Baseballot

October Madness: How to Build a Better and Simpler Postseason

2012-03-08T22:56:00.002-05:00

For many of the same reasons that others have cited, I am not a fan of Major League Baseball's new playoff format. It uses a one-game playoff in a sport that wasn't built for them. It crowds the schedule. It's unfair.

One thing I am OK with, though, is the increase in the number of playoff teams. To have more competition late in the year is good for the game and good for many perennially disappointed fan bases. In fact, I wouldn't have a problem if MLB wanted to expand the postseason even further—perhaps to 12 teams, or 16, or, eventually, all the way up to 30.

And instead of these easily upended one-game playoff series, the postseason should be expanded to as many games as possible. With these reforms, there are a maximum of 20 playoff games; let's stretch that out to a fairer 40 or 50—someday, all the way up to 162 games.

Yup, there's no getting around the fact of the matter: the fairest way to crown a world champion is through that 30-team, 162-game playoff tourney known as the regular season. Baseball is unique from (and better than, obviously) other sports in that it lasts so very, very long. Counting spring training and October, the boys of summer play for eight months, many of which are not the summer. In that time, averages and streaks even out, and all players and teams end the year playing at their true level of ability. Unlike those for a single game—when anything can happen—season statistics don't lie.

Consequently, there is little doubt in my mind that, in 2011, the Philadelphia Phillies were the best team in baseball. There is no doubt in my mind that the 2001 Seattle Mariners, whose total of 116 wins has never been surpassed, deserved to hoist the World Series trophy that year for that remarkable feat. Of course, there is no way to guarantee this short of canceling the playoffs and crowning the team with the best record after 162 games as the world champion. But how boring would that be? As a fan, the last thing I would want is the elimination of the World Series.

Therefore, as perfect and just as it may be, this blog post will not argue in favor of that. But, in my opinion, the best possible "reform" to the MLB playoffs is one that brings us as close to that model as possible—in other words, the biggest simplification we can stomach. (And if there's one thing that this new arrangement is not, it's simple.)

The postseason cannot guarantee that the best team wins, but its goal should be to try. (Note: this flies in the face of everything we have been trained to crave: upsets, underdogs, and the like. But we need to face it—the teams we all know are better deserve to win.) This means both that there must be fewer opportunities for the winningest team to be upset (i.e., fewer series played on the way to the championship) and that the seeding of teams in the postseason "bracket" (forgive me, it's March) must be straightforward and fair—rewarding the best teams and punishing the worst ones.

This is why the new playoff format is unacceptable from a fair-playing-field perspective: it actually falls shorter of both these standards than the current format does. Specifically, it makes what is potentially the second-best team in the league (the higher Wild Card seed) extremely vulnerable to immediate elimination by potentially the fifth-best team in the league. To treat these teams as equivalent just because neither won a division is pure folly; the 2001 Oakland A's (102–60) shouldn't even be in the same conversation as that year's Minnesota Twins (85–77), yet under this system those two teams would have faced off in a one-game playoff.

The current format (or should I say "old format") isn't much better, by the way. From 1995 to 2011, the fourth-seeded Wild Card team was the team with the fourth-best record (or tied for third-best) only 13 of a possible 34 times. No, for the simplest and fairest postseason, we have to go to an even older format: the setup of the original World Series.

Until 1969, the winningest team in the American League and the winningest team in the National League met in the World Series immediately after the regular season. There was a purity to this method, which ensured that the class of each league (which were much more distinct entities than they are today) would be represented on baseball's biggest stage. Today, however, divisions and their inherent non-parity (see: AL East) add a random variable to that equation; the division-winner-on-division-winner setup doesn't try hard enough for the goal of the best team winning. The solution is to eliminate the East, Central, and West and combine each league into one big division—as it was for the majority of baseball history.

In my perfect, purist, reactionary, fantasy world, the best team from each league would play a seven-game (or maybe nine-game!) World Series, and that would be that. However, allowing for modern tastes and teams' money-grubbing, it would be almost as fair to simply pick the top two (preferable) or four seeds in each league and set up a tournament (lowest seed at highest seed, etc.), extremely similar to the 1995–2011 arrangement, that culminates in the World Series. This eliminates any nonsense about better teams being punished for their geographic location (for example, if they are the four best teams in the AL, why shouldn't New York, Boston, Tampa, and Toronto all go to the playoffs?).

This system is not perfect. For example, if the AL is stronger than the NL one year (I don't even know why I said "if" there...), a 90–72 team in the AL might miss the playoffs while an 89–73 team in the NL snags a berth. But this is an inevitable problem arising from the separation of MLB into leagues—leagues that have such deep historical roots that even I am unwilling to blow them up. Besides, having only two leagues/divisions still minimizes the chances of this unfairness compared to today, when there are six chances to get screwed.

