associated with rooting for a specific team to witness them win a championship? If the answer is yes, then it's a pretty said state of affairs, because that means we spend 5-6 months a year worrying about an outcome that most likely will never happen.

I contend that the answer, in fact, is no. We root for a specific team because it provides us with added entertainment value, and that value is measured on a spectrum, rather than being an absolute either/or proposition. That is, the more successful our team's season, the more entertainment value they've provided us with. If they kept us believing they had a chance to win a championship for almost seven months—and survived only two weeks less than the most successful teams—then they did a very good job of entertaining us.

Don't get me wrong, here. I'm not saying I'll ever take consolation in a season that exceeds expectations, especially when it comes to the Yankees. In fact, it could be argued that, since the Yankees can never truly exceed expectations, that a little entertainment value is foregone just being a fan of theirs. But, that's a road I've been down before, and I have no intention of going there right now.

What I am saying is I'm not going to let myself get sucked into that 29-losers-and-only-one-winner mentality. I enjoyed my team's success for much of the season, despite being briefly disappointed in its final outcome. In the end, though, it provided me with a great deal of entertainment, something that I suspect Dallas Cowboys fans will be sorely lacking for the rest of this year.

A Matter of Integrity

I wasn't going to bother giving my two cents on last week's baseball umpiring controversy, but since an old friend—a latecomer who's become a baseball fan in his 40s—asked me over the weekend, I thought I'd write something about it.

Even if you're not a fan, you probably heard that a missed call by umpire Jim Joyce cost Detroit Tigers pitcher Armando Galarraga a perfect game last Wednesday. In a post-game press conference, Joyce admitted that he had blown the call, he and Galarraga appear to be at peace with each other, and commissioner Bud Selig has vowed to look at expanded use of instant replay in Major League Baseball.

For the record, I'm in favor of the latter, but only if they use it to actually get calls right, unlike the one that referees blatantly failed to overturn late in Sunday night's NBA Finals Game 2. But, instant replay is not what this post is about.

It's about the high level of integrity displayed by Joyce for not making an out call based on the fact that the pitcher was one out from a perfect game. His job is not to take the circumstances into consideration. It’s to make a call based on what he sees—in this case, safe or out. He was wrong, and he admitted it. It was a bad call, and it’s unfortunate that it happened under such circumstances. But, he’s human, and the rest of us should be happy that our mistakes don’t get the exposure that his did. All those folks calling for him to call that runner out simply because he should give the pitcher the benefit of the doubt in that situation simply don't have the integrity that Joyce does.

Another perfect game was lost under somewhat similar circumstances in 1972. One strike away from immortality, Chicago Cubs pitcher Milt Pappas walked San Diego Padres pinch-hitter Larry Stahl on a 3-2 pitch. Home plate umpire Bruce Froemming called the pitch a ball, and Pappas agrees with him that it was outside, but still contends that Froemming should have given him the call, and unbelievably still blames the umpire for the fact that he's only credited with a no-hitter and not a perfect game.

Pappas, of course, doesn't own a fraction of the integrity that Froemming and Joyce do, and that became clearer in the days since Galarraga's near perfect gem, when he once again used the media exposure to complain about something that happened 38 years ago. At least, judging by his in-the-moment and post-game reactions, we can be pretty certain that Galarraga's not going to take this one to the grave like it appears Pappas will. That's probably because he simply has more integrity than his older counterpart.

Common Misconceptions, Part 1

A couple of the umpiring controversies from this postseason, as well as last year's, got me to thinking about a post I originally planned to do over a year ago. Unless you're new here, you probably know that I attended Brinkman/Froemming Umpire School in 1994. My "dream" to become a professional baseball umpire died pretty quickly after that, but this and my 10+ years of umpiring experience give me a slightly different perspective than your average fan and/or amateur player.

So, the idea is to write about common baseball rules misconceptions. That is, interpretations of rules that, over the years, have come to be considered common knowledge, despite the fact that they may or may not be correct.

The first of these is possibly the most earth-shattering. Maybe you've heard the phrase "tie goes to the runner" a time or two before. Well, it's not true. First of all, the word "tie" isn't even mentioned in the rule book, except in reference to the score of a game. But, you probably knew that, and you probably could guess that no experienced umpire would ever use that as the reason to rule a runner safe, anyway. What you probably don't know is that, according to the rule book, whether or not a tie goes to the runner or the fielder actually depends on the circumstance.

