Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Proud to be an American.

I've often thought it would be neat to live in England, but this article that Ryan sent me really gives me some pause.

A survey by Nuts magazine has produced a top ten most groan-inducing festive gags, with a witticism about Santa's choice of pizza securing the top spot.

The joke asks: What is Santa's favourite pizza?

Answer: One that's deep pan, crisp and even.

Oh ye gods. First of all, maybe it's a more common carol in Britain, but "Good King Wenceslas" - which is about a Bohemian king of the tenth century giving alms to a peasant on the day after Christmas - is kind of a deep cut in this country, I think. Here are the lines in the song that might explain the joke above if you didn't get it right away.

Good King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even.
Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight, gathering winter fuel.


Huh? Huh? By the way, nothing about Santa Claus or Christmas anywhere in the lyrics. Nice going there, joke writer.

Maybe the problem is that so many of these jokes rely on homophones, and jokes like that work a lot better when they're spoken, because when you write them out you're forced to choose one of the spellings. Someone reading the joke only sees the one spelling and perhaps scratches their head longer than they should. Some other examples:

What's a specimen?
An Italian Astronaut

Bonus vague racism!

What do you call a short sighted dinosaur?
A do you think he saw us!

After this joke was used in Jurassic Park, there probably should have been a rule that no one else could ever use it again. Regardless, notice just how little sense this makes on paper. The saw us/-saurus soundalike is almost totally obscured, and in fact if you didn't know the joke already, you might have to repeat this one to yourself several times before getting it. It might take less time in England where some people naturally have the accent that sticks Rs on the end of W sounds, but still.

Why would you invite a mushroom to a Christmas party?
He's a fun guy to be with.

Again, this looks dumb when written out.

What's brown and sweet and glides around an ice rink?
Bourneville and Dean

I think even if you live in England and get the reference (and then also get the other reference), this is horrific. Well, it must be, since this is a list of the worst Christmas cracker jokes of all time, so I guess I can't get too up in arms. But I'm almost offended that anyone ever thought that was even worth writing down.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Please stop.

What is it with Hollywood analysts that they feel some obligation to make these totally insipid jokes when talking about weekend grosses?
The Warner Bros. tale "I Am Legend," starring Smith as a plague survivor who may be the last living human, debuted with $76.5 million, the biggest December opening ever and a personal best for one of Hollywood's top box-office champs, according to studio estimates Sunday.

"It's no wonder Will Smith feels so lonely. Everyone else on Earth is in the movie theater," said Paul Dergarabedian, president of box-office tracker Media By Numbers.

*slap*

But wait, studio execs can get in on this too, and in much more confusing fashion!
The 20th Century Fox family flick "Alvin and the Chipmunks," starring Jason Lee in a big-screen take on the cartoon critters, opened a strong No. 2 with $45 million. The two films combined to give Hollywood a year-end surge after a drowsy fall season.

"Forty-five million acorns," said Chris Aronson, senior vice president for distribution at 20th Century Fox. "Chipmunks are diurnal animals and they do hibernate, but not right now."

Shut the fuck up. I assume these are just from idiotic press releases, though the thought of these guys actually speaking these sentences is kind of hysterical, but that's no excuse. Forty-five million acorns? Also, does this guy know what diurnal means or did he just think he'd drop the two things he knew about chipmunks to sound cool? It just means "active during the day," dude. Not sure that has much to do with movie-going.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

I'm not even mad, that's amazing

The World Pie-Eating Championships in England were threatened with postponement after a dog assigned to guard the pies, which were being stored in the refrigerator of a former champion, instead ate the pies when the fridge door did not close fully.

This actually happened. Although I'm a little surprised the dog didn't go for the whole wheel of cheese instead.

"Fortunately," the contest still went off without a hitch. Although if you think we have issues with PC watchdogs in America, get a load of this:

Past competitions used to be judged on the number of pies eaten by competitors in a three minute period but after falling victim to the "healthy eating lobby", the format was changed last year.


Seriously?

In "updates we will have in the future" news, Root Beer Taste Test #3 is tentatively scheduled for Saturday evening.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Winner, winner, lobster dinner

Ridiculous won the day, as my chops-plus-Hulk-Hogan-mustache was enough to win the beard contest. My boss came in with his beard shaved into a Backstreet-Boy-like configuration, and wore a white shirt and sunglasses such that he ended up looking kind of like Justin Timberlake in the "Dick in a Box" video, which was pretty hilarious. I voted for him since we couldn't vote for ourselves, but I got maybe half the votes of the people assembled, with the other six present contestants splitting up the rest. I suppose I'm relieved that I didn't go through all that work for nothing (there was prize money associated with the win), although it was kind of an amusing exercise on its own.

So what did it look like all done up? Well, here you go:



I'm not sure if you can get the full "biker" vibe off that Jack Daniel's headgear at this angle, but I think you get the idea. My boss had given me that a couple weeks ago as a joke (I think his friend won it at a bar and, for obvious reasons, neither of them wanted it), and I actually won lunch from him a couple of weeks ago by wearing it around the office for a day. Since I was going for kind of a biker look anyway, I figured it completed the ensemble, and the voters evidently agreed.



It doesn't even look much like me, does it?

Monday, December 03, 2007

If I was invisible

Alma sent me a link to this site that will do facial recognition stuff, supposedly. I tried putting in all five beard pictures to see how varied a response I could get, since I was kind of suspicious that it was just spitting out random names. It stays consistent if you use the same picture, though, so maybe it's not random. Maybe I just want it to be after the results.

Week One: Terence Stamp
Week Two: Paul Walker
Week Three: Raoul Bova (some Italian actor)
Week Four: Bashar Al-Assad (president of Syria!)
Week Five: Clay Aiken

Because Clay Aiken is one swarthy motherfucker.

Anyway, here's my face morphing to Clay Aiken's and back. Sadly, it's somewhat compelling evidence.

Build-a-Beard Workshop

Alma suggested the title of this post, for the record. Credit where credit is due. This one is actually sort of fun because I semi-coincidentally wore the same shirt as Week One, so the difference is all the more obvious. Not that it would be much less obvious.

So, your 11/5 picture again:



And now 12/3:



Two more days until the final ridiculousness - still deciding what that will be; I have the feeling it's going to be a spur of the moment choice on Tuesday night - and two days plus eight hours or so until the whole thing is off and I look like the top photo again. It's funny how quickly one gets used to oneself with a beard; the top picture already looks strange, and I've only had this thing a month (and the heavy growth only 2-3 weeks). I guess it's the difference between gradual growth and a quick change.

Friday, November 30, 2007

The Brady hunch

Brady Anderson is on the Hall of Fame ballot this year. This makes me feel incredibly old, although at the same time I feel a little surprised that he retired as late as 2002. He's one of those guys known for doing one thing - in Anderson's case, his 50-homer season of 1996 - so it sort of seems like he only played that one year and then vanished again. The season was a ridiculous anomaly for Anderson - he only had 210 career home runs in 15 seasons, meaning that nearly a quarter of his career total came in a single one of those. He also had a career SLG of .425, which is pretty low, even for a center fielder; in 1996, his SLG was .637, almost 150 points higher than in any other season.

The thing that gets me is that this data is always used to advance the "Brady Anderson did steroids in 1996" argument. Maybe he did and maybe he didn't, but if he did, I doubt it was the steroids that helped him. People who use fluke seasons like this to accuse people of drug use seem to forget that the history of baseball is pockmarked with similar cases, long before PEDs hit the scene.

Take, for example, Hack Wilson; his 191-RBI season in 1930 is still a record (and understandably so). Wilson hit 56 home runs that year; while this wasn't the leap that Anderson took, as Wilson had topped 30 in 1927, 1928, and 1929, it was still nearly 50% above his previous career high. Or how about Roger Maris, who hit 22 more home runs in 1961 than in any other season? And the single most analogous example is probably Davey Johnson, who hit 136 career home runs in 13 big-league seasons - and fully 43 of them in 1973. He only reached double figures four other times and never topped 18; at least Anderson had two other 20-HR seasons. I don't think anyone would argue Johnson was on steroids.

What's more, how does this even make sense? 1996 was two years before McGwire and Sosa - two guys pretty much universally assumed at this point to have been juicing in the late 90s - led their assault on history, so if steroids were capable of turning Anderson into a power hitter that quickly and effectively, why did he drop back off in 1997? Should we believe that he only used them for one year, and then quit for whatever reason even though he clearly could have made a good deal more money by staying on them? At any rate, I've never seen any evidence suggesting that steroids can turn singles hitters into home run hitters; maybe they can help turn doubles hitters into home run hitters, but Anderson didn't hit all that many doubles either. He hit for middling average (.256 career) and took a decent number of walks (a reasonable .362 career OBP). Also, while most suspected steroid users were speedsters who started hitting home runs and stopped stealing bases (like Sosa), Anderson still stole 21 bases in 1996, more than he stole the following year when he retreated to 18 homers. I also don't remember Anderson showing much physical evidence; certainly his head didn't blow up that I can recall.

So why is it that Anderson has to have used steroids? Only the number 50 is really suggestive of it, and Davey Johnson shows that it's perfectly possible to have a season like that before steroids even entered the game. Ultimately it doesn't matter; Anderson clearly isn't making the Hall of Fame, and once he's off the ballot he should be fully consigned to the dustbin of history. But at the risk of sounding like an apologist, I don't see why every post-1994 fluke season has to be steroid-based. It just doesn't seem likely that only a couple guys could actually make consistent use of them, while the bulk of users either didn't see a substantial increase or else turned into, say, Richard Hidalgo (15 in 1999, 44 in 2000, 19 in 2001). Sure, we risk being made fools of again if we're too credulous... but barring a real smoking gun, isn't it a lot more enjoyable that way?