This realignment would necessitate a host of other changes too, like a switch to a balanced schedule (finally!). To put it bluntly, this will never happen (too much revenue is generated from 19 Red Sox–Yankees games a year, don't you know). And to be honest, as long as the playoff format is going to be unfair, it might as well be exciting—and I do admit that the one-game Wild Card Series (or whatever the networks decide to call it) is going to be a blast. Here in spring training, it's easy to put that emotion at arm's length and look at the game academically. But in October, while I'm riveted to the television, you may have to remind me that fairness is important, too. Maybe someday we'll have both.

Predicting the 84th Academy Awards

2012-02-23T12:29:00.001-05:00

If you follow film pundits closely enough, it's actually quite easy to predict the Oscars. Rather than relying on past voting trends, complicated delegate math, or some other magic juice, the likely winners of this springtime election are identified through getting a proper sense for where the wind in Hollywood is blowing. This year, everyone is talking about The Artist, and consequently that's what will likely take home the gold in the Best Picture category on Sunday.

On the other hand, it's extremely hard to get a perfect score in your Oscar pool. While most categories feature consensus favorites, there are always a handful where there is a true horse race, and there the best you can do is guess—or, perhaps, apply a little magic juice.

According to the diverse and knowledgeable Gurus o' Gold, there are three categories this year that are truly tossups. (That leaves 21 that you can be relatively sure of for that Oscar pool.) Rather than just taking a random stab at them, though, let's try to see what clues Oscar history might hold as to the winners.

Best Editing
This is a two-horse race between this year's two most-nominated films: French silent flick The Artist and Martin Scorsese's Hugo. The Gurus currently tilt toward The Artist (eight votes to five, with one lone Moneyball dissenter), as do oddsmakers. It's something of a turnaround from a week ago, when Hugo was considered the slight favorite. What changed, and can we expect it to stay that way?

For answers, we need look no further than last weekend, when the American Cinema Editors snubbed Hugo in favor of The Descendants in their drama category yet stuck with The Artist for best editing in a musical or comedy. The winners of the ACE's "Eddies" (ha ha... get it?) have an uncanny knack for winning Best Editing from the Academy as well: 10 of the last 10 years, in fact, and 18 out of 20. True, the majority of those times, it was the Eddie winner for dramatic film that took Oscar gold. But with Kevin Tent's work on The Descendants probably too subtle to be noticed by rank-and-file Academy voters and currently not taken seriously as a contender, The Artist seems primed to join Chicago as a comedic winner of the category.

The Artist also seems to have an edge because of its heavy frontrunner status for Best Picture and Best Director, two categories that correlate closely with Best Editing. An analysis of the last 20 ceremonies reveals that the winner of Best Editing was 11 for 20 in the Best Picture field and also 11 for 20 in Best Director. Moreover, many of those nine that missed a Best Picture win (e.g., The Aviator, Traffic, Saving Private Ryan) are considered to have done so narrowly, so that statistic could be soft. Overall, 17 of the last 20 Editing winners were Best Picture nominees; coincidentally, 17 of 20 (but a different 17 of 20) were also Best Director nominees. The only exceptions come when the Academy is confronted by an action movie (such as The Bourne Ultimatum or The Matrix) that they absolutely adore (those two movies won every Oscar they were nominated for). But there is no such movie in the field this year, so count on Best Editing being one of the first dominos to fall if The Artist achieves even a mini-sweep on Sunday (the odds of which are very good).

For the record, the same historical analysis strangely showed that Best Editing also has an 11-for-20 matching-winner rate and a 17-for-20 matching-nominee rate with Best Sound Mixing (formerly Best Sound). This seems spurious to me, but it may be worth noting that The Artist, as a silent film, is not nominated in that category this year. Even juicier, Hugo is one of the frontrunners for Best Sound Mixing this year. However, as the connection between the two is not clear, I wouldn't put too much stock in this coincidence.

Could something other than The Artist or Hugo win this category? The Academy has occasionally opted for complex movies with many simultaneous storylines (which must be edited together, of course) such as The Social Network and Crash. On this slate of nominees, both Moneyball and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo feature flashbacks of this ilk, but I simply don't think that's enough to overcome their lack of fit otherwise. Here's my guess for how the voting will break down:

1. The Artist
2. Hugo
3. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
4. Moneyball
5. The Descendants

Best Costume Design
This may be the most wide-open category, with four of the five nominees getting votes from the Gurus. Likewise, Las Vegas sees it as a race between Hugo and The Artist, with the former perhaps a very slight favorite, while Anonymous and Jane Eyre lurk in the background.

In the past, this category has rewarded almost nothing but period pieces. From 2006 through 2009 the winners were as follows: Marie Antoinette, Elizabeth: The Golden Age, The Duchess, and The Young Victoria. How's that for consistency? Unfortunately for us, though, neither Hugo nor The Artist is an historical drama about royalty; indeed, frustratingly, they are both more recent period pieces about the days of early cinema, both set within a year of 1930. However, the Gurus' dark horses, Anonymous and Jane Eyre, are set in Elizabethan and Victorian times, respectively; the queen herself is a character (along with several earls) in Anonymous.