I'll start with the situation that confirms our long-standing belief. Rule 6.05(j) states, "A batter is out when...after a third strike or after he hits a fair ball, he or first base is tagged before he touches first base." The requirement that he or first base must be tagged before he reaches means that if the two events occur at the same time, the requirement is not satisfied. Therefore, he's not out. So, in this example, he's safe in the case of a tie.

However, rule 7.08(e) states, "Any runner is out when...he fails to reach the next base before a fielder tags him or the base, after he has been forced to advance by reason of the batter becoming a runner." The requirement here is that he reaches the base before he or the base is tagged. Therefore, if the two events happen at the same time, the runner has failed to reach base before the tag, and he is out. So, in the case of a force play on a runner other than the batter-runner, according to the rules, the tie goes to the defensive team.

Now that I've covered the force plays, and thoroughly confused the issue, I still need to address tag plays. Well, rule 7.08(c) declares that, "Any runner is out when...he is tagged, when the ball is alive, while off his base." So, if he reaches the base at the same time as he is tagged, then he is not off base. Therefore, he is safe. In this case, once again, tie goes to the runner.

In two of the three relevant circumstances, tie does, in fact, go to the runner. However, this hardly reinforces our accepted understanding. So, does "tie goes to the runner" hold true, or does it really depend on the circumstances? Further muddying the issue is MLB.com's Ask the Umpire page. When asked about this particular rule, the umpire responds, "There are no ties and there is no rule that says the tie goes to the runner. But the rule book does say that the runner must beat the ball to first base, and so if he doesn't beat the ball, then he is out." This umpire is clearly wrong, unless the wording of the rule has been changed since this Q&A was written. The umpire in question, incidentally, is none other than Tim McClelland.

I do recall, though, being taught that the exception to the "tie goes to the runner" concept—so worded because I would be incorrect to call it a rule—is the play on the batter-runner at first base. That backs up what McClelland says, so maybe I shouldn't be too quick to rush to judgment by saying he's flat-out wrong. But, the phrasing of the rule book does not reinforce my memory.

So, where does this leave us, and what wisdom do I think I'm imparting on my readers? That is, if any of them are still reading at this point. I guess it's that "tie goes to the runner" is a myth, and if anyone uses that phrase in your presence, you're now fully prepared to call them out on it.

That Old Familiar Feeling

If you're at least a semi-regular reader of this blog, you probably know that I'm a New York Yankees fan, but that I write more about baseball in general than I do about the Yankees. So, I'm not going to turn into a cheerleader now and talk about how psyched I am that they finished their run to the World Series yesterday, ending a "drought" of eight seasons without winning one. But, the title of this post seems appropriate, this being their 27th championship overall and seventh during my lifetime.

I will say, though, that it didn't really feel all that special, other than the fact that KJ put aside her Red Sox loyalties and watched several of the games with me. It did feel a little more exciting than 1999, when the Yankees completed their second consecutive sweep of the World Series and it seemed they would never lose again. Of course, we know that they did—lose again, that is—and that they are far from achieving the status of dynasty again. But, they were expected to win, and when you're expected to win, it's just not as fun as when you're not. As far as I'm concerned, there probably will never be another 1996.

Then, there's the backlash I'm hearing and reading about, mostly from bitter fans of other teams who just can't seem to put the return of the World Series championship trophy to Yankee Stadium in perspective. I have no problem with Yankee haters. I've said before that I almost always root for the underdog, unless of course, the favorite is my team. So, I expect the rest of the country to root for the Yankees to lose. But, there are a lot of people out there who seem to be mad at the Yankees, as if they consider it their responsibility to make sure the playing field is level. I've got news for you, folks. If the Yankees limitless budget is ruining baseball—which it's not—then it's Major League Baseball's responsibility to do something about it.

Besides, if the past eight years have proven anything, it's that you can't buy a championship. You can buy a contender, and I won't try to dispute that's what the Yankees have been doing, but throwing money at players doesn't guarantee anything beyond that. I've also said this before, but I'm all for a salary cap in baseball. There are a lot of constraints making it difficult to imagine that it will ever happen, though. I'm not going to get into a discussion of the economics of baseball, but there will still be the "haves" and the "have-nots." There's no getting around that fact, and it shouldn't be news to Red Sox and Phillies fans that they're in the haves category, whether they want to cling to their idealized self-images as underdogs or not.

