Friday, October 03, 2008
Pondering the Point of the Universe and Other Fun Topics for Your Next Social Gathering
What a fascinating and, in some ways, frustrating conversation I had with a friend of mine last night. It was one of those conversations that started with topics such as “Top 10 Pitchers I’ve Ever Seen” and wound its way into the ether, bringing the integrity and purpose of the post-season into question. It officially stretched into the next morning, as we were watching absolute garbage time, i.e. the last few innings in a hollow Wrigley Field. It was the kind of conversation that an observer could bring into question if we had done anything to alter our state of minds, as it just spun around and around and didn’t seem to go anywhere. For the record, there was nothing more intriguing being passed around than a jar of peanuts and some pretzels.
The crux of the conversation, inspired by the dramatic no-show by the Cubbies in the playoffs so far, was something Billy Beane has alluded to for years: the post-season is just a crapshoot and based largely on luck. I adhere to that ideology to a certain extent; isn’t the phrase “the team got hot at the right time,” basically a euphemism for luck? Is the fact that the Dodgers are up 2-0 in the series, against a team that won 13 more games than them, mainly about luck? Or is there something to the fact that some players (ahem, Manny Ramirez) and teams play better in what we deem as “a big spot” than others?
I don’t mean to turn this into an existential mumbo-jumbo monologue, but if something is based on luck and randomness to a large extent (as a best-of-five baseball series may be), why do we put such an emphasis on it? My friend made the point that he would be fine with all teams playing 162 games, and then recognizing whoever has the best record as the “champion.” But then we wouldn’t have “October baseball,” the World Series and all the amazing, memorable things that come with it, i.e. it wouldn’t be as fun. However, his reasoning is logical if all we want out of this is to find out who the best team is. 162 games is a heckuva lot better sample size than 5 games or 12 games or even 19 games.
“So what’s the point?” I asked, feeling frustrated and tired after watching a dull, boring baseball game for 3+ hours. “What’s the point of anything?” he replied. Thud – we had hit the limits that a late Thursday night on Earth would allow. Only baseball can lead you onto a conversational path where you end up questioning the point of life and the meaning of the universe. Today, I’m ready just to stick with the fact that the Angels are in a must-win situation and the Rays are in a great spot to go up 2-0 on Chicago.
My argument in favor of a post-season would be, understanding that the team that has proven itself as the best over the long haul doesn’t always win,the high level of intensity the sport is brought to in these games is worth it. All the intricacies of the game (pitch sequence, strategic decisions, etc) are heightened.
I made the point the other day that elimination games in baseball are the best sporting events out there. The difference between a game in October and a game in June is palpable. And in its own ridiculous way, the set-up mirrors life in that you can have sustained excellence over a long period of time, but there still comes that real important singular moment that defines things on a much larger scale.
If the Cubs lose to the Dodgers, going down quietly in the process, we’ll reason that, “Hey, it’s the Cubs.” For the sake of recording and keeping track of history, we need to put the end results into a final, tidy conversational perspective. This final analysis is what ultimately determines our general, lasting view of players and teams. The persona of the Boston Red Sox, pre-2004, was defined by terrible losses, in the same way that Reggie Jackson’s was defined by being able to rise to the occasion in a “big spot” again and again and again.
Is there something inherently unfair by judging the Cubs on three or four games of failure after winning 97 games? Yes, but if they were destined and deserving to really be remembered as a championship team, then they would win the championship. Although randomness and luck play their respective roles in these series (especially the five-gamers), the better team wins enough and great teams win the World Series enough, that we’re entitled to hold a team like the Cubs responsible for not being able to close the deal in the post-season. And that makes all the anger and bubbled over frustration in Wrigley Field the last two nights justifiable and perfectly understandable in this illusionary place of existence known as the “sports world.”
What a fascinating and, in some ways, frustrating conversation I had with a friend of mine last night. It was one of those conversations that started with topics such as “Top 10 Pitchers I’ve Ever Seen” and wound its way into the ether, bringing the integrity and purpose of the post-season into question. It officially stretched into the next morning, as we were watching absolute garbage time, i.e. the last few innings in a hollow Wrigley Field. It was the kind of conversation that an observer could bring into question if we had done anything to alter our state of minds, as it just spun around and around and didn’t seem to go anywhere. For the record, there was nothing more intriguing being passed around than a jar of peanuts and some pretzels.