Dovetailing nicely with its preference for period work, the Academy's philosophy for costume design has also historically been "more is more"—that is, the showiest work wins. This held true last year, when Alice in Wonderland won in a photo finish with The King's Speech; it was also evident in the wins for Memoirs of a Geisha and Moulin Rouge! Between Hugo and The Artist, this would seem to favor the Scorsese flick; The Artist's black and white mutes the costumes somewhat, whereas Hugo features some very whimsical getups when depicting some of the earliest fantasy films. Meanwhile, though, Anonymous and Jane Eyre sport the obvious frilliness that the Academy loves.

Clearly, then, the nominees divide into two camps: juggernaut and artsy. Based on the category's history, the artsy would seem to have the edge—but which one? A precursor award may again hold a clue. The Costume Design Guild has only a so-so record of choosing the same winners as the Academy (six of the last 13 Oscar winners also won one of the guild's three awards), but the CDG has at least nominated the eventual Oscar winner every year since 2001. This bodes poorly for Anonymous, which somehow missed the cut for the guild this year. Jane Eyre's odds with bookies are also significantly better, making it the favorite in my view.

Meanwhile, to break the tie between the juggernauts, let's look at other Oscar categories that are traditionally closely aligned with Best Costume Design. Only one category shared its winner with Best Costume Design more often than five times out of the past 20 (a poor 25% correlation): fellow eye-candy fodder Best Art Direction. Eleven of the past 20 winners in that category were also the best dressed. This year, the clear favorite for Best Art Direction is Hugo. Not only that, but the winner of Best Costume Design was at least nominated for Best Art Direction 17 times in the last 20 years (note to self: play the numbers 11, 17, and 20 at Powerball). Neither Jane Eyre nor Anonymous scored nods for their art directors this year, though. If history is to be trusted, Costume Design will ultimately fall to one of the juggernauts, and the more likely choice is Hugo.

However, I believe there is too much precedent standing in the way of a win for longtime Scorsese costume designer Sandy Powell. Begin with the fact that Best Costume Design is a notoriously Best Picture–unfriendly category: only five of the last 20 best films have won in Costume Design (yet another point against The Artist), and only eight Costume Design winners were even Best Picture nominees. Of course, I'm not saying that voters go out of their way to punish their favorite films here–just that they don't feel limited to them. In this category more than others, voters feel the freedom to go with otherwise unaccomplished movies whose costumes really stand out. Moreover, while it's rare for the award to go to a non-nominee in Art Direction, it's not unprecedented, especially in recent years. In fact, Marie Antoinette won in 2006 when Costume Design was its only nomination—a feat Anonymous and Jane Eyre look to duplicate this weekend. My final rankings for an extremely difficult category:

1. Jane Eyre
2. Anonymous (but at 33/1 odds, it might be worth putting $10 on!)
3. Hugo
4. The Artist
5. W.E.

Best Sound Editing
Sound is another place where the showiest—or, in this case, loudest—contender usually wins. Perhaps unsurprisingly, then, blockbusters and other action fare do well in this category. This year, the field is led by our old friend Hugo (eight Guru votes and consistently the best odds), but Steven Spielberg's War Horse is a strong contender as well (five votes).

Immediately, it's clear that War Horse fits perfectly into the fraternity of past winners. Each of the past 14 winners has been either a modern war movie (The Hurt Locker, Letters from Iwo Jima, Pearl Harbor, U-571, Saving Private Ryan), a historical/medieval war movie (Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers), a disaster movie (King Kong, Titanic), or just the boring ol' action film with more hand-to-hand combat and gunfire (Inception, The Dark Knight, The Bourne Ultimatum, The Incredibles, The Matrix). In this sense, Hugo, without a single scene of violence, might actually be the least likely winner!

This has been borne out on the award circuit so far as well. While Hugo did score for its only nomination (Best Music in a Feature Film) at the Motion Picture Sound Editors' Golden Reel Awards, War Horse took home that organization's highest honor—also the one most closely associated with the Oscar. In sum, if we weren't looking at the odds or the pundits, it would appear that War Horse had a mortal lock on Best Sound Editing.

Another key kernel of wisdom for this category is that its winner often tracks with the winner of its twin award, Best Sound Mixing—but not as often as it has the reputation for. In 10 of the last 20 years (but four of the past six), the same film has taken home both trophies. (The record for Sound Mixing nominees in this category, which Hugo and War Horse both are, is again 17 for 20.) When the awards split, it is frequently because Sound Editing is more "niche" than Sound Mixing, which tends toward the mainstream (read: major Best Picture competitor). The Academy also consistently honors musicals with Best Sound Mixing for their skillful interweaving of normal audio with musical numbers.

If the pattern holds, Best Sound Editing will go to Hugo, the generally accepted favorite for Best Sound Mixing. But the pattern has a 50/50 chance of not holding, and the two categories could yet split. If this happens (as at least two Gurus are predicting), it would make sense that Best Sound Mixing would go to the popular Hugo and Best Sound Editing to the film that has been somewhat shunted to the side: War Horse. What's more, Hugo isn't even a sure thing in Best Sound Mixing, which has the same love for eardrum-splitting battles as Best Sound Editing does and could conceivably go to War Horse as well. In my opinion, it would be a mistake to base our Sound Editing prediction on a shaky assumption about Sound Mixing; in a more stable year, this datum might be more useful to us. If War Horse does win Best Sound Mixing, though, you can count on it taking Best Sound Editing, too.