I'm not sure if I have a real point to make here. These are just my thoughts following the completion of a really interesting 2009 baseball season. It's hard to believe this was the outcome of the same season that I was writing things like this about superstitions. Let's also not forget that it was only April of 2008 that I was warning Red Sox loyalists against messing with a good thing. Maybe I was right about that.

My BCS Solution

Year after year, those of us who follow college football are forced to listen to numerous complaints about the lack of a true championship in that sport. The BCS was supposed to have been created to settle this controversy, but it doesn't seem to have solved anything. Some folks say that the endless debate adds a certain element that makes this interesting, but these are probably the same people who enjoy listening to the DH vs. no-DH arguments. Enough already, I say—on both subjects—but let's stick to the college football discussion for now.

I'm a Penn State alum, so if not for an upset loss to Iowa a few weeks ago, my team may have benefited from the lack of a true system, and would already be slated for a title game showdown with one of the powerhouses from the SEC or the Big 12. If this were the case, there would be much clamoring about the fact that 3 or 4 other teams from these conferences are more deserving due to the much tougher schedules they've faced. Of course, that's a moot point, but it doesn't mean there aren't going to be quite a few rightfully unhappy programs that are as deserving of a shot at a national championship as one or both of the teams that are selected for the BCS title game.

I've been working on a mini-BCS playoff system in my mind for over a year now. This is actually the first time I've attempted to write it down and make some sense of it.

• The BCS ranking system is still used, but in this case for more than just to determine the two teams who get to play in the "national championship".
  
  
• Conferences are free to determine their championship game participants in whatever way they choose, but are encouraged to scrap their division formats and simply pit their top two BCS teams against each other. This would avoid a situation such as in this year's Big 12, in which the top four teams in that conference are in the same division.
  
  
• Four additional teams are awarded at-large bids, also based on their BCS rankings, and are seeded 7 through 10. These four teams are selected from among the remaining conference champions, teams that did not win their conferences, and independents.
  
  
• Obviously, the fact that they would only be eligible for the at-large berths puts the independents at a bit of a disadvantage, but if they're among the top eight teams in the country, they're virtually assured of a bid. There are currently only four FBS independents, and with the Notre Dame program being a bit of a mess, this seems less important right now, but these teams would be encouraged to join a conference.
  
  
• The quarter-finals are played the third weekend in December, with the semi-finals on New Year's Day and the finals a week later.
  
  
• The remaining two quarter-final games and the 7 vs. 10 and 8 vs. 9 games are awarded to the Cotton, Capital One, Outback and Gator Bowls, or whatever four are considered next in the pecking order.

I can't say for certain that this system addresses all of the concerns that seem to have been preventing such a playoff system from happening, but I'll try to cover as many as I can think of. First, the bowls remain as prestigious as ever and, in fact, take on added importance due to the fact that every one of the eight involved in this system are elimination games.

Second, the automatic bids to the top six conference champions virtually assure that a team that didn't win their conference won't make the playoffs over a conference rival that did. Also, the inclusion of the conference championships essentially adds an extra round to the tournament without having to extend the schedule. Additionally, this significantly extends the pool of teams that are playing that game for a chance to make the BCS tournament, essentially making it comparable to a playoff game for them.

There are a couple of minor drawbacks that I'm aware of. First, if all of the top six conference champions are not ranked in the BCS top ten, then there will be top ten teams that don't make the playoffs. Still, no matter what the solution, some team will be disappointed at being left out, but it's much better when that team is at #9 rather than #3. Furthermore, I think it's important to assign a high level of importance to the conference championships.

Another potential drawback is the fact that this will extend some teams' seasons to 15 or 16 games. I'm not really sure how seriously the NCAA would frown upon this, but I do know that my plan only extends the season into the holidays, so I don't think it should be considered a major problem.

Lastly, by using so many of the bowl games for this playoff system, and therefore having several teams play in multiple bowls, it reduces the pool of teams that get to play in one of these games. This is the major downside of this plan, in my opinion. I'm not sure of a way around this. Obviously, it's easy for me to say that a few bowl games could be added, but I have no idea how feasible this is.

The bottom line is that this season's outcome, in which there will be as many as two undefeated and five one-loss teams locked out of the BCS title game, just reinforces that it's about time that major college football instituted some type of playoff system. But, of course, we've all heard that one before.