The crux of the conversation, inspired by the dramatic no-show by the Cubbies in the playoffs so far, was something Billy Beane has alluded to for years: the post-season is just a crapshoot and based largely on luck. I adhere to that ideology to a certain extent; isn’t the phrase “the team got hot at the right time,” basically a euphemism for luck? Is the fact that the Dodgers are up 2-0 in the series, against a team that won 13 more games than them, mainly about luck? Or is there something to the fact that some players (ahem, Manny Ramirez) and teams play better in what we deem as “a big spot” than others?
I don’t mean to turn this into an existential mumbo-jumbo monologue, but if something is based on luck and randomness to a large extent (as a best-of-five baseball series may be), why do we put such an emphasis on it? My friend made the point that he would be fine with all teams playing 162 games, and then recognizing whoever has the best record as the “champion.” But then we wouldn’t have “October baseball,” the World Series and all the amazing, memorable things that come with it, i.e. it wouldn’t be as fun. However, his reasoning is logical if all we want out of this is to find out who the best team is. 162 games is a heckuva lot better sample size than 5 games or 12 games or even 19 games.
“So what’s the point?” I asked, feeling frustrated and tired after watching a dull, boring baseball game for 3+ hours. “What’s the point of anything?” he replied. Thud – we had hit the limits that a late Thursday night on Earth would allow. Only baseball can lead you onto a conversational path where you end up questioning the point of life and the meaning of the universe. Today, I’m ready just to stick with the fact that the Angels are in a must-win situation and the Rays are in a great spot to go up 2-0 on Chicago.
My argument in favor of a post-season would be, understanding that the team that has proven itself as the best over the long haul doesn’t always win,the high level of intensity the sport is brought to in these games is worth it. All the intricacies of the game (pitch sequence, strategic decisions, etc) are heightened.
I made the point the other day that elimination games in baseball are the best sporting events out there. The difference between a game in October and a game in June is palpable. And in its own ridiculous way, the set-up mirrors life in that you can have sustained excellence over a long period of time, but there still comes that real important singular moment that defines things on a much larger scale.
If the Cubs lose to the Dodgers, going down quietly in the process, we’ll reason that, “Hey, it’s the Cubs.” For the sake of recording and keeping track of history, we need to put the end results into a final, tidy conversational perspective. This final analysis is what ultimately determines our general, lasting view of players and teams. The persona of the Boston Red Sox, pre-2004, was defined by terrible losses, in the same way that Reggie Jackson’s was defined by being able to rise to the occasion in a “big spot” again and again and again.
Is there something inherently unfair by judging the Cubs on three or four games of failure after winning 97 games? Yes, but if they were destined and deserving to really be remembered as a championship team, then they would win the championship. Although randomness and luck play their respective roles in these series (especially the five-gamers), the better team wins enough and great teams win the World Series enough, that we’re entitled to hold a team like the Cubs responsible for not being able to close the deal in the post-season. And that makes all the anger and bubbled over frustration in Wrigley Field the last two nights justifiable and perfectly understandable in this illusionary place of existence known as the “sports world.”
Whew.
White Sox up 2-1 as I type, and I'm looking forward to the Sox-Angels game tonight. Show me something, Anaheim.
I generally consider Midnite Vultures my least favorite Beck album by a comfortable margin. I rarely listen to it. Listening to it now, it's occurring to me how badly I may have underrated it all these years. There are no less than three songs (maybe four) that I would have no problem with someone putting in their Top 15 Beck tracks.
So much of the album is ridiculous and absurd (the opening verse of "Debra," [Ok, all of "Debra"] the lyrics in "Nicotine & Gravy," the instrumentation in a few of the tracks) . . . but my goodness there are plenty of moments that can stand side-by-side with anything he's ever done. "Pressure Zone," for example, is a song I almost never think about as being a great Beck track. And it is.