In the bottom tier, Drive has the longest shot; the lack of nominations (this is its only one) for a film that probably deserved more tells you all you need to know about how much the Academy liked it. The two remaining nominees, Dragon Tattoo and Transformers: Dark of the Moon, both fit the action-film mold of the award. But Academy voters can be notorious snobs, voting only for films that don't stink (possibly out of a desire to keep "unworthy" films from being able to brag "Oscar winner!" on their Blu-ray boxes), so don't expect Transformers to be much of a factor. Dragon Tattoo did have some very impressive sound work, but it's simply not in the same league as the two frontrunners in this category. The final standings for Best Sound Editing:

1. War Horse
2. Hugo
3. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
4. Transformers: Dark of the Moon
5. Drive

Could the Pirates Contend in 2012?

2012-02-19T18:06:00.001-05:00

At some point this weekend, the Yankees and Pirates will formalize a trade that most prominently sends embattled starter AJ Burnett to Pittsburgh. Because of the obvious differences between the baseball markets in New York and Pittsburgh, media coverage of the trade has been overwhelmingly Yankee-centric, emphasizing New York's subtraction of an ineffective pitcher and its newfound payroll flexibility. But what about the Pirates—why would they make this deal?

At first I admit I was mystified; Pittsburgh can't expect to contend in 2012, so why is this small-market team interested in dealing for a fairly expensive player (the Pirates will pay Burnett $13 million over the next two years—probably more than he would have received as a free agent this offseason)? But then it dawned on me: maybe they do expect to contend in 2012.

You can bet that the Pirates brass hasn't forgotten last summer, when they were 51-44 and sitting on top of the NL Central on July 19 before the bottom fell out of their season. Perhaps motivated by this taste of success, the Pirates have been unusually active in the hot-stove league this offseason, having been linked to Roy Oswalt and Edwin Jackson (and snubbed by both despite sizable financial offers). They also offered arbitration to Derrek Lee, which demonstrated a willingness to commit up to $7 million to him for 2012, but (perhaps luckily for the Pirates) he didn't bite. This suggests that they believe that they are only a few key pieces away from true contention—and maybe that's not as far-fetched as it sounds.

Think about it. If the Pirates were in the American League, then yes, they'd stand no chance—there are too many dominant teams standing in their way. But the National League is significantly weaker, and with the likely addition of a second wild card this year, it's not at all clear who the favorites are. The NL Central, down a Pujols and a Fielder, is also relatively feeble this year. With the woeful Astros and the rebuilding Cubs, the worst the Pirates can do is probably fourth place. And while the world-champion Cardinals have to be considered the class of the division at this point, the Reds are coming off an underwhelming 79-83 season, while the Brewers will lack the meat of their 2011 lineup (remember that Ryan Braun is likely to miss 50 games due to failing a banned-substances test). It's possible that the Pirates' aggressiveness is because they see an opening.

Of course, relative standing matters little; a team shouldn't expect to reach the playoffs without at least 85 wins. Where the Pirates probably see those wins materializing is in their underrated rotation. With Burnett and fellow offseason acquisition Érik Bédard, the staff is now led by two veterans who have both had significant success in the past but who could not duplicate it on the big stage in New York or Boston. (Very smartly, Pittsburgh may have realized that players who cannot succeed in the spotlight are the newest market inefficiency—and one that, by definition, only they and other small-market teams can tap into.) Backing up the old hands are the Pirates' breakout youngsters of 2011, including James McDonald and Charlie Morton. Picture this rotation for Pittsburgh in 2012:

AJ Burnett
Not too long ago, Burnett was a reliable workhorse: he went 18-10 with a league-leading 231 strikeouts in 2008 and could boast a 114 ERA+ in 2009. His 2011 ERA of 5.15 hid a 3.86 xFIP, suggesting that a bounceback year is quite possible.

Érik Bédard
Known to be one of the game's most delicate hurlers, Bédard actually threw more innings in 2011 (129.1) than any year since his excellent 2007, when he led the league with 10.9 strikeouts per nine innings. When he does take the mound, he has always pitched well (his highest ERA since 2006 is 3.67).

Charlie Morton
Bet you didn't know that Morton delivered a 3.83 ERA in 29 starts for the 2011 Pirates; their brain trust likely sees him as a foundation to build off. (For the record, I am not a believer in Morton—he of the 1.43 K/BB ratio and extremely lucky 0.3 home runs per nine innings.)

James McDonald
On the flip side, McDonald figures to be significantly better than his pedestrian 2011 numbers (9-9, 4.21). Between April 27 and September 5, he went 9-5 with a 3.16 ERA and 120/58 K/BB ratio.

