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Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Lightning In A Bottle
Players Sometimes Recapture Lost Glory
Last week, the Seattle Mariners released Richie Sexson.
This represents quite a fall from grace for the big first baseman. As recently as 2005 and 2006, Sexson enjoyed back-to-back 30 homer/100 RBI seasons while averaging a respectable .264. He did strike out quite a bit – 167 in 2005, 154 in 2006 – but those totals are positively pedestrian in comparison with the K numbers being racked up by Philadelphia’s Ryan Howard and Oakland’s Jack Cust, both of whom are productive power hitters.
But in 2007, Sexson’s performance took a mysterious nosedive. He slumped to .205 with 21 home runs and 63 RBI, and he bottomed out this season at .218 with 11 HR and just 30 RBI. The Mariners are on the hook for the remainder of his $15.5 million salary in this final year of his contract.
Sexson’s sudden availability raised an interesting question: should the A’s or Giants consider picking him up? Even though Sexson recently came to an agreement with the Yankees, rendering the practical aspect moot, the answer is revealing, both about the phenomenon of star players who suddenly “lose it” and the overall state of each franchise.
In Oakland’s case, the answer was a pretty clear “no.” The A’s, who are committed to a rebuilding year despite their surprising first-half success, are grooming a young hitter (Daric Barton) who plays Sexson’s position. Although he hasn’t hit well so far this season - .224 with just 3 home runs and 25 RBI – he is just 22 years old and still has considerable “upside.” Barton has accomplished all he’s likely to in the minors; for the team to figure out whether he is the long-term answer at first, he needs to play regularly with the big club. The A’s are also well-endowed at the designated hitter spot, with power hitters Cust swinging from the left side and Frank Thomas (expected back from a hamstring injury within the next couple of weeks) from the right.
The Giants are a different story. They currently have John Bowker, a promising prospect who’s leading the team in homers (albeit with just nine) splitting time at first with veteran Rich Aurilia. But Bowker also plays the outfield, and the Giants could clear a spot for him by trading veteran Randy Winn before the July 31st non-waiver trading deadline. Aurilia is also a candidate to be moved before the deadline.
Unlike the A’s, the Giants do not have an obvious heir apparent at first base. And the righthanded power that Sexson might represent is the element that the Giants most sorely lack. He wouldn’t cost much; the Giants could have paid him the major-league minimum while checking him out for a half-year. Sexson was enjoying good success against left-handed pitching even while struggling against righties, which suggests he still has something left.
It’s impossible to say from outside whether Richie Sexson would have been a good fit with the Giants. He may have an injury or personal problem we don’t know about. He might be a former performance-enhancing drug user (I’m not in any way accusing him - just pointing out that such cases do exist and, given the pervasiveness of that problem in sports today, it’s not at odds with reality to speculate about such an idea.) He may have simply lost bat speed as his reflexes slow down in his 30's. Who knows?
The general point is, the Giants should be considering anything that gives them an opportunity for incremental improvement. If half a season observing and assisting a struggling slugger might give them a leg up on uncovering a premier power hitter at a bargain price, they should seriously consider it. The most disturbing thing about the current plight of the franchise is that they don’t seem to quite realize their situation.
The Giants, at least in their public statements, have been engaging in a bit of self-delusion, and that’s disturbing. There may be no other single factor that can spell more trouble for a sports franchise.
The Giants are a long way from being a contender. At the All-Star break, they sat 15 games under .500, on pace to lose between 90 and 100 games. They do have some promising talent, especially among their young pitchers; one (Tim Lincecum) has already achieved stardom, and three more (starters Matt Cain and Jonathan Sanchez and closer Brian Wilson) appear to have the ability to do likewise. Bowker and outfielder Fred Lewis have shown some promise.
But there’s little else to get excited about. The back end of the rotation (highly paid Barry Zito and journeymen Kevin Correia and Pat Misch) has been awful. The rest of the bullpen is, to be kind, porous. Offensively, the Giants have been, well, offensive. They are 14th in the National League in runs scored and dead last with 57 home runs, on pace for their lowest total since 1980. Their lineup does not have the speed to make up for its lack of power, and their most productive hitters – Aaron Rowand, Bengie Molina, Randy Winn, Rich Aurilia and Ray Durham – are all over 30. The organization’s best prospects – powerful infielder Angel Villalona and catcher Buster Posey – are at least a couple of years away from making an impact. In a word, ugh.
Because the Giants play in baseball's weakest division, the National League West, their record doesn’t look as bad as it really is. They are in third place, just seven games behind the division-leading D-Backs (who are themselves a game under .500.) General Manager Brian Sabean and Manager Bruce Bochy, at least publicly, have used the standings to argue that their team is still in contention.
But this is not by any stretch of the imagination a contending club. In three of the other five divisions, their record would put them in sole possession of last place. In the A’s division, the American League West, they would be 17 games out. This year’s Giants are, at best, an also-ran.
The Giants should be doing what the A’s are doing. Although they had been competitive, winning a division title with a veteran club in 2006 and playing .500 ball into July last year, the A’s recognized that, within the constraints of their relatively small payroll, they were not going to make the jump back to elite status with the talent on hand. So they have unloaded a number of "young veterans" – Dan Haren, Nick Swisher, Rich Harden, Joe Blanton – in search of something even younger and better. These moves have been risky and sometimes unpopular, but they were necessary – and, in the case of the Haren and Swisher trades, have already borne fruit in terms of a surprisingly successful first half and some stars in the making, including smooth outfielder Carlos Gonzalez and starter Greg Smith.
It’s entirely possible that the Giants have been playing several veterans – Winn, Durham, Aurilia, Omar Vizquel – with the idea of showcasing them prior to the trading deadline. Let’s hope so. While those player have, to varying degrees, enjoyed good careers, none of them is going to get any better or lead the Giants anywhere. Perversely, it’s part of the fun of being a non-contender; you can pull out all the stops and try a bunch of different combinations in an effort to improve, because there’s little to lose in the current season.
That’s the way the Giants should be thinking, and it’s reasonable to hope they are. Ownership – Peter Magowan, Larry Baer, now William Neukom – have proven to be very savvy over the years. Sabean, prior to a series of regrettable moves over the past few seasons, had a strong previous track record. To paraphrase Sabean’s comment before the Giants embarked on a stunning division title run in 1997, these guys aren’t idiots.
Let’s return to Sexson for a moment. Would the chance of his resurrection be significant enough to have warranted a low-risk roll of the dice with him?
Absolutely. Consider the case of Frank Thomas, who played just 34 games amid foot problems in 2005, hitting .219 with 12 home runs. At age 37, he appeared finished. But in 2006, signed to a relatively cheap contract, he led the A’s to the postseason with an MVP-caliber 39 HR, 114 RBI season.
Or pitcher Dennis Martinez, the renowned El Presidente (my favorite baseball nickname.) After a strong start to his career, he hit the skids, struggling through four straight seasons with an ERA above 5.00. In 1986, at age 31, he seemed washed up as a spot starter who split the season between Baltimore and Montreal. But in 1987, he suddenly revived his career and once again became one of baseball’s best starters. El Presidente went on to enjoy four seasons with 15 or more wins and four times posted an ERA under 3.00, throwing a perfect game along the way. (Best baseball headline ever: El Presidente, El Perfecto.)
How about Dennis Eckersley? After coming up as a precocious 20-year-old fireballer with the Indians and throwing a no-hitter to Ray Fosse, Eckersley’s career stalled a decade in. By 1986, he was a nondescript starter, going 6-11 with a 4.57 ERA with the Cubs. But the next year, Tony LaRussa, Walt Jocketty and the A’s spotted his true talent: closing. The rest is history; some of the most dominant seasons ever experienced by any reliever, 390 saves, and a spot in the Hall of Fame.
Josh Hamilton is currently the star pupil of this class. The former first overall pick washed out after falling prey to drug abuse, and bounced around, available to any team, before finding a home with Cincinnati last year. After being traded to Texas in the offseason, Hamilton has finally fulfilled his limitless potential, leading the majors in RBI and possibly heading toward an American League MVP award.
Sexson represents a similarly elite talent. He has had six 30-homer seasons (plus another with 29) and has also driven in over 100 runs six times. If a change of scenery can help him can rediscover his stroke, he’s still capable of producing the kind of big numbers that won’t soon be matched by anyone in the Giants organization.
Why does the productivity of such players sometimes fall off so drastically? Most often the cause involves injury (either known or unknown to the public.) It can be a pitcher’s mechanics, a hitter’s swing, personal difficulties. But whatever the reason, it can occasionally be reversed, and that can be a tremendous boon to the team willing to take a chance.
The Giants, of course, are suffering with another such case, that of Barry Zito. After four 14-win seasons, including a 23-win Cy Young gem in 2002, Zito has hit bottom at age 30. Could he channel El Presidente and find the form that once placed him among the game’s elite? It’s hard to say – but if so, it would put the Giants one step closer to real, not imagined, contention.
Last week, the Seattle Mariners released Richie Sexson.
This represents quite a fall from grace for the big first baseman. As recently as 2005 and 2006, Sexson enjoyed back-to-back 30 homer/100 RBI seasons while averaging a respectable .264. He did strike out quite a bit – 167 in 2005, 154 in 2006 – but those totals are positively pedestrian in comparison with the K numbers being racked up by Philadelphia’s Ryan Howard and Oakland’s Jack Cust, both of whom are productive power hitters.
But in 2007, Sexson’s performance took a mysterious nosedive. He slumped to .205 with 21 home runs and 63 RBI, and he bottomed out this season at .218 with 11 HR and just 30 RBI. The Mariners are on the hook for the remainder of his $15.5 million salary in this final year of his contract.
Sexson’s sudden availability raised an interesting question: should the A’s or Giants consider picking him up? Even though Sexson recently came to an agreement with the Yankees, rendering the practical aspect moot, the answer is revealing, both about the phenomenon of star players who suddenly “lose it” and the overall state of each franchise.
In Oakland’s case, the answer was a pretty clear “no.” The A’s, who are committed to a rebuilding year despite their surprising first-half success, are grooming a young hitter (Daric Barton) who plays Sexson’s position. Although he hasn’t hit well so far this season - .224 with just 3 home runs and 25 RBI – he is just 22 years old and still has considerable “upside.” Barton has accomplished all he’s likely to in the minors; for the team to figure out whether he is the long-term answer at first, he needs to play regularly with the big club. The A’s are also well-endowed at the designated hitter spot, with power hitters Cust swinging from the left side and Frank Thomas (expected back from a hamstring injury within the next couple of weeks) from the right.
The Giants are a different story. They currently have John Bowker, a promising prospect who’s leading the team in homers (albeit with just nine) splitting time at first with veteran Rich Aurilia. But Bowker also plays the outfield, and the Giants could clear a spot for him by trading veteran Randy Winn before the July 31st non-waiver trading deadline. Aurilia is also a candidate to be moved before the deadline.
Unlike the A’s, the Giants do not have an obvious heir apparent at first base. And the righthanded power that Sexson might represent is the element that the Giants most sorely lack. He wouldn’t cost much; the Giants could have paid him the major-league minimum while checking him out for a half-year. Sexson was enjoying good success against left-handed pitching even while struggling against righties, which suggests he still has something left.
