1. 1952 Topps - This set of cards is held in such reverential esteem by so many collectors that Topps has used the format for other sports. This is based only on their relative rarity, and specifically the iconic Mickey Mantle rookie card that appears during the final (and most obscure) series of the set. As a collector myself, this bothers me because the aesthetic quality of the 1952 Topps set pales in comparison to the four following Topps' sets, '53-'56. Only in baseball cards would this hold ture - would you rather own the only known work of a mediocre but perhaps influential artist that preceded Van Gogh, or a gorgeous but not-as-rare painting by Van Gogh himself? The valuation of the 1952 Topps set makes no sense to me. Maybe it's the presence of the Mantle rookie in that final, rare series but, if anything, that just exemplifies how an NY-centric view of the world influences everything, even when there's no justification for that influence.
2. The 1956 Topps set is the most beautiful ever produced. For most of the cards, the action sequences are so well-rendered, the best representations of men actually playing baseball until actual photographs of players in action began to appear between '72 and '74. The only caveat is that certain "plays" are duplicated several times...in other words, Topps used the same still photograph for the background action on the cards of multiple players. Two good examples of that are the just-after-a-close-play-at-the-plate pose and the runner-safe-on-a-close-play-at-first, the former being used for several different catchers.
3. One of the above links is for the 1956 Topps Harvey Haddix, a card that I like because it shows a pitcher running the bases rather than pitching. While there's very little to like about the initial Donruss set from 1981 (flimsy stock, bad photography, even the stats on the back are shit), it does contain a great card of Pete Vuckovich. Vuckovich was a pitcher, and a good one at that, but this particular card shows him in the traditional hitter's pose - following through and following the flight of the ball off his bat.
4. My favorite '56 Topps card is that of Jim Greengrass, an obscure outfielder for the Phillies. The action shot is, his right hand bracing against the outfield wall as he makes a running catch in deep center with his back to the camera (the illustrated image is obviously drawn from a photograph). The odd aspect of the card, the omission, is that Greengrass doesn't have a number on the back of his uniform. Eventually, I realized that the base photo was probably a picture of Richie Ashburn and not Greengrass himself, thus explaining why the number was white-washed away. Moreover, it's probably Ashburn because his back is turned so directly to the camera that the player depicted is almost certainly the centerfielder and Ashburn played center almost exclusively for the Phillies. So you have an image that is not just aesthetically beautiful but also a secret image of a great defensive player and, not just that, it's the only baseball card that shows Ashburn doing what he did best - play center with reckless abandon.
5. In the discussion of doctored photographs, nothing holds a candle to the 1973 Graig Nettles. Traded from the Indians to the Yankees during the '72-'73 off-season, Topps airbrushed a Yankees uniform onto Nettles. But the airbrushing job is so atrocious. He seems to be wearing a gray road uniform, but a badly-rendered, outsized depiction of the interlocking "NY" logo appears on his left breast...and that logo is only on the Yankees' home uniforms (both then and today). The end result is that Nettles appears to be wearing Yankees' pajamas.
6. Why is the '65 so hard to find? Sure it's a beloved figure, a high number card, in a funny pose but is that obscure? The joke is that Uecker is posing in a left-handed batting stance, whereas he actually hit right-handed. A fun card, but it's not (a/t the book prices) very valuable, so why doesn't anyone have it in stock? Or, conversely, if it's so hard to find, why isn't it more valuable?
7. For seemingly mundane sets, the 1983 and '84 Fleers have some absolute gems. Jay Johnstone and Vance Law ("Oh crap, I broke my glasses") to cite two examples. Should anyone else ever read this, are there any other funny cards from those sets?
8. Speaking of funny cards, one of my all-time favorites is Greg Luzinski's 1982 Topps "In Action" card. The image captures why baseball jerseys should always be tucked in as well as epitomizing the White Sox uniform follies from that era better than any other card except the 1977 team card, where they're decked out in shorts.
9. Another good one is the 1983 Topps Mike Armstrong, which I call "double vision." The head shot and the main shot aren't exactly the same (his head is cocked slight to the right in the main frame) but putting two such similar photographs side by side so neatly defeats the goal of a head shot and an action shot.
10. Throughout this post, I've linked extensively to "Beckett Marketplace" which I believe is the best place, online or in person, to hunt for baseball cards. I do so not to use their images for my own personal gain but, rather, to encourage you, dear imaginery reader, to re-discover the lost childhood art of collecting baseball cards.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Waiting to change the calendar
As I write, the Cubs have not yet been mathematically eliminated in this year's pennant race. However, a Colorado win or a Chicago loss would mean that the Cubbies are out, something that has felt inevitable for at least 6 or 8 weeks.
So what went wrong?
The Cub Reporter asked that question today, letting readers blame and rank a variety of choices. Results have not been published yet. Among the choices are (a) Soto, (b) Soriano, (c) Ramirez's injury, (d) Bradley, (e) the bullpen, and (f) Hendry. So let's consider...
"Hendry" is an odd-choice by comparison, as his mistakes this past off-season are of a completely different nature than anything happening on an actual baseball field. Rather, if you vote for "Bradley", isn't that a vote for "Hendry" by proxy? While Hendry certainly made some real gaffes last winter, I don't put the bulk of the blame on him.
Instead, I think that the injuries and underperformance of Soto, Soriano, and Ramirez (just an injury - Aramis performed plenty good when on the field) are the major factors in the Cubs disappointing season. That being said, I have a hard time deciding which was more significant. For example, when Ramirez was hurt, the Cubs lacked perhaps their best hitter, the importance of the loss compounded by Soriano's struggles. Yet, in the long-term, I'm most worried about Soto, because I was hoping for a nice little five-year run of good production...say 500 PAs with an .800 OPS.
So forced to choose, I'd say that Soto worries me the most but Soriano's troubles really sunk the team, especially because he defense, not good even when healthy, descended to the level of completely atrocious. Really though, all three combined to form a collective problem; the Cubs lacked impact offense for much of the season. If the three players had been healthy, if they had been reasonably productive, the Cubs would've won over 90 games this season and the howling would've been silenced. Milton Bradley still would've been a disappointment and perhaps a clubhouse cancer, but the team would be either in or close to the post-season if those three guys would've shown quality...and Jim Hendry's mistakes would be forgiven.