Voluntary Release III: My Interview with Rick Roder

Before I wrote Voluntary Release II, I had placed a call to Rick Roder, one of the co-authors of the Jaksa/Roder Manual, and operator of the web site Rules of Baseball.com. I would certainly have understood if he wanted to steer clear of this recent controversy, but he did return my call last week, and spoke very candidly with me for about 30 minutes. Rick was very cooperative and his insights clarified this issue as much as possible, as far as I'm concerned.

The main point I came away with from this conversation is this play clearly exposed a deficiency in the rule book, and this is an area where there potentially is a disagreement among umpires. Rick clarified that the Jaksa/Roder Manual's interpretation of the rule book is not official, and Welke apparently chose to interpret the rule differently. He also stated, while he believes his own interpretation to be correct, Welke's call was not technically wrong.

It seems to me, from my discussion with Roder, this is a rule interpretation that will be discussed by the Major League Baseball Playing Rules Committee in the off-season and, very likely, clarified. He also raised my awareness to the possibility that, even if the Jaksa/Roder interpretation becomes official, this does not necessarily condemn the ruling Welke made. If this occurs, it most likely will be determined his call was technically correct at the time, but the tag requirement will become more stringent going forward.

The conclusion I draw from this is it reinforces the point I made in the final paragraph of my last article on this subject. That is, the most important thing that needs to come out of this is Major League Baseball's clarification of this rule. I still feel, had Welke not taken his eyes off the ball, he may have seen this one differently, and for that reason, it was a serious mistake for him not to ask for help. More importantly, I think MLB dismissed this too easily and not convincingly, and I'm not sure why. But, at this point, I have nothing more to say on this subject.

Rant: Non-Traveling Off Days

I started writing this little rant a few days ago, but never finished it. It seems a little less relevant now, but it's still a point I want to make. What is the story with the LCS days off between games 4 and 5, days when the teams aren't even traveling? Is it so that the Phillies players can check out Hollywood Boulevard, or the Rays can walk the Freedom Trail? I know it has something to do with television, and I won't try to deny that this is an unavoidable issue, but I can better understand the reason for this in the first round, when the goal is to stagger those games and not have four on the same day.

I'm willing to accept the fact that teams only need to use four starting pitchers in the post-season when they needed five while playing 162 games during a 181-day regular season. That's 19 days off, which--ignoring the fact that three of those are consecutive days over the all-star break--is approximately one every nine days. But, the extra day off in the middle of the LCS, in addition to the two travel days, makes for seven games played in ten days.

This gives the teams involved the option of using only three starting pitchers during the entire series, with only one pitcher in one game required to pitch on short rest. The Dodgers are the only team that chose to do this, with Derek Lowe, but the Red Sox certainly would have considered it had Josh Beckett been pitching as well as he was last year at this time. This results in the post-season being on a completely different playing field, figuratively speaking, than the regular season.

I hate to use this as an example, but Curt Schilling earned the right to be considered a post-season warrior, long before the bloody sock, when he pitched three games in the 2001 World Series. In doing so, he pitched both Games 4 and 7 on three days rest, and lasted at least 7 innings in all three starts. Even so, the Diamondbacks still had to use four starting pitchers in the series, with Brian Anderson going Game 3 and Miguel Batista getting the call in Game 5. When Schilling did this, it meant something. He went above and beyond his normal regular season workload and, despite the fact that his team only won two of these three games, and he was the winning pitcher in just one of them, he shared World Series MVP honors with Randy Johnson.

Of course, the existence of this extra off day has had no bearing on the current post-season, but I just feel that it cheapens the playoffs by potentially making even #4 starters obsolete. Teams can go through short stretches of the season without their 5th starter, and there are additional occasions when they're afforded the opportunity of skipping him, but no team can get by without their 4th starter taking his regular turn every time through the rotation. So, why would Major League Baseball allow this to be the case in the post-season? I am totally realistic about MLB's need to cater to the networks, based on the simple fact that television is one of its two means of presenting its product. However, this is one situation where the league needs to draw the line in order to, as trite as this sounds, preserve the integrity of the game's ultimate showcase.

Voluntary Release II: The Controversial Call That Wasn't

This is a summary of the issues surrounding the play I first wrote about right after it happened on Monday night. This also provides an overview of the somewhat controversial and elusive rule interpretation of voluntary release that doesn't seem to have received the attention it deserves. Since I've already covered some of the issues here, this is a slightly abridged version of an article I wrote for Seamheads.com.

