Game of My Life

In the wake of the wonderful 2010 World Series, a plethora of books about the San Francisco Giants have been newly-written or re-issued with updates for that memorable season. One of the latter is Matt Johanson's Game of My Life: San Francisco Giants. Originally published in 2007, the new edition now includes vignettes from the championship club. Each chapter focuses on a particular player and their most memorable game in orange-and-black. It starts with Orlando Cepeda's debut in 1958--which was also the first Giants game in San Francisco--and ends with Brian Wilson's save in Game Five of the 2010 World Series. Along the way the reader is treated to terrific stories from the likes of "Dirty Al" Gallagher, Tito Fuentes (a childhood favorite of mine), Dan Gladden, Robby Thompson, Darren Lewis, Kirk Rueter, Rich Aurilia, and many other fan favorites and interesting characters. I particularly enjoyed reliving Bob Brenly's "greatest Humm-Baby performance of all time" game since I was in attendance with much of my regular Candlestick posse. My friend Frank actually caught Brenly's game-winning homer when it bounced up to our seats in Section 30 in the LF bleachers. I will also never forget Mike Krukow's complete game victory over the St. Louis Cardinals in Game Four of the 1987 NLCS. We were lucky enough to have scored tickets in Section 2, right behind home plate. After Jeffrey Leonard's improbable, wind-aided home run that gave the Giants the lead my buddy Ron was so excited he started beating on me and I collapsed to the concrete in a fetal position. Never was getting the wind knocked out of me so worth it! Giants fans will recognize many of the great moments: Will Clark's big hit off Mitch Williams to win the pennant in 1989, Brian Johnson's homer in extras to beat the Dodgers in 1997 (and Rod Beck's miraculous pitching in the same game!), Kenny Lofton's hit in 2002 to send the team to the Series, and Jonathan Sanchez' no-hitter against the Padres in 2009. Players from the obscure Brian Dallimore to all-time great Willie Mays share their anecdotes, making Game of My Life a must-read for Giants fans. Mr. Johanson has done an excellent job assembling all the stories and adding his own take on the colorful history of the many who've worn the Giants uniform. He's also--like me--a California public high school teacher! That's extra credit, for sure.

Many thanks to the nice folks at Skyhorse Publishing for sending me a review copy.

Orange & Black Congrats Ale

Mi concuño Alberto sent me a beer in the mail. Now that's a true friend! Alberto is my sister-in-law's husband, that is, we are married to sisters. English just doesn't have as elegant a term as the Spanish for that particular relationship, so concuño it is. Moylan's Brewery in Novato made a special black ale to celebrate the Giants winning the World Series. That's what was in the mail and no one could appreciate it more than me. After all, I'm a crazy fan and a brewer who also made a beer to honor the champs. My lovely bride and I enjoyed the pint of Congrats Ale while watching Tim Lincecum destroy the Mets on TV. Supposedly Orange & Black had a bit of orange flavor to complement the dark grains, but I'll admit that neither of us detected that. Nonetheless it was a lovely and refreshing brew and was good luck for the lads as well.

Muchas gracias, amigo!

The Mental Game

"Baseball is 90% mental; the other half is physical."

Yogi Berra is credited with that bit of wisdom. Funny thing, it is true. Baseball is a mental game. The pace may be languid, and the physical action sporadic, but the athleticism required to play professionally is a rare trait. A small percentage of the population has that kind of talent. A small percentage of those athletes make it to the big time. What separates the ones who stick from the ones who don't is mental. Fortitude. Perseverance. Desire. And what separates the greatest players is their ability to learn--to adapt and adjust. To maximize what they have and acquire new skills. Jim Kaplan's new book, The Greatest Game Ever Pitched: Juan Marichal, Warren Spahn, and the Pitching Duel of the Century, brought this point home.

Mr. Kaplan relates a story about Juan Marichal telling Willie McCovey that he was going to change his approach before a game, asking him to play deeper in left field. It was June 15, 1963, at Candlestick Park and the opposing team was the Houston Colt 45s (later Astros). McCovey, amazed that the red-hot Marichal would be messing with things coming off a shutout and five straight wins, obliged nonetheless. Marichal explained that the Colts had hit him hard last time, and he needed to give them a new look. Here's Kaplan:

After consulting his notes on opponents, Marichal had concluded that Houston players were getting a preview of the coming pitch by reading his grip. Abandoning his high leg kick, he hid the ball, brought his hands together belt high and pivoted quickly.