Maybe last year's team was lucky to have all three guys healthy and hitting for the bulk of the season.
Either way, we're waiting 'til next year. Que sera.
So what went wrong?
The Cub Reporter asked that question today, letting readers blame and rank a variety of choices. Results have not been published yet. Among the choices are (a) Soto, (b) Soriano, (c) Ramirez's injury, (d) Bradley, (e) the bullpen, and (f) Hendry. So let's consider...
"Hendry" is an odd-choice by comparison, as his mistakes this past off-season are of a completely different nature than anything happening on an actual baseball field. Rather, if you vote for "Bradley", isn't that a vote for "Hendry" by proxy? While Hendry certainly made some real gaffes last winter, I don't put the bulk of the blame on him.
Instead, I think that the injuries and underperformance of Soto, Soriano, and Ramirez (just an injury - Aramis performed plenty good when on the field) are the major factors in the Cubs disappointing season. That being said, I have a hard time deciding which was more significant. For example, when Ramirez was hurt, the Cubs lacked perhaps their best hitter, the importance of the loss compounded by Soriano's struggles. Yet, in the long-term, I'm most worried about Soto, because I was hoping for a nice little five-year run of good production...say 500 PAs with an .800 OPS.
So forced to choose, I'd say that Soto worries me the most but Soriano's troubles really sunk the team, especially because he defense, not good even when healthy, descended to the level of completely atrocious. Really though, all three combined to form a collective problem; the Cubs lacked impact offense for much of the season. If the three players had been healthy, if they had been reasonably productive, the Cubs would've won over 90 games this season and the howling would've been silenced. Milton Bradley still would've been a disappointment and perhaps a clubhouse cancer, but the team would be either in or close to the post-season if those three guys would've shown quality...and Jim Hendry's mistakes would be forgiven.
Maybe last year's team was lucky to have all three guys healthy and hitting for the bulk of the season.
Either way, we're waiting 'til next year. Que sera.
Friday, September 4, 2009
A Final Solution ... for the BCS
Why is it so difficult to concoct a playoff format that suits all the major conferences as well as the sponsors of the bowl games? Yuh wanna know why?
Money. Money, to paraphrase Homer Simpson, is both the solution and the cause of all life's problems. Still, I have a half-baked scheme that would solve the problem once and for all, if it weren't for the damned Fiesta Bowl.
Here are the fundamentals:
1. The NCAA decrees that BCS eligible teams play an eleven game regular season.
2. At the end of that season, the top sixteen BCS teams (a/t the evil computer) are seeded into a playoff bracket, the first round of which is played on the final weekend in November.
3. The second round is played on the first weekend in December, when the conference championship games usually take place.
4. The semifinals take place on New Year's Day, college football's traditional day of Tradition. The two semifinals, along with the finals, rotate between the three big bowl sites (Rose, Sugar, and Orange). The Fiesta Bowl is the forerunner of the modern BCS, a made-up garbage bowl trying to cash in on the New Year's festivities...so it's out. The sponsor (Tostitos?) will complain to holy hell but I think the complaints of a tortilla chip company pale in comparison to the money that could be made from advertising during the round of 8 or, even, 16.
5. The finals are staged 5-8 days after New Year's.
So here are some pros and cons, in list format...
The Good...
1. We get to keep most of the meaningful bowls. For example, if the Big 10 is really hung up on having their conference champion play the Pac-10 champion, then that matchup can either be arranged directly or the bracket can be seeded in such a way so that two teams would meet if both win their first games. Same goes for the Orange Bowl, or having the SEC champion play in the Sugar Bowl.
2. More money. A legitimate NCAA quarterfinal would take place on the first weekend in December, a 12 hour-long football marathon (east coast games follwed by midwestern and west coast games) that would enthrall pretty much anybody that likes football. On top of that, there's quarterfinal the previous week, which would mean two games taking place simultaneously on a holiday weekend...24 hours of winner-take-all football while we fans get to sit around and scarf down leftover turkey sandwiches. The advertising revenue from those two weekends alone would probably dwarf all the current bowls combined, minus the title game...
... 3. and then money, again. 6 good hours of football on New Year's day, followed by the title game. No cheeseball matchups, just straight-up competition for a national championship.
4. If the rinky-dink bowls would be upset about losing their lot ("but nobody would visit Detroit to see the GMAC Motor City Bowl?!?!?!?!?), they can still play themselves out. In other words, nothing about the proposed format prevents the 8th-place team in the Big 10 from putting their glorious 6-6 record on the line against the MAC champion, for the greater benefit of the drunkards, unemployables, and morosely obsessed fans that are watching ESPN3 on Christmas Eve. Well, the only thing that would prevent it is the MAC champion going undefeated and forcing their way into a truly legitimate shot at the true national title. And it's not like the second-best team in the MAC would turn down a bid to a bowl game of any sort. So all the meaningless bowl games can still take place.
The Bad...
1. The conferences may lose some money, at least on face. Under the proposed tournament structure, the conference title games are eliminated so the guaranteed revenue from those games is lost. While a distribution of revenue based on "traditional" match-ups could hedge or even outweigh potential losses (i.e., the SEC gets a bigger share of the pot if two of their teams meet in a semifinal or a quarter), such a safeguard doesn't assure the conference, and its' member schools, of the same payday that a set title game does.
2. What happens when a major conference, what we would currently call a "BCS conference", doesn't produce a team that finishes with the top 16? It's happened before and it'll happen again (I'm looking at you, Big East). If an agreement for a tournament, as proposed above, guarantees each major conference a representative...are we eventually stuck with the same old argument ... a latter-day version of "why the hell is Illinois playing in the Rose Bowl?" Or, even worse, "why the hell is Ohio State playing in the title game...again?" In other words, if the big conferences are guaranteed bids, the 23rd best team in the nation gets to dance while a far superior team from a little conference would be excluded as a result.
3. But what about too many teams from one conference? Say that the SEC is particularly strong, as it has been in recent seasons. If four SEC teams are ranked in the top 16 and those teams prevail in the round of 16, is a "national" title really the result? Would we be stuck watching a de facto SEC title game for two weeks? Would the end result be a combination of decreased national revenue, because all the teams involved are from the same region, and increased revenue for those southeastern schools, making it more likely that the pattern will repeat itself?
