The New Market Efficiency?

In celebration of the Giants' fourth Super Bowl championship in my 35ish years as a fan, I'm working up a post on my all-lifetime team. But, that one's dragging on a bit, so I thought I'd share an unscientific observation I made on Twitter the day after the Super Bowl:

"Barely Making the Playoffs is the New Market Efficiency."

It was really kind of a joke, but at least one St. Louis Cardinals blogger understood what I was getting at.

In addition to last year's World Series winner, the past two Super Bowl champions qualified for the playoffs on the season's final day. In fact, this year's Giants team finished the regular season at 9-7, while last year's version missed the playoffs at 10-6, losing the wild card tiebreaker to the eventual champion Green Bay Packers.

The 2011 St. Louis Cardinals clinched the NL wild card with a game-162 victory, but were also aided by a less-than-stellar stretch run from the Atlanta Braves. Even the 2010 World Series champion San Francisco Giants only won their division by two games.

So, that's four consecutive champions in the only sports that matter—half the teams make the playoffs in those other two major sports, after all—who had to play hard right up to the last day(s) of the season.

What am I trying to say here? That there's a competitive advantage to be gained by not clinching a playoff berth early? No, not really. That to win a championship you have to be a little lucky, in addition to being good? No, that wasn't my point.

OK, maybe I am trying to say a little of both of those things. But, mainly it was just an interesting—at least to me—observation.

Anyway, stay tuned if you can't stand the suspense of waiting to find out if Brad Van Pelt made my New York Giants all-lifetime team.

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.

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.

From Hank to Hideki: 40 Years of Cheers, Tears and Beers

I've finally decided on the title for my Sports Fab 40 series, that is the 40 most important—to me—sports moments of my lifetime. The meaning of the title, if not already obvious, will become apparent over time, or at least with the first and last entries.

Of course, I need to give credit where it is due, so I'd like to thank Neil Young for inspiring the title, and Lee Mazzola for suggesting the sub-title. The latter is a little misleading, though, as my first sports memory doesn't quite go back 40 years, but since I've been alive for 40-plus, it basically fits the spirit of the series.

Once again, I'll explain that these are the 40 moments that are most important to me, and nothing else. Those that I witnessed in person, obviously, take on a little extra meaning, but ultimately the most important factors are how vividly I remember these moments and what they mean to me today.

I figured I'd better get started on this, over a year after introducing it, before any more memorable moments occur, thus potentially ruining the title. So, if this is the kind of thing that interests you, stay tuned.

Thrill vs. Agony, Part 2

I didn't intend to write a part two to this post—actually it's probably better described as an addendum—but a reference to it over on a site that I read regularly and contribute to irregularly, Pickin' Splinters, reminded me of another angle. That is, the idea that the success of one of your teams can go a long way towards softening the blow from the failure of another. A prime example of this is summed up by my current facebook status:

"I feel like a kid again...the Yankees are champions and the Giants suck."

Of course, this is not to mention the fact that the Rose Bowl hopes of my alma mater, Penn State, were crushed—as was the team—by Ohio State this past weekend, 24-7. Between that and the Giants' dismal loss to San Diego, which drops them to 5-4 after a 5-0 start, it was a pretty rough weekend for my football teams. But, it still doesn't feel all that bad.

Check back with me in a couple weeks on this one, though. I'll have a better idea by then how long this "honeymoon" will last.

Filling a Void

It's mid-January, the best music of 2008 list is completed, Cooperstown enshrinees have been announced, and with the start of baseball's regular season 2 1/2 months away--since the reporting of pitchers and catchers in mid-February doesn't quite do it for me--comes a period of time that is somewhat devoid of blogging material for me.

A little less than two years ago, I began a series of memoir-style blog entries chronicling one of my lifelong obsessions. I called it the Fab 40, as I wrote about the 40 artists who've meant the most to me during my lifetime as a music fan. Well, I've recently been working on compiling another list. That is, the 40 most important sports moments of my life so far.

Once again, these moments will be judged based on their importance to me, not on how important they were to their respective teams or sports, or to anyone else. Having been in attendance at the particular event, of course, will increase its likelihood of making the list. However, the most important factors will be how vivid my memories are, and how these memories make me feel today.

I need a little help, though. I don't know what to call this series. I'm looking for something a little more creative than the Sports Fab 40, but I'm coming up void of ideas. So, if you have any thoughts, please send them my way.

Brush with Greatness I

I graduated from college in 1989, and my first real job brought me to Syracuse, NY in the late summer of that year. I searched for, and successfully found my first apartment, other than the one I shared with four of my college friends during my junior and senior years at Penn State. It was at 306 Polk Street, right near the line between Syracuse and Dewitt, not far from the intersection of Thompson Road and Erie Boulevard, and only a few blocks from the campus of LeMoyne College.

My new landlord was quite tall, but not freakishly so, about 6'6" or 6'7". I was in his office, paying my security deposit, signing the lease, getting the keys, and all that. I recall my monthly rent was $350 for a decent, but not spectacular, one-bedroom apartment. My neighbors turned out to be really nice, particularly the couple that lived downstairs from me with their two kids, and the guy across the hall who regularly beat me in chess. There was an incident in the parking lot with a curmudgeonly old man who accused me of not parking close enough to the car next to me, but that was the only negative.

But, back to the landlord's office. As he was getting the paperwork together, I was admiring the posters on his walls. There were a few of the current NBA greats: Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, Michael Jordan (maybe, although he had yet to lead the Bulls to an NBA championship at that time). There was also one of a rather unspectacular NBA big man, who I happened to recognize because I was a Syracuse basketball fan from the days of the Bouie 'n' Louie Show through the under-achieving Pearl Washington and Rony Seikaly years.

"Is that Danny Schayes?" I inquired. "That's my boy!" he responded. "You're Dolph Schayes?" I asked, but I already knew the answer. I must have found the apartment through a rental agent, or it simply didn't sink in if he had introduced himself to me prior to that. Regardless, NBA Hall of Famer Dolph Schayes was my landlord for the next 14 months (I got a 2-month extension on a one-year lease because I thought I was moving to Albany, then actually stayed, but decided to find a new apartment).

He was actually kind of impressed that I knew who he was. Despite being named one of the NBA's 50 greatest players of all-time, a list was unveiled to celebrate the league's 50th anniversary seven years after our meeting, it seems to me that he was a little less well-known than his contemporaries George Mikan and Bob Petit. Furthermore, the end of his career was greatly overshadowed by beginning of Wilt Chamberlain's.

I never asked him for his autograph, although I believe I still have a copy of the lease in my box of nostalgia. Hard to believe that actually exists, huh? As far as I know, Dolph Schayes, now 80 years old, still lives and owns rental property in Syracuse. I'm also pretty certain that he was the first major sports Hall of Famer whom I ever met.