Jeff Karstens
When he's on, Karstens may be the best pitcher in this rotation. In June and July 2011, Karstens dominated the league with a 5-1 record and 1.77 ERA. His overall numbers were very good, too: a 113 ERA+, 1.21 WHIP, 1.8 walks per nine innings, and 5.3 strikeouts per nine innings (for those keeping score at home, that's a 2.91 K/BB ratio).

If anyone gets hurt (no small "if" in Bédard's case), Kevin Correia is ready to step in. Although his ERA ended the year at an ugly 4.79, the 2011 All-Star got off to a strong start with a 2.90 April. Unfortunately, his ERA got worse every month thereafter (4.15 in May, 4.46 in June, 6.08 in July, and 8.41 in August!); a bullpen role could keep his arm fresher throughout the season.

How do the Pirates stack up with other facets of their team? Not well, I'm afraid. They've made few changes to an offense that finished 27th in runs scored last season. However, a lot of baseball pundits are picking the Kansas City Royals to make major strides this season thanks to the development of some promising offensive pieces, and the same might be said about the Pirates—the team has high hopes for José Tábata and Alex Presley, while they also pray that Pedro Alvarez, Garrett Jones, and Casey McGehee can rediscover the talent that they flashed earlier in their careers. The potential is present, certainly, but a lot of things would have to break right for the Pirates to avoid a San Francisco Giants–esque fate (good pitching held back by a horrid offense).

Still, the Giants finished 86-76 with the 29th best offense in baseball last year. If the Pirates were to achieve a similar result in 2012, they would be ecstatic, because it would be the franchise's first winning season since 1992. It's the longest streak of losing seasons in American professional sports history—doubly sad because it has happened to a team with such a proud and storied history and to a city that has always been an excellent baseball town. Nowadays, Pittsburgh is in danger of losing that status; as its legacy of winning fades more and more into the past, its reputation for futility—and, to a degree, apathy about winning—has begun to lose it its respect in the baseball community. That shouldn't be, and while the Pirates aren't my team, I'll be rooting for them to do well this year.

But I'll be honest: While it's nice to see some effort and optimism come out of the Pirates front office, I don't think its on-field product will get even a whiff of October baseball this year. Will they be competitive? Maybe. The .500 mark seems like a high, but clearable, bar. Then again, that may be as high as the front office needs to reach in 2012. After wandering in the wilderness for so long, the Pirates simply need to regain their footing on the competitive landscape. A winning season, even if it falls 10 games short of a playoff berth, would reawaken Pittsburgh's dormant fan base and serve as a statement to players (both Pittsburgh's own and prospective free agents): "We're back." Very quietly, the current regime in Pittsburgh has made progress toward a return to respectability.

Horse-Race Standings

2012-02-15T17:06:00.000-05:00

Mitt Romney's Electability Problem

2012-02-10T13:25:00.004-05:00

After Tuesday's election results, everyone and their mother is talking about Mitt Romney's predicament. The New York Times's Nate Silver has a particularly thorough post mortem: no matter how hard he tries, Romney cannot seal the deal with key segments of the Republican electorate.

Specifically, Nate notes Romney's low batting average in caucus states (1 for 4) and Midwestern states (0 for 3). To explain this, he teases out some damning numbers for the Romney campaign: their candidate has consistently struggled to win over very conservative voters, Tea Partiers, those who are not well off, and non-urban dwellers. And then there's the trend that Newt Gingrich himself has noted: counties won by Romney have seen depressed turnout this year (compared to the 2008 Republican primaries), while Gingrich or Santorum counties have seen increased turnout and enthusiasm. In his article, Nate examines all this evidence and concludes that Romney could have a much uglier, tougher path to the nomination than everyone assumes.

However, I take a slightly longer view. As Nate does acknowledge, Romney remains the prohibitive favorite to win the GOP nomination for president. He has the most delegates thus far in the race. He still leads in national polls; he has the most money. Crucially, the Republican establishment also remains behind him. Most importantly, however, he is the only candidate who is organized in almost every state and who is capable of contending in every last primary contest, should the race go that long.

Therefore, as entertaining as the rest of primary season may be, I'm not too concerned about it from a predictive point of view. I'm much more interested in the outcome of the ultimate Obama-Romney battle royal—and Nate's observations are as least as insightful when it comes to November.

In general elections, the Midwest is often a crucial swing region—but I would argue that it is nothing less than the key to victory this fall. The reason lies in President Obama's electoral math. Of the states he won in 2008 (en route to an impressive 358 electoral votes), he figures to remain competitive in Virginia and North Carolina, thanks to continued popularity among African-Americans. Similarly, his odds look good in Colorado, New Mexico, and Nevada—and he might even be competitive in Arizona—thanks to high Hispanic support. So where is all the Obama disapproval that everyone talks about? You guessed it—the Midwest.

If Barack Obama loses the White House this year, it will be due to the collapse of his popularity among the working-class white voters who inhabit the electoral-vote-rich Rust Belt. Polls show that even Michigan and Pennsylvania, which haven't voted Republican since 1988, may be in play. The votes of those two states have come to be seen by Democrats as part of their baseline of support, from which they can springboard to wins in other states—losses there would be devastating. Meanwhile, it is a well-documented fact that no Republican has won the White House without Ohio.