It’s impossible to say from outside whether Richie Sexson would have been a good fit with the Giants. He may have an injury or personal problem we don’t know about. He might be a former performance-enhancing drug user (I’m not in any way accusing him - just pointing out that such cases do exist and, given the pervasiveness of that problem in sports today, it’s not at odds with reality to speculate about such an idea.) He may have simply lost bat speed as his reflexes slow down in his 30's. Who knows?
The general point is, the Giants should be considering anything that gives them an opportunity for incremental improvement. If half a season observing and assisting a struggling slugger might give them a leg up on uncovering a premier power hitter at a bargain price, they should seriously consider it. The most disturbing thing about the current plight of the franchise is that they don’t seem to quite realize their situation.
The Giants, at least in their public statements, have been engaging in a bit of self-delusion, and that’s disturbing. There may be no other single factor that can spell more trouble for a sports franchise.
The Giants are a long way from being a contender. At the All-Star break, they sat 15 games under .500, on pace to lose between 90 and 100 games. They do have some promising talent, especially among their young pitchers; one (Tim Lincecum) has already achieved stardom, and three more (starters Matt Cain and Jonathan Sanchez and closer Brian Wilson) appear to have the ability to do likewise. Bowker and outfielder Fred Lewis have shown some promise.
But there’s little else to get excited about. The back end of the rotation (highly paid Barry Zito and journeymen Kevin Correia and Pat Misch) has been awful. The rest of the bullpen is, to be kind, porous. Offensively, the Giants have been, well, offensive. They are 14th in the National League in runs scored and dead last with 57 home runs, on pace for their lowest total since 1980. Their lineup does not have the speed to make up for its lack of power, and their most productive hitters – Aaron Rowand, Bengie Molina, Randy Winn, Rich Aurilia and Ray Durham – are all over 30. The organization’s best prospects – powerful infielder Angel Villalona and catcher Buster Posey – are at least a couple of years away from making an impact. In a word, ugh.
Because the Giants play in baseball's weakest division, the National League West, their record doesn’t look as bad as it really is. They are in third place, just seven games behind the division-leading D-Backs (who are themselves a game under .500.) General Manager Brian Sabean and Manager Bruce Bochy, at least publicly, have used the standings to argue that their team is still in contention.
But this is not by any stretch of the imagination a contending club. In three of the other five divisions, their record would put them in sole possession of last place. In the A’s division, the American League West, they would be 17 games out. This year’s Giants are, at best, an also-ran.
The Giants should be doing what the A’s are doing. Although they had been competitive, winning a division title with a veteran club in 2006 and playing .500 ball into July last year, the A’s recognized that, within the constraints of their relatively small payroll, they were not going to make the jump back to elite status with the talent on hand. So they have unloaded a number of "young veterans" – Dan Haren, Nick Swisher, Rich Harden, Joe Blanton – in search of something even younger and better. These moves have been risky and sometimes unpopular, but they were necessary – and, in the case of the Haren and Swisher trades, have already borne fruit in terms of a surprisingly successful first half and some stars in the making, including smooth outfielder Carlos Gonzalez and starter Greg Smith.
It’s entirely possible that the Giants have been playing several veterans – Winn, Durham, Aurilia, Omar Vizquel – with the idea of showcasing them prior to the trading deadline. Let’s hope so. While those player have, to varying degrees, enjoyed good careers, none of them is going to get any better or lead the Giants anywhere. Perversely, it’s part of the fun of being a non-contender; you can pull out all the stops and try a bunch of different combinations in an effort to improve, because there’s little to lose in the current season.
That’s the way the Giants should be thinking, and it’s reasonable to hope they are. Ownership – Peter Magowan, Larry Baer, now William Neukom – have proven to be very savvy over the years. Sabean, prior to a series of regrettable moves over the past few seasons, had a strong previous track record. To paraphrase Sabean’s comment before the Giants embarked on a stunning division title run in 1997, these guys aren’t idiots.
Let’s return to Sexson for a moment. Would the chance of his resurrection be significant enough to have warranted a low-risk roll of the dice with him?
Absolutely. Consider the case of Frank Thomas, who played just 34 games amid foot problems in 2005, hitting .219 with 12 home runs. At age 37, he appeared finished. But in 2006, signed to a relatively cheap contract, he led the A’s to the postseason with an MVP-caliber 39 HR, 114 RBI season.
Or pitcher Dennis Martinez, the renowned El Presidente (my favorite baseball nickname.) After a strong start to his career, he hit the skids, struggling through four straight seasons with an ERA above 5.00. In 1986, at age 31, he seemed washed up as a spot starter who split the season between Baltimore and Montreal. But in 1987, he suddenly revived his career and once again became one of baseball’s best starters. El Presidente went on to enjoy four seasons with 15 or more wins and four times posted an ERA under 3.00, throwing a perfect game along the way. (Best baseball headline ever: El Presidente, El Perfecto.)
How about Dennis Eckersley? After coming up as a precocious 20-year-old fireballer with the Indians and throwing a no-hitter to Ray Fosse, Eckersley’s career stalled a decade in. By 1986, he was a nondescript starter, going 6-11 with a 4.57 ERA with the Cubs. But the next year, Tony LaRussa, Walt Jocketty and the A’s spotted his true talent: closing. The rest is history; some of the most dominant seasons ever experienced by any reliever, 390 saves, and a spot in the Hall of Fame.
Josh Hamilton is currently the star pupil of this class. The former first overall pick washed out after falling prey to drug abuse, and bounced around, available to any team, before finding a home with Cincinnati last year. After being traded to Texas in the offseason, Hamilton has finally fulfilled his limitless potential, leading the majors in RBI and possibly heading toward an American League MVP award.
Sexson represents a similarly elite talent. He has had six 30-homer seasons (plus another with 29) and has also driven in over 100 runs six times. If a change of scenery can help him can rediscover his stroke, he’s still capable of producing the kind of big numbers that won’t soon be matched by anyone in the Giants organization.
Why does the productivity of such players sometimes fall off so drastically? Most often the cause involves injury (either known or unknown to the public.) It can be a pitcher’s mechanics, a hitter’s swing, personal difficulties. But whatever the reason, it can occasionally be reversed, and that can be a tremendous boon to the team willing to take a chance.
The Giants, of course, are suffering with another such case, that of Barry Zito. After four 14-win seasons, including a 23-win Cy Young gem in 2002, Zito has hit bottom at age 30. Could he channel El Presidente and find the form that once placed him among the game’s elite? It’s hard to say – but if so, it would put the Giants one step closer to real, not imagined, contention.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
One For All - Or Just One?
Individual Sports Produce Their Own Indelible Images
As a producer - and as a fan - I’ve always been primarily attracted to team sports.
There’s something about the communal feelings generated by the familiar uniform of your hometown team (or school) that can’t be matched by the performance of a rugged individualist, no matter how special. Following a team also provides a sense of continuity that can, barring unusual circumstances, last a lifetime. Your favorite team’s logo, colors and venue, along with the emotional resonance generated by those items, generally persist from year to year, and that can’t be replicated by any particular individual.
That feeling was reinforced by this last weekend’s Giants-Dodgers series in San Francisco. Neither team is having anything remotely resembling special season so far (although both are still in the thick of the National League West race with sub-.500 records.) But there existed a notable extra buzz in the crowd, simply because of the uniforms. After over 100 years, the Giant-Dodger rivalry still holds its mystique, even when so many of the current players are young, unfamiliar and/or undistinguished.
But my preference for team spectator sports has been interrupted twice within the last month. First golf’s U.S. Open and then tennis’s Wimbledon championship made terrific cases for why individual competition can be equally compelling.
In the U.S. Open, Tiger Woods put on a show that captured the imagination of even those with only a passing interest in golf. Limping around the course on a torn ACL and two tibia stress fractures, Woods simply refused to lose. He stalked Rocco Mediate throughout the final round before finally catching him on the 72nd and final hole, drilling a 25-foot tying putt under the greatest pressure imaginable. For any kind of sports fan, it was an unforgettable moment, one of the signature shots of what will likely go down as the greatest golf career of all time. Woods then came from behind again in the ensuing 18-hole playoff, again needing extra play to nail down perhaps his most satisfying triumph.
At Wimbledon, the men’s final was a rematch of two previous finals between Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal. With apologies to Connors, Borg, McEnroe, et al, it was simply the finest tennis match I’ve ever seen: two top-caliber champions in their own right, each still young, slugging it out for all they were worth. Neither Federer nor Nadal relies on the monotonous baseline game that made Pete Sampras such an uninteresting champion; each employs a full arsenal of serves, shots and moves, all endowed with unbridled power and exquisite touch.
And the physical gifts of these two players are matched by their mental abilities. Federer, a 5-time Wimbledon champion, came back from two sets down and fought off two match points during a dramatic 4th-set tiebreaker. Nadal had to shake off that disappointment and maintain his focus before finally gaining the upper hand with a service break in the 15th game of an epic 5th set on his way to a 6-4, 6-4, 6-7, 6-7, 9-7 victory.
And that’s the theme that has spurred me to rethink my bias against the individual sports. Sure, they don’t inspire the ongoing attachments that regional or academic rivalries do. But they do depict, in sharp relief, the single attribute that most singularly defines elite athletes: mental toughness.
Of course, mental toughness is also a major requirement for success in any team sport. Participants in football, basketball, baseball, hockey, soccer et al must withstand the length of seemingly interminable schedules, the physical punishment that such schedules inflict, the wildly fluctuating approbation and disdain of the public, all the while pursuing success against the most difficult competition on the planet.
And there are extensive individual aspects to these team sports. A key at-bat in a World Series game… a crucial kick in a Super Bowl… a penalty kick in a soccer championship… all of these pit individuals against each other, mano a mano, with the highest stakes imaginable.
The difference is that, in the individual games, it all comes down to one person performing alone. Even though team players must individually come through in key moments, there is tremendous comfort in sharing that pressure with teammates. Players, even stars, repeatedly refer to the need to perform their designated tasks - their “roles” - to factor into team success. But in singles tennis or golf, there is no teammate to rely on, no limited role to perform - it’s all on you, lock, stock and barrel.
I have personal experience with this phenomenon from the music world. Playing with an orchestra requires great musicality, preparation and precision. But soloing? That’s a whole different ball game, because there is no one alongside to dilute that pressure. Many professional classical musicians take beta blockers to try to keep their hands from shaking, an expression of nerves that would carry obvious negative consequences for their performance. That's why live performance, either by musicians or athletes, requires such rigorous over-preparation; performance degrades naturally in the cauldron of public exhibition or competition. Thinking about it in those terms gives one a new respect for those elite athletes - a la Woods, Federer and Nadal - who have so conquered their nerves that they appear to have “ice water in their veins.”
The sense of community inherent in team sports - the emotions shared with thousands or even millions of people to root for the city name and colors on the uniform - is a powerful force. In many countries, that feeling extends to national pride, as it does for Spain in celebrating Nadal’s Wimbledon right title on the heels of a tremendous team accomplishment (Spain's soccer victory in Euro 2008.) But in the U.S., our rivalries are primarily regional, not national, so we tend to attach those “team pride” feelings to individuals much less frequently. The Olympics are one possible exception, but in the four-year interval between episodes, we tend to ignore the individual events that dominate the Games. And even our most celebrated Olympic victory, that of the Miracle On Ice hockey team of 1980, came in a team sport.
