Write My Column (Take 1)

So, here's the challenge to Brilliant Readers: Come up with words that only seem to be in sports. The baseline spoword -- which you might have heard on the Poscast -- is "ensuing." This, of course, is always followed by the word "kickoff."

What I'm looking for here -- and yes, I'm asking you to do write my column for me this week -- are words that, on their own, are NOT specifically sports words. That is to say, I'm not interested in "bunt" or "interception" or even "shank." I'm more interested in words like Brilliant Reader Shabs suggestion of "stave," as in "stave off elimination."

I've actually got a lot of them, but I don't want to curb your creativity.

The Last Poscast (For A While)

I have just posted my last Poscast for a while. It is with Michael Schur (of course) and it is particularly long (of course). This one is long enough that my wife Margo, who has nobly served as producer since the very first Poscast, is only now starting to speak to me again. Her vision of the Poscast is for each one to last about 20 minutes. I think this last one was an hour and a half.

The Poscast is going on hiatus because, as mentioned here before, I am about to go into deep research mode for my upcoming book on Joe Paterno. I should say that I have started a Facebook Fan Page for the book, and I have a special email for the book as well. I would certainly love for you to join or to email me if you have any stories, opinions, thoughts on JoePa. I'm trying to cast a wide net here.

Statistics and Stories

Questions: Do statistics take the wonder out of our sports? Do statistics drain the humanity out of them? Do statistics pull our eyes away from the fields and diamonds and courts and toward the ledger book? Do statistics make us less appreciative of the most important things in life, qualities that we intuitively understand are important but are not easy to quantify such as leadership and guts and the ability to handle pressure and the willingness to be a good teammate? Do statistics make us turn away from the myth and joy and mystery that make sports fun in the first place?

Most of all: Do statistics ruin good stories?

Pitchers and the MVP Award

First a little award history: The Baseball Writers started to give out the Cy Young Award for best pitcher in 1956. For the first 11 years of the award, only one Cy Young Award was given out, covering both the American and National League. Over those 11 years, two pitchers -- Don Newcombe in that first year, and Sandy Koufax in 1963 -- swept both the Cy Young and MVP award.

Then in 1967*, for the first time, the writers handed out a Cy Young Award in each the AL and NL. That year, Mike McCormick and Jim Lonborg both won 22 games and won the awards. Jim Bunning probably should have won it in the National League, and maybe Dean Chance or Joe Horlen in the American League, but you know how much people love those wins.

The Myth of Pressure

A few days ago, I explained that I'm looking at my American League MVP vote a little bit differently this year. I'm going to vote for the best player. That's all. I've only voted for the MVP one other time, I believe, and I voted for who I thought was the best player then too -- that was Joe Mauer in 2009. But I readily admit that I used to try to dissect that word, "valuable," until it carried all sorts of vague and winding meanings. How did his team do? How often did he deliver clutch hits? How much value did he add as a leader? I'm not saying that's wrong, but I'm saying that stuff is (1) Difficult, perhaps even impossible, to know; (2) Of uncertain value; (3) Possibly beside the point.

The way I'm looking at it this year: The most valuable player is the best player. Determining the best individual player -- with an infinite number of variables affecting game -- is hard enough without trying to feel the intangibles.

Crafty Lefty Hall of Fame

Mike Flanagan, by all accounts, was a wonderful man. He played basketball with Julius Erving in college and said it was defending Erving in practice that taught him that he would be better off pitching. He won the Cy Young Award in 1979 -- he won 23 games, had a 131 ERA+, struck out 190 -- and he won 167 games in his 18-year career. He was famous for a quip -- like when he said that the first time he went into the bullpen in New York, they told him to lock the doors -- and famous for pitching for the last Baltimore teams that played baseball the Oriole Way, built around turning double plays and hitting the three-run homer. If you want to read about the man, and you should, there are plenty of places like here, here, here and so on.