The play, of course, involved the Angels' botched squeeze play in the top of the 9th of game four of the American League Division Series, a game the Red Sox eventually won 3-2 to advance to their ALCS matchup with the Tampa Bay Rays. With the scored tied 2-2, Reggie Willits on third base with one out, and Erick Aybar at the plate, the Angels attempted to squeeze home the go-ahead run. But, Aybar whiffed at a Manny Delcarmen offering, and Red Sox catcher Jason Varitek ran Willits back to third base. Just before Willits reached third, Varitek lunged and tagged him, falling to the ground in the process.

With the ball securely and firmly (remember those words) in Varitek's glove, he tagged Willits while he was clearly off the base. But, in the process of making the tag, Varitek's momentum caused him to fall to the ground on his left elbow. As soon as said elbow hit the ground, the ball squirted out of his glove, but umpire Tim Welke had already called Willits out. However, Welke had momentarily taken his eyes off the ball, focusing instead on the spot where the tag had occurred, and didn't actually see the ball come out of Varitek's glove. He immediately turned his head, though, and, witnessing the ball on the ground, reinforced his call by indicating the runner was out again. Angels' manager Mike Scioscia came out to argue, but was rebuked by Welke, and surprisingly didn't seem to put up much of a fight. Welke, despite the fact he didn't actually witness Varitek lose control of the ball, inexplicably didn't ask for help on the play.

I explained the concept of voluntary release, to some extent, in Monday's post. In the Official Rules of Major League Baseball, Rule 2.00 covers the definition of terms. Since I already provided the rule book's definition of "catch" and "tag" there, I'm not going to repeat them in this post.

People seem to want to use football analogies when discussing this play, but the voluntary release requirement means football analogies don't apply. There's no "a ground can't cause a fumble", nor does how many feet you get down have any relevance. The only thing that matters is whether or not the fielder is able to release the ball, from his glove or hand, voluntarily and intentionally. Most often, this involves removing the ball from the glove with the throwing hand. Voluntary release is the reason why, when an infielder loses control of the ball while in the act of removing it from his glove in turning a double play, the out still counts. The act of pulling the ball out of the glove is voluntary release.

The question here is whether or not voluntary release applies to the tag play. The definitions in the rule book refers to the concept as a requirement of the catch but says nothing about it in the definition of the tag. Since Varitek held the ball securely and firmly in his glove at the time of the tag, this one is pretty cut and dried, right? Not necessarily. In addition to the rule book, there exists a much more detailed manual, titled "Rules of Professional Baseball: A Comprehensive Re-Organization and Clarification", written by former minor league umpires and Brinkman/Froemming Umpire School instructors Chris Jaksa and Rick Roder, to deal with the countless vagaries in said rule book. This manual is widely used in umpire instruction at the professional and amateur levels.

The manual clarifies the definition of a tag in Rule 2.00 of the Official Rules, which fails to deal with action that occurs after the tag, with the following interpretation (from the 2008 edition, which is slightly different from the wording I provided on Monday):

"Catch" and "tag" are similar concepts. A tag [2.00] occurs when the ball is live and a fielder has the ball in his hand or glove (or both) and:

a. a base is touched by his person, or
b. a runner is touched by any part of the glove/ball, hand/ball, or glove/hand/ball combination.

Such fielder must have complete control of the ball during and after the touch. If the fielder bobbles or drops the ball during or after the touch of the base or runner, and the bobble or drop is due to his lack of control of himself or the ball, or due to contact with a runner, it is not a tag. A fielder shows complete control by:

a. regaining control of his own body after extenuating efforts to make a tag (especially in regard to a fall, dive, or a collision), and
b. showing that his release of the ball is (or will be) voluntary and intentional.

A fielder need not regain control of his body if he is able to voluntarily release the ball; the voluntary release alone is proof of complete control.

The two conditions of showing complete control are what's important here. Since Varitek fell and dropped the ball upon the impact of his elbow with the ground, he neither regained control of his own body nor showed voluntarily and intentional release of the ball. Therefore, he failed to satisfy the requirements of a tag. According to the Jaksa/Roder manual, that is.