In view of all that, I don’t anticipate a dropoff in my own affinity for team sports, nor one in our culture at large. But the events of the past few weeks have opened my eyes to the unique pleasure of observing transcendent individuals plying their trades, one which should make the upcoming Beijing Olympics all the more enjoyable.
As a producer - and as a fan - I’ve always been primarily attracted to team sports.
There’s something about the communal feelings generated by the familiar uniform of your hometown team (or school) that can’t be matched by the performance of a rugged individualist, no matter how special. Following a team also provides a sense of continuity that can, barring unusual circumstances, last a lifetime. Your favorite team’s logo, colors and venue, along with the emotional resonance generated by those items, generally persist from year to year, and that can’t be replicated by any particular individual.
That feeling was reinforced by this last weekend’s Giants-Dodgers series in San Francisco. Neither team is having anything remotely resembling special season so far (although both are still in the thick of the National League West race with sub-.500 records.) But there existed a notable extra buzz in the crowd, simply because of the uniforms. After over 100 years, the Giant-Dodger rivalry still holds its mystique, even when so many of the current players are young, unfamiliar and/or undistinguished.
But my preference for team spectator sports has been interrupted twice within the last month. First golf’s U.S. Open and then tennis’s Wimbledon championship made terrific cases for why individual competition can be equally compelling.
In the U.S. Open, Tiger Woods put on a show that captured the imagination of even those with only a passing interest in golf. Limping around the course on a torn ACL and two tibia stress fractures, Woods simply refused to lose. He stalked Rocco Mediate throughout the final round before finally catching him on the 72nd and final hole, drilling a 25-foot tying putt under the greatest pressure imaginable. For any kind of sports fan, it was an unforgettable moment, one of the signature shots of what will likely go down as the greatest golf career of all time. Woods then came from behind again in the ensuing 18-hole playoff, again needing extra play to nail down perhaps his most satisfying triumph.
At Wimbledon, the men’s final was a rematch of two previous finals between Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal. With apologies to Connors, Borg, McEnroe, et al, it was simply the finest tennis match I’ve ever seen: two top-caliber champions in their own right, each still young, slugging it out for all they were worth. Neither Federer nor Nadal relies on the monotonous baseline game that made Pete Sampras such an uninteresting champion; each employs a full arsenal of serves, shots and moves, all endowed with unbridled power and exquisite touch.
And the physical gifts of these two players are matched by their mental abilities. Federer, a 5-time Wimbledon champion, came back from two sets down and fought off two match points during a dramatic 4th-set tiebreaker. Nadal had to shake off that disappointment and maintain his focus before finally gaining the upper hand with a service break in the 15th game of an epic 5th set on his way to a 6-4, 6-4, 6-7, 6-7, 9-7 victory.
And that’s the theme that has spurred me to rethink my bias against the individual sports. Sure, they don’t inspire the ongoing attachments that regional or academic rivalries do. But they do depict, in sharp relief, the single attribute that most singularly defines elite athletes: mental toughness.
Of course, mental toughness is also a major requirement for success in any team sport. Participants in football, basketball, baseball, hockey, soccer et al must withstand the length of seemingly interminable schedules, the physical punishment that such schedules inflict, the wildly fluctuating approbation and disdain of the public, all the while pursuing success against the most difficult competition on the planet.
And there are extensive individual aspects to these team sports. A key at-bat in a World Series game… a crucial kick in a Super Bowl… a penalty kick in a soccer championship… all of these pit individuals against each other, mano a mano, with the highest stakes imaginable.
The difference is that, in the individual games, it all comes down to one person performing alone. Even though team players must individually come through in key moments, there is tremendous comfort in sharing that pressure with teammates. Players, even stars, repeatedly refer to the need to perform their designated tasks - their “roles” - to factor into team success. But in singles tennis or golf, there is no teammate to rely on, no limited role to perform - it’s all on you, lock, stock and barrel.
I have personal experience with this phenomenon from the music world. Playing with an orchestra requires great musicality, preparation and precision. But soloing? That’s a whole different ball game, because there is no one alongside to dilute that pressure. Many professional classical musicians take beta blockers to try to keep their hands from shaking, an expression of nerves that would carry obvious negative consequences for their performance. That's why live performance, either by musicians or athletes, requires such rigorous over-preparation; performance degrades naturally in the cauldron of public exhibition or competition. Thinking about it in those terms gives one a new respect for those elite athletes - a la Woods, Federer and Nadal - who have so conquered their nerves that they appear to have “ice water in their veins.”
The sense of community inherent in team sports - the emotions shared with thousands or even millions of people to root for the city name and colors on the uniform - is a powerful force. In many countries, that feeling extends to national pride, as it does for Spain in celebrating Nadal’s Wimbledon right title on the heels of a tremendous team accomplishment (Spain's soccer victory in Euro 2008.) But in the U.S., our rivalries are primarily regional, not national, so we tend to attach those “team pride” feelings to individuals much less frequently. The Olympics are one possible exception, but in the four-year interval between episodes, we tend to ignore the individual events that dominate the Games. And even our most celebrated Olympic victory, that of the Miracle On Ice hockey team of 1980, came in a team sport.
In view of all that, I don’t anticipate a dropoff in my own affinity for team sports, nor one in our culture at large. But the events of the past few weeks have opened my eyes to the unique pleasure of observing transcendent individuals plying their trades, one which should make the upcoming Beijing Olympics all the more enjoyable.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Final Thoughts
Stanley Cup Final Showcased Best - And Worst - Of NHL
Last week, I witnessed – on television - one of the greatest games ever played in NHL history.
It required late-night perseverance, as I happened to be in Philadelphia (in itself a great hockey town) when the Penguins and Red Wings played Game 5 of the Stanley Cup Final at Joe Louis Arena in Detroit.
Detroit, after trailing 2-0 in the first period, relentlessly climbed back into the contest, tying it early in the third period and then taking a 3-2 lead shortly thereafter on a goal by All-Star defenseman Brian Rafalski. Leading three games to one, the Wings, their fans in full throat, were counting down toward a championship. But at the moment of ultimate desperation, with goaltender Marc-Andre Fleury pulled for an extra attacker, Penguin Max Talbot scored to tie the game 3-3 and extend the season with just :35 remaining.
Disappointed yet undaunted, the Red Wings generated several scoring chances in those last few seconds of regulation before dominating the first overtime. Yet Pittsburgh, surviving on the strength of stellar goaltending by Fleury, slowly gained traction. Meanwhile, during the second overtime, the Pens’ Petr Sykora, pointing to his chest, let NBC sideline reporter Pierre McGuire know that he, Sykora, would become the game-winning goal-scorer. And incredibly, he backed up his words, scoring a power play goal at 9:57 of the third overtime period to send the series to a Game 6.
The Red Wings went on to win the series and the Stanley Cup in that next game (which nearly featured an equally dramatic finish, as the Pens just missed tying the game in literally the final second of play.) But along with Detroit’s emotional Cup celebration, the drama of Game 5 will live as an equally enduring image of this series.
The entire series was a shot in the arm for the NHL, which, despite achieving religious status in Canada, has struggled to establish any kind of national interest in the U.S. The Stanley Cup Final featured, in contrast to recent champions Tampa Bay, Carolina and Anaheim, two hockey-mad locales in Detroit and Pittsburgh. It also included several of the league’s most dynamic young stars: Pittsburgh’s Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin, and Detroit’s Henrik Zetterberg and Pavel Datsyuk.
The style of play was largely an attractive one; in spite of the Red Wings’ defensive trapping style, they field skilled players at every position and counter-attack at lightning speed. Meanwhile the Penguins, blessed with transcendent talent, play perhaps the league’s most wide-open style, habitually carrying the puck into the offensive zone and making creative passes rather than playing what has become the NHL’s ubiquitous dump-and-chase game.
But of course, hockey viewers, by nature fanatically devoted to their sport, are also among the most critical of the game they love. So here are a couple of aspects of the Final that were not as pleasing.
National television ratings weren’t anything to write home about; for example, Game 4 in Pittsburgh, which I had the pleasure of attending in person, was out-rated by minor-league mixed martial arts on CBS. The ratings were an improvement over recent Finals; the series averaged a 3.2 rating and 6 share, the highest since 2002 and double last year’s ultimate series. But those numbers were driven largely by fanatical interest in Pittsburgh and Detroit, and they are still startlingly low for a national network program – especially a “major-league” championship.
Ironically, this series brought to the fore questions about the NHL’s national profile, simply because it was such an aesthetic success. In past years, it was easy to blame a lack of interest on an uncompelling matchup or style of play. But it’s hard to imagine a better Final in terms of star power, storylines and devoted fans – so if the league can’t break through into the national consciousness now, how can it ever expect to?
Despite well-publicized problems in certain “non-traditional” markets like Nashville and South Florida, the NHL is actually quite healthy. The salary cap, based on league-wide revenue, has gone up every season since the 2004-05 lockout; in 2008-09, it will be up to $55 million per team. Attendance is largely strong, and $200 souvenir jerseys are flying off the shelves at record pace. Local TV ratings are strong in those markets with traditional hockey interest and/or successful franchises.
In watching the Stanley Cup Final, two flies in the ointment were evident: those pesky national television ratings, and the NHL’s maddening inconsistency in officiating.
If measured by U.S. television, the NHL is no longer the fourth “major league.” NASCAR and golf are considerably more popular. A succession of what were heretofore considered minor sports, like arena football and the aforementioned mixed martial arts, have out-rated hockey when matched in head-to-head competition on network TV.
In my opinion, much of the difficulty lies with league management’s refusal to see hockey as a television program, but rather seeing TV as mere adjunct to the in-person experience. Of course, the integrity of the game on the ice is paramount. But both the NFL and NASCAR, by far our two most successful sports on TV, are proving that additional attention to the televised product can significantly raise a sport’s profile without interfering with the quality of play or the in-stadium experience.
Both sports have adopted several of the principles that have made reality shows so successful. This should not be construed as an endorsement to reality TV; I am anything but a fan of “Survivor” or “Big Brother.” But as applied to sports, the all-access concept really works, because it turns the participants into human beings rather than just remote athletic robots.
“Everest Beyond The Limit” is one of the most fascinating viewing experiences I’ve ever had. The premise involves amateurs - some of whom have no business on the mountain - being guided up Everest by professional mountaineers. It includes nearly complete access to the real-life characters, including cameras and microphones dedicated to each individual. The show’s second season culminated in one of the participants making his final ascent on the world’s highest peak while concealing a broken hand from his guides. It was our deep familiarity with the character, forged through several months of viewing, that made the episode so riveting.
The NFL, in conjuction with HBO and ESPN, has captured that technique through a preseseaon show, Hard Knocks, that takes us behind the scenes of a football training camp. The access is nearly complete, including cameras and mikes inside the room as coaches are making their roster decisions and as hopefuls receive the painful news that they have been cut. NASCAR’s access is similar; ubiquitous cameras and live interviews with drivers seconds before they begin risking their lives at nearly 200 miles per hour.