Changes comin'

So, you probably noticed that for the last few months, this blog has been in kind of a weird netherworld. I'm reproducing the sports posts that I write for my Sports Illustrated blog here. I'm also putting up some non-sports stuff here. Meanwhile, I'm putting up polls here and, well, it's all kind of weird and distracting and disjointed. I'm also finding myself spending too much effort doing time-intensive things that don't make a lot of sense, like making changes to the same story on two different blogs.

Well, over the next few weeks things are going to change a bit. We are redesigning joeposnanski.com. I have quite a few ideas for what we're going to do. And, at the same time, I have no idea what we're going to do … or what technically we even CAN do. By "we," I should say that I'm including my technical team, which at the moment includes family members, though the 6-year-old at last check was holding out for more money.

Among the general plans:

1. Make the overall site a bit more interactive.

2. Have two separate blogs -- a sports blog and a personal blog.

3. Do a better job of connecting everything I do -- from books to magazines to web to Poscasts to Tweets.

4. Possibly connect with a statistical site … not entirely sure how that would work yet.

5. Write that iPad review.

in any case, you have been the driving force behind this blog for a few years now. So I would ask you for your suggestions, your ideas, your crazy notions -- what would you like this Web site and blog to be in 2012?

Most Productive Player Award

Well, I just found out that this year I have an American League MVP vote. This means that I will spend the next six weeks or so in a constant state of panic as I break down every candidate game-by-game, out-by-out, until I fill out my ballot or go insane, whichever comes first.

I have been coming around to a new way of thinking about the MVP for a few years now. I would say that 15 years ago, I was as traditional about the award as anyone. I bought entirely into the idea that the word "valuable" meant something different from the word "productive." Those words are synonyms, but I believed in the lofty notion that a player -- through his leadership, through his clutch performances, through his RBI totals, through his team's won-loss record (or his own), through his big plays in the most timely moments -- could be significantly more "valuable" than "productive."

Wildcard vs. Wildcard

So, as you know, they will probably add another wildcard team to the baseball playoffs next year. Nobody knows for sure how it will work -- a one-game playoff between wildcards, a three-game playoff, whatever -- but this extra round seems likely to happen and soon.

I think many people like the concept of adding a playoff. I can see why: I think many of us have been waiting for something meaningful that separates division champions from wildcards. Giving the division champs homefield advantage (which is the only real advantage now) is clearly NOT meaningful enough and the governors of baseball understand that -- heck, they give homefield advantage in the World Series to the team that wins a pointless exhibition game.

Signing Francoeur

Well, of course, I can't help but jump in on the Royals signing Jeff Francoeur to a two-year, $13.5 million deal. I can't help but jump in because Jeff Francoeur continues to be one of the most compelling players in baseball to me -- a great guy, a flawed player, a clubhouse presence, a free-swinger, a guy who can't help but attract people's best hopes and deepest frustrations.

Ever since 2007 or so, even if you were only half paying attention, you could have predicted Jeff Francoeur's future like so:

1. He would eventually be signed by the Dayton Moore's Kansas City Royals.
2. He would probably have a decent year in his new surroundings … or at least a decent start.
3. The Royals, buoyed by that decent year/start, would then offer Francoeur too much money to stay.

All these have come to pass, though everyone involved has insisted that this was not a fait accompli. It has just worked out this way. The Royals just happened to have an outfield spot. He just happened to have a pretty good season. The Royals just happened to decide he was worth signing to a fairly sizable contract.

The Ball-Strike Machine

So here's what happened: I was watching the end of the Royals-Yankees game on Wednesday … specifically I was watching Joakim Soria suffer again. This has been a tough year for us Soria fans. For four years, he was something really good about the Kansas City Royals. True, I think the Royals should have at least tried in some token way to make him a starter, just to see if it would have worked. True, I think the closer role is absurdly overrated in baseball, and this is especially true for a bad baseball team like the Royals.

Still: He's been wonderful to watch. He has been Kansas City's miniature replica of Mo Rivera -- not unlike the Las Vegas version of the Eiffel Tower, which I love too. Over four years, batters hit .197 against him. He struck out four times as many as he walked. He sliced corners with his fastball and fooled batters with his big, loopy curveball. More than anything, he exuded calm, something the Royals have not really featured in many, many years. It was like after all the madness, all the blunders, all the losing streaks, all the comical and not-so-comical disasters, the Royals could finally go to the bullpen, call Soria, and he would take the mound and every movement he made suggested in powerful ways: "OK, this game's over now. I got it from here."

