Worst Sequels (In Numerical Order)

I do not think that "Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace" is the worst movie ever made. There have to be at least four or five movies that were worse, or else (as Browning wrote) what's a "Cheaper By The Dozen" for? But "Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace" has to be the worst movie ever made that I actually went to see at midnight on opening night. I often like to say that I did this for my wife, who loved the Star Wars series so much that I don't believe she has ever gotten over not marrying Han Solo.*

*Not Harrison Ford. Han Solo.

But, I must admit more than a little excitement going to see the movie (though I tried to hide it). I don't really get science fiction beyond The Jetsons -- or anyway, that's what I've always believed because I didn't understand 2001: A Space Odyssey -- but I was stunned to find going into "Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace" that I knew a lot more about Star Wars than I would readily admit. Truth is, I was reasonably able to follow conversations between Star Wars nerds who enjoyed talking about things like the backstory of Boba Fett, the bounty hunter.

A Major Upset

You probably know this: There are 36 possible combinations when rolling two dice. I don't need to go through the all the possibilities -- 1-1, 1-2, 2-1, 2-2 and so on -- but I will tell you that only six of these combinations will give you a total of 10 or higher.

That means that whenever you roll two dice, your percentage chance of rolling a 10 or higher is 16.67% -- the odds are 6 to 1 against it happening.

Question: If you picked up two dice right now and rolled a 10, 11 or 12, would you consider that a "major upset?"

The First Argument Of Spring

This is a story about spring, baseball and the first wonderful and crazy argument of the new year. Baseball, I think, is the best argument game we have going. Sure, in other sports you can argue Tiger vs. Jack or Sampras vs. Federer or Montana vs. Unitas or whatever. But after a while it kind of fizzles out. You don't really hear people arguing about who was the best pulling guard in NFL history or who was the best on-the-ball defender in the NBA. But I've had an argument going with a friend about whether Cory Snyder or Jesse Barfield had a stronger arm for about 10 years. And every year, right around this time, when the trees start to show a little color, when light starts to last into the early evening, we fight about it again.

In baseball, see, arguments just don't fizzle out. No argument is too bizarre or blasphemous or insignificant. I think of the scene in the movie Radio Days -- second Woody Allen reference in recent days -- where the narrator talks about his parents could find ways to argue about anything.

"Are you telling me you think the Atlantic Ocean is greater than the Pacific?"

"No, have it your way … the Pacific is greater."

That's baseball. The other day, my e-migo and writing hero Charlie Pierce griped on Facebook that he found himself stuck in an argument with people at a Web site. The argument?

Who was better: Jim Rice or … MIKE CAMERON?

Yeah, Mike Cameron.

Poets and Knuckleballers

My 10-year-old daughter Elizabeth has started to write poetry. I don't really have other 10-year-old poets to compare, but her poems seem to me to be pretty good. They are very much from the heart. She wrote what I thought was a really good one about a lonely tree and … oh, wait, you don't care about this. And this is not the point.

No, the point is that at some point last week she mentioned that one of her friends also writes poetry. And she said, "Hey, maybe we can go into the poetry business together."

This, as you no doubt guessed, got me thinking about Tim Wakefield.

The Kid

There have been more than a dozen big league baseball players through the years who were called Kid … but I suspect that the name didn't fit any of them quite the way "Kid" fit Gary Carter.

He got the Kid nickname the way most young ballplayers get nicknames … from veteran players, and complete with derision and sarcasm. Carter was in spring training in 1974, barely out of Sunny Hills High School -- really, just a kid -- and he was running sprints like mad and acting like each drill was more important than the national debt. He was responsible for getting ice cream for teammates, and he did this happily. They started calling him Kid. Well, sure they did.

"Hey, settle down there, Kid."

"It's a long season, Kid."

"Watch out, the Kid's going to take your job."

"You don't want to hurt yourself on your first day, Kid."

That's how it began, but here was the difference: Gary Carter really never stopped being Kid. Sure, they called Ted Williams Kid, but that really never fit and it eventually sounded so ridiculous that they gave him a bunch of other nicknames -- Thumper, Splendid Splinter, Teddy Ballgame and all that. They called Ken Griffey Jr. Kid, but that too wore off after a while, after the years had taken their toll, after playing baseball no longer seemed to be as much fun. Kid Gleason, Kid Nichols, Billy DeMars … as they grew older the nickname seemed ironic. That's how it goes. Kids grow up.