Whoever he is, the Republican nominee must win over the voters in these states to win the presidency. Yet here is Mitt Romney, failing to win any states in the Midwest in three tries—and those who do vote for him seem unenthusiastic. So far this cycle, Romney has shown himself incapable of winning over the white, working-class Midwesterners who represent Obama's greatest vulnerability. It's not hard to see why, either; his blue-blooded background makes it difficult for him to connect to these voters, and his gaffes—which overwhelmingly revolve around the "I'm rich and privileged" narrative—hit particularly hard among the Rust Belt demographic. (Michiganders and their neighbors haven't heard the last about how Romney opposed bailing out the auto industry, either.) If Romney's troubles in the Midwest persist—although that's a big if, considering that Election Day is nine months away—he will have squandered his party's greatest weapon and failed to exploit his opponent's greatest weakness. If Romney's troubles in the Midwest persist, he will lose to President Obama.

Which brings us full circle back to the Republican primary fight. Much of Romney's advantage derives from the fact that he is perceived to be strongest in a matchup with Obama—in other words, the most electable Republican. But given this new information, the candidate with the most credible claim to that mantle may be Rick Santorum—not because he won in Missouri, Minnesota, and Colorado, but more for his Pennsylvania roots and ability to connect with Rust Belt voters. This both feels like it would be true and is borne out in the numbers; a recent PPP poll in Ohio found that Obama performs worse there against Santorum than against Romney (although the president dispatches both handily). The Santorum campaign would do well to start up a new narrative based on this electability argument; if it actually catches on, it will be fascinating to watch the reaction from Boston and in the polls. As Nate concludes, maybe this thing ain't over yet.

Nomination Reform: A Fanciful Proposal

2012-02-08T13:02:00.003-05:00

As any fan of the TV show "The West Wing" knows, for decades there has been a debate over whether it is appropriate to use sampling in the taking of the decennial US Census. Those in favor believe that sampling—taking a cross-section of the population and extrapolating data out for the whole country—is more efficient and, in fact, more accurate. Those against proffer the slippery-slope argument: if we use sampling for the US Census, why not conduct, say, elections that way?

Why not, indeed. While the idea of using what are essentially polls to determine the winners of general elections—when there is true power at stake—is certainly inappropriate, it might be a different story for a type of election that is already considered a bit of a farce in America today: the primary election. Although it could never be taken seriously by either major party, what if presidential nominees were chosen not by Iowa, New Hampshire, and the like, but by a poll instead?

The idea is not totally without merit. The current process is quite obviously flawed, giving undue weight to the two rural, non-diverse states of Iowa and New Hampshire. How would a poll be any worse? (The sample size might be smaller, yes, but it would be far more representative.) And there could be no intellectually honest arguments about how a primary-by-poll would subvert democracy; presidential nominating contests were never meant to be democratic. Until the late 20th century, parties' nominees for president were chosen in the famous smoke-filled rooms by party elders. Any nominee-selecting system that considers the input of the general public would be better than the system we thrived on for 200 years. And any other nominee-selecting system that considers the input of the general public would probably be better than the one we have, which still usually picks a nominee before a majority of the country has had a chance to cast their ballots one way or another.

Here's how it would work. A pollster, or series of pollsters, is contracted by each party. (Remember, the parties are private entities; they're free to choose whichever partisan, inaccurate, or book-cooking pollster(s) they wish. Again, I contend it's no more jerry-rigged than the current process.) The pollster prepares to conduct a massive, country-wide poll—of, say, 2,000 registered voters (normal polls have sample sizes of 500-1,000). These 2,000 voters are chosen by lottery to make the sample size as representative as possible of the American public—by race, sex, religion, educational background, family income, what have you. In this way, the nominee of the party is guaranteed to be chosen by a true cross-section of the nation—a nominee for all.

The parties then have two options: either go ahead and conduct the poll or announce the "winners" of the lottery. The latter has the potential to be brilliant and revolutionary or foolish and corrupting. By announcing the lottery winners—and therefore the 2,000 people who will decide their next presidential nominee—the party creates a Swing Vote–type scenario where each candidate is required to solicit the lottery winners' votes individually. (After all, if the random sampling was done properly, they are scattered all over the country and thus can't be reached en masse.) This removes the big-money element of campaigns, such as political advertisements, and (in an ideal world) puts the focus on each candidate's demeanor and positions on the issues. Namely, it facilitates the kind of retail politics that Iowa and New Hampshire are praised for—voters confront candidates face to face, while candidates are constantly reminded of the roots of their support and the concerns of everyday Americans.