4. School. Remember college? I do. The kids playing college football are supposed to be going to class. My alma mater broke for Christmas/winter on about the 20th of December, depending on the calendar, with finals leading up to that date. But some schools broke after Thanksgiving and forced their students back into the classroom in early January. The vagaries of playoff system, as opposed to single bowls, might conflict with the academic calendars of some participant universities. This is a real concern, because most of us would rather proclaim ourselves "college graduates" than "some guy who played in NCAA playoff game" ... that trade-off occurs far too often under the current system.
5. Somebody loses money. And it's the Fiesta Bowl, the ugly duckling among the four established BCS games. If, as proposed, the NCAA adopted a playoff system and used a rotation the Rose, Orange, and Sugar bowls for the semis and final, both the corporate sponsor of the Fiesta Bowl (Tostitos) and the city Phoenix would be mighty ticked off at losing such a major event. An alternate solution would be rotating the four big bowls as semifinal contests - every other year, each serves as the national semifinal on New Year's Day while the other two serve as quarterfinals nearly a month earlier. But that idea presents an even bigger problem in that, now, two as opposed to just one city is locked out a big event. So someplace has to lose and, accordingly, so does a big corporate sponsor.
6. Somebody loses money, part two. Limiting the season has two consequences. First, some rivalry games would have to pushed forward a week, from a holiday weekend to the weekend before Thanksgiving. TV ratings and, in the case of mutually bad teams, attendance may decline slightly. Second, every Division I school would lose some revenue as a consequence of playing one fewer regular season game. Reducing the schedule probably hurts the little schools more drastically...for example, Florida won't be able to pay off Lousiana-Monroe in exchange for an assured home game/rout.
So those are the big drawbacks. But, as a means of positive reinforcement, let's see how last year's college football season would've shaped up under such a proposal...
And thus, A Test
One very important note: Under the above proposal, teams would lose one regular season game, so the records and schedules would've been a bit different. For example, in such a scenario, Florida probably wouldn't have played their 11th and final game against the mighty Citadel but, rather, faced Florida State, which was actually the Gators' 12th and final opponent of the 2008 season. I could do an ungodly amount of math and try to determine each team's computer ranking absent a 12th opponent but I'm far, far too lazy for such an undertaking ... so ... During the 2008 college football season, a 16 team championship tournament, with no conference championship games, would have been seeded and scheduled as follows after, for many of the relevant schools, the 11th game of the season:
Round of 16 - November 30, 2008
Alabama (1) v. Georgia (16)
Oklahoma (2) v. Georgia Tech (15)
Texas (3) v. Oklahoma St. (14)
Florida (4) v. Cincinnati (13)
USC (5) v. Ball St. (12)
Utah (6) v. Texas Christian (11)
Texas Tech (7) v. Ohio St. (10)
Penn St. (8) v. Boise St. (9)
So we see one of the potential problems arise immediately...four Big 12 teams receive bids if those bids are doled out solely on ranking. On the other hand, all the major conferences are represented while four schools from outside the "BCS conferences" are present.
Another issue arises...should these games be played at the home stadiums of the higher seeds or should they take place at neutral sites? Normally, I'd say that you give the higher seed a reward but, with it being a holiday weekend and thus easier for many students and fans to travel, let's put them at neutral sites. The quarters have to be at neutral locations, just for the sake of advance planning and accomodation of sponsors.
Let's have some fun picking winners from the quarterfinal matchups...after all, 'Bama got whipped in the SEC title game so they should lose their playoff game and Ohio State gets a win for (a) having played fairly well against Texas in their bowl game while (b) Texas Tech was a big load of suck down the stretch.
Quarterfinals - December 6, 2008
Penn State (8) v. Georgia (16) - (The Coporate Sponsor Bowl, played in a big city that everyone wants to visit...)
Oklahoma (2) v. Ohio St. (10) - (Cotton Bowl)
Texas (3) v. Utah (6) - (Fiesta Bowl)
Florida (4) v. USC (5) - (The Corporate Sponsor Bowl II, played in a big city that everyone wants to visit...)
I'll just pick the winners by seeding at this point. Penn St. v. Georgia looks as though it would've been very boring, although that USC/Florida matchup would've been fantastic fun. Anyway...
Semifinals - January 1, 2009
Penn State v. Oklahoma (Rose Bowl)
Texas v. Florida (Sugar Bowl)
The first game is not so good, as Oklahoma likely would've crushed the Nittany Lions and we be forced to sit around, bored and hungover, waiting for the start of a really enticing Florida/Texas matchup. As if that's worse than watching the Citrus Bowl...
So you wind up with...
National Championship Game - January 8, 2009
Florida defeats Oklahoma (Orange Bowl)
There's no methodology or anything behind the tournament example. Quite simply, I think the dates and the matchups illustrate that the proposed bracket would be a far better than the current system.
Ultimately, there's more money for the schools in a model similar to my proposal. Theoretically, that should be the deciding factor but, unfortunately, it requires a few tough choices, as the list of negatives illustrates. I have no faith, at all, that the NCAA will adopt such a simplistic solution because they're trying to make the schools happy, even if that means ignoring reason. It's like watching a politician pander to an obstinate and selfish union.
Money. Money, to paraphrase Homer Simpson, is both the solution and the cause of all life's problems. Still, I have a half-baked scheme that would solve the problem once and for all, if it weren't for the damned Fiesta Bowl.
Here are the fundamentals:
1. The NCAA decrees that BCS eligible teams play an eleven game regular season.
2. At the end of that season, the top sixteen BCS teams (a/t the evil computer) are seeded into a playoff bracket, the first round of which is played on the final weekend in November.
3. The second round is played on the first weekend in December, when the conference championship games usually take place.
4. The semifinals take place on New Year's Day, college football's traditional day of Tradition. The two semifinals, along with the finals, rotate between the three big bowl sites (Rose, Sugar, and Orange). The Fiesta Bowl is the forerunner of the modern BCS, a made-up garbage bowl trying to cash in on the New Year's festivities...so it's out. The sponsor (Tostitos?) will complain to holy hell but I think the complaints of a tortilla chip company pale in comparison to the money that could be made from advertising during the round of 8 or, even, 16.
5. The finals are staged 5-8 days after New Year's.
So here are some pros and cons, in list format...
The Good...