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Go west, Old Men

I saw my first movie in theaters in months, No Country for Old Men, since it was the Coen Brothers and since it had been almost universally raved about by critics. Turns out... it's not really all that good. At least I didn't think so. The one positive is that it's actually got me a bit excited about film criticism again, and I'll probably try to see some more movies in the upcoming month or two as work is on the slower side and film hits its peak season. Tomorrow I'm hoping to steal off to the River East after work to catch The Darjeeling Limited before it packs up and leaves town (it's down to one screening a day, at 5:15, which works out well if I can get out of work on time) and then perhaps I can make a similar pilgrimage for Michael Clayton on Thursday. Those were two of the only movies of the fall season that really had my eyebrows raised, so catching them before they leave theaters would be nice.

To which I'm sure you might say, "Why see them in the theater?" The fact is that, in spite of its obvious cost disadvantage, I enjoy seeing movies in the theater. It's just an experience that can't be matched by simple home viewing. The good news for me is that neither Darjeeling nor Clayton is likely to have many people in the theater so late in the run. While I like the theatrical experience, I like the people-free theatrical experience even more. So, I'm a misanthrope. What of it?

Anyway, the review for No Country for Old Men is here. I've actually been engaged in a fairly lively debate with some backers of the film on the Rotten Tomatoes boards (needless to say, they feel I "don't get it"), which is something else that hasn't happened for a couple years now.

Monday, November 26, 2007

Beard down, Chicago beard

Time for another before and after.

Before (11/5):



After (11/26):



The consensus at work seems to be that I look the most natural with the beard, and I do think it looks pretty decent, all told. I'm still not keeping it but I'm glad I'm not looking like a crazy person for a month.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

The Ten Worst MVP Choices of the Past 25 Years

There's been a lot of talk about Jimmy Rollins' NL MVP win, with more stats-oriented people noting how it's kind of a joke that he won and traditionalists arguing that he was the best player on a playoff-bound team. With Rollins in mind, I decided to compile a list of what I thought were the ten worst choices for MVP in the past 25 years. Note: I rely a lot on the statistical measures WARP1 and VORP in this list, though I do also discuss the writers' inconsistencies on a year-to-year basis, explaining in some places how the vote didn't make sense even by more traditional measures.

10. 2006 NL: Ryan Howard

Barry Bonds won four consecutive MVP awards with insane numbers between 2001 and 2004, so perhaps after Albert Pujols finally broke through in 2005, the voters decided they wanted to show that no one was up to Bonds’ level by withholding a second consecutive award. Or perhaps they were swayed by the best storyline. Neither would surprise; either would be dumb. By VORP, which measures the number of runs a player contributed to his team above what a replacement player would have done, Pujols was the most valuable player in the league; he generated four more runs for the Cardinals than Howard did for the Phillies. He also had a higher batting average, on-base percentage, and slugging percentage, this latter in spite of the clear difference-maker in the voting, Howard’s 58 home runs. Pujols’ 11.8 WARP1, the number of wins he added to the team above a replacement player and which, unlike VORP, factors in defense, was the highest of his career to date; Howard, a below-average fielder at first, was worth three and a half fewer wins. The only categories in which Howard really prevailed were the major counting stats: home runs and RBI. The voters allowed themselves to be swayed by these gaudy numbers even though Howard did not make the playoffs and Pujols did. Howard was not a truly terrible choice for MVP, but he had no business defeating Pujols.

9. 2002 AL: Miguel Tejada

Alex Rodriguez has three MVP awards, but he should probably have more. Of course, “MVP” is usually defined by the voters as “best player on a playoff-bound team,” so perhaps it’s no surprise that Rodriguez was only recognized once (2003) prior to landing in New York. One of the more egregious screwjobs came in 2002, when the only player in baseball more valuable than Rodriguez was Barry Bonds and his 1.381 OPS. Rodriguez was second in baseball and first in the AL with a VORP of 86.4, and while Jim Thome was pretty much exactly as valuable offensively, Rodriguez had one of his best defensive years at shortstop, making him worth 11 wins over a replacement player, while Thome was a below-average first baseman, giving him a WARP1 of just 8.1. Of course, the Rangers lost 90 games – we can certainly argue over how much it was Rodriguez’s “fault” that the Rangers had lousy pitching during his years there, but the fact remains that the ’02 club had Chan Ho Park, Ismael Valdez and Dave Burba in the starting rotation, and Hideki Irabu closing games, and a team ERA of 5.15. Tejada’s Oakland team, meanwhile, won 103 games. It’s not surprising that the voters wanted to reward the best player on the team, and Tejada was that, even if he was only the third-most valuable shortstop in the AL (behind not just A-Rod but Nomar Garciaparra as well).

8. 1999 AL: Ivan Rodriguez

This one, though it pains me to admit it, was just a travesty. Derek Jeter was the most valuable offensive player in the American League by nearly twenty runs over the second-place Nomar Garciaparra, and was worth more than 9 wins above replacement. This remains Jeter’s best year by far: 219 hits, 24 homers, 102 RBI, 134 runs scored, a .349 batting average, .438 OBP, and .552 slugging, all still career highs. What’s more, he played on a team that won its division and he played in New York. So how did he not win? More importantly, how on earth did he finish a distant sixth in the voting? The answer must be that Rodriguez was a great defensive catcher; he was worth nearly as many wins as Jeter (8.9) despite being significantly less valuable offensively. Of course, he had better counting stats – 35 homers, 113 RBI – and he did hit .332. So he looked nearly as good on offense even though he actually wasn’t (Jeter’s extra 82 points of OBP have a way of doing that) and his superior defense was a good story (though the writers so rarely factor in defense that this reeks of inconsistency). Plus since Jeter’s team had won 114 games the previous year, the clear assumption was that he had a lot of help. And sure, he did, but that doesn’t, or anyway shouldn’t, diminish his individual value, though obviously it makes it tougher for writers to see it. Bernie Williams was a top-ten offensive player that year, but then so was Rafael Palmeiro in Texas. Palmeiro finished fifth in the voting, a spot ahead of Jeter. Two Indians teammates, the third division winner, tied for third place. The voters had no objection to the idea that you could have two really valuable guys on the same team. Yet it certainly seems like Jeter was hurt by the team he was on. (Fun fact about this year: Rodriguez didn’t even receive the most first-place votes; second-place finisher Pedro Martinez did. Rodriguez managed to win, I suspect because Martinez – as a pitcher – was left off a number of ballots entirely. Martinez actually had a WARP1 of 14.6 that year, meaning that it’s reasonable to argue he should have won. At any rate, Rodriguez was not a good choice.)

7. 2006 AL: Justin Morneau

As a casual Twins fan and Yankees hater, I was happy to see Morneau beat out Derek Jeter for the MVP in 2006, but the statistical fact of the matter is that he shouldn’t have. Morneau’s VORP of 52.0 was good for just 26th in all of baseball and just 13th in the AL; Jeter led the AL at 80.5, a pretty significant difference. Indeed, VORP suggests that Morneau wasn’t even the most valuable player on his own team, as Joe Mauer was fifth in the AL at 66.9. Morneau played good defense at a less valuable defensive position; his WARP1 was 7.8. Mauer, as a good defensive catcher, was worth a win more than Morneau; Jeter, who actually had a good year with the glove for a change and who plays one of the most valuable defensive positions, was worth 9.1. The trick, of course, is that Morneau had big counting stats – 34 home runs and 130 RBI – which Jeter did not (much though I hate admitting it, Jeter’s offensive value to a team simply cannot be measured accurately by sportswriters who love home runs and RBI), and of course there's the fact that Morneau had a strong second half as the Twins rebounded to win the division on the final day. Another MVP win for the best storyline candidate.

6. 1984 AL: Willie Hernandez

With the rise of players like Alex Rodriguez, we sometimes forget just how impressive Cal Ripken Jr. was in his prime. Some people talk like he only made the Hall of Fame because of his longevity, but the fact is that he was easily the premier offensive shortstop in the game for the better part of a decade, and he was a good fielder to boot. This is exemplified by his 1983-1984 two-season stretch in which he was worth a combined 26.1 wins above replacement, a fairly staggering number by most normal standards. Prior to the advent of sabermetrics, however, no one knew what “wins above replacement” was or how to measure it, and simply relied on traditional numbers and assumptions. How else to explain that in 1984, a year in which he led baseball in VORP and was worth more than 13 wins above a replacement player, Ripken finished 27th in the MVP voting, receiving just a single vote. Even accounting for the fact that no one knew about WARP and VORP and wouldn’t have considered them meaningful even if they had, the vote was just strange; Willie Upshaw received more votes than Ripken despite having fewer hits, doubles, home runs and RBI, fewer walks, more strikeouts, a lower batting average, and despite playing a less meaningful defensive position for a team that also did not make the playoffs (though the Blue Jays finished second while the Orioles finished fifth).

