Baseball Stats Mania Rates a Zero

Sports Commentary

Given the state of the economy and all the political mud slinging going on, I probably should be worried about my country these days. But the truth is, I’ve got more important things on my mind, including the most important thing of all.

Baseball.

No, not the lab rats who play it or the trust-fund babies who run it. Baseball has been around since they used cowpies for bases. It has survived despite itself for this long, so there’s no reason to think it won’t continue to.

I’m worried about us, the fans. I’m worried that aliens are trying to attack our brains. At least they might as well be aliens. But for the record, they’re lifeless geeks who wake up every morning in hopes of creating a new baseball statistic.

Have you seen some of the quote, unquote stats out there? When I was a kid hustling autographs at Wrigley Field, the game was all about W’s and L’s. Now it’s about WHIP and VORP and OPS and BABIP. And let’s not forget the most important acronym of them all: HGH.

VORP? WHIP? BABIP? Since when did a Harvard physics degree replace a ticket stub for admission to the left-field bleachers?

I don’t know about you, but I liked the way things were before some self-absorbed numbers cruncher dreamed up VORP (Value Over Replacement Player, whatever that means.) And while we’re on the subject, didn’t that guy have something better to do that day? Like getting some fresh air instead of spending the entire day in his boxer shorts in his mother’s basement?

Let me guess. The guy spends every waking moment of every day on his computer. And his only correspondence with the outside world is with fellow self-absorbed numbers crunchers who spend every waking moment of every day in dogged pursuit of the next esoteric pseudostat.

These are the baseball writers of today. Forget Roger Angell and David Halberstam and all those other curmudgeons. They wrote about the romance of the game, the visceral attraction of the game, the simple pleasures of the game. They wrote about the Boys of Summer and the dads who took their sons out to the yard to watch them.

Today, it’s all about the numbers and the psychos who crunch them. They call themselves sabermetricians. I call them seamheads, among other things.

I’m telling you, we need to stop these people before it’s too late. Before we’re all walking around in a cyberfog talking in acronyms that only Stephen Hawking could understand. President Bush, your basic baseball junkie, needs to swing into action in the best interests of the country. He needs to have his Homeland Security Nazis break into these people’s homes and take a Louisville Slugger to their computers.

If not, I may have to resort to drastic measures. I may have to become a soccer fan. Think about it. There are no seamheads trying to take over the soccer world. There can’t be because there are no numbers to crunch. Well, a few maybe, but not enough to get all hot and bothered about.

Things are simpler in soccer. There’s no WHIP or VORP in soccer, just a few DOAs after the usual fan rowdiness in the stands. In soccer, all the stats are the same. All the goalkeepers have a .001 goals-allowed average and, at the end of the season, everyone ties for the league lead with one goal scored.

Not in baseball. In the past few days alone, I’ve come across such stats as OPS (One-base Plus Slugging percentage), GWRBI (Game Winning Runs Batted In), DIPS (Don’t Ask), QERA (Quantified Earned Run Average), WHIP (Walks and Hits per Innings Pitched) and BABIP (Batting Average for Balls In Play).

Good thing Casey Stengel isn’t around to see this nonsense. All this numbers crunching might have interrupted his nap in the dugout. Or Earl Weaver. He would have been so busy thumbing through computer printouts, he wouldn’t have had time to sneak in a half-pack of smokes in the runway.

Other than their utter lack of social skills, I’m not sure why all these computer nerds keep dreaming up new stats. In the end, the question is whether their numbers add to the enjoyment of the game. And the answer is no. I’ll tell you what adds to the enjoyment of the game, and I’ll put it in terms these geeks can understand.

ABAB (a Beer And a Brat).

MAILBAG

Questions? Comments? Feel free to e-mail me at dontmissjim@aol.com. A few random excerpts from recent e-mails ...

Jim, Who cares about war, famine and a sinking economy? It’s March Madness time!!

— Doug Samut,

Mooresville, NC

The economy just sank a little lower in my house. My brackets are uglier than Lindsay Lohan’s bar tabs.

Hello! My name is Manuel Marino and I’m a music producer in Sicily. I found you on a producers list. I would like to meet you. Maybe we can work together on new projects.

— M.M.

Sure, Mannie, whatever you say. As long as I don’t actually have to meet you and the gig pays a ton of money. No checks, please, just cash.

Jim, Pacman? Pacman??? Please tell me you wrote that column after several pints of Guinness. Either that or you’re bucking for a Section 8. Regards, Klinger.

— Dan Merlin,

Cocoa, FL

Thanks, Max. Don’t look now, but your slip is showing.

Jim, Loved the fearless baseball predictions column as always. Your combined humor and expertise hits the mark dead on. Love the A-Rod stuff.

— Jim Long

Humor? Expertise? Shucks, folks, I’m speechless.

Good column on the Knicks, but just one question: Why did you take it easy on them? They ought to blow up the franchise and start over.

— Long suffering in Manhattan

Donnie Walsh has arrived, my friend. Better things are ahead. And hey, if not, at least he’s getting paid a lot of jack.

Jim, I’ve got a fantasy league question for you.

— Joe M.,

Albuquerque

Stop right there, bubba. I don’t do fantasy-league questions. My fantasies have nothing to do with sports.

Jim Armstrong is a sports columnist for The Denver Post.