McCovey wound up making a play on the fence late in the game to get an out and help preserve Marichal's no-hitter. Warren Spahn had the same attitude. Here's more from Kaplan:

"I don't pitch the hitter the same way from season to season," said Spahn, who could remember pitches he'd thrown 15 years prior. "Why? Well, I think hard about hitters and try to think the way they think. So there's always the possibility that the hitter may have given considerable thought to the way I pitched him in the previous year and he might be looking forward to those pitches next year."

A little later in the same chapter:

Like Spahn, Marichal had an extensive mental book on hitters' weaknesses. "This is a guessing game," he said. "I'm always trying to guess what the hitters are guessing. I haven't gotten any better, only smarter."

On July 2nd of the same 1963 season, Spahn and Marichal would pitch a 16-inning 1-0 game in San Francisco that Willie Mays would end with a home run. Spahn was pitching for the Milwaukee Braves (now Atlanta), the club he had come up with when they were still in Boston. That game is the subject of Kaplan's book, but it's really about two men, two ballplayers from different backgrounds and different generations. Their personal histories and their accomplishments on and off the field are interwoven throughout the account of the great pitching duel. Spahn was 42, and just about at the end, while Marichal was 25 and just beginning his exceptional run of great seasons (familiar to every Giants fan). Warren Spahn, the winningest left-hander in baseball history, died in 2003 aged 82. His son Greg supplies the forward for the book.

Stories about baseball before the era of division play and free agency naturally contrast sharply with much of today's game. But the game itself, and the contest of wills between the participants, remains the same. I get the feeling that Mr. Kaplan is nostalgic for a lost era of baseball, before Twitter and ESPN and whatnot. I was nine years old when the NL West and NL East were created, and I was in high school when Andy Messersmith was granted free agency. I'm not sure I've known anything but modern baseball. I remember though, when people watched the play on the field and not Jumbotrons or iPhone screens. So I can relate to his longing for some of those bygone things.

Read The Greatest Game Ever Pitched and tell me what you think.

The Greatest Game Ever Pitched

Jim Kaplan's new book starts like this:

For four hours, 10 minutes, and 16 innings, all through the night of July 2, 1963, and into July 3, Warren Spahn and Juan Marichal slugged it out like a veteran boxer and a young contender.

That's what they call a "hook" in the book trade. It worked for me, of course, being baseball fan and a Giants junkie. I was contacted a few weeks ago by some nice folks at Triumph Books asking if I would be interested in a "review copy" of Mr. Kaplan's The Greatest Game Ever Pitched: Juan Marichal, Warren Spahn, and the Pitching Duel of the Century. Let's see: free book, Juan Marichal, Candlestick Park, Warren Spahn, SF Giants, baseball history . . . uh, sure, OK. Like I was going to say "no." Funny thing, I don't read a lot of baseball books. I mean, I don't actually read The Baseball Encyclopedia (I have the 7th ed.) even though I've spent a lot of time in my life with that book on my lap. (Nowadays I peruse Baseball-Reference.com.) I did read David Halberstam's Summer of '49 and October 1964, both of which were excellent. And W.P. Kinsella's Shoeless Joe remains a favorite (the film version is a bit heavy-handed for my taste--Mr. Costner is far better in Bull Durham and has much better co-stars). I couldn't watch Ken Burns' Baseball, it kept putting me to sleep. Despite the fact that I'm a Giants baseball fanatic and follow the major leagues pretty closely, I'm actually not all that qualified to write a review of a baseball book. I just don't consume that many of them! I'm much better with 40s and 50s noir or post-modern SF. Alas, duty calls!

Look for my review at the end of the week on my Giants blog Raising Matt Cain.

Winter warmer

I saw the moon bathed in a warm, orange-red light late Monday night while it was eclipsed by the earth. The day had been gray and overcast, but the skies cleared after the sun went down. If you were standing on the moon and watching the total eclipse, you'd see the sun blocked by the earth. Sunlight would appear as a reddish ring around the earth--the lucky lunar crew would be seeing all the sunrises and sunsets at once! This refracted light is what colors the moon for earthbound observers. Monday's hue was the color of good bourbon. Good thing I had some good bourbon on hand, because we toasted the Winter Solstice with it the next day. Evan Williams Single Barrel is lovely stuff, and this particular bottle that we cracked on Tuesday was filled on the 14th of June, 2010, from 10-year old barrels. Where were we on the 14th of June? Why, at the ballpark watching the Giants clobber the Orioles! The earth covered the sun and colored the moon. The sun started its long journey back north. The Giants won the World Series. Happy Holidays!