1. We get to keep most of the meaningful bowls. For example, if the Big 10 is really hung up on having their conference champion play the Pac-10 champion, then that matchup can either be arranged directly or the bracket can be seeded in such a way so that two teams would meet if both win their first games. Same goes for the Orange Bowl, or having the SEC champion play in the Sugar Bowl.
2. More money. A legitimate NCAA quarterfinal would take place on the first weekend in December, a 12 hour-long football marathon (east coast games follwed by midwestern and west coast games) that would enthrall pretty much anybody that likes football. On top of that, there's quarterfinal the previous week, which would mean two games taking place simultaneously on a holiday weekend...24 hours of winner-take-all football while we fans get to sit around and scarf down leftover turkey sandwiches. The advertising revenue from those two weekends alone would probably dwarf all the current bowls combined, minus the title game...
... 3. and then money, again. 6 good hours of football on New Year's day, followed by the title game. No cheeseball matchups, just straight-up competition for a national championship.
4. If the rinky-dink bowls would be upset about losing their lot ("but nobody would visit Detroit to see the GMAC Motor City Bowl?!?!?!?!?), they can still play themselves out. In other words, nothing about the proposed format prevents the 8th-place team in the Big 10 from putting their glorious 6-6 record on the line against the MAC champion, for the greater benefit of the drunkards, unemployables, and morosely obsessed fans that are watching ESPN3 on Christmas Eve. Well, the only thing that would prevent it is the MAC champion going undefeated and forcing their way into a truly legitimate shot at the true national title. And it's not like the second-best team in the MAC would turn down a bid to a bowl game of any sort. So all the meaningless bowl games can still take place.
The Bad...
1. The conferences may lose some money, at least on face. Under the proposed tournament structure, the conference title games are eliminated so the guaranteed revenue from those games is lost. While a distribution of revenue based on "traditional" match-ups could hedge or even outweigh potential losses (i.e., the SEC gets a bigger share of the pot if two of their teams meet in a semifinal or a quarter), such a safeguard doesn't assure the conference, and its' member schools, of the same payday that a set title game does.
2. What happens when a major conference, what we would currently call a "BCS conference", doesn't produce a team that finishes with the top 16? It's happened before and it'll happen again (I'm looking at you, Big East). If an agreement for a tournament, as proposed above, guarantees each major conference a representative...are we eventually stuck with the same old argument ... a latter-day version of "why the hell is Illinois playing in the Rose Bowl?" Or, even worse, "why the hell is Ohio State playing in the title game...again?" In other words, if the big conferences are guaranteed bids, the 23rd best team in the nation gets to dance while a far superior team from a little conference would be excluded as a result.
3. But what about too many teams from one conference? Say that the SEC is particularly strong, as it has been in recent seasons. If four SEC teams are ranked in the top 16 and those teams prevail in the round of 16, is a "national" title really the result? Would we be stuck watching a de facto SEC title game for two weeks? Would the end result be a combination of decreased national revenue, because all the teams involved are from the same region, and increased revenue for those southeastern schools, making it more likely that the pattern will repeat itself?
4. School. Remember college? I do. The kids playing college football are supposed to be going to class. My alma mater broke for Christmas/winter on about the 20th of December, depending on the calendar, with finals leading up to that date. But some schools broke after Thanksgiving and forced their students back into the classroom in early January. The vagaries of playoff system, as opposed to single bowls, might conflict with the academic calendars of some participant universities. This is a real concern, because most of us would rather proclaim ourselves "college graduates" than "some guy who played in NCAA playoff game" ... that trade-off occurs far too often under the current system.
5. Somebody loses money. And it's the Fiesta Bowl, the ugly duckling among the four established BCS games. If, as proposed, the NCAA adopted a playoff system and used a rotation the Rose, Orange, and Sugar bowls for the semis and final, both the corporate sponsor of the Fiesta Bowl (Tostitos) and the city Phoenix would be mighty ticked off at losing such a major event. An alternate solution would be rotating the four big bowls as semifinal contests - every other year, each serves as the national semifinal on New Year's Day while the other two serve as quarterfinals nearly a month earlier. But that idea presents an even bigger problem in that, now, two as opposed to just one city is locked out a big event. So someplace has to lose and, accordingly, so does a big corporate sponsor.
6. Somebody loses money, part two. Limiting the season has two consequences. First, some rivalry games would have to pushed forward a week, from a holiday weekend to the weekend before Thanksgiving. TV ratings and, in the case of mutually bad teams, attendance may decline slightly. Second, every Division I school would lose some revenue as a consequence of playing one fewer regular season game. Reducing the schedule probably hurts the little schools more drastically...for example, Florida won't be able to pay off Lousiana-Monroe in exchange for an assured home game/rout.
So those are the big drawbacks. But, as a means of positive reinforcement, let's see how last year's college football season would've shaped up under such a proposal...
And thus, A Test
One very important note: Under the above proposal, teams would lose one regular season game, so the records and schedules would've been a bit different. For example, in such a scenario, Florida probably wouldn't have played their 11th and final game against the mighty Citadel but, rather, faced Florida State, which was actually the Gators' 12th and final opponent of the 2008 season. I could do an ungodly amount of math and try to determine each team's computer ranking absent a 12th opponent but I'm far, far too lazy for such an undertaking ... so ... During the 2008 college football season, a 16 team championship tournament, with no conference championship games, would have been seeded and scheduled as follows after, for many of the relevant schools, the 11th game of the season:
Round of 16 - November 30, 2008
Alabama (1) v. Georgia (16)
Oklahoma (2) v. Georgia Tech (15)
Texas (3) v. Oklahoma St. (14)
Florida (4) v. Cincinnati (13)
USC (5) v. Ball St. (12)
Utah (6) v. Texas Christian (11)
Texas Tech (7) v. Ohio St. (10)
Penn St. (8) v. Boise St. (9)
So we see one of the potential problems arise immediately...four Big 12 teams receive bids if those bids are doled out solely on ranking. On the other hand, all the major conferences are represented while four schools from outside the "BCS conferences" are present.
Another issue arises...should these games be played at the home stadiums of the higher seeds or should they take place at neutral sites? Normally, I'd say that you give the higher seed a reward but, with it being a holiday weekend and thus easier for many students and fans to travel, let's put them at neutral sites. The quarters have to be at neutral locations, just for the sake of advance planning and accomodation of sponsors.