Of course the most insane part was Hernandez actually winning the award, perhaps the most egregious example of “picking a player from the team that wins” in history. It’s not that Hernandez didn’t have a great year for a relief pitcher – but he was a relief pitcher. He was the seventh-most valuable pitcher in the AL that year, although, perhaps surprisingly, he was in fact the most valuable pitcher on that Tigers squad, and since the Tigers won 104 games, well, someone had to get rewarded, and it couldn’t be a Tigers hitter since none of them had 100 RBIs and Lance Parrish, the closest to the mark with 98, had only hit .237. As vital as Hernandez was to the Tigers’ success, he illustrates the problem with just picking the best player you can think of from the best team in the league; frequently, the best team is the best team not because of one player. Replacing Hernandez with Joe Anybody would have cost the Tigers nine wins – and they still would have won 95 games and run away with the division (which, as it was, they won by 15 games). Replacing Ripken with a replacement shortstop would have cost the Orioles fully 13 wins – and they would have dropped from fifth to sixth, which of course is why no one paid any attention. And that just shows why it’s all the more important to have more sophisticated statistics – just about the only differences between Ripken’s MVP year of 1983 and his 27th-place finish of 1984 were a handful of batting average points, 16 RBIs, and his team’s finish. The fact that he could put up nearly identical seasons and have the team drop four spots in the standings tells you it’s not about one player, and if Ripken was really valuable enough to be MVP in 1983, he was valuable enough to be MVP in 1984 too. I guess it’s too much to expect that kind of consideration from old-school sportswriters.

5. 2007 NL: Jimmy Rollins

Joe Sheehan of Baseball Prospectus derided the Rollins win, saying he had won not the MVP but the “Most Valuable Copy Creator Award.” It’s a difficult charge to deny; Rollins, after all, was the most consistent player on a team that had charged from seeming doom to a playoff spot in just the last few weeks of the season, and he had that fun stat line (20+ doubles, triples, homers and stolen bases). What’s more, it wasn’t a particularly good year for NL MVP candidates; two of the four playoff teams didn’t have a single player in the voting’s top ten. Still, the writers have certainly given the MVP to non-playoff-bound players before; it happened in 2006. And by virtually no measure was Rollins even a top-five player in the league, let alone a true MVP candidate. He got on base at only a .344 clip, and failed to hit .300 despite 212 hits – thanks to his 716 at-bats, the most in league history. He was worth 9.2 wins over a replacement player, which is a pretty good number, but it wasn’t even the best on his own team, as Chase Utley put up a 9.3 despite nearly 200 fewer at-bats than Rollins thanks to injury. It can also be argued that Rollins wasn’t even the most valuable shortstop in the NL, as Hanley Ramirez had the same number of hits in 77 fewer at-bats and had a significantly higher VORP (though Rollins held a slight edge in WARP1 due to Ramirez’s defensive shortcomings).

The whole thing was probably doomed from the start, however; the league’s MVP should have been David Wright, and he couldn’t even finish top three, as voters irrationally blamed him for the Mets’ struggles down the stretch even though he hit .442 with a .492 OBP in the last two weeks of the season. Meanwhile, Prince Fielder finished third even though Wright had a better BA and OBP and was worth four more wins than Fielder, in part because Wright was a good fielder at a valuable defensive position whereas the ironically-named Fielder was a butcher at a lesser one. But the voters were swayed by Fielder’s impressive 50 home runs enough to vote him third. With that in mind, it’s hardly surprising that voters preferred Rollins and his 20-20-20-20 season over Wright, and for that matter over Matt Holliday, who wouldn’t have been the best choice either but who was at least distinguishable as the best player on his own team.

4. 2001 AL: Ichiro Suzuki

The 2001 AL vote provides one of the best – or worst, depending on how you want to look at it – examples of how the voters simply cannot stay consistent from year to year in any reasoning except “Best Headlines Made.” Ichiro had a great year in 2001, his first in MLB; he hit .350 and banged out 242 hits, to date his second-highest single-season total in a career that has seen him rack up almost 1600 hits in just seven full seasons and tie the all-time single-season record. Nevertheless, he’s mostly a singles hitter and was only the third-most valuable offensive player on his own team. Bret Boone was #1 on that Mariners squad, and it’s even odder that he was overlooked due to his impressive counting stats: 37 homers, 141 RBIs. He was an average second baseman but still had a WARP1 of 9.7; Ichiro, a good right fielder, was worth more than a win less. The question becomes: Why Ichiro? Yes, Ichiro was new to the Mariners, and they won 116 games – but Boone was in his first year as a Mariner as well. I suspect the answer is that Boone’s season was seen as an aberration – since he had been a decent but never great player in nine previous seasons – while Ichiro swept into the US on the back of a huge reputation as a hitter in Japan and helped deliver a record-tying number of team wins. (Boone’s HR and RBI numbers were also not as impressive as they might have been due to the power explosion in the NL.) Yet again, the winner was the guy who generated the most interesting headlines.

3. 1985 AL: Don Mattingly

While Mattingly wasn’t an awful choice in general, the 1985 vote proved to be yet another example of inconsistency from the writers. Mattingly did have big counting stats – 35 homers and 145 RBI – but his team missed the playoffs, while George Brett – whose VORP was much higher anyway – led the Royals into the playoffs (and eventually to the World Series, though of course voting is done before the playoffs begin). Brett’s OBP was .436, as he walked over 100 times while striking out just 49. Mattingly was also a rare strikeout (just 41 in 1985 and just 444 in a 7000-at-bat career), but he also didn’t walk nearly as much. At any event, Brett was more valuable in just about every respect, yet he didn’t win, even though the voters in the same year gave the NL MVP to Willie McGee, in part because he was the best player on the division-winning Cardinals. Mattingly wasn’t even the most valuable player on the Yankees (that honor belongs to Rickey Henderson, who had a higher VORP and was worth 13 wins above replacement, two more than even Brett; Henderson finished third in the voting), and they failed even to make the playoffs. So why did he win? Probably the RBIs; they’re just a stat it’s easy for the average voter to wrap his head around. Never mind that Henderson getting on base at a .419 clip in front of Mattingly helped those RBI numbers a lot (Henderson scored 146 runs that year). Mattingly was no doubt also aided by the Yankee mystique; in 1985 we were a few years removed from Reggie Jackson, and sportswriters were no doubt looking for the next great Yankee slugger, and it seemed they’d found him in Mattingly. (Sadly for them, Donnie Baseball failed to hit as many as 35 home runs ever again, and his career sank into a permanent mediocrity once the 1990s rolled around.)

2. 1987 NL: Andre Dawson

This one hurts. But not only was Dawson not even the most valuable Cub in 1987, he wasn’t in the top forty players in baseball in VORP, and he played right field – not among the top half of most challenging defensive positions – just slightly above average. His WARP1 was 6.7, and even using more conventional stats, he only hit .287 and had an OBP of .328. However, he jacked 49 home runs and knocked in 137, and in the 1980s, 49 was a ton of home runs; no one had hit 50 since George Foster in 1977, and no one would until Cecil Fielder in 1990. Nevertheless, in spite of his home runs Dawson was a less valuable offensive player in 1987 than such noted names as Randy Ready, Bill Doran, Juan Samuel and Kal Daniels. All this might not be such a big deal if it weren’t for the fact that Dawson played for a last-place team. It’s easy to see how Dawson slipped through – the rest of the top five was Ozzie Smith, Jack Clark, Tim Wallach and Will Clark. The first two both played for the eventual pennant-winning Cardinals, and indeed that was probably the problem; Clark and his 35 home runs likely drew votes that would have pushed Smith over the top. Despite not hitting a single home run, Smith was still in the top ten in the NL in VORP; adding in his superior defense at short gave Smith a WARP1 of 10.3, several wins ahead of Dawson. The true MVP was probably Tony Gwynn, who hit .370, but he played for a 97-loss Padres team and finished a distant eighth in the voting.

1. 1995 AL: Mo Vaughn

Vaughn is another good example of a guy who wasn’t even the most valuable player on his own team. Vaughn’s 1995 VORP of 52.4 was 11th in the AL, while John Valentin was worth 22 more runs and 2.4 wins, thanks to his adequate shortstop defense and Vaughn’s adventures at first base. Vaughn hit 39 home runs and knocked in 126, but how he was able to top Albert Belle and Edgar Martinez is somewhat baffling. Belle hit 50 in the shortened season, also knocking in 126; Martinez had a better batting average and OPS than either Belle or Vaughn, but he was clearly hurt by the fact that he didn’t play the field. He hit so well, however, that he was still worth 8.7 wins above replacement, nearly four more than Vaughn. Belle, who had a good fielding year in left, was worth 11.2, more than twice as many as Vaughn. Martinez and Belle were also 1-2 in the league in VORP. Of course, these are all fairly complicated stats that weren’t in any kind of common use then, and furthermore they don’t take into account the fact that Belle was a jackass. Baseball writers have been known to be somewhat vindictive about these things. Still, with the stats already favoring Belle and the Indians going a rather astonishing 100-44 in the shortened campaign, it’s kind of amazing people were that unwilling to vote for him. He did only lose by eight points, but there’s basically no excuse for this one. Belle was the most valuable player in the league by a pretty wide margin; it’s hard to find any reason except that writers didn’t like him. Not sure how that explains Barry Bonds’ seven MVPs, but then he’d probably have more if he were more likable, too.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

You just don't get it, do you, Volume III

I suppose we have no one to blame but ourselves. The sports media has spent so much time over the past few years pushing football as the American sport, and every possible game as event viewing, and every play as war - a few weeks ago, I actually heard a radio host say "Anyone who says football isn't war is lying," which made me want to put him on the next plane to Iraq - that it was inevitable that someone like Nick Saban would say something like Nick Saban said after Alabama's (admittedly embarrassing) home loss to Louisiana-Monroe last week. But I don't know if anyone thought he'd go quite this far.
"Changes in history usually occur after some kind of catastrophic event," Saban said. "It may be 9/11, which sort of changed the spirit of America relative to catastrophic events. Pearl Harbor kind of got us ready for World War II, and that was a catastrophic event."