During a Stanley Cup Final intermission, while only half paying attention, I thought I heard NBC’s host teasing a segment in which we would hear Detroit coach Mike Babcock and Pittsburgh bench boss Michel Therrien speaking to their troops. I turned out to be mistaken; the segment actually entailed NBC analysts and former coaches Mike Milbury and Pierre McGuire relating what they might say to the players if they were coaching. While disappointed, I wasn’t that surprised to find out that the NHL wouldn’t actually allow something that truly might fascinate the viewer to hit air.
Unlike the NFL and NBA, the NHL (or, in the case of regular season games, its teams) do not allow cameras or mics inside the dressing room pregame or at intermission. Unlike NASCAR, in which drivers risk life and limb yet bare their souls to TV, the NHL restricts both national and local outlets from providing too much real access, even in preseason. Locally, we’re lucky in that the Sharks are perhaps the league’s most progressive organization on this point, and we get to bring you some special all-access elements, like in-game interviews with players on the bench. But in general, I find it perplexing and frustrating that a league with so little to lose in terms of its television popularity is so reluctant to embrace more aggressive methods.
The other issue facing the NHL is one that affects long-time fans much more so than novices, who aren't equipped to appreciate all of the game’s finer subtleties. It has to do with officiating, which, despite myriad adjustments, continues to be maddeningly inconsistent.
The subject of obstruction – impeding the progress of players away from the puck, which is supposedly illegal - has been oft-discussed over the past two decades. Post-lockout, the NHL moved to once and for all crack down on obstruction. The league has been fairly successful when it comes to restricting hooking and holding against the puck carrier, but in the Final, the inconsistency of approach toward away-from-the-puck obstruction was obvious.
After watching the Final, even seasoned hockey watchers have no idea what constitutes interference. All teams in the playoffs use some obstruction; they run “pick” plays to free up shooters, they attempt to slow down enemy fore-checkers, and, when they can make it look reasonably innocent, take every opportunity to run over the opposing team’s goalie. The Red Wings in particular, very clever and disciplined defensively, are frequent users of these techniques. Some level of this is to be expected, and it’s not possible to penalize every small violation.
But there is a need for much greater consistency than currently exists. During the Final, blatant interference (tackling a skater on his way to the puck, or hitting a player far away from the play) occurred time and again, while a referee staring right at the play ignored the infraction. But in many other instances, relatively trivial transgressions were penalized, including a particularly dubious goaltender interference call against Detroit during the Game 5 overtime. The standard fluctuated wildly, both within single contests and among different officials in different games.
While it’s a far cry from the days in which very few penalties were called in playoff games, especially in overtime, it is an unacceptably sloppy standard. When players don’t know exactly where the line is, they tend to cross it repeatedly, only to sometimes saddle their teams with devastating consequences if heretofore accepted actions are suddenly penalized.
Why is this important? It’s because in hockey, and particularly in the tightly contested and low-scoring postseason, one goal can be so critical, even more than a single run in baseball or touchdown in football usually is. A surprising power play awarded, or an expected one denied, can have a huge impact on the outcome of a playoff game or series. In the NHL, two opposing viewpoints seem to be at work: a “North American” thinking, that encourages physical battles and permits more obstruction, and the “European” style, which emphasizes skill. Of course the proponents of those styles don’t fit neatly into those two categories, but it’s an easy way to remember the nature of a more general division.
The NHL needs to settle on an officiating style, preferably one that encourages wide-open offense and goal scoring. And, as it is done in every other major league, the NHL needs to enforce that standard in the playoffs just as in the regular season. Until that happens, the style of play in the Stanley Cup Final, while thrilling, will continue to sound a discordant note.
This problem of an officiating standard – whether or not to strictly penalize obstruction and interference – is part of a greater subject, that of the distinction between the letter and spirit of the rules laid out in each sport's rulebook. That will be our topic next time.
Last week, I witnessed – on television - one of the greatest games ever played in NHL history.
It required late-night perseverance, as I happened to be in Philadelphia (in itself a great hockey town) when the Penguins and Red Wings played Game 5 of the Stanley Cup Final at Joe Louis Arena in Detroit.
Detroit, after trailing 2-0 in the first period, relentlessly climbed back into the contest, tying it early in the third period and then taking a 3-2 lead shortly thereafter on a goal by All-Star defenseman Brian Rafalski. Leading three games to one, the Wings, their fans in full throat, were counting down toward a championship. But at the moment of ultimate desperation, with goaltender Marc-Andre Fleury pulled for an extra attacker, Penguin Max Talbot scored to tie the game 3-3 and extend the season with just :35 remaining.
Disappointed yet undaunted, the Red Wings generated several scoring chances in those last few seconds of regulation before dominating the first overtime. Yet Pittsburgh, surviving on the strength of stellar goaltending by Fleury, slowly gained traction. Meanwhile, during the second overtime, the Pens’ Petr Sykora, pointing to his chest, let NBC sideline reporter Pierre McGuire know that he, Sykora, would become the game-winning goal-scorer. And incredibly, he backed up his words, scoring a power play goal at 9:57 of the third overtime period to send the series to a Game 6.
The Red Wings went on to win the series and the Stanley Cup in that next game (which nearly featured an equally dramatic finish, as the Pens just missed tying the game in literally the final second of play.) But along with Detroit’s emotional Cup celebration, the drama of Game 5 will live as an equally enduring image of this series.
The entire series was a shot in the arm for the NHL, which, despite achieving religious status in Canada, has struggled to establish any kind of national interest in the U.S. The Stanley Cup Final featured, in contrast to recent champions Tampa Bay, Carolina and Anaheim, two hockey-mad locales in Detroit and Pittsburgh. It also included several of the league’s most dynamic young stars: Pittsburgh’s Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin, and Detroit’s Henrik Zetterberg and Pavel Datsyuk.
The style of play was largely an attractive one; in spite of the Red Wings’ defensive trapping style, they field skilled players at every position and counter-attack at lightning speed. Meanwhile the Penguins, blessed with transcendent talent, play perhaps the league’s most wide-open style, habitually carrying the puck into the offensive zone and making creative passes rather than playing what has become the NHL’s ubiquitous dump-and-chase game.
But of course, hockey viewers, by nature fanatically devoted to their sport, are also among the most critical of the game they love. So here are a couple of aspects of the Final that were not as pleasing.
National television ratings weren’t anything to write home about; for example, Game 4 in Pittsburgh, which I had the pleasure of attending in person, was out-rated by minor-league mixed martial arts on CBS. The ratings were an improvement over recent Finals; the series averaged a 3.2 rating and 6 share, the highest since 2002 and double last year’s ultimate series. But those numbers were driven largely by fanatical interest in Pittsburgh and Detroit, and they are still startlingly low for a national network program – especially a “major-league” championship.
Ironically, this series brought to the fore questions about the NHL’s national profile, simply because it was such an aesthetic success. In past years, it was easy to blame a lack of interest on an uncompelling matchup or style of play. But it’s hard to imagine a better Final in terms of star power, storylines and devoted fans – so if the league can’t break through into the national consciousness now, how can it ever expect to?
Despite well-publicized problems in certain “non-traditional” markets like Nashville and South Florida, the NHL is actually quite healthy. The salary cap, based on league-wide revenue, has gone up every season since the 2004-05 lockout; in 2008-09, it will be up to $55 million per team. Attendance is largely strong, and $200 souvenir jerseys are flying off the shelves at record pace. Local TV ratings are strong in those markets with traditional hockey interest and/or successful franchises.
In watching the Stanley Cup Final, two flies in the ointment were evident: those pesky national television ratings, and the NHL’s maddening inconsistency in officiating.
If measured by U.S. television, the NHL is no longer the fourth “major league.” NASCAR and golf are considerably more popular. A succession of what were heretofore considered minor sports, like arena football and the aforementioned mixed martial arts, have out-rated hockey when matched in head-to-head competition on network TV.
In my opinion, much of the difficulty lies with league management’s refusal to see hockey as a television program, but rather seeing TV as mere adjunct to the in-person experience. Of course, the integrity of the game on the ice is paramount. But both the NFL and NASCAR, by far our two most successful sports on TV, are proving that additional attention to the televised product can significantly raise a sport’s profile without interfering with the quality of play or the in-stadium experience.
Both sports have adopted several of the principles that have made reality shows so successful. This should not be construed as an endorsement to reality TV; I am anything but a fan of “Survivor” or “Big Brother.” But as applied to sports, the all-access concept really works, because it turns the participants into human beings rather than just remote athletic robots.
“Everest Beyond The Limit” is one of the most fascinating viewing experiences I’ve ever had. The premise involves amateurs - some of whom have no business on the mountain - being guided up Everest by professional mountaineers. It includes nearly complete access to the real-life characters, including cameras and microphones dedicated to each individual. The show’s second season culminated in one of the participants making his final ascent on the world’s highest peak while concealing a broken hand from his guides. It was our deep familiarity with the character, forged through several months of viewing, that made the episode so riveting.
The NFL, in conjuction with HBO and ESPN, has captured that technique through a preseseaon show, Hard Knocks, that takes us behind the scenes of a football training camp. The access is nearly complete, including cameras and mikes inside the room as coaches are making their roster decisions and as hopefuls receive the painful news that they have been cut. NASCAR’s access is similar; ubiquitous cameras and live interviews with drivers seconds before they begin risking their lives at nearly 200 miles per hour.
During a Stanley Cup Final intermission, while only half paying attention, I thought I heard NBC’s host teasing a segment in which we would hear Detroit coach Mike Babcock and Pittsburgh bench boss Michel Therrien speaking to their troops. I turned out to be mistaken; the segment actually entailed NBC analysts and former coaches Mike Milbury and Pierre McGuire relating what they might say to the players if they were coaching. While disappointed, I wasn’t that surprised to find out that the NHL wouldn’t actually allow something that truly might fascinate the viewer to hit air.
Unlike the NFL and NBA, the NHL (or, in the case of regular season games, its teams) do not allow cameras or mics inside the dressing room pregame or at intermission. Unlike NASCAR, in which drivers risk life and limb yet bare their souls to TV, the NHL restricts both national and local outlets from providing too much real access, even in preseason. Locally, we’re lucky in that the Sharks are perhaps the league’s most progressive organization on this point, and we get to bring you some special all-access elements, like in-game interviews with players on the bench. But in general, I find it perplexing and frustrating that a league with so little to lose in terms of its television popularity is so reluctant to embrace more aggressive methods.
The other issue facing the NHL is one that affects long-time fans much more so than novices, who aren't equipped to appreciate all of the game’s finer subtleties. It has to do with officiating, which, despite myriad adjustments, continues to be maddeningly inconsistent.
The subject of obstruction – impeding the progress of players away from the puck, which is supposedly illegal - has been oft-discussed over the past two decades. Post-lockout, the NHL moved to once and for all crack down on obstruction. The league has been fairly successful when it comes to restricting hooking and holding against the puck carrier, but in the Final, the inconsistency of approach toward away-from-the-puck obstruction was obvious.
After watching the Final, even seasoned hockey watchers have no idea what constitutes interference. All teams in the playoffs use some obstruction; they run “pick” plays to free up shooters, they attempt to slow down enemy fore-checkers, and, when they can make it look reasonably innocent, take every opportunity to run over the opposing team’s goalie. The Red Wings in particular, very clever and disciplined defensively, are frequent users of these techniques. Some level of this is to be expected, and it’s not possible to penalize every small violation.