Let's have some fun picking winners from the quarterfinal matchups...after all, 'Bama got whipped in the SEC title game so they should lose their playoff game and Ohio State gets a win for (a) having played fairly well against Texas in their bowl game while (b) Texas Tech was a big load of suck down the stretch.
Quarterfinals - December 6, 2008
Penn State (8) v. Georgia (16) - (The Coporate Sponsor Bowl, played in a big city that everyone wants to visit...)
Oklahoma (2) v. Ohio St. (10) - (Cotton Bowl)
Texas (3) v. Utah (6) - (Fiesta Bowl)
Florida (4) v. USC (5) - (The Corporate Sponsor Bowl II, played in a big city that everyone wants to visit...)
I'll just pick the winners by seeding at this point. Penn St. v. Georgia looks as though it would've been very boring, although that USC/Florida matchup would've been fantastic fun. Anyway...
Semifinals - January 1, 2009
Penn State v. Oklahoma (Rose Bowl)
Texas v. Florida (Sugar Bowl)
The first game is not so good, as Oklahoma likely would've crushed the Nittany Lions and we be forced to sit around, bored and hungover, waiting for the start of a really enticing Florida/Texas matchup. As if that's worse than watching the Citrus Bowl...
So you wind up with...
National Championship Game - January 8, 2009
Florida defeats Oklahoma (Orange Bowl)
There's no methodology or anything behind the tournament example. Quite simply, I think the dates and the matchups illustrate that the proposed bracket would be a far better than the current system.
Ultimately, there's more money for the schools in a model similar to my proposal. Theoretically, that should be the deciding factor but, unfortunately, it requires a few tough choices, as the list of negatives illustrates. I have no faith, at all, that the NCAA will adopt such a simplistic solution because they're trying to make the schools happy, even if that means ignoring reason. It's like watching a politician pander to an obstinate and selfish union.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Addenda and knuckleballers
First off, some notes on previous topics...
1. While I hold out some hope that this post will see a reduction of the typos that have plagued previous entries, the realist in me knows that I won't be proofreading it. If you want some fun, go back and read the entry "Husidic" - can you make any sense of the paragraph wherein I use 'draw' (meaning "tie game") and 'draw' (meaning attraction) interchangably? I can't make heads or tails of it, and I wrote the durn thing.
2. One of the initial entries was on whether or not Carlos Lee was a "Cub Killer." I rather disingenuously claimed that this was an original thought of mine. Of course, it wasn't. Even Ron Santo, who has trouble detecting the obvious, knows that Carlos Lee hits like Babe Ruth at Wrigley Field. So sorry that I would have theoretically wasted of a hypothetical reader.
Second, the fate of Charlie Haegar, baseball's great knuckleballing hope...
Late Monday night, the Dodgers acquired Jim Thome and Jon Garland in exchange for a couple minor leaguers. The theory behind the acquisition of Garland is that he will become the team's fifth starter, replacing Charlie Haeger. Haeger throws a knuckleball, that most wondrous of pitches, and had made three starts in the role after a very good season at Albuquerque. What does Garland offer that Haeger does not? Here are three possible ideas...
1. Garland is older. The Dodgers rely on a relatively large group of young players (Ethier, Kemp, Kershaw, Billingsley, etc.) and somebody probably has to keep a gun to Joe Torre's temple so that he keeps playing those guys. It makes perfect sense that Joe Torre would have more faith in Garland's guaranteed mediocrity than taking a chance on a guy like Charlie Haeger, who hasn't been particularly successful in his limited big league opportunities. Torre, as he descends into crotchety old age, is a fairly risk-averse manager, a fact compounded by...
2. The fact that Haeger relies on a knuckleball. When the knuckler doesn't work, when it spins, it's basically a little-league caliber fastball. And major league hitters will absolutely crush it. When a knuckleball pitcher has a bad outing and throws a fair number of spinners the results are often ugly, as they were in Haeger's last start on August 29th. If a player has a glaringly obvious flaw, a risk-averse manager such as Torre is more likely to focus on that flaw rather than simply being accepting the trade-off with said player's virtues. If the Dodgers had a player like Russ Branyan or Adam Dunn, Torre would probably tear the remaining hair from his head rather than simply being patient with the strikeouts in the knowledge that there will be home runs too. In other words, he won't simply accept that a guy like Haegar will occasionally have an off-day but, terrified by the sight of crushed spinning knuckleballs, will implore his GM to trade for proven mediocrity instead.
3. The Dodgers, being a wealthy big-market team, don't have to rely on an unproven commodity like Charlie Haegar. In a sense, they go and acquire the veteran simply because they can. This has been the Yankees mantra throughout the Steinbrenner era, although that team's biggest recent successes have been due to the fact that Brian Cashman knows how to build from within.
For his sake, I hope Haegar can catch on with a bad team at some point soon. If he can get through an entire season in a big-league rotation, we fans will get the pleasure of watching him throw his knuckleball for another 15 years. In a full season, Haegar could quite plausibly put up an ERA of 4.5 to 5 and throw over 200 innings. That performance would have tremendous value to a lousy team, the kind of club that constantly cycles through lousy starters (KC, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati...I'm looking in your direction). For that to happen, he'll need a manager with an unusual degree of patience because there will be inevitable moments when the knuckleball spins and the batter hits blasts it toward South America. If his manager and GM can fight off the knee-jerk impulse to send the pitcher back to AAA, they'll hopefully realize that the benefits of having a guy like Haeger greatly outweigh the momentary embarrassment.
And as a baseball fan, I root for a successful knuckleball pitcher to emerge because it's just so much fun to watch big league hitters flail at 70 MPH garbage.
1. While I hold out some hope that this post will see a reduction of the typos that have plagued previous entries, the realist in me knows that I won't be proofreading it. If you want some fun, go back and read the entry "Husidic" - can you make any sense of the paragraph wherein I use 'draw' (meaning "tie game") and 'draw' (meaning attraction) interchangably? I can't make heads or tails of it, and I wrote the durn thing.
2. One of the initial entries was on whether or not Carlos Lee was a "Cub Killer." I rather disingenuously claimed that this was an original thought of mine. Of course, it wasn't. Even Ron Santo, who has trouble detecting the obvious, knows that Carlos Lee hits like Babe Ruth at Wrigley Field. So sorry that I would have theoretically wasted of a hypothetical reader.
Second, the fate of Charlie Haegar, baseball's great knuckleballing hope...