I rather enjoy his qualifications there - 9/11 sort of changed the spirit of America, Pearl Harbor kind of got us ready for World War II - but more importantly it's simultaneously hilarious and horrifying that he thought these were valid comparisons. Weren't there any sports metaphors he could have drawn on, or something vague and cliché like "It's always darkest before the dawn"? Football is not a matter of life and death; I'm sorry, it's just not. I like football, but the way this country treats it these days is just worrying. It's encroaching rather heavily on things that actually matter, and that's not a good thing. Losing a football game is not a "catastrophe." Turning a football program around, however impressive, does not rate as a "change in history" on the level of fucking World War II.

Of course, it's not so much Saban's rampant hyperbole that was the problem. It was the refusal to back off those words; usually people realize they've gone too far and quickly backtrack, but the follow-up statement from the program was basically that Saban hadn't said what he obviously had.

"What Coach Saban said did not correlate losing a football game with tragedy, everyone needs to understand that. He was not equating losing football games to those catastrophic events," football spokesman Jeff Purinton said in a statement to The Associated Press. "The message was that true spirit and unity become evident in the most difficult of times. Those were two tremendous examples that everyone can identify with."

correlate (v.) To put or bring into causal, complementary, parallel, or reciprocal relation.
I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that Saban bringing up 9/11 and Pearl Harbor as things that "changed history" and were "catastrophic events" as a way of explaining how a home loss to Louisiana-Monroe was a "catastrophic event" that would "change history" constitutes, at the very least, a parallel relation. As far as whether he was literally equating them, no, I don't think I would argue that, but it doesn't really matter. Simply putting them in the same thought invites the equation on the part of the listener, and that's problematic enough.

On the bright side, if Alabama gets blown out by Auburn in the Iron Bowl we ought to be able to look forward to an inappropriate comparison of mammoth proportions. Maybe something involving slavery, or the Holocaust? That's about the only place left to go.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

There's no news but beard news

You will, of course, recall the beard contest being held at work. We are now two weeks in. As a refresher, here's what I looked like on November 5:



Here is what I looked like on November 19, two weeks later (and, of course, yesterday):



I cleaned up the neck, because it would have been ridiculous if I'd gone four weeks without shaving anything. So I went from "guy who has gone way too long without shaving/hideous forest creature" to "guy who is actively sporting a clean beard." I don't think it's that bad a look, all things considered, although there's no way in hell I keep it beyond December 5.

Right now I'm leaning towards "friendly muttonchops," simply because I think that would just look incredibly silly, which is kind of the goal. I hope it gets full enough that it looks "funny silly" and not "can't grow a beard silly"; I think of all people I'm going to have one of the most full beards after a month, but a key part of friendly muttonchops (or its close cousin, the Franz Josef) is the mustache, and I've never grown an especially good one. So we'll see.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Enough already

It's obvious why the tabloid press spends so much time focusing on Britney Spears. She's a colossal train wreck of the absolute highest magnitude, the kind of cautionary tale that makes everyone else in the world breathe a sigh of relief and thank God they don't have her problems. She's just like some woman living in a trailer in Appalachia who won the Powerball and now can spend every day going to Starbucks and not working. It's baffling that she managed to have two kids despite having the maternal instincts of a wet towel. And so forth.

But do you think it can stop being news when 85 paparazzi crowd around her car, taking pictures and blinding her with flashes, and then something happens?

TMZ caught Brit at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills, where the drivin' popwreck was surrounded by photogs as she made her way into the parking lot. The paps refused to move, despite several warnings and documented footage of how Britney rolls. Moments later, Brit shockingly rolled her new wheels over a guy's foot.

Honestly, if there's anyone in the world I have less sympathy for than Britney Spears, it's the people whose only job is to crowd around her car just waiting for her to do something dumb. I have an idea, guy: maybe don't get so close to the car that the tire could roll over your foot? It reminds me of that old State Farm ad that annoyed Alma, because in it the woman rolls over her husband's foot in the car and the ad is all, "Ha ha, stupid women drivers," but really, why was the guy standing with his foot under the wheel right as she was trying to back out of the driveway?

I mean, really. She shockingly ran over his foot? I don't think so. Hell, just look at this story, which implicitly blames Britney for a guy getting hit by a car. And what, exactly, was that guy doing?

Several cars were in line chasing the pop princess when one hit another photog on a motorcycle, throwing the rider off the bike and onto the road. We're told the rider was seriously injured and transported to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. His current condition is unknown.

UPDATE: We're told that the injured person is what is known as a "spotter," and does not actually carry a camera. He will follow the star and tip off other photographers to her whereabouts.

So he's a professional stalker? I know that public figures have to give up certain assumptions of privacy, but how is this nonsense even legal? Also note that Britney had nothing to do with the accident except that it involved multiple idiots chasing her, but the article runs with a picture of her looking crazy as usual, so the casual reader is likely to think, "Britney's at it again!"

Sorry to go all Chris Crocker on you there. But I think we've reached the saturation point with this stuff. Does the media really not have anything better to do?

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue

I've been on something of a personal betterment kick lately, brought on by a recent mental breakthrough that I was holding myself back from maturing as a person for no good reason. As a result, I've been doing things like taking the garbage out regularly, beginning the arduous process of cleaning my room (about which more anon), and taking more control of my finances. Somewhat, although not entirely, related to this is the recent realization that I seem to have acid reflux; I'd been having minor chest pains for a while and chalked it up to muscle aches until a trip to the lunch buffet at the Indian restaurant in our building resulted in me eating too much too quickly and getting the same pains as a result. After a consultation with my dad, I decided to cut 99% of carbonation and 100% of caffeine out of my diet - so long, four daily Diet Cokes - and attempt to eat slower (only some success here so far) and in more moderate amounts (more success; I actually took home leftovers when Alma and I went out last Saturday night, which is probably the first time that's happened in ten years). This will probably also assist in the eventual weight loss goal, and probably in money-saving (I'm trying my hand at bringing lunch from home, which I estimate could easily save me 20 bucks every week).

At any rate, the payoff for this is that we happen to be in the midst of the single-busiest two-week stretch of the year at work. Probably not the absolute best time to give up caffeine - I was in the office for 13 hours today, for example - but you know what? I'm sticking to it. There's little doubt in my mind that six months ago - hell, six weeks ago - I would have gotten to Wednesday and then said "Fuck it" and pumped myself full of caffeine. And although part of me feels that way right now, I think it's better for me in the long run to stick to my guns, for a variety of reasons.

Just one more week, and then it gets easier...

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

The only thing we have to fear is beard itself

I don't think I've mentioned this to more than a couple people, but my boss - effectively out of nowhere - decided that we should have a beard-growing contest at work. Yeah, I don't know either, but if there's one way to guarantee my participation, have a stupid contest that I can be good at without having to do much of anything. As you may already be aware - check out some cola or root beer taste test pictures from last winter if not - I'm pretty hairy, particularly on my face, but aside from the goatee area I've never gone more than a week or so without shaving. So this should be interesting. And probably itchy.

We're taking weekly status photos, so I figured I'd post them here. Gives me some actual Flax-related content for a change, instead of complaints about shitty writers or goofy news commentary.

Week One


One of the guys had the idea that we should hold up that day's paper; I'm not sure why, since you can't even read the date and I'm not sure how anyone was supposed to be "cheating." It'd be one thing if I held a beard contest on this site and made people hold up that day's paper to prove they hadn't shaved ahead of time to get a growth head start. Everyone in the contest works in the same office, so I don't think anyone was really going to be able to pull that one off. It just makes us look like hostages. Note that even though I had shaved maybe five hours earlier, you can already see a five o'clock shadow.

Week Two


I think it's just the shirt, and possibly the way I'm standing and/or my distance from the camera, but doesn't it look like I put on 20 pounds in a week? Awesome. And yeah, this is me having gone a mere week without shaving. Considering this is as long as I let it go before shaving in any normal situation, I'm a little scared to see what it's going to look like in another week. I'm just hopeful I don't get mistaken for an escaped primate and dragged off to Brookfield.

Here's where you, the viewers at home, come in. This isn't merely a growth contest; at the end of a month, the rest of the department will vote on whose beard is the best, including such elements as style. Simply trying to out-hair (what?) the rest of the crowd isn't going to be enough (especially since, improbably, I may be only the second-hairiest guy taking part). So feel free to make suggestions in the comments as to styles I could perhaps use at the end of the month. I'm not sure if I'll have enough hair by then to accommodate all possibilities, but I'd like to know what's out there.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

How Scoop Jackson spent his summer vacation

There is not a worse working writer than Scoop Jackson right now, among sizeable media outlets. You cannot convince me otherwise. The guy's been terrible from the moment he walked in the door at ESPN.com - remember in 2005 when he wrote a column accusing Cubs fans who didn't root for the Sox to win the World Series of being racists? Yeah, good ol' Scoop, the only "journalist" in America who writes articles like they're essays by a high school freshman.

In his latest brilliant creation, Scoop takes time out from his usual shitty writing to explain how being a shitty writer enabled him to spend a day doing something that sounds cool (although in fact, it was just a big marketing blitz, which Scoop is either falling for or shamelessly going along with). Basically, he's bragging about how awesome it is to be a nationally-known writer. Which for some reason he is. I mean, this guy must have written well at some point, right?

Ever think that, one day in your life, you'd get a phone call and someone would request your presence at a once-in-a-lifetime event? Something that every sports fan, basketball fiend, kid from the 'hood, child of God, wished they could experience?

Ever think that, just a few days later. you'd be in a hotel lobby (W) in your home city, standing side-by-side with so many iconic figures in the world of urban journalism: Bobbito Garcia (Bounce), Tony Gervino (Antenna), Datwon Thomas (King), "Hawaii" Mike Salman (LTD), Jay Corbin (Rise), Ben Osborne (Slam), Steve Mullholand (Sole Collector), Memsor Kamarake (Vibe), the ridiculously attractive representative Smokey Fontaine sent over (Laura Fernandes, sportswear and entertainment manager, Giant). All waiting to get on a bus? At 10 in the morning?