So, at the very least, this leaves the issue in an extremely gray area. The interpretation offered by the Jaksa/Roder manual clearly indicates the call was incorrect. Varitek did not show complete control during and after the tag, so Willits should have been ruled safe. But, Steve Palermo, Major League supervisor of umpires, defended the call, although in very unconvincing fashion, choosing instead to refute the "ground can't cause a fumble" football analogy by saying, "That's the NFL. We don't have that in baseball. He had possession of the ball when he made the tag." Palermo's statement uses none of the important rule book terminology, so instead of clarifying, it leaves the issue still open to interpretation.

I'll briefly add my opinion on this here, something I didn't do in the Seamheads article. My inclination is to believe the Jaksa/Roder manual is correct, since the interpretation it offers intends to elaborate on and clarify what exists in the rule book. The same interpretation existed in the 1992 edition that I own a copy of, and 16 years later, the wording was slightly different, but the interpretation was the same. This leads me to believe this has been the accepted view of this issue for years, but since the rule book definition remains vague, it's possible even major league umpires are divided on this one.

The issue boils down to one specific and easily answerable question. Does the voluntary release requirement apply to a tag play as it does to a catch? If the answer is no, then Bill Welke was correct and the controversy is settled. If the answer is yes, then the call was wrong and that fact needs to be admitted. Major League Baseball has a recent history of coming clean in such situations. But, in this case, MLB officials appear to have dismissed this as a non-controversy when, in fact, there is considerable evidence to the contrary. Obviously, as far as the Angels-Red Sox ALDS matchup is concerned, the answer to this question will have no effect on its outcome. However, it's important for the rest of us -- the fans, players, managers, coaches, and, most importantly, the umpires -- to know, so that this particular gray area becomes black or white in the future.

Voluntary Release

I'm not talking about the armed forces here. Of course, this is about baseball, and the fact that I've never seen a bigger blown call in such an important game. It's one thing watching Don Denkinger miss what is strictly a judgment call in the 1985 World Series, but what happened tonight was a rule interpretation, was totally obvious, and easily correctable.

Most people don't know this--the announcers clearly didn't--but, after making a catch or applying a tag, a fielder must show voluntary release of the ball in completing the catch or tag. On the blown squeeze play tonight, Jason Varitek made the tag on Reggie Willits at third, but the ball came loose when his elbow hit the ground. He clearly did not release the ball voluntarily, and there is no question that the third-base umpire couldn't possibly have seen it this way.

I'm surprised that Mike Scioscia didn't know this, because if he had, it would have been a no-brainer for him to ask the umpire to get help in interpreting the rule. Additionally, based on Major League Baseball's relatively new philosophy of making sure to get the call right, I can't understand why the crew chief didn't automatically call for a conference on this one.

I'm now waiting for someone to point out the mistake. It's been 14 years since I went to umpire school, and I still remember this, so I'm completely flabbergasted that it seems I'm the only one who knows the correct interpretation of this rule. The fact that no one else seems to know has me questioning whether or not I'm mistaken, but I don't think I am.

Updated 10/7/08 @ 12:36AM: Apparently, MLB's Director of Umpires says that the ruling was correct because Varitek had the ball firmly in his glove when applying the tag. Rule 2.00 defines a tag as "...the action of a fielder in...touching a runner with the ball, or with his hand or glove holding the ball, while holding the ball securely and firmly in his hand or glove."

In the same section of the rules, the definition of a catch has the added stipulation that "In establishing the validity of the catch, the fielder shall hold the ball long enough to prove that he has complete control of the ball and that his release of the ball is voluntary and intentional."

So, maybe I'm wrong, but my understanding is that the accepted interpretation (the baseball equivalent of case law) is the same principle applies to the tag as to the catch. However, that opinion does not seem to be reinforced by the Director of Umpires or the wording of the rule book. I'm still not convinced, but maybe I'll back off on my statement that this is the most blatant blown call in an important game that I've ever seen. For now, that is. Stay tuned on this one.

Updated 10/7/08 @ 7:13PM: On "Mike and Mike in the Morning" today, Dave Campbell, about six minutes into an interview that you can listen to on ESPN.com, states "...there's a rule book, and then there's the case book. It's very difficult to get a hold of the case book." Well, I have a copy of the case book, or at least the Brinkman/Froemming Umpire School's version of it, which is titled "Rules of Professional Baseball: A Comprehensive Re-Organization and Clarification", Fourth Edition. My copy of this edition is last updated in 1992, so unless the interpretation has changed since, here's what it says:

"Catch" and "tag" are similar concepts. A tag occurs when the ball is live and a fielder has the ball in his hand or glove (or both) and:

(a) a base is touched by his person or
(b) a runner is touched by any part of the glove/ball or hand/ball combination.