I lacked a proper motive

I still play music CDs. They sound a hell of a lot better than .mp3 files. Plus I like handling the discs and looking at the cases, though I can't read the tiny print anymore without aid.  I still have LPs and a working turntable. Records are a bit of a hassle, but are certainly much easier to read than CDs and I enjoy the art and layout of the albums. I've taped many of the albums I listen to a lot.  Both of the vehicles I own still have working cassette players--my 2002 Honda came with one. Suffice to say that I've been late to join the iTunes crowd. I don't have an iPod and I don't go running around with my ear buds in. I can rip CD music to my computer, I can stream a radio station, and I can listen to Pandora through my PS3--I'm not technologically challenged. I get the digital music thing. I just lacked a good reason to start a downloading frenzy from iStore (er, iTunes Store).

But no more. The Giants released a video called Giant! Perfect '10 in San Francisco. and it was only available via iTunes. Quicker than you could say Windows7 I had a program, an account, and the damn thing downloaded. All for just $3.99! Then I discovered they had games. I mean actual Giants baseball games, like the 2010 NLDS and NLCS and etc. Pretty cool, eh? And only a $1.99 per game.

I'm tuned in now.

The Holy Trinity

Today is Trinity Sunday. My holy trinity is Matt Cain, Tim Lincecum, and Jonathan Sanchez.

Go Giants!

Life begins anew

The San Francisco Giants play their first Spring Training game on Wednesday. Baseball season begins and I live again. I believe Rogers Hornsby is credited with:

People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.

I like to ski, and that helps. Otherwise, Rogers has it spot on.

Go Giants!

Steroids, moral outrage, and media blather

I guess I'm supposed to care that Mark McGwire used steroids. Rather, that he admitted that he used steroids. I don't. I don't care that he used them and I don't care that he admitted to using them. This is baseball, folks. Major League Baseball to be precise. It is a multi-billion dollar international entertainment industry. It is not a place for moral lessons. Mark McGwire wants a new job with MLB so he has to toe the party line and apologize regretfully for his past actions. That's it. There's no story and no substance. If he stayed retired he could (and should) keep his business to himself. How about this? You keep your business to yourself and I'll keep mine to myself. And if you are looking for a "solution" to the "steroid problem" then I have one: allow their use. These are drugs, folks. When properly prescribed, administered, and monitored, the danger and health consequences of these drugs become manageable. Just like other drugs in our multi-billion dollar international pharmaceutical world. Professional athletes use all sorts of medical technology to improve their performances and achieve at a higher level. More power to them. As long as they are ADULTS and aware of the risks they should be able to do whatever they want. Just like any other citizen.

That's enough of that.

Spring training is just weeks away! Nothing makes a baseball fan happier--other than the actual start of the season!

Playstation 3

The Blu-ray player I mentioned in the last post is actually a PS3--Sony's latest game console. I skipped the video game revolution. I was around, and watched it happen, but for a few forays into some PC sports games I ignored the expanding popularity of this youth-oriented medium for the last thirty years. I'm not sure why I had no interest--admittedly I'm on the leading edge of the age group of game consumers--but I know that I often reject new technolgies at first glance before surrendering to them down the road. In the case of video games, I suppose I will never achieve any sort of skill or mastery in a world of rapid sensory input requiring even more rapid dexterity, but I felt the need to at least explore and find out what all the fuss was about. I started with Bioshock--a shooter/adventure game a young friend recommended--which fortunately has a "newbie-level" difficulty setting. I found the controller to be remarkably sensitive and fast-acting, and more often than not I would find myself hopelessly lost and turned around in the game's world. Thank goodness for the maps and hints feature, I would have given up without them. The graphics, design, and layout of Bioshock are superb, as rich and satisfying as a movie, and the story you become involved in has the sophistication of a novel. Some day, not soon, I'll "get to the end," but in the meantime it has been fun to spend a few spare moments playing around in an imaginary space, like reading a comic book that lets you re-arrange the panels. Another game, in fact the one that started me on this path, is also by the same company, 2K Games. It's a baseball game, of course, MLB 2K9, and it features Tim Lincecum of the San Francisco Giants on the cover. When you're a fan like me, you don't need much of an excuse to indulge in something Giants-related. I got that one installed and running, and immediately was overwhelmed by the myriad of choices presented to me. I've got left and right buttons in the front of the controller, two each, and then four buttons on top for each side, as well as two sticks which also toggle another set of commands. I have to keep stopping and looking at the directions so I can remember how to throw, pitch, hit, catch, run and all the rest of the stuff you have to do in a ballgame. I feel like a kid in T-ball who suddenly finds himself in the middle of a high school hardball contest. I tried a game with the Giants and Matt Cain against the Milwaukee Brewers. After Prince Fielder's 3-run homer in the first inning I set it to "practice mode." I then managed three innings of a 1-1 duel with the same lineups, including a bases-loaded single by Matt Cain! I was so tired keeping track of every little thing by then that I quit and took a long break. Eventually I'll learn to play an entire game, and maybe even play against someone. That could be some time though. I just don't think I've got the thumbs for it.