I love the name-dropping here. I'm white, of course, but I've heard of basically none of these people and few of the publications. I also love how he manages to work in the fact that one of the women there was attractive (no!) and also says "10 in the morning" as though it were the crack of dawn. We're already off to a great, great start.

I'm going to skip ahead because every single paragraph is a big "Ever think?" question, each more obnoxious than the last. Ever think you'd see a supposedly serious journalist write an article with a gimmick so stupid it wouldn't even fly in an average college application essay?

Ever think that you'd get to spend an hour with Michael Jordan talking about shoes? Not interviewing him, but talking with him? Talking about his life in those shoes? And at the same time, Tinker is talking to you, lending you insight into the craft. Then a shoe is unveiled. Then you are reminded of the embargo you signed before you entered. That nothing said, heard or seen leaves this arena. Ever think you'd be one of only 28 people invited to see the new Air Jordan XX3s?

Looks like Scoop broke that embargo. As though Nike cares - "Oh no! Scoop Jackson is writing a retarded column that's building up hype for the new Air Jordans! Shut that guy down right now!" Do you think Scoop even realizes that the whole thing was clearly just part of a big publicity push, and that all these influential urban writers were expected to remember the great experience they had and talk up the shoes as a result? "Man, the Air Jordan XX3s - those are some great shoes!" Of course, Air Jordans symbolize pretty much everything that's wrong with the urban basketball culture - the triple-digit sneakers that exist primarily as status symbols, kids buying them who really can't afford to, the associated flash and me-first culture that's doing its damnedest to stifle the modern NBA. I would think Scoop Jackson - who practically doubles down on the race card - might not think Air Jordans were the greatest thing in the world. But of course, Scoop Jackson has certain reasons to like Air Jordans.

Ever think that, like Jordan after a game, you'd have a hot milk and almond pedicure prepared for you in the W at Bliss by Eboni? Ever think you'd have chill-out time after the pampering -- to do an interview, relax in rooms with mink pillows, then sit at the bar and have in-depth conversations with media luminaries like Ric Bucher and Otto Strong of ESPN The Magazine? Ever think that, everywhere you went that day, people would treat you like you were Him? That you'd have dinner at his restaurant (One Sixty Blue) with Jordan? That he'd come down from his private room, buy everyone a drink and thank us for coming, and say that he hoped we enjoyed "his experience"?

Fuck yourself, dude. Seriously. You are an ass. This is the least subtle "bragging about the perks that come with being semi-famous" piece of bullshit I have ever seen in my life. Mink pillows! A milk-and-almond pedicure! First of all, is this the Jordan Experience or the Oprah Experience? Second of all, stop bragging, you dick. You got this stuff because you're a writer who could be counted on - clearly - to fawn over Jordan and his product. It's not like you won a raffle.

Ever think that you'd be given the opportunity to be Michael Jordan for a day? Ever think that, in your lifetime, any of this could happen to you?

Neither did I.


"And between me and whoever's reading this, I'm the only one it did and will ever happen to! Suck on it!" Can you believe this was published? Can you believe the ESPN.com editors read it and said, "Yeah, that looks like a worthwhile use of column inches?" It's one of the most embarrassing things I've ever read. I'd feel sorry for Jackson if I didn't already think he was such a waste of space. Somewhere out there is a talented sportswriter who's never going to get a job because Scoop Fucking Jackson is chewing up a slot at ESPN with this garbage.

The great Fire Joe Morgan has a hilarious dissection of another Scoop anti-masterpiece. And in case you want to remember why I hate this idiot in the first place, read his blithering column from October 27, 2005, in which he not only calls Cubs fans racists, as I've mentioned, but suggests that Sox fans are the only "real" Chicago baseball fans (all 17 of them?). Nothing I've read before or since has come close to being so offensive, so shockingly uninformed (as though thousands of people didn't jump on the White Sox wagon in '05), or so generally stupid. Why does this guy have a job? What is he contributing? Granted, it's worthwhile to have different voices in a discussion, and Scoop certainly represents black culture in a way the vast majority of sportswriters don't. But there isn't anyone out there who could do the same while putting together articles that look like they were written by someone who had at least been to college? (I assume Scoop has a college degree, but it's not like you can tell.) I'll tell you this: Scoop Jackson has given me a real appreciation for Jason Whitlock. And that's saying something.

Friday, November 02, 2007

Please, try the fish

I think we all know that talking to the press is a boring, thankless job, especially if you're a mid-level political figure. You're expected to deliver every bit of news with a straight, serious face, sometimes boiling it down to easier-to-digest sound bites, and then answer questions from a throng of reporters eager to get answers. So I suppose every once in a while, you're looking to work a joke in there to lighten the mood, even if it's the stiffest, most forced joke ever, and even if it's not exactly in a very appropriate spot.

Take it away, Assistant Secretary of State Christopher Hill:

Piracy is "is a very serious security problem on the African coast. These are not pirates who will remind you of Johnny Depp. These are quite different kinds of pirates," Hill told reporters in Seoul, South Korea.

He'll be here all week, folks! Here all week for six-nation nuclear disarmament talks, that is, but I hear he's going to be moonlighting at the Seoul Zanies.

Monday, October 29, 2007

Up in the air, junior birdman

As I'm sure most of you are aware, I'm a pretty big statistical geek in a trivial sense, so when Tyler posted his list of airports he'd passed through, I was compelled to follow. Below the list, with explanations, organized by airport code rather than date since my chronology is occasionally a trifle fuzzy.

AKL - Auckland. This was the airport into which we flew on the People to People New Zealand trip in 2000, as well as out of again on the way to Australia.

ALB - Albany, NY. This one I would never have remembered/known on my own, but my mom informed me that when I was a little kid - really little, like in the early 80s - we would fly into Albany to visit her family in upstate New York.

ATL - Atlanta. I've connected here a couple times, including on the way to the Super Bowl in 1997 and on the way back from San Francisco this summer. This was also the airport we flew into and out of for the quiz bowl HSNCT in 2000.

AUS - Austin, TX. Flew into here for TRASHionals in 2006.

BNE - Brisbane, Australia. We flew from Auckland to Brisbane to start the Australia leg of the aforementioned 2000 student ambassador trip.

BOS - Boston's Logan Airport. I was here for TRASHionals 2003 and I think that's it.

CCS - Caracas, Venezuela. In third grade, we went down to Caracas on a business trip of my dad's that he added some pleasure days to so it could be a family vacation. The first couple days we stayed in a large, swanky European-style hotel. Then when the business part stopped applying and the hotel wasn't comped, we had to switch to a lesser establishment in downtown Caracas where the water in the whole neighborhood stopped running after the first night. Sweet.

CLE - Cleveland. I think I've changed planes here a couple times. I'm pretty sure one was when my sister and I flew sans parents to Arizona to visit my grandparents, and we had a layover in Cleveland on the way back. I definitely stopped here on the convoluted trip back from the Super Bowl in 1997.

CLT - Charlotte, NC. We stopped here at least once on the way to England - US Air had a big hub in Charlotte (I suppose they probably still do) and so we had to fly down before we could fly back up and over.

CMH - Columbus, OH. Another layover-only destination, part of the trip back from quiz bowl ICT in 2003 in Los Angeles.

CPT - Cape Town, South Africa. Another People to People trip, this one in 1997. See Johannesburg.

DCA - Washington DC National. Some call it Reagan; I prefer not to. This is now my second "home" airport; I flew out of here as recently as Sunday.

DEN - Denver. Had at least two Phoenix-bound layovers here in the late 90s, including one where we ended up having to stay in a hotel overnight before catching our flight onward. I remember seeing the video for "...Baby One More Time" for the first time in the hotel room and thinking Britney Spears was super hot, so that should tell you just how long ago this was.

DFW - Dallas/Fort Worth. I think I passed through here just twice, to and from the Alamo Bowl in 2000. We connected to San Antonio from here.

EWR - Newark, NJ. Quite obviously, this was my home airport growing up. Virtually every trip I took over an almost 15-year period originated from this airport, with only two or three exceptions.

IAD - Washington DC Dulles. I believe it was in 2004 when I flew into this one instead of National on the way to see my parents, but it's been DCA ever since.

IAH - Houston. This was the first connection, pre-Cleveland, on the way back from Super Bowl XXXI in 1997.

JFK - JFK, of course, in New York. This was the origination point for I believe two international trips, to Caracas and London with People to People in 1996. I think the South Africa trip started in Newark, though I'm not 100%. My mom might remember.

JNB - Johannesburg, South Africa. We flew into here for the 1997 South Africa trip with People to People. After making our way across the country by bus, we flew out of Cape Town back to Johannesburg, and then out. I guess Cape Town's airport just wasn't big enough for that kind of international flight.

LAX - Los Angeles. Prominent as this airport is, I think I've only included it on three trips, and then one of those was a stopover. In 1992, the family took a trip to California which landed here (and we also flew out of here to go up the coast); in 2000, I had to stop here on the way to New Zealand and from Australia; and in 2003 we flew into and out of here for the ICT at UCLA.

LGW - London Gatwick. I believe it was our first trip to London, in November 1993, where we landed at this one instead of Heathrow. My recollection is that it was way in the middle of nowhere and required a substantial journey on British Rail to get into the city (as opposed to Heathrow, which is on the Underground).

LHR - London Heathrow. The airport for the other two England trips, in 1994 and 1996.