Such fielder must show complete control of the ball during and after the touch, and show this control by voluntarily releasing the ball. If, during or after the touch and before voluntary release has been shown, the ball is bobbled or dropped, it is not a tag.

I'm assuming that, if you've read this far, you saw the game and the play last night. That being the case, I'm sure you can decide for yourself. Did Varitek voluntarily release the ball when his elbow hit the ground?

I guess the real question here is what interpretation of the rule is correct? I honestly thought that the case book I possess contains the accepted interpretations of what is a very vague rule book. But, I really don't know. All I know is, whatever the answer, it has no bearing on the outcome of last night's game. However, I still want to know the answer to the question of does the principle of voluntary release apply to a tag play? The answer to this question would make it abundantly clear whether or not last night's ruling was, in fact, the correct one.

The Mitchell Report

It took me three hours to drive the 4+ miles home from work last night. So, between switching back and forth between the MIT and Emerson College radio stations, I listened to a lot of sports talk. That means I heard more opinions than anyone would want to on the Mitchell Report.

It's amazing how quickly Roger Clemens has been tried, convicted and sentenced in "the court of public opinion", a grossly overused phrase that, nevertheless, is almost perfectly fitting. I say this because, as far as I can tell, the Mitchell Report, released yesterday, is essentially analogous to the gathering of evidence to determine if there's enough to bring the accused to trial. Yet, it appears already that Clemens' legacy, and his status as a future Hall of Famer, is irreparably tarnished.

Maybe I'm overdoing it with this legal system analogy, but I personally think the doctrine of innocent until proven guilty shouldn't be completely disregarded when it comes to matters outside of the courts. Clemens, of course, is not the only person this applies to. He's just the one who stands to lose the most.

Consider Brian Roberts. The only mention of his name in the report is in reference to him having lunch with teammates David Segui and Larry Bigbie, and convicted steroids dealer Kirk Radomski. The following year, according to Bigbie, Roberts admitted to him that he had injected himself once or twice. That's it. In his report, Mitchell states, "I have not included every allegation that we received or the results of every interview we conducted or every document we reviewed. Inevitably, much of that information was cumulative, not relevant, or of only marginal relevance. None of it would have materially altered the account that is provided." So, based on a very weak piece of evidence, Mitchell apparently decided that it was materially relevant to include Roberts in his report.

This brings to mind two questions. First, how unsubstantial and irrelevant was the information he left out? Second, why did Mitchell consider the evidence regarding Roberts relevant? No one claims to have injected him, or to have seen him get injected, and he didn't influence anyone to begin taking steroids. Bigbie was already using on his own, according to his own admission. Was it because Mitchell considered the information relevant to the "case" (and I use that term loosely) against Bigbie? Unlikely, as Bigbie was offering him all the information he needed on himself. Or, was it that Mitchell decided to show no sympathy towards the players who declined to speak with him? I guess we'll never know. Honestly, I think it was a mistake on the part of the Players' Association to advise their members not to comply, but Mitchell's inclusion of Roberts' name is an irresponsible error in judgment, and damaging to his credibility.

Yes, I said it. I'm questioning George Mitchell's credibility. To that point, I find it interesting that there are two separate instances in the report that refer to the fact that the Red Sox front office inquired about the possible use of steroids regarding two players they were looking to acquire, Eric Gagne and Brendan Donnelly. How about that? The Sox front office should be praised for their due diligence in assuring that they fill out their roster with only players who are outstanding citizens of the game. I wonder what Mitchell's motives could have been for casting such a favorable light on Red Sox management? That's a tough one.

Who knows? I could be out of line on that previous accusation. I'd have to read the entire report to determine if there is even one mention of another team's front office making such inquiries. Or maybe it's because Mitchell has better access to the transcripts of Theo Epstein's email. But, I still find it curious.