That Was For Duane Kuiper

Had lunch today with my hero Duane Kuiper, his brother Jeff, and a new favorite, the hilarious Mike Krukow*. What a great time. Stories. Opinions. Jokes. I wonder if they would let me be on that announcing crew just so I could follow them around for a season.

*Nicknamed "The Polish Prince" according to his Baseball Reference page. I did not know that. I should try to get Mike into the Polish Sports Hall of Fame in Troy, Michigan.

I have to share one story. There were about 40 stories I could share, and probably will. But we'll start with one. It's about a plunking -- I'm not entirely sure why old stories about pitchers hitting batters with baseballs make me laugh. But they do.

How To Hit .161

You already know that Adam Dunn is hitting .161 this year. Well, I want to show you something amazing. At least to me.

Here is Adam Dunn's batting average split up every 10 games:

First 10 games: .162
Games 11 to 20: .147
Games 21 to 30: .250
Games 31 to 40: .205
(This included a four-hit game)
Games 41 to 50: .114
Games 51 to 60: .133
Games 61 to 70: .061
Games 71 to 80: .103
Games 71 to 90: .212
Games 91 to 99: .129

I was thinking about this while watching Dan Uggla go on his odds-busting hitting streak. I was thinking how unlikely it is for an every day big league hitter -- especially a previously good hitter like Uggla or Dunn -- to hit THAT low for a season. It has to take almost inconceivable consistency. You can't ever get hot. Ever. And by "hot" I mean even a 10-game stretch of hitting .290 or something.

Dunn has been known throughout his career for consistency -- after all, he he hit exactly 40 home runs four years in a row and followed that up with back-to-back 38-homer seasons. But this kind of awful consistency … well, hey, it's history folks. And it might never happen again.

Introducing: The Grandex Award

I come up with my best ideas when driving on longish trips. Unfortunately, I also come up with my worst ideas when driving on longish trips. And I'm not smart enough to know which is which. This is why often I will come home from a long drive and I will say to my wife something like: "We should start raising ostriches," or "I think I'm going to build a water park in our backyard."

Anyway: I was driving by the giant peach water tower on I-85 near Gaffney, S.C.* when I came up with the idea for the Grandex Award.

*That tower has always had special meaning for me -- in 1988, I was driving by it when I heard Jack Buck's "I don't believe what I just saw" call of Kirk Gibson's home run.

Thome

Here's one thing we sort of lost during the Steroid Era: The jolly home run hitter. Remember? Baseball used to be filled with them -- gentle giants, country strong men who would swing hard, tromp around the bases, maybe wink to a kid in the crowd as they crossed home plate. Heck, the home run was practically invented by one of those men, by a manchild they called Babe, who promised sick children in hospitals across America he'd hit home runs for them.

The home run lists used to be filled with genial men -- Harmon Killebrew, Ernie Banks, Frank Howard, Dale Murphy, Beltin' Bill Melton, Hank Greenberg, on and on. Johnny Bench sang in night clubs. Jimmie Foxx was so admired and beloved, he wasn't hit by a single pitch the year he hit 58 homers. George Foster didn't smoke or drink and later in life has longed to get on Dancing With The Stars. Big Klu -- Ted Kluszewski -- wore his sleeves rolled up to show off his arms and make a fist, smile, and say: "You know what that is? A Polish joke stopper." They called Willie Stargell "Pops." They called George Scott ""Boomer." They called Jimmy Wynn "The Toy Cannon."

Golf's Next Star

So you probably noticed this: Thirteen different men have won the last 13 major championships in golf. The overriding story in golf over those 13 tournament, of course, is that none of the 13 were Tiger Woods. But there has been another story -- a changing story -- that also has been told.