True, it is somewhat likely that announcing the lottery winners would lead the campaign to devolve into a series of personal promises on the 2,000 voters' pet issues—not so different from big donors getting access to politicians that isn't available to poor commoners. And it's possible that the retail politicking could get so retail that it is conducted outside the view of the general public—resulting in a nominee who isn't as well known. So perhaps the chosen pollster should just conduct the poll immediately after all, and the winner of a plurality of votes would simply and easily be declared the nominee. (With such a large sample size, it's almost certain that the poll would be a close approximation of the results of a nationwide vote.)

Make no doubt about it, the primary-by-poll reform idea would radically transform the way presidential campaigns are run—but that's part of the point. Sure, it's a fanciful proposal. Yet inside-the-box thinking doesn't appear to be getting us any closer to a perfect presidential selection process. I'm happy to add one more kooky idea to the pile, just in the name of intellectual exploration. Maybe, just maybe, someday we'll come up with something so crazy, it just might work.

Nomination Reform: A Serious Proposal

2012-02-04T18:30:00.002-05:00

Lovers of politics across the country have just closed the book on a phenomenally exciting January. Between financial filings, resignations, seven debates, three dropouts, and one big speech, we have somehow managed to fit in four presidential nominating contests. A total of 115 delegates have been awarded (out of 2286), only 9% of Americans have had the chance to vote, and yet the process feels like it is winding down.

Every four years we seem to rediscover the problem—nomination battles are often sewn up after only a privileged sliver of the population gets to weigh in. Certain states' votes matter cycle in and cycle out, while others have never known the taste of a competitive primary or caucus.

True—for a political junkie, there's something comforting about the two familiar faces, Iowa and New Hampshire, always going first. But the idea that they are somehow better informed or better qualified to vet candidates is stretching the truth. One often-cited statistic is that it would be difficult to find two less diverse states: Iowa is 91% white; New Hampshire, 94%. A subtler stat smashes the myth that Iowans in particular have politics in their blood: this year's Iowa caucuses turnout was 122,255, which is only 5.4% of the state's 2.25 million eligible voters. (That's worse than many municipal elections.) The Iowa caucuses aren't even representative of Iowans.

Following Iowa and New Hampshire is typically a rapid succession of other states that elbowed their way to the front of the line. Often, as in 2008, Super Tuesday comes right on their heels. But awarding so many delegates so soon after Iowa and New Hampshire is dangerous due to the polling bump and media attention that the winners of those two states receive. Even though larger and more numerous states may technically be casting their votes on Super Tuesday, the media narrative out of Iowa and New Hampshire directs them how to do so. That's a lot of influence that goes back to only a few hundred thousand people.

Make no mistake, reform is needed. One particularly elegant solution, in my view, is a variation on the so-called "Delaware plan."

Under such a plan, the states are broken into groups by population, and the groups vote in order—one per month—from smallest states to biggest states. My particular version of the plan calls for five groupings as follows:

Group 1 (1st Tuesday in February): American Samoa, Northern Mariana Islands, Virgin Islands, Guam, Wyoming, the District of Columbia, Vermont, North Dakota, Alaska, South Dakota, Delaware, Montana, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Maine, and Iowa (4.2% of US population)

Group 2 (1st Tuesday in March): Hawaii, Idaho, Nebraska, West Virginia, New Mexico, Nevada, Utah, Kansas, and Oregon (6.7% of US population)

Group 3 (1st Tuesday in April): Arkansas, Mississippi, Connecticut, Puerto Rico, Oklahoma, Kentucky, Louisiana, South Carolina, Alabama, and Colorado (12.9% of US population)

Group 4 (1st Tuesday in May): Minnesota, Wisconsin, Maryland, Missouri, Tennessee, Arizona, Indiana, Massachusetts, Washington, Virginia, New Jersey, and North Carolina (26.1% of US population)

Group 5 (1st Tuesday in June): Georgia, Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois, Florida, New York, Texas, and California (50.3% of US population)

The Delaware plan rests on a simple premise—every state's vote should count. To this end, party bosses should ask themselves how a given state's primary or caucus comes to be considered valuable. Fundamentally, there are two ways: by having many delegates up for grabs or by having an early election date. Big states, by definition, have one of these advantages built in; conversely, small states must vote early in the process in order to matter. Hence the Delaware plan—small states matter because they bat leadoff, and big states matter because, well, they're big. In fact, under the Delaware plan, a nominee cannot be crowned until every vote has been cast. Because a majority of Americans do not vote until Group 5, it's mathematically impossible for a candidate to clinch the nomination without the votes of those big states.

Meanwhile, keeping small states first preserves the essential element of retail politics. As close readers of this blog know, I'm somewhat obsessed with the magic of politics on a microscopic scale. If you ask me, there's nowhere better to discuss education policy than in the local high school—not least because of the intimate audience it provides ordinary citizens with those who wish to be their voice in Washington. Politicians are kept most honest and informed when they have to meet voters to get votes (as opposed to making their pitch via TV commercials and convention-center speeches), and smaller states are obviously more conducive to this approach. An added benefit is that retail politics puts all candidates—resource-rich frontrunners and scrappy underdogs—on the same footing. Only well-funded or already-famous candidates can use the media to contact voters, but everyone is equally capable of going out into the cold and shaking hands. This is a common argument in favor of Iowa and New Hampshire, but the Delaware plan would be even kinder to a greater number of underdogs. In Iowa, or in New Hampshire, by definition there can be only one winner. With 16 states and territories voting in Group 1, however, the Delaware plan allows for more candidates to claim victory early on.