Next, there is the matter of the type of evidence that the majority of the report is based on...statements by Kirk Radomski and Brian McNamee. Statements that, in court, would be a matter of one person's word against another's, at which point the credibility of the witness comes into question. Would Radomski and McNamee be considered highly credible witnesses? I think not. Yet, I'm already reading and hearing Roger Clemens' name being instantly lumped in with Barry Bonds'. There is a mountain of evidence that has been piling up over the past few years against Bonds. Yesterday was the first piece of concrete evidence, other than the usual speculation about body type and improved performance, against Clemens.

Let's not rush to judgment here, folks. I'm not saying Clemens is innocent. In fact, my gut tells me that time will not bring forth the kind of evidence that will exonerate the Rocket and clear his name. I just think it's irresponsible to not take a step back, review the evidence that's been put forth and wait to hear what other information is out there that we have yet to hear, maybe even what Clemens has to say in his own defense.

The most rational analysis I've read or heard since this all came down is Jayson Stark's column on ESPN.com. I urge every serious baseball fan who wishes to develop an informed opinion on the subject to start by reading what Stark has to say. In fact, I'm going to call this required reading of anyone who wishes to discuss this issue with me. This may sound arrogant, but if you haven't read Stark's column, then don't even bring up the subject with me.

Next, read some of the report. I realize it's a monstrous 400+ page document, and I certainly don't claim to have read the entire thing myself. But, it's not difficult to think about what points of reference you're most interested in learning more about, search within the PDF for a particular term, and start reading. I guarantee this will lead you to your next curiosity, which will result in you searching on another term, and on and on from there.

When Mark McGwire received such a lack of support in his Hall of Fame bid this past year, I thought that maybe he was getting a raw deal based on what little we knew about what he was guilty of. It's not enough to say, "Look at him! He must be taking steroids!" I don't care if it's painfully obvious to you, there has to be more than that to base a credible opinion on. At the same time, I didn't disagree with voters who said that they simply wanted to wait until there was more information regarding McGwire's alleged steroid use. In that sense, they were saying they weren't certain of his Hall of Fame worthiness yet, and I don't have a problem with that.

The same applies to Clemens. If he were up for vote this year, and if I had a ballot, he would probably not be on it, simply because there's nothing wrong with making him wait a year to see how things shake out. Fortunately, we'll have five years to consider what the truth is. It's looking increasingly likely that both Clemens and Bonds will be on the ballot in January of 2013. By then, we'll probably have a pretty good idea how they will fare, but one thing's for sure...if they are both denied entrance, it will be a sad reminder of how this era has left us with no idea of who is great and who isn't. Because if those two can't be considered legends, then who can?

The MVP is a joke

I'm not referring to Justin Morneau or Ryan Howard. I honestly couldn't care less. Maybe that's the point...I just don't care. The MVP has turned into nothing more than a debate over what the criteria should be...this guy doesn't deserve it because his team didn't contend, this guy isn't that valuable because he has too much of a supporting cast, pitchers have their own award, etc.

Speaking of pitchers, I'll give you an award that has meaning...the Cy Young. It goes to the best pitcher in his respective league. Sure, you could debate whether or not Brandon Webb was that guy, and maybe the team he's on enters into the argument a little. Webb won 16 games for a sub-.500 team while Chris Carpenter, for example, won 15 games for....well, never mind. That's another tangent all to itself. My point is that 50% of the time the winner is absolutely cut and dried (Santana - 2006, Carpenter -2005, Santana - 2004).

Alright, I'll admit that maybe that's because great pitchers tend to really stand out above the competition, but if we were discussing who was the best offensive player in each league this year, I would come down to these guys...Ryan Howard and Albert Pujols in the NL, David Ortiz in the AL. Travis Hafner would have given Ortiz a run for his money if he hadn't got hurt, and Lance Berkman and Jermaine Dye both deserve honorable mention, but those three guys were clearly the best offensive players in baseball this year.

What am I suggesting? Nothing really. Alternatives would be to redefine the MVP as the top offensive performer, do away with the award completely and replace it with something comparable to the Cy Young (I prefer the Babe Ruth award), or to add the "Babe Ruth Award" to the current system. MLB currently is toying with the fan-voted Hank Aaron award. Personally, I think it should be named after an iconic player from earlier in the game's history, but regardless, this seems the most likely possibility.

Anyway...I'm going to get down off my high horse and give out Charles Simone's first annual Babe Ruth Awards:

NL - Albert Pujols, St. Louis Cardinals
AL - David Ortiz, Boston Red Sox


"It all adds up to a funky situation."
-W. Drayton