But there is a need for much greater consistency than currently exists. During the Final, blatant interference (tackling a skater on his way to the puck, or hitting a player far away from the play) occurred time and again, while a referee staring right at the play ignored the infraction. But in many other instances, relatively trivial transgressions were penalized, including a particularly dubious goaltender interference call against Detroit during the Game 5 overtime. The standard fluctuated wildly, both within single contests and among different officials in different games.
While it’s a far cry from the days in which very few penalties were called in playoff games, especially in overtime, it is an unacceptably sloppy standard. When players don’t know exactly where the line is, they tend to cross it repeatedly, only to sometimes saddle their teams with devastating consequences if heretofore accepted actions are suddenly penalized.
Why is this important? It’s because in hockey, and particularly in the tightly contested and low-scoring postseason, one goal can be so critical, even more than a single run in baseball or touchdown in football usually is. A surprising power play awarded, or an expected one denied, can have a huge impact on the outcome of a playoff game or series. In the NHL, two opposing viewpoints seem to be at work: a “North American” thinking, that encourages physical battles and permits more obstruction, and the “European” style, which emphasizes skill. Of course the proponents of those styles don’t fit neatly into those two categories, but it’s an easy way to remember the nature of a more general division.
The NHL needs to settle on an officiating style, preferably one that encourages wide-open offense and goal scoring. And, as it is done in every other major league, the NHL needs to enforce that standard in the playoffs just as in the regular season. Until that happens, the style of play in the Stanley Cup Final, while thrilling, will continue to sound a discordant note.
This problem of an officiating standard – whether or not to strictly penalize obstruction and interference – is part of a greater subject, that of the distinction between the letter and spirit of the rules laid out in each sport's rulebook. That will be our topic next time.
Monday, May 12, 2008
The Song Remains The Same...
...But There Will Be A New Leader Of The Band
Stanley Cup Playoffs, Round Two, Game Six.
Amazingly, for the third straight year, the San Jose Sharks saw their season come to an end in that specific contest. I’m hereby announcing my intention to boycott that particular game should the situation arise again in 2009.
The Sharks did enjoy several truly memorable victories during this spring’s run, including a terrific rally at Calgary in Game 4, the first-ever Game 7 in HP Pavilion history and the unforgettable overtime win to stave off elimination in Game 5 vs Dallas. The Sharks also displayed character and grit in defeat in their four-overtime epic heartbreaker in Game 6 at Dallas.
But Sharks management was clearly not amused by another second-round exit, and on Monday, head coach Ron Wilson paid with his job. That wasn’t a shock; many in the hockey world expected a change with the Sharks seemingly stuck in a postseason rut. But it was not automatic; in Wilson, the Sharks possessed an eminent coach who stands at the top of his profession and who had led the Sharks to the greatest successes in their history.
Wilson is in the Top 10 all-time in games coached and victories and, over the past four seasons, had won more games than any other coach in the league. In the past, he had led Team USA to the 1996 World Cup of Hockey title and taken the Washington Capitals to the Stanley Cup Final. In 2004, he led the Sharks to their first-ever Western Conference Final, and on his watch they set regular-season franchise records for wins and points.
Coaches in all sports do seem to labor under time limits before their young charges start to tune them out. Hockey’s shelf life may be shortest of all, and that problem may have been exacerbated by a relative lack of turnover on the experienced end of San Jose’s roster (meaning that whatever Wilson had to say, most of these players had heard it many times before.) Regardless, Wilson was certainly highly qualified and had the track record to prove it. Many felt that this season, while integrating rookies into his lineup, defusing a personal conflict with captain Patrick Marleau and overcoming his roster’s lack of veteran depth, Wilson did his best coaching job. So it’s difficult to lay the latest disappointment solely at his door.
What is the problem?
I don’t really think there is a “problem” per se. The Sharks are both good and entertaining year in and year out, and I don’t subscribe to our society’s “anything less than a championship is worthless” mentality. But for an avid hockey follower, it is intriguing to try and figure out why the Sharks haven't won it all.
In my opinion, it’s because the team is simply not quite as good as management thinks it is.
That’s hardly a shot at general manager Doug Wilson, a brilliant and personable executive who has done a terrific job with the franchise. The Sharks have propelled themselves solidly into the NHL’s upper echelon, reaching at least the second round of the playoffs in four straight seasons and winning two Pacific Division titles in that span. But every year, members of the organization talk about winning the Stanley Cup as if anything less would be a surprising failure.
The Sharks don’t have the kind of can’t-miss, overwhelming roster that should lead anyone to count on a title. They do have some impressive talent, led by the Western Conference’s premier forward (Joe Thornton,) a star goaltender (Evgeni Nabokov, a Vezina Trophy finalist this season) and a scintillating offensive defenseman (Brian Campbell) who was acquired at the trading deadline. There is promising young talent, including a pair of rookies, Torrey Mitchell and Devin Setoguchi, who made an impact in the playoffs.
But is that really so much better than the competition? The defense corps is not the equal of that of either Anaheim or Detroit, both of whom boast multiple Number One defensemen (Chris Pronger/Scott Niedermayer and Nicklas Lidstrom/Brian Rafalski.) The goaltending, while excellent, did not prove superior to that of Dallas (Marty Turco.) And the Sharks don’t have a single scoring line, like Detroit’s Henrik Zetterberg-Pavel Datsyuk-Tomas Holmstrom or the Stars’ Mike Ribeiro-Jere Lehtinen-Brenden Morrow, that is tremendously difficult for opponents to handle. They also don’t have the awesome overall firepower of the Pittsburgh Penguins, led by megastars Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin and Marian Hossa.
The Sharks’ key players are no longer kids. Nabokov will be 33 next season, and Thornton and Patrick Marleau will both turn 30. Campbell, if they can re-sign him, will be 29. Jonathan Cheechoo will be 28. Defenseman Craig Rivet, a solid veteran, will be 34. And elder statesman Jeremy Roenick, should he return for one more season, will be 39. All have played in dozens of postseason games. So playoff disappointments can no longer be blamed on inexperience.
There are certainly occasional good-not-great teams that catch fire and ride their momentum all the way to the championship round. Calgary in 2004 and Edmonton in 2006, two teams that eliminated the Sharks on their way to the Stanley Cup Final, are good examples. But few teams that actually win it all fit that description.
It’s also fair to question how serious the Sharks’ organization, top to bottom, is about winning a Stanley Cup.
Of course everyone who works for the Sharks wants to win. But it’s really hard to capture a championship. Generally, to reach that level, you have to load up, as Anaheim did last year by adding Niedermayer to Pronger, and as Pittsburgh did at midseason this year by adding Marian Hossa to an already-electric offensive force. Detroit, the Western Conference’s most dominant franchise since the mid-1990’s, has made a habit out of it. The salary cap has made the hoarding they used to do impossible; their 2002 championship squad featured 13 likely future Hall of Famers. But this year, the Red Wings did so by adding premier blueliner Rafalski, an upgrade over the departed Mathieu Schneider. Often, adding to an already powerful roster is still not enough to put a contender over the top.
The Sharks, albeit very successful, have not taken that approach. During the offseason, they subtracted battle-tested veterans in Bill Guerin, Scott Hannan and Vesa Toskala and filled their roster spots with much less experienced players. Despite big offseason talk about adding top talent, they did not make serious bids for any of the top free agents available (Chris Drury, Scott Gomez, Daniel Briere, Sheldon Souray, Cory Sarich, Rafalski, Schneider.) Although they did a good job of extending the contracts of their current standouts, including Thornton and Marleau, and the Roenick signing turned out to be a stroke of genius, the Sharks still played the season with the 26th highest payroll in the 30-team NHL. That’s not necessarily a formula for getting over the playoff hump.
There’s nothing wrong with working on a budget. Pro hockey is big business, and teams are in business to make money. And the Sharks have nothing to apologize for; they provide an entertaining, successful team year in and year out, and their in-arena experience is second to none. But life isn’t fair – to win the whole thing, you have to want it more than the opposition, and that means leaving no stone unturned, which in this case should mean spending up to the salary cap. It’s not necessarily a prerequisite; the very-young Penguins, for example, seemingly headed toward the Stanley Cup Final, do not have a large payroll. But the Sharks are not a precocious squad on the rise, winning big a year or two earlier than expected. They are in the midst of their championship “window” right now, and if there would ever be a time to bring every possible resource to bear on winning, this is that moment.
I believe that the Sharks bring some of their public-relations problems on themselves with their incessant talk of “Stanley Cup or bust.” Their fan base is amazingly dedicated and enthusiastic, but, compared to the more traditional hockey locales in Canada and the Eastern U.S., it is not the most knowledgeable. So raising unrealistic expectations year after year, to the point where your customers become unjustifiably disgruntled, is a questionable tactic.
It will be very interesting to see who ends up behind the San Jose bench. Doug Wilson doesn’t do anything without a plan, so you can bet he has long since identified several individuals he thinks are qualified and will jibe with his philosophies. Whoever inherits this roster will have above-average talent to work with, and he’ll also have the advantage of wielding a new voice in the dressing room. But without improvements to the roster, he's unlikely to guide the Sharks much farther than his predecessor.
Stanley Cup Playoffs, Round Two, Game Six.
Amazingly, for the third straight year, the San Jose Sharks saw their season come to an end in that specific contest. I’m hereby announcing my intention to boycott that particular game should the situation arise again in 2009.
The Sharks did enjoy several truly memorable victories during this spring’s run, including a terrific rally at Calgary in Game 4, the first-ever Game 7 in HP Pavilion history and the unforgettable overtime win to stave off elimination in Game 5 vs Dallas. The Sharks also displayed character and grit in defeat in their four-overtime epic heartbreaker in Game 6 at Dallas.
But Sharks management was clearly not amused by another second-round exit, and on Monday, head coach Ron Wilson paid with his job. That wasn’t a shock; many in the hockey world expected a change with the Sharks seemingly stuck in a postseason rut. But it was not automatic; in Wilson, the Sharks possessed an eminent coach who stands at the top of his profession and who had led the Sharks to the greatest successes in their history.
Wilson is in the Top 10 all-time in games coached and victories and, over the past four seasons, had won more games than any other coach in the league. In the past, he had led Team USA to the 1996 World Cup of Hockey title and taken the Washington Capitals to the Stanley Cup Final. In 2004, he led the Sharks to their first-ever Western Conference Final, and on his watch they set regular-season franchise records for wins and points.
Coaches in all sports do seem to labor under time limits before their young charges start to tune them out. Hockey’s shelf life may be shortest of all, and that problem may have been exacerbated by a relative lack of turnover on the experienced end of San Jose’s roster (meaning that whatever Wilson had to say, most of these players had heard it many times before.) Regardless, Wilson was certainly highly qualified and had the track record to prove it. Many felt that this season, while integrating rookies into his lineup, defusing a personal conflict with captain Patrick Marleau and overcoming his roster’s lack of veteran depth, Wilson did his best coaching job. So it’s difficult to lay the latest disappointment solely at his door.
What is the problem?