Manny, Mothers, and Major League Baseball

Major League Baseball sure wants you to know all about Manuel Aristides Onelcida Ramirez' urine. That trademarked and copyrighted fairytale-factory wants you to care a lot about what's in a grown man's bloodstream. But I don't. I'm one of those baseball fans that doesn't want to know or need to know. Sportswriters are a funny beast--they project much of their fantasies about athletic achievement on to the athletes they cover. They assign them roles in a myth, and rank them as heroes or villains. The billionaires who own the clubs don't care, they've got PR departments and advertising budgets. Slap on a heavy coat of patriotism and motherhood and you've got a product. These same billionaires convince cities to pump tax dollars into corporate playgrounds called ballparks. The business these same billionaires are in enjoys a Congressionally-approved monopoly status. Major League Baseball has Budweiser and Chevrolet to sell. If one of the heroes is tarnished by something he ate, fewer people might buy Budweiser and Chevrolet, and that would be bad for America. Manny is a hero--and when he falls, he falls hard. At least that's what Major League Baseball wants you to think. Manny's a damn fine ballplayer. I don't know if he's a damn fine man or not. That's his business. And as long as he's not hurting anyone, I'm damn sure I don't care. I have a hero. My mother is my hero. I'd be willing to bet mothers are heroes to a lot a people. Look for the heroes closest to you. And let plumbers be plumbers and ballplayers be ballplayers, and let them have whatever makes them happy. Happy Mothers Day.

US v. Bonds

Try not to follow the mainstream media on this one. For a good take, as always, read Dave Zirin (Edge of Sports). He's too lefty for some, and I'll admit that his political rhetoric can sometimes soar above his logic, but he's a sharp observer and a good writer. His latest piece, on the Bonds case, is in The Nation. It sums up the whole pathetic episode nicely.

If you want to dig a little deeper, a fellow by the name of John Perricone has been blogging on baseball matters since 2002, which is an eternity in blog-years. His blog, appropriately, is called Only Baseball Matters. His work on Bonds and PEDs is the most informed and most interesting out there. Don't read his stuff unless you want to think and learn. Mr. Perricone has recently drawn the attention of two heavy hitters in the sports-writing world, ESPN's Peter Gammons (22 Feb) and Rob Neyer (23 Feb). How's that for blog power?

Another smart fellow with a razor-sharp pen is John Brattain. Take a look at his stuff on The Hardball Times. Craig Calcaterra (ShysterBall) is also on the THT masthead and looks at baseball through a lawyer's eyes. More good stuff.

Not enough? Try this site: http://steroids-and-baseball.com/

Then go back to living real life and hope the money and momentum runs out on the Bonds case and we can get back to baseball.


UPDATE: a couple of new links to articles by Jonathan Littman in Playboy magazine (via OBM):
1. "The Persecution of Barry Bonds" (2009)
2. "The Balco Story" (2004)

Wow--this Novitsky character comes off as a real asshole. We already knew that Bush and Ashcroft were assholes--it seems they and their minions were happy to preside over government agencies run amok. Nothing like trashing peoples' rights and livelihoods to make a political point.

A-Roid, Bar-roid, and the Collapse of Reason

From the posturing, pontificating, and punditry we've seen so far about the "steroids scandal," you'd think the country was collapsing into lawlessness. What's collpasing all about us, of course, is a sense of perspective. Let's take a reasonable look at this mess.