Late Monday night, the Dodgers acquired Jim Thome and Jon Garland in exchange for a couple minor leaguers. The theory behind the acquisition of Garland is that he will become the team's fifth starter, replacing Charlie Haeger. Haeger throws a knuckleball, that most wondrous of pitches, and had made three starts in the role after a very good season at Albuquerque. What does Garland offer that Haeger does not? Here are three possible ideas...
1. Garland is older. The Dodgers rely on a relatively large group of young players (Ethier, Kemp, Kershaw, Billingsley, etc.) and somebody probably has to keep a gun to Joe Torre's temple so that he keeps playing those guys. It makes perfect sense that Joe Torre would have more faith in Garland's guaranteed mediocrity than taking a chance on a guy like Charlie Haeger, who hasn't been particularly successful in his limited big league opportunities. Torre, as he descends into crotchety old age, is a fairly risk-averse manager, a fact compounded by...
2. The fact that Haeger relies on a knuckleball. When the knuckler doesn't work, when it spins, it's basically a little-league caliber fastball. And major league hitters will absolutely crush it. When a knuckleball pitcher has a bad outing and throws a fair number of spinners the results are often ugly, as they were in Haeger's last start on August 29th. If a player has a glaringly obvious flaw, a risk-averse manager such as Torre is more likely to focus on that flaw rather than simply being accepting the trade-off with said player's virtues. If the Dodgers had a player like Russ Branyan or Adam Dunn, Torre would probably tear the remaining hair from his head rather than simply being patient with the strikeouts in the knowledge that there will be home runs too. In other words, he won't simply accept that a guy like Haegar will occasionally have an off-day but, terrified by the sight of crushed spinning knuckleballs, will implore his GM to trade for proven mediocrity instead.
3. The Dodgers, being a wealthy big-market team, don't have to rely on an unproven commodity like Charlie Haegar. In a sense, they go and acquire the veteran simply because they can. This has been the Yankees mantra throughout the Steinbrenner era, although that team's biggest recent successes have been due to the fact that Brian Cashman knows how to build from within.
For his sake, I hope Haegar can catch on with a bad team at some point soon. If he can get through an entire season in a big-league rotation, we fans will get the pleasure of watching him throw his knuckleball for another 15 years. In a full season, Haegar could quite plausibly put up an ERA of 4.5 to 5 and throw over 200 innings. That performance would have tremendous value to a lousy team, the kind of club that constantly cycles through lousy starters (KC, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati...I'm looking in your direction). For that to happen, he'll need a manager with an unusual degree of patience because there will be inevitable moments when the knuckleball spins and the batter hits blasts it toward South America. If his manager and GM can fight off the knee-jerk impulse to send the pitcher back to AAA, they'll hopefully realize that the benefits of having a guy like Haeger greatly outweigh the momentary embarrassment.
And as a baseball fan, I root for a successful knuckleball pitcher to emerge because it's just so much fun to watch big league hitters flail at 70 MPH garbage.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Origin story - 20 questions
Offhand, I told my girlfriend that I have a blog. I also told her that I own a Porsche which I keep in a garage around the corner. She believes neither story...but I hinted that the name of this, my blog, is an item in our household ... so now she's playing 20 questions, trying to identify that item...
20. Is it in the room that I am in?
A: No.
19. Is it in the room that you are in?
A: No
18. Is it in the bedroom?
A: No
17: Is it in the kitchen?
A: Yes
16: Was it something that was here when we moved in?
A: No
15: Was it something that - was it one of your belongings?
A: Yes
14: The kitchen table?
A: No
13: Is it that chair that was in the fire?
A: No
12: Was it that painting that Will did...that scary painting?
A: No
11: Is it the box that has "formaldehyde" stamped on it? [incidentally, the item in question is a crate with "EMBALMING FLUID" printed on it]
A: No
10: Is it bigger than a bread box?
A: No
9: Is it an ashtray?
A: No
[...very long pause...]
8. Is it an item that would kept in the pantry?
A: No
7. Is it an item that would be kept on the kitchen counter, I mean the island...on the end?
A: No
6. Is it something that would be kept in the bar area, including the cabinets above and below (we call this space "the hutch", but so much for brevity)?
A: No
5. I'm tired of this game
A: 'I'm tired of this game' isn't a question.
- This is taking forever. I'm going to read about eggs. You're typing all this so it's going really slow and it's not fun. How many questions are left?
- Five. Well, four, but I'll give you an extra question. We'll call it 'Question Zero.'
- Alright, I'll give you five minutes to type everything out.
- Okay, six questions cause I've typed all this stuff under Question Five but you didn't actually ask a question.
[five minutes later]
5 (Again). Is it something soft?
A: Yes...but that's subjective?
- I don't see how something could be subjectively soft. Is it something that changes shape and density?
- I'll just say 'yes', it's soft.
4. Is it an oven mitt?
A: No...but (stammering) that guess is warm.
3. Is it the squeaky nun toy?
A: No.
2. Is it the hand towel?
A: No
[She's getting frustrated so I interject and say that the oven mitt is close...not physically, it's on the other side of the kitchen.]
1. Is it green...wait...is it brown?
A: Yes, it's brown.
Zero: Is it on the kitchen table?
A: Yes.
- Oh, it's your baseball mitt.
- Right, but you were out of questions.
- God, those were the most protracted 20 questions ever.
- And to be specific, it's not my baseball glove, it's my father's baseball mitt.
Zernial's glove is a MacGregor baseball mitt, dating from about 1950, with the facsimile autograph of one Gus Zernial stamped on it. Ironically, Mr. Zernial was not known as a good defensive outfielder. It's sort of like owning a Richard Nixon home lie-detector kit. A modern equivalent might be glove with Adam Dunn's name stamped on it. Dunn is a useful player and all but he's surely not the "finest in the field." The Zernial glove originally belonged to my now deceased father and I cherish the weatherbeaten thing.
20. Is it in the room that I am in?
A: No.
19. Is it in the room that you are in?
A: No
18. Is it in the bedroom?
A: No
17: Is it in the kitchen?
A: Yes
16: Was it something that was here when we moved in?
A: No
15: Was it something that - was it one of your belongings?
A: Yes
14: The kitchen table?
A: No
13: Is it that chair that was in the fire?
A: No
12: Was it that painting that Will did...that scary painting?