I don’t really think there is a “problem” per se. The Sharks are both good and entertaining year in and year out, and I don’t subscribe to our society’s “anything less than a championship is worthless” mentality. But for an avid hockey follower, it is intriguing to try and figure out why the Sharks haven't won it all.
In my opinion, it’s because the team is simply not quite as good as management thinks it is.
That’s hardly a shot at general manager Doug Wilson, a brilliant and personable executive who has done a terrific job with the franchise. The Sharks have propelled themselves solidly into the NHL’s upper echelon, reaching at least the second round of the playoffs in four straight seasons and winning two Pacific Division titles in that span. But every year, members of the organization talk about winning the Stanley Cup as if anything less would be a surprising failure.
The Sharks don’t have the kind of can’t-miss, overwhelming roster that should lead anyone to count on a title. They do have some impressive talent, led by the Western Conference’s premier forward (Joe Thornton,) a star goaltender (Evgeni Nabokov, a Vezina Trophy finalist this season) and a scintillating offensive defenseman (Brian Campbell) who was acquired at the trading deadline. There is promising young talent, including a pair of rookies, Torrey Mitchell and Devin Setoguchi, who made an impact in the playoffs.
But is that really so much better than the competition? The defense corps is not the equal of that of either Anaheim or Detroit, both of whom boast multiple Number One defensemen (Chris Pronger/Scott Niedermayer and Nicklas Lidstrom/Brian Rafalski.) The goaltending, while excellent, did not prove superior to that of Dallas (Marty Turco.) And the Sharks don’t have a single scoring line, like Detroit’s Henrik Zetterberg-Pavel Datsyuk-Tomas Holmstrom or the Stars’ Mike Ribeiro-Jere Lehtinen-Brenden Morrow, that is tremendously difficult for opponents to handle. They also don’t have the awesome overall firepower of the Pittsburgh Penguins, led by megastars Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin and Marian Hossa.
The Sharks’ key players are no longer kids. Nabokov will be 33 next season, and Thornton and Patrick Marleau will both turn 30. Campbell, if they can re-sign him, will be 29. Jonathan Cheechoo will be 28. Defenseman Craig Rivet, a solid veteran, will be 34. And elder statesman Jeremy Roenick, should he return for one more season, will be 39. All have played in dozens of postseason games. So playoff disappointments can no longer be blamed on inexperience.
There are certainly occasional good-not-great teams that catch fire and ride their momentum all the way to the championship round. Calgary in 2004 and Edmonton in 2006, two teams that eliminated the Sharks on their way to the Stanley Cup Final, are good examples. But few teams that actually win it all fit that description.
It’s also fair to question how serious the Sharks’ organization, top to bottom, is about winning a Stanley Cup.
Of course everyone who works for the Sharks wants to win. But it’s really hard to capture a championship. Generally, to reach that level, you have to load up, as Anaheim did last year by adding Niedermayer to Pronger, and as Pittsburgh did at midseason this year by adding Marian Hossa to an already-electric offensive force. Detroit, the Western Conference’s most dominant franchise since the mid-1990’s, has made a habit out of it. The salary cap has made the hoarding they used to do impossible; their 2002 championship squad featured 13 likely future Hall of Famers. But this year, the Red Wings did so by adding premier blueliner Rafalski, an upgrade over the departed Mathieu Schneider. Often, adding to an already powerful roster is still not enough to put a contender over the top.
The Sharks, albeit very successful, have not taken that approach. During the offseason, they subtracted battle-tested veterans in Bill Guerin, Scott Hannan and Vesa Toskala and filled their roster spots with much less experienced players. Despite big offseason talk about adding top talent, they did not make serious bids for any of the top free agents available (Chris Drury, Scott Gomez, Daniel Briere, Sheldon Souray, Cory Sarich, Rafalski, Schneider.) Although they did a good job of extending the contracts of their current standouts, including Thornton and Marleau, and the Roenick signing turned out to be a stroke of genius, the Sharks still played the season with the 26th highest payroll in the 30-team NHL. That’s not necessarily a formula for getting over the playoff hump.
There’s nothing wrong with working on a budget. Pro hockey is big business, and teams are in business to make money. And the Sharks have nothing to apologize for; they provide an entertaining, successful team year in and year out, and their in-arena experience is second to none. But life isn’t fair – to win the whole thing, you have to want it more than the opposition, and that means leaving no stone unturned, which in this case should mean spending up to the salary cap. It’s not necessarily a prerequisite; the very-young Penguins, for example, seemingly headed toward the Stanley Cup Final, do not have a large payroll. But the Sharks are not a precocious squad on the rise, winning big a year or two earlier than expected. They are in the midst of their championship “window” right now, and if there would ever be a time to bring every possible resource to bear on winning, this is that moment.
I believe that the Sharks bring some of their public-relations problems on themselves with their incessant talk of “Stanley Cup or bust.” Their fan base is amazingly dedicated and enthusiastic, but, compared to the more traditional hockey locales in Canada and the Eastern U.S., it is not the most knowledgeable. So raising unrealistic expectations year after year, to the point where your customers become unjustifiably disgruntled, is a questionable tactic.
It will be very interesting to see who ends up behind the San Jose bench. Doug Wilson doesn’t do anything without a plan, so you can bet he has long since identified several individuals he thinks are qualified and will jibe with his philosophies. Whoever inherits this roster will have above-average talent to work with, and he’ll also have the advantage of wielding a new voice in the dressing room. But without improvements to the roster, he's unlikely to guide the Sharks much farther than his predecessor.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Links To The Jinx
Dreaded "Sophomore Slump" Has Little To Do With Luck
Recently, on their “Kruk and Kuip on Baseball” segment on KNBR radio, Duane Kuiper and Mike Krukow talked about the Sophomore Jinx.
At first glance, the Jinx seems like one of those nebulous phenomena that appear genuine only because we take note when they come up, but fail to notice when they don't. In that way, it would resemble the tiresome bromide that “trouble comes in threes,” or the belief that the “prevent defense” in football prevents your team from winning, both of which are reinforced only by occasional anecdotal evidence (and refuted by plenty of other instances, which are routinely ignored.)
But wait! Upon further examination, there really is something to the Sophomore Jinx, and it touches on a fundamental aspect of human nature, or at least “athlete nature.”
The immediate target of Kruk and Kuip’s discussion was Colorado shortstop Troy Tulowitzki, who took the baseball world by storm with a fantastic rookie season in 2007. He drove in 99 runs, the third-highest total ever by a rookie shortstop. He also played fantastic defense and displayed leadership qualities beyond his years in leading the Rockies on their shocking storybook run to the World Series.
But 2008 has not started swimmingly for Tulowitzki, who has struggled mightily out of the gate. After the first game in San Francisco, he was mired in a .152 slump, with just one home run and eleven RBI. It had taken him 13 games to drive in his first run. And the Rockies’ results were mirroring his own; after 26 games, Colorado sat at 10-16, already nine games behind division-leading Arizona. Few doubt that Tulowitzki will soon return to form, but in the meantime, what he's going through is undoubtedly frustrating.
In their conversation, Duane and Mike mentioned a few factors that can contribute to the Sophomore Jinx:
>Overconfidence. After hitting .292 in his rookie year, Kuiper admits to feeling that he was something special. Then, he couldn’t buy a base hit during the first half of his second season. His nadir came when a fan wrote in to say he always knew where to find Duane’s name in the paper; just turn the Sunday batting averages (in which every player in the league was listed; remember when we had to read the newspaper to get the statistics?) upside down. In other words, Duane stood dead last in the American League in batting average. He did rebound to hit .263 that season, 29 points lower than his rookie year.
>Adjustments. Baseball, more than any other sport, is a game of adjustment. Because it is based so heavily on individual performance – pitcher vs batter – the science that underlies detecting each player’s weaknesses is quite sophisticated. If there’s a hole in your swing, or a pitch you can’t throw consistently for strikes, word will get around the league quickly. That’s part of what affected Duane in his second year, and it’s a large part of what Tulowitzki is going through now. Having proven himself a legitimate power threat, he is now seeing fewer fastballs and fewer strikes to hit, and it will be up to him to adjust.
>Obstinacy. The compensation for reaching the big leagues is extreme, in terms of both salary and adulation. This is the goal these young men have focused upon for most of their lives, and the ego rewards are huge. Consequently, it is almost impossible to get young players to make necessary adjustments until they begin to fail. This was the main point of Krukow’s story, in which he pitched poorly to start his second season and was sent down to the minors, where he expected to dominate but went 0-3 with a high ERA instead. Finally, he agreed to accept tutoring from his minor league coaches, whereby he was “fixed in three minutes.” He threw a shutout in his next minor-league start, was quickly recalled, and fired another shutout in his next major-league start.
It is that last element that speaks most clearly to “athlete nature.” Professional competitors are creatures of habit, and they are almost pathologically reluctant to change anything while they are experiencing success. I remember hearing this from Alvin Dark, an outstanding manager who took both the Giants (in 1962) and A’s (in 1974) to the World Series. Dark pointed out that, once a young player is failing to the point where he’s going to be sent down, he’s finally ready to listen. Before that – as long as he’s doing well enough to stay in the big leagues, even if just barely – he is stubbornly unwilling to alter anything.
That point has also been reinforced by the current travails of Barry Zito, the former Cy Young winner who is among baseball’s most highly-paid pitchers. Zito’s tenure with the Giants has been largely awful, and so far this year he has been arguably the worst starter in the majors (0-6 with a 7.53 ERA.) Zito has clearly lost velocity; his fastball now tops out around 85 miles-per-hour, while in his Cy Young season of 2002 with the A’s it reached about 91. But he still has enough other quality pitches, including an outstanding curveball, that should enable him to be at least moderately successful.
Thus it was revealing that Zito, an unusually thoughtful and reflective athlete, called attention to the mental aspect of his difficulties. In the wake of the Giants’ announcement that they are temporarily sending him to the bullpen, Zito remarked, "Sometimes in life, you have to make a change and adjustments. Sometimes, for whatever reason, you're stubborn. ... sometimes you know how to act going into a game, and you act a different way."
Is the Sophomore Jinx a universal constant? Absolutely not. Plenty of baseball stars have followed up successful rookie years with equally outstanding second seasons:
Albert Pujols:
1st year: .329, 37 HR, 130 RBI
2nd year: .314, 34 HR, 127 RBI
Ryan Howard:
1st year: .288, 22 HR, 63 RBI
2nd year: .313, 58 HR, 149 RBI
Derek Jeter:
1st year: .314, 10 HR, 78 RBI, 14 SB
2nd year: .291, 10 HR, 70 RBI, 23 SB
But many other familiar names have suffered through dramatic dropoffs:
Alex Rodriguez:
1st year: .358, 36 HR, 123 RBI
2nd year: .300, 23 HR, 84 RBI
Angel Berroa:
1st year: .287, 17 HR, 73 RBI, 21 SB
2nd year: .262, 8 HR, 43 RBI, 14 SB
And often, injury plays a significant roll in the Jinx:
Carlos Beltran:
1st year: 156 games, .293, 22 HR, 108 RBI, 27 SB
2nd year: 98 games, .247, 7 HR, 44 RBI, 13 SB
Kerry Wood:
1st year: 13-6, 3.40 ERA, 233 strikeouts
2nd year: missed entire season (elbow surgery)
But as the examples of A-Rod and Beltran show, the Sophomore Jinx is not necessarily a barrier to long-term greatness.