Professional athletes take some drugs that may or may not improve their performances. Then they lie about it. Then they get caught. Then they lie some more, or they go to great lengths to apologize and "rehabilitate" their downward-spiraling public images. The Feds run around trying to "get" the bad guys on drugs charges, or failing that, perjury and/or obstruction charges. The sporting press has a field day, excoriating their "role models" for setting a bad example for kids and for violating the supposed "integrity" of the sports they cover.

A few athletes--professionals, mind you--risk their health, their careers, and now their freedom by taking these drugs. They are the only ones being hurt. The Feds aren't being hurt. The sportswriters aren't being hurt. And for all the hyperbole, the children aren't being hurt. Sure, a handful of amateur athletes hurt themselves. But not enough to make a "crisis." Steroids and HGH and PEDs are not a danger. Teenagers have plenty of good old-fashioned dangers (like drinking and driving) to hurt themselves and others with. There may be law-breaking here, but there is no crime. That is, there is no criminal intent and no collateral damage. There's just some drugs, and some guys taking them.

I'm sure the world is a safer, freer, and better place because Marion Jones gave up her gold medals and went to jail. I'm sure when mothers tuck in their babes at night they are reassured that monsters like Barry Bonds will get what's coming to them. Floyd Landis lost a race that he won, and the starving millions rejoiced that he got his comeuppance.

Baseball, that pure and sacred American endeavor is now safe and unsullied. We can go back to the multi-million dollar ballyards and cheer again for our upright and honest heroes. We can watch "Field of Dreams" again and wallow in a nostalgia for a past that fulfills our fantasies. Meanwhile, some guys who took some drugs go to court, or to jail, or to ignominy and disgrace.

"Cheating" in sports is a problem for the sport, not for Congress. Risky behaviors by teens are a problem for parents, not the U.S. Attorney. Your body--and what you put in it--is your business. Same for those guys. If a goverment can spend millions of taxpayers dollars to go after some jocks with little or no public oversight or outrage, imagine what they can do when they go after "regular" folks who don't have high-priced lawyers and fancy publicists. And when they start to come after you for your alleged indiscretions, and threaten your privacy and your livelihood and your freedom, you'll cry out, bewildered by it all, "but I wasn't hurting anyone!" and "this is America!" and "where's my lawyer?"

But no one will be listening.

BBWAA-MVP

The Baseball Writers Association of America, henceforth known as BBWAA, votes an MVP award annually in each league. Now these fellows a) are writers and b) write about baseball. That's it. I'm a writer. I write about baseball. I'm not a pro. I have neither a journalist's education nor a journalist's professional experience. These BBWAA guys are pros. They make their living writing about baseball.

If you write crime fiction, does that make you a criminal? Better question: does that make you an expert on crime?

If you write vampire stories, are you an expert on vampires? How would anyone know?

My answer? Bollocks.

Here's John le Carré (one of the best) on fiction:

A good writer is an expert on nothing except himself. And on that subject, if he is wise, he holds his tongue. Some of you may wonder why I am reluctant to submit to interviews on television and radio and in the press. The answer is that nothing that I write is authentic. It is the stuff of dreams, not reality. Yet I am treated by the media as though I wrote espionage handbooks.

And to a point I am flattered that my fabulations are taken so seriously. Yet I also despise myself in the fake role of guru, since it bears no relation to who I am or what I do. Artists, in my experience, have very little centre. They fake. They are not the real thing. They are spies. I am no exception.

Bravo.

Which brings me back to the BBWAA and their MVP. This year, a young lad from one of the richest and most media-saturated markets and franchises--the Boston Red Sox--was awarded the MVP for the American League. Dustin Pedroia is a very fine ballplayer. Outstanding, in fact. But by any intelligent metric, he is nowhere near the "most valuable." He wasn't even the best player on his team, for example. (I think you have to give that to Kevin Youkilis.) Pedroia, like (NL-BBWAA-MVP-2007) Jimmy Rollins, is likeable and a crowd-pleaser. He does lots of things well, and exudes a bubbly high-school "grit-and-hustle" persona. This is all fine, of course, but has little to do with a cold, rational assessment of value by skilled observers. After all, BBWAA guys see more baseball than anyone who doesn't work for a team. They are supposed to be experts. Here's the problem--they're not. They're writers. They're as hopelessly biased as fans, and as hopelessly in love with their own prose as any amateur hack. So they vote an award that winds up saying more about who THEY are than who the "most valuable" player is.