A: No
11: Is it the box that has "formaldehyde" stamped on it? [incidentally, the item in question is a crate with "EMBALMING FLUID" printed on it]
A: No
10: Is it bigger than a bread box?
A: No
9: Is it an ashtray?
A: No
[...very long pause...]
8. Is it an item that would kept in the pantry?
A: No
7. Is it an item that would be kept on the kitchen counter, I mean the island...on the end?
A: No
6. Is it something that would be kept in the bar area, including the cabinets above and below (we call this space "the hutch", but so much for brevity)?
A: No
5. I'm tired of this game
A: 'I'm tired of this game' isn't a question.
- This is taking forever. I'm going to read about eggs. You're typing all this so it's going really slow and it's not fun. How many questions are left?
- Five. Well, four, but I'll give you an extra question. We'll call it 'Question Zero.'
- Alright, I'll give you five minutes to type everything out.
- Okay, six questions cause I've typed all this stuff under Question Five but you didn't actually ask a question.
[five minutes later]
5 (Again). Is it something soft?
A: Yes...but that's subjective?
- I don't see how something could be subjectively soft. Is it something that changes shape and density?
- I'll just say 'yes', it's soft.
4. Is it an oven mitt?
A: No...but (stammering) that guess is warm.
3. Is it the squeaky nun toy?
A: No.
2. Is it the hand towel?
A: No
[She's getting frustrated so I interject and say that the oven mitt is close...not physically, it's on the other side of the kitchen.]
1. Is it green...wait...is it brown?
A: Yes, it's brown.
Zero: Is it on the kitchen table?
A: Yes.
- Oh, it's your baseball mitt.
- Right, but you were out of questions.
- God, those were the most protracted 20 questions ever.
- And to be specific, it's not my baseball glove, it's my father's baseball mitt.
Zernial's glove is a MacGregor baseball mitt, dating from about 1950, with the facsimile autograph of one Gus Zernial stamped on it. Ironically, Mr. Zernial was not known as a good defensive outfielder. It's sort of like owning a Richard Nixon home lie-detector kit. A modern equivalent might be glove with Adam Dunn's name stamped on it. Dunn is a useful player and all but he's surely not the "finest in the field." The Zernial glove originally belonged to my now deceased father and I cherish the weatherbeaten thing.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Oh, the grammar
About a day after posting, I read my own words. And, invariably, the grammar stinks.
I should compose each entry in MS Word, proof-read the darn things, and then paste them into the post field. But I'm lazy and don't follow such a strict regimen. So I apologize to you, imaginary readers, for my own sloth.
If it's a battle to discern the meaning of sentences that I wrote, then it must be ten times more difficult for you to do so.
I should compose each entry in MS Word, proof-read the darn things, and then paste them into the post field. But I'm lazy and don't follow such a strict regimen. So I apologize to you, imaginary readers, for my own sloth.
If it's a battle to discern the meaning of sentences that I wrote, then it must be ten times more difficult for you to do so.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Into the ever-less-wild
The Cubs have essentially crapped their bed, losing 5 of 6 before beating the Dodgers yesterday. With St. Louis now 8 games ahead in the division and the Rockies 7 up for the wild card, the Cubs' postseason chances have dwindled to nearly nil. Perhaps mercifully, I was spared the agony of watching it happen, as I was fishing northern Ontario. So I'll describe the fishing rather than trying to analyze baseball games that I didn't watch.
So here's the fishing report...
Along with two family friends, I journey to a remote lake in Ontario to spend a week fishing. The terrain is very similar to that of northern Wisconsin or Minnesota - chains of glacial lakes, flowing into one another, pine trees, boggy swamps, rocky outcrops, and not much evidence of civilization. We've been going to the same lake for about a decade and, unfortunately, that evidence of civilization has grown exponentially in that time. While I do love the fishing itself, I'm lured north, in part, because I can escape from the world in way, certainly from the closely-cloistered city in which I live. While the lake has by no means been transformed in the last decade, the atmosphere has probably changed more in that span than in the previous five decades since the first fishing camp opened. Here's a list of the changes:
1. More cabins - There are now about a dozen privately owned cabins on the lake whereas there were only three or four ten years ago. A decade ago, one of those cabins sold for about $30,000 Canadian but, last year, a tiny little cabin on a small lot was on sale for $150,000. So what happened? Toronto discovered the region. While there are lakes closer to that city, they've already been built up. So Toronto residents are now willing to drive the four or so hours up to the lake. And they've brought the stratospheric increase in property values with them.
2. Cell phones - I can get a good cellphone signal on the lake now, 15 miles from a paved road and much further from anything resembling a town. Just a few years ago, that was impossible. Now, my girlfriend expects me to check in nightly whereas, I would make one exorbitantly expensive midweek call home on the owner's landline just to say something along the lines of "I'm alive, I love you, and we'll talk in 4 days." Being in such close contact removes the sense of remoteness that existed before.
3. Satellite TV (the little mini-dishes, not the huge trailer-park specials) - The availability and affordability of those small dishes has transformed the cabins. Our fishing camp changed ownership a few years ago and the new owners have, admirably, done a wonderful job renovating the cabins. What were once plywood shacks with comically sloping floors, are now comfortably furnished houses. And now we have satellite TV. Instead of shooting the shit over coffee cause there was nothing else to do, we now stare at CNN or "Sportscentre". If the Cubs hadn't been on the west coast, and thus playing too late at night to watch considering that we start fishing at dawn, I would've been able to watch several of the games. Gone are the days of a midweek trip to get a newspaper and stare at the standings, wondering where the wins and losses came from. Maybe some relish the convenience but I miss the old times. So it goes.
Still, most importantly, the fishing was as good as ever...
I decided to fish for northern pike more than in past years. In Wisconsin, I've the following method to fish for northerns - using an 18-inch leader, I've put a live minnow on larger hook, tethering the fish to the lake bed with a heavy weight below the leader, usually a dipsy swivel. I'll fish that way in about 25-35 feet of water, on a rock or gravel bottom. It's worked in 'Sconsin but I've never tried it on the Canada, as procuring minnows requires a lengthy detour either on the way up or during the week. But this year I made the side trip for the proper bait and on Monday morning, I sent my minnow plummeting to the lake bottom.