Others, like former A’s outfielder Ben Grieve, start their careers strongly, but lose their ability to make the necessary adjustments as time goes by and pitchers around the league figure them out. Grieve started out with three great seasons in Oakland, averaging 24 home runs and 93 RBI from 1998 through 2000. But after that, he dropped to 72 RBI, then, 64, then 17 as his batting average also plummeted. By 2005, Grieve was out of baseball at age 29.
Grieve is not the only poster child for a dynamite start followed by a short career. Another is Royals designated hitter Bob Hamelin, who broke in as with a .282 average, 24 home runs and 65 RBI in 1994. He totaled only 41 home runs the rest of his career, which ended in 1998 at age 30. Shortstop Pat Listach of the Brewers had followed a similar career path; .290 with 54 stolen bases in his debut 1992 campaign, next to nothing thereafter. Listach never stole more than 25 bases after '92; he was done in 1997 at age 29 with a career average of .251. Eric Hinske began with a .279, 24 HR, 84 RBI season in 2002; although he is still hanging on, he has never approached those numbers since.
Every one of the players listed above won their league’s Rookie of the Year award except A-Rod, who had previously played in a few too many games to qualify in 1996.
The cases of Grieve, Hamelin and Listach all speak to the hyper-competitive nature of professional sports. Because we only watch the very best compete against each other, we tend to forget how great all of the major-league players are, even the ones scratching and clawing to hold on to their roster spots. Pro sports represent a sort of evolutionary jungle, with only those best suited for adaptation able to survive with longevity. And baseball in particular, with its high failure rate even for great hitters, is especially humbling. Outside of premier stars (like Zito, who will get several mulligans because of his high salary and accomplished track record,) each career hangs by a slender thread at all times.
Thankfully for Giants fans, there is one budding star who has started his sophomore year like a house afire: starter Tim Lincecum, who has burst out of the starting blocks with 4 straight wins and 36 strikeouts in 29 1/3 innings. History suggests that, at some point, he too will have to go through an adjustment period. Or can he turn out to be one of those rare stars who can completely avoid the Sophomore Jinx? This season will tell the tale.
Recently, on their “Kruk and Kuip on Baseball” segment on KNBR radio, Duane Kuiper and Mike Krukow talked about the Sophomore Jinx.
At first glance, the Jinx seems like one of those nebulous phenomena that appear genuine only because we take note when they come up, but fail to notice when they don't. In that way, it would resemble the tiresome bromide that “trouble comes in threes,” or the belief that the “prevent defense” in football prevents your team from winning, both of which are reinforced only by occasional anecdotal evidence (and refuted by plenty of other instances, which are routinely ignored.)
But wait! Upon further examination, there really is something to the Sophomore Jinx, and it touches on a fundamental aspect of human nature, or at least “athlete nature.”
The immediate target of Kruk and Kuip’s discussion was Colorado shortstop Troy Tulowitzki, who took the baseball world by storm with a fantastic rookie season in 2007. He drove in 99 runs, the third-highest total ever by a rookie shortstop. He also played fantastic defense and displayed leadership qualities beyond his years in leading the Rockies on their shocking storybook run to the World Series.
But 2008 has not started swimmingly for Tulowitzki, who has struggled mightily out of the gate. After the first game in San Francisco, he was mired in a .152 slump, with just one home run and eleven RBI. It had taken him 13 games to drive in his first run. And the Rockies’ results were mirroring his own; after 26 games, Colorado sat at 10-16, already nine games behind division-leading Arizona. Few doubt that Tulowitzki will soon return to form, but in the meantime, what he's going through is undoubtedly frustrating.
In their conversation, Duane and Mike mentioned a few factors that can contribute to the Sophomore Jinx:
>Overconfidence. After hitting .292 in his rookie year, Kuiper admits to feeling that he was something special. Then, he couldn’t buy a base hit during the first half of his second season. His nadir came when a fan wrote in to say he always knew where to find Duane’s name in the paper; just turn the Sunday batting averages (in which every player in the league was listed; remember when we had to read the newspaper to get the statistics?) upside down. In other words, Duane stood dead last in the American League in batting average. He did rebound to hit .263 that season, 29 points lower than his rookie year.
>Adjustments. Baseball, more than any other sport, is a game of adjustment. Because it is based so heavily on individual performance – pitcher vs batter – the science that underlies detecting each player’s weaknesses is quite sophisticated. If there’s a hole in your swing, or a pitch you can’t throw consistently for strikes, word will get around the league quickly. That’s part of what affected Duane in his second year, and it’s a large part of what Tulowitzki is going through now. Having proven himself a legitimate power threat, he is now seeing fewer fastballs and fewer strikes to hit, and it will be up to him to adjust.
>Obstinacy. The compensation for reaching the big leagues is extreme, in terms of both salary and adulation. This is the goal these young men have focused upon for most of their lives, and the ego rewards are huge. Consequently, it is almost impossible to get young players to make necessary adjustments until they begin to fail. This was the main point of Krukow’s story, in which he pitched poorly to start his second season and was sent down to the minors, where he expected to dominate but went 0-3 with a high ERA instead. Finally, he agreed to accept tutoring from his minor league coaches, whereby he was “fixed in three minutes.” He threw a shutout in his next minor-league start, was quickly recalled, and fired another shutout in his next major-league start.
It is that last element that speaks most clearly to “athlete nature.” Professional competitors are creatures of habit, and they are almost pathologically reluctant to change anything while they are experiencing success. I remember hearing this from Alvin Dark, an outstanding manager who took both the Giants (in 1962) and A’s (in 1974) to the World Series. Dark pointed out that, once a young player is failing to the point where he’s going to be sent down, he’s finally ready to listen. Before that – as long as he’s doing well enough to stay in the big leagues, even if just barely – he is stubbornly unwilling to alter anything.
That point has also been reinforced by the current travails of Barry Zito, the former Cy Young winner who is among baseball’s most highly-paid pitchers. Zito’s tenure with the Giants has been largely awful, and so far this year he has been arguably the worst starter in the majors (0-6 with a 7.53 ERA.) Zito has clearly lost velocity; his fastball now tops out around 85 miles-per-hour, while in his Cy Young season of 2002 with the A’s it reached about 91. But he still has enough other quality pitches, including an outstanding curveball, that should enable him to be at least moderately successful.
Thus it was revealing that Zito, an unusually thoughtful and reflective athlete, called attention to the mental aspect of his difficulties. In the wake of the Giants’ announcement that they are temporarily sending him to the bullpen, Zito remarked, "Sometimes in life, you have to make a change and adjustments. Sometimes, for whatever reason, you're stubborn. ... sometimes you know how to act going into a game, and you act a different way."
Is the Sophomore Jinx a universal constant? Absolutely not. Plenty of baseball stars have followed up successful rookie years with equally outstanding second seasons:
Albert Pujols:
1st year: .329, 37 HR, 130 RBI
2nd year: .314, 34 HR, 127 RBI
Ryan Howard:
1st year: .288, 22 HR, 63 RBI
2nd year: .313, 58 HR, 149 RBI
Derek Jeter:
1st year: .314, 10 HR, 78 RBI, 14 SB
2nd year: .291, 10 HR, 70 RBI, 23 SB
But many other familiar names have suffered through dramatic dropoffs:
Alex Rodriguez:
1st year: .358, 36 HR, 123 RBI
2nd year: .300, 23 HR, 84 RBI
Angel Berroa:
1st year: .287, 17 HR, 73 RBI, 21 SB
2nd year: .262, 8 HR, 43 RBI, 14 SB
And often, injury plays a significant roll in the Jinx:
Carlos Beltran:
1st year: 156 games, .293, 22 HR, 108 RBI, 27 SB
2nd year: 98 games, .247, 7 HR, 44 RBI, 13 SB
Kerry Wood:
1st year: 13-6, 3.40 ERA, 233 strikeouts
2nd year: missed entire season (elbow surgery)
But as the examples of A-Rod and Beltran show, the Sophomore Jinx is not necessarily a barrier to long-term greatness.
Others, like former A’s outfielder Ben Grieve, start their careers strongly, but lose their ability to make the necessary adjustments as time goes by and pitchers around the league figure them out. Grieve started out with three great seasons in Oakland, averaging 24 home runs and 93 RBI from 1998 through 2000. But after that, he dropped to 72 RBI, then, 64, then 17 as his batting average also plummeted. By 2005, Grieve was out of baseball at age 29.
Grieve is not the only poster child for a dynamite start followed by a short career. Another is Royals designated hitter Bob Hamelin, who broke in as with a .282 average, 24 home runs and 65 RBI in 1994. He totaled only 41 home runs the rest of his career, which ended in 1998 at age 30. Shortstop Pat Listach of the Brewers had followed a similar career path; .290 with 54 stolen bases in his debut 1992 campaign, next to nothing thereafter. Listach never stole more than 25 bases after '92; he was done in 1997 at age 29 with a career average of .251. Eric Hinske began with a .279, 24 HR, 84 RBI season in 2002; although he is still hanging on, he has never approached those numbers since.
Every one of the players listed above won their league’s Rookie of the Year award except A-Rod, who had previously played in a few too many games to qualify in 1996.
The cases of Grieve, Hamelin and Listach all speak to the hyper-competitive nature of professional sports. Because we only watch the very best compete against each other, we tend to forget how great all of the major-league players are, even the ones scratching and clawing to hold on to their roster spots. Pro sports represent a sort of evolutionary jungle, with only those best suited for adaptation able to survive with longevity. And baseball in particular, with its high failure rate even for great hitters, is especially humbling. Outside of premier stars (like Zito, who will get several mulligans because of his high salary and accomplished track record,) each career hangs by a slender thread at all times.
Thankfully for Giants fans, there is one budding star who has started his sophomore year like a house afire: starter Tim Lincecum, who has burst out of the starting blocks with 4 straight wins and 36 strikeouts in 29 1/3 innings. History suggests that, at some point, he too will have to go through an adjustment period. Or can he turn out to be one of those rare stars who can completely avoid the Sophomore Jinx? This season will tell the tale.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
And The Bandwidth Played On
Sports Fans Benefit From Communication Revolution
I habitually use this space to write about sports, rather than focusing upon how we televise them. I think that, for the vast majority of fans (including me,) the subject matter itself is a good deal more interesting than the mechanics of how the games we enjoy make their way to our television sets.
That said, it’s been an unusual week at our channel, one in which we have carried multiple games for four different major-league teams (the A’s, Giants, Warriors and Sharks.) On Tuesday, we offended some of our baseball fans by missing both the beginning of the Sharks playoff game against Calgary and the end of the A’s game in Toronto. Then on Wednesday, we shifted the last portion of the A’s game to Comcast SportsNet Plus in order to cover the Sharks game in its entirety, which further drew the ire of those A’s fans who can’t watch our overflow channel (it’s available only on Comcast’s digital tier or through the two main satellite providers; roughly speaking, about one-third of our audience does not receive Plus.)