3,000 Hits

There is a interesting relationship -- interesting to me anyway -- between the Baseball Hall of Fame and playing time.

We don't tend to think of the relationship of those two things. No, when we think about the Hall of Fame we usually think about specific greatness -- great skills, great moments, lots of home runs, lots of hits, lots of strikeouts, lots of wins, whatever. But it's kind of fun to look at it in a slightly different way.

Look: There are 25 players in baseball history with more than 10,000 at-bats.

-- 21 of them are in the Hall of Fame.

-- 2 are active (Derek Jeter and Omar Vizquel). Jeter is a Hall of Fame lock. Vizquel we will discuss in a moment.

-- 2 are not in the Hall of Fame because they committed what many people consider to be baseball cardinal sins (Pete Rose and Rafael Palmeiro).

If you get 10,000 at-bats in the big leagues -- assuming you don't cheat or bet on baseball to get there -- I would say you have a roughly 90-95% chance of getting into the Hall of Fame. Maybe higher.

Good Days and Bad Days

There was an interesting little moment Sunday during one of the dramatic golf days in recent months. It happened on the 18th green. By then, the Pebble Beach Pro-Am was ostensibly over. Phil Mickelson had played perhaps the most wonderful round I've ever seen him play. Sure, he has certainly played better rounds, more important rounds, more demanding rounds … but this was Mickelson in full flight, hitting every shot flush, hitting every approach so the ball danced around the hole, hitting every putt on a magnetic line. This, for him, seemed to be one of those charmed days that happen to the lucky and talented people, a day when everything goes right. That had to be fun.

Tiger Woods, his playing partner, did not have fun. Well, you know that already. Woods missed short putts. He hit poor shots. He shot three over par -- Mickelson shot eight-under -- and he looked looked utterly lost … this on a Sunday that so many had prepared for Tiger's comeback coronation day.

Comments

Many very nice people have written in asking when the comments will return to this blog.

I would very much like to bring the comments back -- I miss them and hated that I felt it necessary to close them down. But, to be honest about it, I have quite a few things going on and won't be able to read the comments with any regularity for the next few months, much less moderate them.

But I have been told by more than a few Brilliant Readers that they would be happy to moderate the comments if I will turn them back on. This seems like a plan that could work if people are serious about it. So here's what we will do: If you have interest in moderating the comments here, send an email here. And if we get a couple of people who are willing to do it, we'll try to open up the comments again.

Aging (with chart!)

I've never done a chart on here before … and from the chart above you can see why.

That chart, though, is supposed to represent something … this is a mathematically challenged attempt to get roughly the aging pattern of every day baseball players. The ages are there on the bottom. The bar graphs represent the number of players who had great seasons at those ages. I'll get into the details in a minute.

I looked at this because it seems to me that lately (lately, meaning, the last 50 years) baseball people have been saying dubious things about about players and their age. For instance, Detroit GM Dave Dombrowski -- in his defense of the ultimately doomed Prince Fielder contract -- talked about how a players prime goes on until a player is 32 or 33. In Seattle, where Eric Wedge is apparently thinking of moving Chone Figgins into the leadoff spot*, he is quoted by Ken Rosenthal saying: "(Figgins) is not old by any stretch." Figgins is 34.

Not So Cool Brees

Don't know if you caught this one:

-- Green Bay quarterback Aaron Rodgers was named the Associated Press NFL Most Valuable Player. He got 48 of 50 first place votes.

-- New Orleans quarterback Drew Brees was named the Associated Press NFL Offensive Player of the Year. He got 43 of 50 first place votes.

A Chain Experiment

So, I tried a little experiment -- one I would like to try again if I can figure out another way to do it:

The experiment was this: I went on Facebook and started a Baseball Hall of Fame Chain. I named 15 all-time great baseball players. And the idea was for the next person (whoever happened to be next) to name the VERY BEST player in his/her mind not listed among those 15.

Then, the next person comes up with the VERY BEST player (again, in his/her mind) not among the 16. Then the best not among 17. And 18. And 19. On and on until it naturally burns out from relative disinterest.

I'll give you the results from the first chain in a moment, but first let me say why this interests me. See, there are a lot of ways to break up the Hall of Fame, but it seems to me that most fans split it up in two distinct groups:

1. Players you heard about, read about, watched, loved, admired, appreciated, idolized, etc.

2. The others.