And the results? I got four strikes in the first 90 minutes and pulled up two pike. The first was a juvenile, maybe 22-24 inches and only a pound or two. The second was a good pike, measuring 32 inches and weighing 7 pounds, fat for that length. He yielded two excellent filets, enough to feed 6 people. After that first outing, the pike fishing slowed down and I only caught one more, another little guy, in about 5 or 6 hours of combined fishing. I did catch a few smallmouth bass on the pike rig, in fairly deep water. Smallmouth fight like hell so, each time I hooked one on the pike outfit, I figured I had a small to medium sized pike on the line. At least that kept things somewhat interesting after the pike stopped biting...
...the bass fishing was a mixed bag. My buddies, usually fishing in deeper water with heavier gear (I use ultra-light tackle when bass fishing) did better than me, a reversal of the usual trend. The highlight was early in the week, when I was firing a weedless plastic worm (brown) back into the vegetation in a series of small coves. In one little notch, I got an immediate strike after putting my lure within five feet of the shore. Almost immediately, I knew that I had hooked a big largemouth bass. It took me at least three or four minutes to drag him out of the cove, through the lillypads and into the boat. In the end, he wrecked my lure but, at 18 inches and 4 lbs., the catch was worth it.
Oddly, for the first time since I've begun fishing this lake, I didn't catch many smallmouth. My friends did, but the smallmouth weren't in their usual locations, at least for me. I can't figure that one out as a midweek change in the weather didn't make any difference. I suppose that was the only real disappointment.
All in all, it wasn't the best fishing but it wasn't the worst. And despite the encroachment of modernity, I'll be back on the same lake next August. And probably for years to come, until I win the lottery and can afford to charter floatplanes and hire guides, to take me onto the nameless lakes north of Yellowknife, where enormous virginal pike lurk.
So here's the fishing report...
Along with two family friends, I journey to a remote lake in Ontario to spend a week fishing. The terrain is very similar to that of northern Wisconsin or Minnesota - chains of glacial lakes, flowing into one another, pine trees, boggy swamps, rocky outcrops, and not much evidence of civilization. We've been going to the same lake for about a decade and, unfortunately, that evidence of civilization has grown exponentially in that time. While I do love the fishing itself, I'm lured north, in part, because I can escape from the world in way, certainly from the closely-cloistered city in which I live. While the lake has by no means been transformed in the last decade, the atmosphere has probably changed more in that span than in the previous five decades since the first fishing camp opened. Here's a list of the changes:
1. More cabins - There are now about a dozen privately owned cabins on the lake whereas there were only three or four ten years ago. A decade ago, one of those cabins sold for about $30,000 Canadian but, last year, a tiny little cabin on a small lot was on sale for $150,000. So what happened? Toronto discovered the region. While there are lakes closer to that city, they've already been built up. So Toronto residents are now willing to drive the four or so hours up to the lake. And they've brought the stratospheric increase in property values with them.
2. Cell phones - I can get a good cellphone signal on the lake now, 15 miles from a paved road and much further from anything resembling a town. Just a few years ago, that was impossible. Now, my girlfriend expects me to check in nightly whereas, I would make one exorbitantly expensive midweek call home on the owner's landline just to say something along the lines of "I'm alive, I love you, and we'll talk in 4 days." Being in such close contact removes the sense of remoteness that existed before.
3. Satellite TV (the little mini-dishes, not the huge trailer-park specials) - The availability and affordability of those small dishes has transformed the cabins. Our fishing camp changed ownership a few years ago and the new owners have, admirably, done a wonderful job renovating the cabins. What were once plywood shacks with comically sloping floors, are now comfortably furnished houses. And now we have satellite TV. Instead of shooting the shit over coffee cause there was nothing else to do, we now stare at CNN or "Sportscentre". If the Cubs hadn't been on the west coast, and thus playing too late at night to watch considering that we start fishing at dawn, I would've been able to watch several of the games. Gone are the days of a midweek trip to get a newspaper and stare at the standings, wondering where the wins and losses came from. Maybe some relish the convenience but I miss the old times. So it goes.
Still, most importantly, the fishing was as good as ever...
I decided to fish for northern pike more than in past years. In Wisconsin, I've the following method to fish for northerns - using an 18-inch leader, I've put a live minnow on larger hook, tethering the fish to the lake bed with a heavy weight below the leader, usually a dipsy swivel. I'll fish that way in about 25-35 feet of water, on a rock or gravel bottom. It's worked in 'Sconsin but I've never tried it on the Canada, as procuring minnows requires a lengthy detour either on the way up or during the week. But this year I made the side trip for the proper bait and on Monday morning, I sent my minnow plummeting to the lake bottom.
And the results? I got four strikes in the first 90 minutes and pulled up two pike. The first was a juvenile, maybe 22-24 inches and only a pound or two. The second was a good pike, measuring 32 inches and weighing 7 pounds, fat for that length. He yielded two excellent filets, enough to feed 6 people. After that first outing, the pike fishing slowed down and I only caught one more, another little guy, in about 5 or 6 hours of combined fishing. I did catch a few smallmouth bass on the pike rig, in fairly deep water. Smallmouth fight like hell so, each time I hooked one on the pike outfit, I figured I had a small to medium sized pike on the line. At least that kept things somewhat interesting after the pike stopped biting...
...the bass fishing was a mixed bag. My buddies, usually fishing in deeper water with heavier gear (I use ultra-light tackle when bass fishing) did better than me, a reversal of the usual trend. The highlight was early in the week, when I was firing a weedless plastic worm (brown) back into the vegetation in a series of small coves. In one little notch, I got an immediate strike after putting my lure within five feet of the shore. Almost immediately, I knew that I had hooked a big largemouth bass. It took me at least three or four minutes to drag him out of the cove, through the lillypads and into the boat. In the end, he wrecked my lure but, at 18 inches and 4 lbs., the catch was worth it.
Oddly, for the first time since I've begun fishing this lake, I didn't catch many smallmouth. My friends did, but the smallmouth weren't in their usual locations, at least for me. I can't figure that one out as a midweek change in the weather didn't make any difference. I suppose that was the only real disappointment.
All in all, it wasn't the best fishing but it wasn't the worst. And despite the encroachment of modernity, I'll be back on the same lake next August. And probably for years to come, until I win the lottery and can afford to charter floatplanes and hire guides, to take me onto the nameless lakes north of Yellowknife, where enormous virginal pike lurk.
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