I won’t go into the gory details of why we made the decisions we did. Believe me, none of them were taken lightly, and all of them were based on what we felt would best serve our teams and our fans (in addition to our technical capabilities.) All in all, despite the hundreds of complaints we received, I think we handled the situation as best we could. And I’m not worried about our station taking some heat - this is the big leagues, and that goes with the territory.
But what’s more interesting than all of that is the simple fact that such a dilemma can even exist. It can be argued that among all of our technological advances, the revolution in communication has had the greatest impact on our lives.
In the scope of human history, it’s a very short time ago that communication was essentially limited to our physical ability to carry a message in person. During the American Revolution, for example, it took several months for information to travel back and forth to England via sailing ship. That meant that any war briefing received by King George was significantly out of date when he read it, and any subsequent orders sent back to the front were very unlikely to match the actual situation.
During the War of 1812, a major battle (the Battle of New Orleans) took place after the war had ended! The Treaty of Ghent officially made the peace between the United States and England in December of 1814, but word didn’t reach New Orleans until February of 1815, a month after the battle was fought.
The first telegraph message was sent in 1844. Radio came into widespread use in the early 20th century, television in the 1950’s. From there, we’ve progressed at an exponential rate to hundreds of TV channels, the Internet, mobile phones, satellite navigation - and more than 150 Giants games per season on TV.
For a bit of perspective, consider that our species, in something closely resembling its current form, has been around for over a million years. “Modern” human history, including the development of written language and mathematics, is generally considered to cover about 30,000 years. That means that these quantum leaps in communication - the construction of a system that allows me to speak with my girlfriend when she’s working in China, instantly and at any hour of day or night, and that allows you to be reading this blog - have taken place in, metaphorically speaking, the blink of an eye. It is a sea change in the way human beings interact with each other, and it is affecting every aspect of our lives.
The sports industry has not always been quick to adopt the newest technology. Baseball owners (in their ultimate wisdom) long held the view that radio and television coverage of home games was to be avoided because it would “interfere with the gate.” So the theory went: why would people pay their hard-earned money to come into the stadium and watch in person when they could listen to (or watch) the game for free? In the 1930’s, three of baseball’s flagship franchises, the New York triumvirate of the Yankees, Giants and Dodgers, agreed amongst themselves to ban radio coverage for all of their home games.
In the latter half of the 20th century, that idea was extended to television. While I was growing up a Giants fan during the late 1970’s and 1980’s, the team televised just 25 games per season - none at home. The A’s, whose games were carried on two channels throughout most of my childhood, actually did put on a few home games per season. During that time, both teams averaged just over one million in home attendance (with plenty of seasons below one million when either struggled on the field.)
As major-league teams slowly began to embrace modern media, their attendance climbed in lockstep with their exposure. Rather than keep fans away from the ballpark, televised home games act as three-hour commercials for the experience of going to a game. And with so many beautiful ballparks and modern amenities to show off on video, baseball teams have sales tools that make a mockery of the marketing of generations past. With nearly every game now on TV, the Giants have drawn over three million in every season at AT&T Park (they were one of ten teams to do so in 2007; the Yankees, whose every game is televised, drew over four million.) The A’s, despite playing in an antiquated park, usually draw over two million, a hitherto unimaginable figure that was reached by 24 of the 30 major-league teams last season.
Of course, it’s this explosion in sports coverage that led to our difficulties this week. The problem was really too much of a good thing: the compelling games being staged by each of our four teams and our presence as an all-sports outlet with the rights to carry all of them. And the phenomenon of a network devoted entirely to sports is in itself a relatively new concept made possible by the rise of cable just two decades ago.
Viewers’ expectations have grown just as quickly as our technological capabilities. Whether the topic is news, politics, entertainment or sports, residents of first-world nations expect instant gratification at the highest quality. And sports fans are particularly passionate; it is that emotion that is sports’ stock in trade. So it’s not surprising that fans are also particularly impatient when anything comes between them and the games they want to watch.
In the grand scheme of things, missing a little of a ball game seems quite trivial. But, as a society, we’ve created an expectation of ubiquitous coverage, and it causes dislocation when that expectation goes unfulfilled. That has had unexpected consequences, including the infliction of tremendous damage on the newspaper business, whose in-depth reporting function has not been adequately replaced by the “new” media.
During my college days, which took place in Chicago, the newspaper was the primary means of following my Bay Area teams. But due to the time difference, West Coast scores rarely made the morning editions, which meant it was often Wednesday before I found out what happened on Monday evening. When the Giants clinched the National League West title in 1987 - a dramatic occurrence that followed 15 years out of the playoffs - my only way of participating was through repeated phone calls to a newspaper sports hotline that was updated every ten minutes. That’s a very different experience than every sports fan has become accustomed to today.
We sports afficianados should remember that we have benefited disproportionately from the communication revolution. The sheer number of games now available in multiple forms, plus the huge volume of statistical information and commentary, have fundamentally enhanced the pleasure of following sports. Such rapid change in the way we obtain information may have untold effects on society at large, but for sports nuts, it’s sheer heaven.
So I’d urge my fellow Bay Area fans to cultivate a bit of patience in addition to their passion. Yes, it can be annoying when we have to miss an occasional game, or a bit of one, that we’re excited about. But, both as sports followers and as people, we have it better than most of the humans who have ever lived. Let’s enjoy it.
I habitually use this space to write about sports, rather than focusing upon how we televise them. I think that, for the vast majority of fans (including me,) the subject matter itself is a good deal more interesting than the mechanics of how the games we enjoy make their way to our television sets.
That said, it’s been an unusual week at our channel, one in which we have carried multiple games for four different major-league teams (the A’s, Giants, Warriors and Sharks.) On Tuesday, we offended some of our baseball fans by missing both the beginning of the Sharks playoff game against Calgary and the end of the A’s game in Toronto. Then on Wednesday, we shifted the last portion of the A’s game to Comcast SportsNet Plus in order to cover the Sharks game in its entirety, which further drew the ire of those A’s fans who can’t watch our overflow channel (it’s available only on Comcast’s digital tier or through the two main satellite providers; roughly speaking, about one-third of our audience does not receive Plus.)
I won’t go into the gory details of why we made the decisions we did. Believe me, none of them were taken lightly, and all of them were based on what we felt would best serve our teams and our fans (in addition to our technical capabilities.) All in all, despite the hundreds of complaints we received, I think we handled the situation as best we could. And I’m not worried about our station taking some heat - this is the big leagues, and that goes with the territory.
But what’s more interesting than all of that is the simple fact that such a dilemma can even exist. It can be argued that among all of our technological advances, the revolution in communication has had the greatest impact on our lives.
In the scope of human history, it’s a very short time ago that communication was essentially limited to our physical ability to carry a message in person. During the American Revolution, for example, it took several months for information to travel back and forth to England via sailing ship. That meant that any war briefing received by King George was significantly out of date when he read it, and any subsequent orders sent back to the front were very unlikely to match the actual situation.
During the War of 1812, a major battle (the Battle of New Orleans) took place after the war had ended! The Treaty of Ghent officially made the peace between the United States and England in December of 1814, but word didn’t reach New Orleans until February of 1815, a month after the battle was fought.
The first telegraph message was sent in 1844. Radio came into widespread use in the early 20th century, television in the 1950’s. From there, we’ve progressed at an exponential rate to hundreds of TV channels, the Internet, mobile phones, satellite navigation - and more than 150 Giants games per season on TV.
For a bit of perspective, consider that our species, in something closely resembling its current form, has been around for over a million years. “Modern” human history, including the development of written language and mathematics, is generally considered to cover about 30,000 years. That means that these quantum leaps in communication - the construction of a system that allows me to speak with my girlfriend when she’s working in China, instantly and at any hour of day or night, and that allows you to be reading this blog - have taken place in, metaphorically speaking, the blink of an eye. It is a sea change in the way human beings interact with each other, and it is affecting every aspect of our lives.
The sports industry has not always been quick to adopt the newest technology. Baseball owners (in their ultimate wisdom) long held the view that radio and television coverage of home games was to be avoided because it would “interfere with the gate.” So the theory went: why would people pay their hard-earned money to come into the stadium and watch in person when they could listen to (or watch) the game for free? In the 1930’s, three of baseball’s flagship franchises, the New York triumvirate of the Yankees, Giants and Dodgers, agreed amongst themselves to ban radio coverage for all of their home games.
In the latter half of the 20th century, that idea was extended to television. While I was growing up a Giants fan during the late 1970’s and 1980’s, the team televised just 25 games per season - none at home. The A’s, whose games were carried on two channels throughout most of my childhood, actually did put on a few home games per season. During that time, both teams averaged just over one million in home attendance (with plenty of seasons below one million when either struggled on the field.)
As major-league teams slowly began to embrace modern media, their attendance climbed in lockstep with their exposure. Rather than keep fans away from the ballpark, televised home games act as three-hour commercials for the experience of going to a game. And with so many beautiful ballparks and modern amenities to show off on video, baseball teams have sales tools that make a mockery of the marketing of generations past. With nearly every game now on TV, the Giants have drawn over three million in every season at AT&T Park (they were one of ten teams to do so in 2007; the Yankees, whose every game is televised, drew over four million.) The A’s, despite playing in an antiquated park, usually draw over two million, a hitherto unimaginable figure that was reached by 24 of the 30 major-league teams last season.
Of course, it’s this explosion in sports coverage that led to our difficulties this week. The problem was really too much of a good thing: the compelling games being staged by each of our four teams and our presence as an all-sports outlet with the rights to carry all of them. And the phenomenon of a network devoted entirely to sports is in itself a relatively new concept made possible by the rise of cable just two decades ago.
Viewers’ expectations have grown just as quickly as our technological capabilities. Whether the topic is news, politics, entertainment or sports, residents of first-world nations expect instant gratification at the highest quality. And sports fans are particularly passionate; it is that emotion that is sports’ stock in trade. So it’s not surprising that fans are also particularly impatient when anything comes between them and the games they want to watch.
In the grand scheme of things, missing a little of a ball game seems quite trivial. But, as a society, we’ve created an expectation of ubiquitous coverage, and it causes dislocation when that expectation goes unfulfilled. That has had unexpected consequences, including the infliction of tremendous damage on the newspaper business, whose in-depth reporting function has not been adequately replaced by the “new” media.
During my college days, which took place in Chicago, the newspaper was the primary means of following my Bay Area teams. But due to the time difference, West Coast scores rarely made the morning editions, which meant it was often Wednesday before I found out what happened on Monday evening. When the Giants clinched the National League West title in 1987 - a dramatic occurrence that followed 15 years out of the playoffs - my only way of participating was through repeated phone calls to a newspaper sports hotline that was updated every ten minutes. That’s a very different experience than every sports fan has become accustomed to today.
We sports afficianados should remember that we have benefited disproportionately from the communication revolution. The sheer number of games now available in multiple forms, plus the huge volume of statistical information and commentary, have fundamentally enhanced the pleasure of following sports. Such rapid change in the way we obtain information may have untold effects on society at large, but for sports nuts, it’s sheer heaven.
So I’d urge my fellow Bay Area fans to cultivate a bit of patience in addition to their passion. Yes, it can be annoying when we have to miss an occasional game, or a bit of one, that we’re excited about. But, both as sports followers and as people, we have it better than most of the humans who have ever lived. Let’s enjoy it.
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