And that's not how it is supposed to be.

Stochastic

I first became acquainted with this word in my student days at Cal. I read Gregory Bateson's Mind and Nature, and Dr. Bateson spent a bit of time on "stochastic processes," dancing around in evolution, psychology, anthropology, and whatnot, trying to put together some sort of ecological treatise. I used to read stuff like that. Now I read Out of the Gutter.

Bateson threw around a number of big words, but he had the decency to include a glossary. Here's his take on stochastic:

Stochastic. (Greek, stochazein, to shoot with a bow at a target; that is, to scatter events in a partially random manner, some of which achieve a preferred outcome) If a sequence of events combines a random component with a selective process so that only certain outcomes of the random are allowed to endure, that sequence is said to be stochastic.
(p. 252 Bantam New Age 1980 paperback edition)

Wolfram MathWorld says the word is synonymous with "random," and Bartleby agrees with the etymology.

Years later I came across the notion of a "random walk." This was in Burton Malkiel's A Random Walk Down Wall Street. I've read, at most, a handful of things about finance. This engaging book was the most memorable and enjoyable. I have the everyman's ignorance about these things, and like I said, spend my time reading noir. But I love words, and when I consulted my trusty Cartoon Guide to Statistics on the subject of "random walks," they had this to say:

Random walks begin with a coin flip. Suppose you move ahead one step for a head and back one step for a tail. Repeated flips produce a stochastic process called a random walk.
(Larry Gonick, empahsis mine)

There's that pesky Greek again! WordMan™ would love "stochastic." He'd whip it out in all sorts of verbal crises in his globe-trekking exploits. What could be more stochastic than world travel? And think of the other opportunities--dazzling my baseball readers with erudite posts on the stochastic nature of our beloved pastime! Screw sabermetrics. Stochasto-ball is here.

This post does have a point. It isn't often that you get "stochastic" in an interview, much less twice. But my brother-in-law, Bart Rothwell, is an awfully bright fellow, and knows all sorts of things about science, statistics, and finance. If anyone has the the intellectual street cred to toss it around, it's him. So I was reading about Bart's latest endeavor (way to go, Bart!), and there was "stochastic." Words are like a bottle of good whiskey--you get to uncork that bottle again and pour out another dram. Each time you get to experience another aspect of their complexity and richness. Damn! I'm thirsty!

Goin' out on a limb

I'm normally a rational, unsentimental sort. I'm not prone to religiosity, exuberance or idealism. I'm a materialist. Not in the economic sense, but the philosphical one. I accept mystery as mystery, and I don't seek supernatural or metaphysical solutions to the conundrums of existence. I like cold, hard facts. Many have called me a cynic. (Partridge says the Latin form of this word means "the snarlers.") I prefer skeptic. (Origins says this Greek word means "to look carefully at.")

Tuesday is Election Day. No mattter what happens, we will get a new president, one who will take office on January 20, 2009. A former Senator will be inaugurated for the first time since John F. Kennedy in 1961. I'm going to write about the election because I know that I cannot curse the outcome. I can't "spoil it." I'm a blip in the cosmic scheme. Even though I cannot predict the future, I am going out on a limb.

Barack Hussein Obama will be the winner on Tuesday. A year ago, I would have laughed at this notion. In the spring, I'd have scoffed. This summer, I was doubtful. In the last few weeks, I'm convinced of it.

I'm superstitious at a baseball game. I have a fan's irrational, emotional relationship to the game and my team. I'm careful what I say and what I wish for because I'm convinced the baseball gods have cursed me in the past for blasphemy and will curse me again for sins both real and imagined. But that's baseball, not real life.

Then Nate Silver came along. Among the ranks of stat-geeks, sabermetricians and money-ballers who've brought new-fangled analysis to the previously inscrutable world of baseball, Mr. Silver became known to bloggers and fans via his work at Baseball Prospectus. While this stat stuff goes back a ways (to Bill James and Pete Palmer, for example, even back to Branch Rickey), it has only become mainstream in the last few years. In the last few months, Mr. Silver has tried his hand at politics. More precisely, political forecasting.

