and Words
I’m just a little bit caught in the middle
Life is a maze and love is a riddle
I don’t know where to go, can’t do it alone
I’ve tried and I don’t know why
Slow it down, make it stop or else my heart is going to pop
‘Cause it’s too much, yeah it’s a lot to be something I’m not
I’m a fool out of love ’cause I just can’t get enough
Lyric excerpts from Musixmatch.
It was 1982 when I first became interested in baseball. I was fourteen at the time and for many years baseball was simply the hard wall that officially signaled the end of the Saturday morning cartoons. A few times I watched as the games started in these impossibly green fields and abundant sunshine. I learned some of the terms through mere absorption; much like I learned the names of historically good teams like the Yankees and the Dodgers. In fact, the Dodgers defeated the Yankees just the year before.
This year a little team dared to dream; the Atlanta Braves had endured many miserable years of poor baseball. In 1981 they finished next to last in the National League West division. Consequently, they had no reason to believe that they’d do any better, except that they did.
It was subtle at first; they won a handful of games. By the second week there was talk of the record, the best start by a team. To think that the Braves will pass that record of 11 games seemed absurd… until they did. Their streak was finally stopped at 13 games, a record that still stands today. During that 13-game streak, there was close game where ball seemed to take a bad hop on the infield and the Braves scored. Upon further inspection, what occurred was the batted ball hit a baserunner who was then automatically out. A play that I have not seen since, in decades of watching the game.
From those moments in front of the television tuned to TBS, I became an Atlanta Braves enthusiast and would never waver. While the Braves have had many years of success since, they still feel to me like that underdog of 1982. The team that was almost too stupid to know their place. Even as World Series Champions in 2021, they had the worst record among playoff teams. Where many people will see over a decade of winning division championships, I still see the ugly duckling. It still makes me smile.
In the same way that I learned Algebra, English and Biology in the daytime. I attended a different school in the evenings and afternoons. I was schooled by the voices of Ernie Johnson, Pete Van Weiren, and Skip Caray; they were the broadcasters. They were great ambassadors for this game and its rich history. I learned the different theories about strategies and approaches. They explained why you don’t bunt with two strikes. I heard stories about the types of tricks that ground crews would play to give the home team an edge. They spoke of wondrous tales of the history of the Mendoza Line. Those hours were filled with joy as they interspersed a deep history of the game between the play by play.
Though as much as I loved the game, this was the high school equivalent of an appreciation for baseball.
While football is an entirely different sport, the simple truth is that you can luck your way through a single game. There can be a missed call, a fumble, or the statistically impossible 55-yard field goal. Something as trivial as that may decide your game. Can a single play change the trajectory of a baseball game? Of course, but a single play can’t change the trajectory of your entire season. Changing the result of one football game (of 16) accounts for 6.25% of your winning percentage. In order to luck your way through 6.25% of your baseball season (162 games), you need to luck your way through over ten games. Toss a coin ten times, the likelihood that they’ll come up heads on all ten is less than 1:1000.
Having a natural interest in numbers, baseball became appealing in that respect as well. Baseball simply has a depth of statistics and mathematics that few other sports have. I learned about Rob Neyer through his ESPN column, and he graduated my understanding of baseball from high school to college level. This is when I first discovered sabermetrics and the study of statistics in baseball. It was the difference between tasting food when you can’t smell and when you can. It added depth and dimension to the game.
The numbers gave deep insight into two elements of the game: player acquisition and game play. Is a lifetime .300 batter better than a lifetime .275 batter? Sure, he is, but by how much? Should a team pay twice as much in salary for that difference? Is it better to sacrifice bunt to get a runner in scoring position or to have them swing away? Sabermetrics aspires to answer those questions. I was fascinated and hooked.
It was years later when I read the book Moneyball and subsequently watched the movie. With the story and the film there was finally vindication. Billy Beane applied sabermetrics to staffing and managing his baseball team and it works. In some ways this is the final triumph of the geeks. Statisticians have become better at managing a team sport than the athletes. In the end the numbers triumphed.
It was during one scene in the film where Beane takes his daughter to a music store to buy her a guitar. He nervously urges her to play a tune. She quietly strums and sings this tune. She plays it with the shy awkwardness of a teenage girl and yet it is memorable and endearing. It lacks the upbeat happiness of Lenka’s version, but it is appropriate for the film. To me, it is inextricably linked to Moneyball and thus baseball.
It is in this space that I fell in love with baseball. First, there’s the rich history that spans nearly two centuries. Second, there’s the simplicity of the mechanics of the game; it is in many ways a children’s game. It is a game that has great depth, in many ways beyond even our current understanding. Finally, it is nuanced, beautiful and balanced; both athletes and geeks can contribute. In my mind all those gears churn in all kinds of possibilities… for love of the game.
Well, except playing baseball with the designated hitter. That’s just crass and wrong.