First, take a look at the 13 winners:

2008 PGA: Padraig Harrington
2009 Masters: Angel Cabrera
2009 U.S. Open: Lucas Glover
2009 British Open: Tom Watson*
2009 PGA: Y.E. Yang
2010 Masters: Phil Mickelson
2010 U.S. Open: Graeme McDowell
2010 British Open: Louis Oosthuizen
2010 PGA: Martin Kaymer
2011 Masters: Charl Schwartzel
2011 U.S. Open: Rory McIlroy
2011 British Open: Darren Clarke
2011 PGA: Keegan Bradley

*No, damn, it was Stewart Cink.

The Uggla Duckling

When I was 8 or 9 years old, a gifted classmate named Daniel taught me how to draw a cartoon face of a man with a mustache. This was no easy trick because then, like now, I had absolutely no artistic talents whatsoever. None. Whenever I have been placed in the uncomfortable decision of having to draw something -- for the purposes of a game or based on a daughter's request or whatever -- the results have been either comic or tragic, depending on which one more poorly suited the situation. I could draw a smiley face right now and you would say: "Um, is that supposed to be a vase? A house? John Cusack?"

But I can still draw that face of the man and his mustache. And I do. All the time. It looks more like man meets walrus, yes, but it's the only thing I know how to draw and this is my mode: When I learn how to do something, no matter how weak it may be, I tend to stick with it.

So, some years ago, a friend taught me how to figure out the basic odds of a hitting streak. This too is a limited mathematical trick for many reasons, especially how I do it. But it's a fun trick, especially when a guy like Dan Uggla suddenly goes on a 33-game hitting streak.

Why Hitting Streaks Matter (Sort Of)

One thing I've written quite a bit about this year is that we choose what we celebrate in sports. We. All of us. It's like a vote. As I wrote once before: We don't need a good reason to celebrate, we only need a consensus. This isn't just true of sports. My family decided at some point that our true holiday was Oscar Night, and so for a while we would all come back and watch the Oscars together. Did this make sense? No. But it made sense to us.

And it isn't just true of celebrations either. Here's a random sports example: I sometimes wonder why we so readily accept the NFL playoff tie-breaking system. We break up NFL ties based on head-to-head match-ups … OK, that makes some sense. But assuming the teams split, we move on to divisional record which is OK, I suppose. Then the record in common games. Then conference record. Strength of schedule. Points differential. Net points in common games. Net points in all games. Net touchdowns. I mean, at some point, this is plainly ludicrous.

And we know the league thinks it's ludicrous because if none of those things break the tie then they go to a coin flip.

What Might Be Coming

Have spent the week in New York with family, so the posts have backed up. Here are a few posts that have been started and might be coming to a computer near you in the next few days:

-- The meaning (or lack thereof) of hitting streaks.
-- Stats and stories.
-- Walking in New York
-- The iPad review
-- The worst number in baseball (hint: It's a big number)
-- Watching home improvement shows.
-- More on baseball and stamps
-- The only love song to a stranger I ever wrote
-- Baseball managers and winning
-- Twenty five years ago
-- The 14 best football players in the NFL
-- Big 10 and Big 12 math
-- Good God, man, you're Billy Beane!
-- The car wash near my home
-- The 14 greatest shooters in basketball history

As always, your votes are welcome in the comments. And as always, yeah, I probably will just write the ones I write.

If his name was Leopard Forest ...

So here was my Twitter Tiger Woods question: "If his name wasn't Tiger Woods, would anyone be saying anything good about his current game?"

The problem with Twitter, of course, is that it's hard to say what you're trying to say in so few characters. Poorly phrased questions like that are BEGGING to be misunderstood. From the responses, I could tell that people THOUGHT I was asking one of the following questions:

-- Why are people still talking about Tiger?
-- With the way Tiger Woods is playing, why does anyone think he can be good again?
-- Why is Tiger Woods treated differently from everyone else?
-- Why do people still make golf all about Tiger?
-- Aren't you sick of Tiger Woods?