His blog, 538, says that BHO has a 97% chance of winning the election. (More properly, he wins the projection scenarios 97% of the time.) Senator Obama is projected to get 52% of the popular vote and over 340 electoral votes. The methodology at 538 is deeper than this post. Check it out for yourself. It convinced me. And I'm a skeptic. Particularly when it comes to Democrats winning national elections.

So there it is. I made the call. History will prove me a fool or not. At this point, with 538's help, I think it's a safe bet. Regardless, I'm staying up late on Tuesday, all night if necessary. No more disastrous early-morning "oh-gee-we-got-Florida-wrong" nonsense for this boy.

Back to Barry

I don't like Buzz Bissinger. I saw him make an ass of himself on TV with the always-fatuous Bob Costas and a seemingly-bewildered Will Leitch (formerly of "Deadspin") having a discussion of the merits of blogging. Suffice to say Mr. Bissinger was one ill-informed and ill-mannered dude. That, of course, does not take away from his considerable accomplishments as a writer. And he's written a fine piece for the NY Times ( link ) about our Beloved and Beleaguered Erstwhile Giant and Home Run King, Barry Lamar Bonds. It is too bad it took the blackballing of the greatest player of all time for media types to see that their "piling on" had gone too far and for far too long. The Feds chasing Barry have always had the tacit or even outspoken approval of the mainstream sportswriters and their employers. Now they are finding out what a bad taste their silly biases have left in their mouths, and are doing a little something to make up for it. Too bad it is too little, too late. But it is something. For that, thanks Buzz.

Ballgames

On a hilltop outside the city of Oaxaca, México, is a spectacular archaeological site called Monte Albán. We were fortunate to have a funny, knowledgeable and articulate guide during our visit there. I'm not much for tourist spots, but Monte Albán was beautiful, and a worthwhile destination. That's a photo of the ball-court. Who knows what kind of crazy ballgame the Zapotecas played? México is a great place for juxtaposing the old and the new. Sure enough, in the city we found our way to the parque de béisbol, where we got to watch a more familiar, modern game. They love baseball in Estados Unidos Mexicanos (yes, they are the "United States" too!). How can you NOT like a place that loves baseball? Naturally, we had to attend the games every night. We tried three times, got rained out once, and would have done a fourth and fifth but the wedding celebrations got in the way. After all, we did travel to Oaxaca for Ron and Susana's wedding, so we couldn't just blow off the cocktail party, ceremony and reception for a weekend of cervezas and cheerleaders, could we? Here's a look at the estadio, inside and out:







You can see the tarp crew at work. It was the wet season there, and we had showers most days. The Valley of Oaxaca was lush and green--it was hard to imagine that their dry season can go as long as nine months. A few times, when the sky overhead was filled with clouds and the air moist with impending precipitation, I squinted my eyes and thought I was in Ireland. Mexicans drive like the Irish, a pedal-to-the-metal "we're in God's hands now" fatalistic mad careering through narrow streets and around blind turns. And Mexicans, like the Irish, are impossibly friendly and generous, especially to American tourists. They play weird ballgames in Ireland, highly entertaining, impressively athletic, but not baseball. Here's some scenery that might make you think of the Emerald Isle:





Stay tuned for more México stories and photos!

Proud Sponsor

That's right, folks, TPP has entered the world of sponsorships. My brewing blog, French Street Brewery, took the first plunge. FSB sponsored Brad Hennessey's page on Baseball-Reference. Now Brad, the Giants #1 pick in 2001, struggled this season and got demoted to AAA. He was replaced by young William Henry Sadler IV. So I went ahead and sponsored Billy's page on B-R as well. It set me back a fiver! Big spender, eh? The more famous and/or accomplished ballplayers cost a lot more, so I'm sticking my financial neck out for these marginal guys. When they get to be stars I'll have to switch allegiances to a new crop of rookies! I just hope they stay Giants for the duration of my sponsorship (1 year, expiring in June 2009). When you need to look something up, remember Baseball-Reference. There are no more arguments in the internet age--the facts are mere mouse-clicks away.

Talkin' Baseball

One of my favorite blogs is by a fellow named John Perricone called ONLY BASEBALL MATTERS. Recently he challenged his "backtalkers" to write a piece about Peter Magowan's legacy as the owner of the San Francisco Giants. Mr. Perricone said he would pick the best ones to "front page" and guess who got picked? ME! That's right, kids, yer old pal M.C. Check it out.