MDW - Chicago Midway. I'm pretty sure I've only used this airport twice, at least since coming out here in 2000. Once for the 2001 Carleton Undergrad Tournament (pre-renovation) and once to fly ATA to Boston for 2003 TRASHionals (post-renovation). I also drove down once with Drew to pick up Karen on her return from somewhere (presumably Islip), but that doesn't count.

MOB - Mobile, AL. Possibly the smallest airport on the list; my recollection is it only had a handful of gates. Also, we flew a commuter jet in from Atlanta and a prop plane out to Houston. This is what happens when you get last-second tickets to the Super Bowl in New Orleans and the flights into that airport are jammed up.

MSP - Minneapolis/St. Paul. We flew into and out of here for the Carleton tournament in 2001. Looking back it seems like a real waste of funds, but that's what A-status and having Dan Hirt as your treasurer get you.

MSY - New Orleans. Despite the Mobile fiasco, I did end up getting to the New Orleans airport when Alma and I flew down there in 2006.

OAK - Oakland, CA. Back-to-back convention-related stops. Alma and I used this as our destination on the way to San Francisco back in August since flights were cheaper than to SFO.

ORD - Chicago O'Hare. Well, naturally. Even before I lived out here I had already been through O'Hare many a time between 1986 and 1994, when we made frequent visits to my dad's family (although a good portion of those trips were for a while made by train). Of course now it's my home airport and my departure point in just about every case.

PHL - Philadelphia. We used this as our departure point on the way to Phoenix once, during the period where we had the townhouse in Blue Bell, PA.

PHX - Phoenix. Probably flew into and out of here roughly a dozen times between 1994 and 2000, visiting my grandparents. Since graduating high school, I haven't been down there, however. I've been talking with my parents and grandparents about a possible trip out in early 2008.

RAI - Praia, Cape Verde. This has to be the oddest one on the list, and in fact I challenge anyone to top it in the comments. We had a brief layover in Cape Verde on the way back from South Africa in 1997; there's a picture of me in front of a sign in the airport somewhere, although honestly the pictures from that trip capture me in my most awkward moments of late-stage puberty, so it's not like I'm going to show them to you. At any rate, we're talking about a country that had been independent for just 22 years when I stopped there, that has a population of less than half a million, and has a total land area in the whole archipelago of 1,556 square miles, smaller than Delaware. Praia is located on the island of São Tiago, which at 383 square miles is about 40% the size of Cook County. So, yeah. Pretty interesting one, I think. Sadly, all I got to see was the inside of the airport.

SAT - San Antonio. Probably the second-smallest airport on the list besides Mobile, although Albany can't have been that big (I just don't remember) and I recall the Praia airport being pretty small (but I'm thinking now it must have been larger to accommodate the transatlantic flights stopping to fuel there). We flew into here (through DFW) for the Alamo Bowl in 2000.

SFO - San Francisco. We flew back to New Jersey from here at the end of our California trip in 1992.

SJC - San Jose, CA. We flew from LAX up to here for the second, northern leg of the 1992 California trip. It was at an amusement park in Santa Cruz that I went on what I think was my only roller coaster ever; it was a water coaster that really did no rolling to speak of, it just went up, drove around, and then plunged down into some water. On the way down my hand slipped on the wet railing and I went face first into the padded front, bending the frame of my pre-spring-hinges glasses out of shape. We had to find an optician in San Francisco to give me a temporary fix, which was just a little black rubber band around the top of the stem. Stories are fun! Anyway, maybe that's one of the reasons I don't go on roller coasters.

SLC - Salt Lake City. We flew through here on the way to Oakland in August. Salt Lake City is exactly as boring from the sky as you'd think, though the lake is pretty neat.

SYD - Sydney, Australia. We end the list with one of the more exotic entries. I actually only passed through this airport once, as the entry point into Australia was Brisbane. After making our way down the coasts of Queensland and New South Wales, we spent a couple days in Sydney before flying back to LAX at the conclusion of the 2000 trip.

So that's my list. I count 36 airports, 27 domestic and 9 international. A fairly respectable list, I think, given that I'm only 25. All are welcome to post their lists in the comments (except of course Tyler - well, he's welcome to, it just seems redundant). I'd be interested to see how readers of this blog (all four of you) are represented on this front.

The spirit of giving

For those of you not lucky enough to be at the 9:30 Club on Saturday night, NPR actually did a live webcast of the show, which is now archived on their website. Check it out. I think if you listen really, really closely, you can hear me singing along from the balcony.*








*no you can't

Sunday, October 28, 2007

It came out magical

I came out to DC for the weekend because my sister got my dad tickets for the New Pornographers concert as a belated Fathers' Day present and I'm the other NPs fan in the family, so it made the most sense for me to go with him. It was pretty awesome, as I imagine readers who have been to past shows of theirs (and I know at least one of you has) would be aware. My ears are ringing just a bit. Your set list (broken down by album as I remember very little of the actual order aside from where noted):

Mass Romantic
Mass Romantic
The Slow Descent into Alcoholism (encore; final song)
Jackie (encore)

Electric Version
The Electric Version
From Blown Speakers (encore)
The Laws Have Changed
The New Face of Zero and One (false start; encore)
Testament to Youth in Verse

Twin Cinema
Twin Cinema
The Bones of an Idol (encore)
Use It
The Bleeding Heart Show (final pre-encore song)
Jackie, Dressed in Cobras
Sing Me Spanish Techno

Challengers
My Rights Versus Yours
All the Old Showstoppers
Challengers
Myriad Harbour
All the Things That Go to Make Heaven and Earth (opener)
Unguided
Go Places
Adventures in Solitude
The Spirit of Giving

22 songs is a pretty solid set and, for that matter, a pretty good chunk of the band's entire catalog, which only spans 51 official album tracks. And they were all awesome. I'm usually not a huge proponent of live shows because songs often sound so different than they do on the album, but this was a case where the songs were all well-executed while at the same time having a definite energy that differentiated them from their studio brethren. It was wholly enjoyable. I might have liked to have been able to see the stage better, but we showed up at 10 as the second opening act was wrapping up (doors opened at 8 but the NPs part of the show didn't start for fully three hours, so we said "Screw that" and headed over late), so I can't be surprised that it was already crowded. (There were certainly people who showed up even later than we did.)

So yeah. Not a whole lot else to say, I guess - it was a great show, and while the airfare made it a pretty expensive one, I'd still say it was pretty close to worth it.

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Old!

Happy birthday to my sister, who makes me feel incredibly old by turning 21 today. I know it's been a while since I was 21, but to think that it's fully four years behind me is a little crazy.

For the record: a present is on its way shortly.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

You just don't get it, do you, Volume II

I'm old enough to remember when Suzyn Waldman was nothing more than the Yankees beat reporter for WFAN. Since then she's gone on to bigger things, but she's always stuck to the Yankees beat. Some would argue too much.

After Waldman's description of Roger Clemens' return to the Yankees this year as one of the most dramatic things she had ever seen (because what's more dramatic than a washed-up multi-millionaire cashing in mercenarily one last time?), few would have thought she could be more embarrassing on the air. But if you didn't think so, you would be wrong.

Following the Yankees' loss the other night, Waldman cried on air. That's right. Cried. A professional broadcaster cried for no other reason than that the team she covers lost a playoff series and the coach might not come back as a result. A particularly amusing take on the issue (if the name "Chris Crocker" means anything to you) is here.

Some might have called this embarrassing. Some might have said it set back female reporters twenty years. Waldman said... people criticizing her are sexist!

"This one's getting me angry, because I don't play this card a lot, but this is as sexist as it gets," the Yankees' radio analyst said yesterday.

You're kidding me, right? This is the exact opposite of sexism. People who think that there should be no restrictions in the genders of sports reporters are bothered by this because it invites sexism. Sports reporters should not be crying because the teams they cover lose. It's unprofessional. And because Waldman is a woman, it invites the ridicule of people who actually are sexist and don't think women should be in the booth. Suzyn Waldman: you don't get it.

What's that? You want to embarrass yourself further? You'd like to pull the card of a terrible disease?

"The idea that I can't choke up because a man I went through cancer with 11 years ago is going to lose his job and I was describing his coaches crying? It's absolutely ludicrous."

Fun fact: talking about crying makes you cry. It's kind of like yawning. That's just science, people. Look it up. Also: I certainly don't want to diminish the battle with cancer, especially since someone very close to me went through it, but the mere fact that Waldman and Torre had different types of cancer at the same time? I'm not sure that gives them some super-special bond. Especially since Waldman notionally has journalistic objectivity. Also also? 11 years ago. Also also also? While I suppose technically Torre may "lose his job," he's not getting fired. He's not going to get a new contract. Maybe. It's not even official. Come on.

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

Whither A-Rod?

[I debated whether or not to post this in the Cubs blog, since it's all about baseball and the word "Cubs" will appear again in this post. But ultimately I do try to keep that blog Cubs-related, and anyway I don't think you can reasonably expect to totally avoid sports if you're reading my blog. I kinda like sports.]

Now that the elimination of the Yankees has almost entirely wiped away the depression I was feeling post-NLDS, it's time to start thinking about certain possibilities for next year. In particular, it's time to start wondering about the fate of the game's most productive soon-to-be-free-agent-maybe, Alex Rodriguez. The body of the Yankee "dynasty" is still warm, but with Joe Torre apparently about to succumb to George Steinbrenner's win-or-you're-fired ultimatum (although it's a little odd to see everyone reporting this as "Torre to be fired!" when in fact his contract is up at the end of this season and he simply won't be renewed), it may be time to discuss the inheritance. The question, naturally, is: who's going to "inherit" A-Rod?