And so on. But I didn't mean any of that. I know exactly why people are still talking about Tiger … heck, he's the player who interests me most too. I know exactly why some people think Tiger can be good again … heck, the guy played golf better than anyone who ever lived. I know why Tiger is treated differently, I know why he's still the biggest star in the game, and I know why people keep talking about him. I know all of that.

Guessing About Stamps

OK, so I get a lot of mail and email at Sports Illustrated. Some of it leads to fun interviews, such as the one I did a couple of weeks ago with Carl Lewis or the Point After column I did in the magazine this week with Marv Levy. Some of it leads to wild goose chases. Most of the emails, sadly, jump to the junk folder before they are ever opened.

But I got an interesting email the other day from the United States Postal Service. It seems that they are, once again, trying to raise interest in stamp collecting. God bless those guys -- in an era where video games are so realistic that gamers can earn actual purple hearts, in an era when high definition television is so clear that real life is a let down, in an era when you can play God on your phone, watch television on a tablet, print out any photograph ever taken and make perfect pasta every time … they are still clinging to the hope that people will collect tiny pieces of paper with pictures on them. I love stamps. I hope they're right.

Heartache

My brother Tony has lost more than 200 pounds and he has inspired countless people -- including me -- to change their lives just a little bit.

Sometimes people who inspire need a little inspiration themselves.

The story of heartache.

Two Retirements

Two players retired in the last few days, and they could not be much different. Football and baseball. Black and white. One -- as Jim Murray famously wrote -- had the body of a Greek God, the other the body of a Greek Restaurant. One was an athletic phenomenon who both pushed the limits of sports achievement and underachievement. The other guy looked like your uncle. They have nothing to do with each other. They don't belong in the same retirement story. But they happened to retire within a couple of days of each other. And I just started writing.

The 30-Foot Jump

We just don't jump like we used to … I'm talking about human beings here, not me personally, though it is also true that I do not jump like I once did. I jumped off the last two steps on my front porch the other day and my left knee has not stopped hurting since. Still, in this particular case, I mean mankind.

You know how people seem to smash track records and swimming records and touchdown and home run records every other day? Not true when it comes to jumping. The men's high jump record was set by Javier Sotomayer in 1993, the women's by Stefka Kostadinova even further back in 1987. Both the men's and women's triple jump records were set back in 1995. The women's long-jump record was set by Galena Chistyakova in 1988.

And at the end of this month, Mike Powell's remarkable 8.95 meter jump -- that's 29 feet, 4 3/8 inches -- will have been the world record for 20 years. Twenty years! Heck, Bob Beamon's legendary long jump record only lasted 23. And unless something changes, this one will last longer than Beamon's. Much longer.

See: The amazing thing is not that Mike Powell's record hasn't been broken. It's that nobody has come even close. Nobody has jumped 29 feet since that day in Tokyo in 1991. Nobody has come within eight inches of the record since that day. At the 2008 Olympics, 27 feet, 4 inches was good enough for gold -- the worst gold medal performance in more than 35 years. As the greatest long jumper who ever lived likes to say: "These guys come out now, jump 28 feet, take their go medal and go home like they did something."

And the greatest long jumper who ever lived -- and the 30-foot jump that never happened -- is at the heart of our story.

The New Code of Baseball

OK, so here's the deal: I get why pitchers sometimes throw at hitters. I'm not saying I approve of it or agree with it or even like it … but I get it. Baseball, despite its relatively peaceful rhythms, comes from a violent past. There are scores to settle, messages to send, players to intimidate. Throughout the game's history, there has been an understanding that pitchers can and will make specific points to their opponents by throwing inside.

Don't get too comfortable.

The inside of the plate belongs to me.

Don't hit my teammate with a pitch.

Don't show us up.

We're here to take you guys out.

And so on. The pitchers do not actually have to HIT the batter to send these messages, by the way. Quite often, they don't. Bob Gibson did not hit that many batters in his career -- he never even once led the league in hit-by-pitch, and over a career Jamie Moyer and Aaron Sele among dozens hit more batters than Gibby. But Gibson knocked down enough batters to push him to the top of any list of most intimidating pitchers. As Billy Williams once said: "He left you leaning a little bit away.*"