Noted horse's ass Scott Boras hasn't yet convinced A-Rod to opt out of the remaining three years on his contract, but one gets the feeling that the Yankees will have to offer a pretty hefty contract extension - something along the lines of five or six years at maybe $150-$175 million total - for Boras not to push Rodriguez to test the market, especially when he seems to have convinced himself that he can land A-Rod a contract worth $30 million a year for perhaps as many as ten years. (Personally I think Boras is deluding himself here; Rodriguez's contract with the Rangers, worth a "mere" $25 million per, was such an albatross that even the Yankees insisted on the Rangers covering a good 28% of it in the trade that sent A-Rod to New York. Why would anyone sign him for more money than that, especially now that he's already in his early 30s? Even if we accept Boras' contention that A-Rod is a super athlete who can play well into his 40s and at a productive level, it's hard to imagine any franchise making that kind of long-term gamble, even those with the payrolls to afford A-Rod in the first place. Would you want to be paying anyone $25 million at the age of 42?)

So: where might A-Rod end up? Based on payrolls alone, I think there are only a few real possibilities.

Angels: 4 to 1
Playing in a sizable (if unexcitable) market in Los Angeles, the Angels have the pockets to spend for A-Rod and an owner in Arte Moreno who has indicated a desire to land a big-name free agent. The story on the Angels has for years been that they need another big bat to complement and/or protect Vlad Guerrero, who himself is not getting any younger; A-Rod would certainly do that. Third base and short were both occupied by good players (Chone Figgins, Orlando Cabrera) in 2007, but no one who couldn't be moved for a guy who just had perhaps the best season by an American Leaguer since Ted Williams in 1949. Anaheim is also a perennial contender in the West and would be willing and able to add payroll around him; surely A-Rod won't make the Texas mistake twice.

Mets: 6 to 1
The Mets already have an awful lot of money tied up in big boppers, but they play in New York and seem to have their finger on the pulse of every big free agent deal. There's just one problem with the Mets, or more accurately two problems: David Wright and Jose Reyes. The media is already trying to sell a Reyes-to-Twins-for-Santana deal, however, so the shortstop's days with the Mets may not be that much longer. It would give A-Rod a chance to prove he could win in New York without having to deal with the Yankee "mystique" hanging over his head constantly. The only question is, are the Mets going to have the pitching to be serious contenders, or would it just be this year's Yankees - a Murderer's Row lineup submarined by awful pitching - all over again?

Dodgers: 15 to 1
The Dodgers already have a lot of money tied up in Rafael Furcal at short (snicker), but A-Rod could keep playing third and Nomar could either depart or move to first while James Loney is shipped out in a bid to get Johan Santana. My only question here is, do the Dodgers have the payroll to go after Santana and A-Rod? And even if they do, would they really want to tie up that much in two players? By 2009 they'd probably be paying them $45 million a year. Not that that's not a great start to a team.

Cubs: 50 to 1
With all due respect to Ryan Theriot, the Cubs' shortstop position would be right there for the taking should they attempt to bring A-Rod to town. The presence of Lou Piniella is certainly a point in the Cubs' favor - and in fact it's the key one that has led the Cubs to be the #1 fill-in-the-blank for people doing the whole "talk about where A-Rod will be next year" routine in various humorous sports blogs like Deadspin - but the up-in-the-air ownership situation is a strike against this happening. It's also unclear whether a new owner would be interested in committing that kind of money to one player, especially with some of the contracts already on the books.

Red Sox: 500 to 1
While Johnny Damon felt no guilt about skipping Boston for the Yankees, I get the feeling Red Sox management knows their fanbase well enough that they wouldn't want to bring A-Rod to town at this point (hello, ball-slapping incident from the 2004 ALCS), nor would the fans want him - plus after the J.D. Drew fiasco, is another high-priced Boras client really going to be Boston's next move? A-Rod could take over third from Mike Lowell, who seems like his career rejuvenation is a product of Fenway Park and not much else, and/or would be an upgrade from the disappointing Julio Lugo (although then what do you do with him?), but the fact that the aborted A-Rod trade in the winter of 2003 led indirectly to the Red Sox winning the 2004 World Series won't be lost on the Boston faithful. (By the way, remember Steinbrenner's unbelievably arrogant, douchebag remark about how John Henry hadn't done enough for Boston's fans in failing to see the A-Rod trade to completion, allowing the Yankees to swoop in and get it done? How stupid does that look now that the Sox won the World Series that same year and the Yankee fans are ready to chase A-Rod out of town after a few early exits?)

Giants: 5,000 to 1
I've heard San Francisco bandied about as one possible destination. But do you really want to follow the act that is Barry Bonds? Also, I'm unconvinced that SF could afford A-Rod and still be able to build around him, which they'd need to do since the core of the team now is ancient. And I don't see A-Rod heading for another fixer-upper. Again, Texas taught him a lesson: don't sign anywhere just for the money. With that in mind...

Yankees: OFF
The odds for this could be anywhere from 1:1 to 10,000:1. I'm not really sure. It depends on A-Rod's mindset regarding how he's been treated in New York. He's paid lip service to the idea of being committed to winning a World Series in NY, but a large portion of the media and fans there seem to have convinced themselves that A-Rod is a big playoff choker who won't ever lead New York to the glory that Jeter did. (Never mind that the far bigger problem of the last four years has been pitching - the ERA of the Yankees' staff has been over five in three of their last four playoff series - or that Jeter vanished in the '04 ALCS as well as this year's Division Series.) If you're A-Rod, do you want to stick around for that? He seems to want to be loved and I'm not sure Yankees fans are ever really going to want to accept him, even if the Yankees do win a World Series with him.

At the same time, A-Rod is surely aware of the way history will perceive a guy who played for (at least) four different teams and bounced around. Five full years in Seattle, three in Texas, four in New York... what logo would appear on his Hall of Fame cap? Staying in New York long-term would at least settle that debate, and he could keep taking shots at the playoffs. On the other hand, if he re-ups and has another bad October, it might get too stifling, even for him. And does New York even offer the best chance to win right away? With Torre gone and a pitching staff being rebuilt from the ground up, it's possible the Yankees' next serious title bid is a handful of years away. He can probably wait, but how will those years change the public perception of him?

If A-Rod opts out and leaves New York, he runs the risk of being branded with the mark of coward; another athlete dogged with the shame of failing under the country's brightest lights. But if he stays there and doesn't succeed, virtually the same thing happens. By contrast, if he goes somewhere where the pressure to win isn't quite as ludicrous, and gets over the hump there, I think people will forget about the fact that he couldn't win in New York, and assign the blame where it's really due - to that horrendous pitching staff. (The Yankees didn't finish higher than sixth in league ERA from 2004 to 2007, and that's just the regular season where it's easier to get away with it.)

Wherever A-Rod does end up, hopefully it's away from the Yankees and their fans, who don't deserve him. He's a great player who has had a handful of bad series; he's only played 39 postseason games total, less than a third the total of Derek Jeter, whose supposedly super-clutch postseason stats merely reflect his regular season statistics, which happen to be pretty good. A-Rod's postseason stats don't match his regular season stats right now, but we're talking a pretty small sample size - 39 games? That's a six-week slump, hardly unheard of. If the Yankee fans are dumb enough to run a .300/40/120 guy - and often better than those numbers - out of town because of a couple bad playoff series, they deserve to see him go off and win a title with the Mets or Angels or Dodgers. It'd only be fitting.

I do think there's a good chance A-Rod ends up back on the Yankees, though. Boras will have some idea before he tells A-Rod to opt out if there's any team that's going to pay more than $25 million a year; when there's not, Boras will work on extension talks with the Yankees, who have said they won't negotiate if Boras has A-Rod opt out of the current deal. Is there a chance someone throws 27 or 28 per year on the table? Sure. I think it's unlikely, though.

Friday, October 05, 2007

You just don't get it, do you

"Ten years ago, someone would never get fired for their blog. This is such a sign of the times."

That is because ten years ago, 15 people had blogs and Google didn't exist yet.

If you're going to use your blog to complain about your workplace in detail, including specific personal attacks on your coworkers, maybe you don't want to also have pictures of yourself on your site, you unfathomably stupid person.

In other news, Harriet Welsch feels that ten years ago, someone would never get ostracized for keeping a notebook that bad-mouthed all of their classmates, then having them find and read it.

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

A losing proposition

I've been a little down on Bill Simmons lately, as you may have noticed, but his "Levels of Losing" column - originally written some five years ago - remains a pretty accurate summation of the many different varieties of heartbreak sports fans can go through. He updated it the other day to include the Mets' collapse down the stretch, and it made me wonder just how many of the levels - of which there are now 16 - I'd personally experienced in a way that affected me at all. With any luck, a summation of all the ways I've been smacked around by sports over the years will provide some sort of exorcism of my demons prior to the playoffs this year - I find myself having difficulty getting as excited for the Cubs as I should, because half of me is deathly afraid that they'll find ever more creative ways to rip my heart out - but if they do win, how can I enjoy it as much if I was sitting there the whole time expecting them to lose? So maybe if I get all this down, I can relax a bit and try to actually enjoy their time in the playoffs, hopefully for the next month. So, here goes.

Level XVI: The Princeton Principle
Simmons' definition: "When a Cinderella team hangs tough against a heavy favorite, but the favorite somehow prevails in the end (like Princeton almost toppling Georgetown in the '89 NCAAs). ... This one stings because you had low expectations, but those gritty underdogs raised your hopes."
Personal memory: I don't think this has ever happened to a team I had a year-long stake in, but I've jumped on the wagons of several #16 seeds in the NCAA tournament, only to be crushed when they inevitably couldn't seal the deal. The Holy Cross team that led Kansas for much of the way in 2002 is probably the archetypal example of this.

Level XV: The Achilles' Heel
Simmons' definition: "This defeat transcends the actual game, because it revealed something larger about your team, a fatal flaw exposed for everyone to see. ... Flare guns are fired, red flags are raised, doubt seeps into your team. ... Usually the beginning of the end. (You don't fully comprehend this until you're reflecting back on it.)"
Personal memory: It's hard to argue that the Bears' Achilles' heel of Rex Grossman was only exposed in the Super Bowl last year, but after Rex's woeful second half of the season, he had a couple decent playoff games and everyone talked themselves back into his abilities. Naturally, Grossman wilted in the spotlight; while his 20-for-28, 165 yards doesn't look bad on paper, it's the two interceptions - one returned for a TD in the fourth quarter to ice the Colts' win - that really hurt. He also fumbled the ball twice, losing one, and managed to lead just a single touchdown drive.

Level XIV: The Alpha Dog
Simmons' definition: "It might have been a devastating loss, but at least you could take solace that a superior player made the difference in the end. ... Unfortunately, he wasn't playing for your team. ... You feel more helpless here than anything."
Personal memory: Simmons' key example here is Michael Jordan in the '97 and '98 Finals against Utah, though of course those were good memories for me. Going the other way, I might look at any game in the 1998 NLDS - the Cubs didn't play badly at all, but the hitters just had a very difficult time against the Smoltz-Glavine-Maddux trifecta, scoring four runs in the three games. All told, the Cubs had a .220 OBP in the series.

Level XIII: The Rabbit's Foot
Simmons' definition: "Now we're starting to get into "Outright Painful" territory. ... This applies to those frustrating games and/or series in which every single break seemingly goes against your team. ... Unbelievably frustrating."
Personal memory: The 1997 NHL playoffs second round, where the Devils were the #1 seed but lost to the fifth-seeded (and hated rival) Rangers in five games thanks to a perfect storm of bad breaks and multiple disallowed goals.

Level XII: The Sudden Death
Simmons' definition: "Is there another fan experience quite like overtime hockey, when every slap shot, breakaway and centering pass might spell doom, and losing feels 10 times worse than winning feels good (if that makes sense)?"
Personal memory: Though this was far too devastating to rank as low as Level XII (and I'll probably call it up again later), the most obvious example of this is Game 7 of the 1994 Eastern Conference Finals, with Stephane Matteau's OT goal eliminating the Devils. I still refuse to watch or listen to coverage of the end of that game.

Level XI: Dead Man Walking
Simmons' definition: "Applies to any playoff series in which your team remains "alive," but they just suffered a loss so catastrophic and so harrowing that there's no possible way they can bounce back. ... Especially disheartening because you wave the white flag mentally, but there's a tiny part of you still holding out hope for a miraculous momentum change. ... So you've given up, but you're still getting hurt, if that makes sense."
Personal memory: Obviously, Game 7 of the 2003 NLCS (Simmons' personal selection is Game 7 of the 1986 WS, which is basically the same thing).

Level X: The Monkey Wrench
Simmons' definition: "Any situation in which either (A) the manager/coach of your team made an idiotic game decision or (B) a referee/umpire robbed your team of impending victory. ... The Monkey Wrench Game gains steam as the days and months roll along."
Personal memory: The one that bothered me the most was Game 1 of the 1996 ALCS, when Rich Garcia killed the Orioles by inexplicably allowing Derek Jeter's home run, pulled over the fence by noted piece of shit Jeffrey Maier. This only intensified for me the next day as the local papers effectively gloated over the Yankees having gotten away with one, including the headline so annoying I still remember it word-for-word, "Kid who saved Yanks is toast of Old Tappan." Fuck everyone in Old Tappan. The two red cards in the U.S.-Italy game in the 2006 World Cup qualify for a mention here as well, although since the U.S. didn't actually lose that game, it's an imperfect example.

Level IX: The Full-Fledged Butt-Kicking
Simmons' definition: "Sometimes you can tell right away when it isn't your team's day. ... And that's the worst part, not just the epiphany but everything that follows -- every botched play; every turnover; every instance where someone on your team quits; every "deer in the headlights" look; every time an announcer says, "They can't get anything going"; every shot of the opponents celebrating; every time you look at the score and think to yourself, "Well, if we score here and force a turnover, maybe we'll get some momentum," but you know it's not going to happen, because you're already 30 points down. ... You just want it to end, and it won't end."
Personal memory: The 2000 Alamo Bowl - won by Nebraska over Northwestern 66-17, setting a record for points scored by a winning team in a bowl - comes to mind. This one was all the worse because I was in San Antonio for the game, meaning I didn't have the option of just turning the TV off. And although butt-kickings are a little less dramatic when 3-0 is a huge blowout, the Czechs' 3-0 win over the U.S. to open the 2006 World Cup deserves a mention.

Level VIII: The "This Can't Be Happening"
Simmons' definition: "The sibling of the Full-Fledged Butt-Kicking. ... You're supposed to win, you expect to win, the game is a mere formality. ... Suddenly your team falls behind, your opponents are fired up, the clock is ticking and it dawns on you for the first time, "Oh, my God, this can't be happening.""
Personal memory: The game in 2000 where Northwestern went to Iowa fresh off the dramatic win over Michigan and stumbled to a 27-17 loss that cost us the Rose Bowl (and landed us in the Nebraska ass-kicking of the Alamo). The 3-1 United States loss to Poland in the 2002 World Cup rates up there as well.

Level VII: The Drive-By Shooting
Simmons' definition: "A first cousin of The "This Can't Be Happening" Game, we created this one four weeks ago to describe any college football upset in which a 30-point underdog shocks a top-5 team in front of 108,000 of its fans and kills its title hopes before Labor Day."
Personal memory: Simmons states that this can only happen in college football, and from an American standpoint he's right. But this definition applies pretty well to Cup games in soccer (particularly in the large European leagues), where a tiny team from the lower divisions can rise up and knock off a Premiership side - which from a scale perspective is really much more impressive than Michigan losing to the D-I-AA champion. Manchester City's losses to Doncaster in 2005 and Chesterfield in 2006 in early rounds of the Carling Cup are both games that absolutely killed me.

Level VI: The Broken Axle
Simmons' definition: "When the wheels come flying off in a big game, leading to a complete collapse down the stretch. ... This one works best for basketball, like Game 3 of the Celtics-Nets series in 2002, or Game 7 of the Blazers-Lakers series in 2000."
Personal memory: In games 3 and 6 of the 2007 Eastern Conference semifinals, the Bulls took significant halftime leads only to fall apart under Detroit's second-half runs. If not for those two games, the Bulls might have made the Finals.

Level V: The Role Reversal
Simmons' definition: "Any rivalry in which one team dominated another team for an extended period of time, then the perennial loser improbably turned the tables."
Personal memory: Not sure I have one here. I think this was created almost exclusively for the 2004 ALCS and the 2007 AFC title game. The best I can do from a losing standpoint is probably the Bulls after the dynasty split up, where they were trying to rebuild with Tim Floyd coaching and they were just awful every year, leading to every team in the league stomping all over them, probably with some delight after the Jordan-led Bulls had lost a total of 43 games in the previous three seasons. There isn't a single game you can peg this one to, of course. If Mexico ever wins on American soil in soccer again, that would qualify.

Level IV: The Guillotine
Simmons' definition: "This one combines the devastation of The Broken Axle Game with sweeping bitterness and hostility. ... Your team's hanging tough (hell, they might even be winning), but you can feel the inevitable breakdown coming, and you keep waiting for the guillotine to drop, and you just know it's coming -- you know it -- and when it finally comes, you're angry that it happened and you're angry at yourself for contributing to the debilitating karma."
Personal memory: The U.S.'s game against Ghana in the 2006 World Cup.

Level III: The Stomach Punch
Simmons' definition: "Now we've moved into rarefied territory, any roller-coaster game that ends with (A) an opponent making a pivotal (sometimes improbable) play or (B) one of your guys failing in the clutch. ... Usually ends with fans filing out after the game in stunned disbelief, if they can even move at all. ... Always haunting, sometimes scarring."
Personal memory: Beyond any doubt, Game 6 of the 2003 NLCS fits this to a T. The Man City loss to Doncaster - which went to penalties, leading to the Doncaster substitute keeper saving everything that came at him - is a less painful but not much less appropriate example.

Level II: The Goose/Maverick Tailspin
Simmons' definition: "Cruising happily through the baseball regular season, a potential playoff team suddenly and inexplicably goes into a tailspin, can't bounce out of it and ends up crashing for the season. ... [It] could last for two weeks, four weeks, maybe even two months, but as long as it's happening, you feel like your entire world is collapsing. It's like an ongoing Stomach Punch Game."
Personal memory: Obviously this one is also pretty narrow. I've been fortunate enough to avoid this level of collapse - although the Cubs' closing 1-5 stretch to blow the wild card in 2004 was kind of a mini-version of this - but just talk Cubs baseball with my dad for a while to get a sense of how this kind of thing (from 1969) can render someone permanently bitter.

Level I: That Game
Simmons' definition: "Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. ... One of a kind. ... Given the circumstances and the history involved here, maybe the most catastrophic sports loss of our lifetime."
Personal memory: Obviously Simmons is biased on this one, since he intended Level I to be reserved exclusively for that particular game. Needless to say, Game 6 of the 2003 NLCS is maybe half a rung behind Game 6 of the '86 WS on the ladder, and only because it happened a round earlier. If the Cubs had blown a game like that five outs shy of their first World Series title in 95 years - not 68, Red Sox fans, 95 - it would have been even more devastating than it already was, which was pretty devastating - so devastating, in fact, that I think it would actually have passed Game 6 of the '86 World Series for sheer heartbreak.