The Delaware plan is also one of several nomination-reform proposals that would rein in the chaotic scheduling of primary season. With a controlled one-month period between elections, a candidate would be hard-pressed to catch fire in a few early states and stampede to the nomination before anyone realizes what has happened. This can lead to a weaker and less thoroughly vetted nominee who goes down to an easy defeat in November—John Kerry for Democrats and John McCain for Republicans are two recent examples. Therefore, while it is fair to say that the Delaware plan enables a couple of small states to disproportionately catapult an underdog into the top tier, it would also force that candidate to prove that he or she has the staying power needed for a grueling general election. Over the next month or months, a candidate who is a true flash in the pan (we've seen several this cycle) will settle back into the pack. On the other hand, if an underdog can withstand the scrutiny of the spotlight and make good on that early momentum—if he or she can convert it into a fundraising edge, exploit every bit of subsequent media coverage, and build up a massive, advanced campaign operation capable of winning the Goliaths of Group 5—then he or she is a candidate worthy of the fall.

One complaint against the Delaware plan is that it is biased toward conservative candidates—red states, by virtue of the fact that they tend to be smaller than blue ones, tend to vote earlier in the process. But there are many problems with this quibble. First, it ignores the basic premise of the plan—that every state matters equally because of where it sits on the spectrum between "important because it's early" and "important because it's huge." If you believe that going first is inherently more valuable than having many delegates, then this isn't the plan for you anyway. (You might as well say that the Delaware plan is biased toward small states.) Second, it ignores the fact that these are primary elections—by definition restricted to partisans on one side or the other. Republicans in blue states are not necessarily more liberal than those in red states. (Fun tidbit: if the non-Mormon population of Utah were its own state, it would be the most liberal in the nation.) Finally, even if there is a conservative bias, you have to let the chips fall where they may. Designing an enduring nomination system according to 2008-era red-versus-blue battle lines makes about as much sense as realigning MLB leagues in order to break up the Red Sox' and Yankees' dominance of the AL East. Eventually regional coalitions will shift.

Perhaps the biggest obstacle to the Delaware plan, however, is not any issue with the plan itself, but rather a preference for a different nomination system. One of the most popular reform ideas is a rotating regional primary, whereby the Northeast, Midwest, South, and West take turns voting first. The rationale behind this proposal is that grouping states regionally reduces the "wear and tear" of campaign travel—an admirable goal. This is why the Delaware plan originally proposed by the RNC in 2000 falls short, in my view. The tweaked plan outlined here, however, is a compromise between the two—following the Delaware template but swapping states where possible to make the groups more regionally cohesive. For example, most of Group 1 is clustered in the Upper Plains and New England, much of Group 3 is in the South, and Group 5 features a succession of Rust Belt states. However, my plan remains geographically diverse enough that it precludes a nominee who is incapable of mounting—over time, at least—a national campaign.

The most opposition to this plan is likely to come from the states that have the most to lose from it—namely, our old friends Iowa and New Hampshire. Any state would understandably chafe at the idea of having such prestige and influence wrested away from it, but as we have seen, they do the nation a disservice by monopolizing the front of the calendar. If the Delaware plan (or any alternative reform effort) has any hope of being a reality, it has to acknowledge the non-negotiability of the Iowa caucuses and New Hampshire first-in-the-nation primary to residents of those states.

This particular version of the Delaware plan does that. Although it doesn't allow the two states to hog the spotlight any longer, it does put them both in the first group of voting states. (This was another custom-made adjustment, since Iowa, at over 3 million residents, doesn't come close to being among the smallest states in the union.) If we recognize that there's no way that Iowa and New Hampshire will accept being reshuffled into the desk, maybe there is room to have them share the honor of going first. As it is, they already compete for media attention and candidate visits—with each other, as well as other early states like South Carolina. New Hampshire might even welcome the Delaware plan if it means those pesky Iowans won't get to vote before they do anymore.

The Delaware plan isn't perfect, but no nomination system can be. Nevertheless, due to its simple elegance and status as a compromise between certain other reform proposals, I believe that it is the best realistic option open to us. But what if we were to think about unrealistic options? In my next post I'll throw out an alternative—and much more original—way to pick a nominee.

Wave Elections and Our Attention Spans

2012-01-22T11:52:00.000-05:00

Mitt Romney is surging.

No, sorry. I now have it on good authority that Ron Paul is surging.

OK, a couple minutes later, I can now confirm that Newt Gingrich is surging.

What has been up with this election cycle? We've all noticed the sudden surges in the polls of the not-Romney candidates for the Republican presidential nomination. The political winds have shifted from hurricane-force behind one candidate to just as strong behind another—first every month or two, but now literally every week. To recap: First, back in the spring, it was Donald Trump leading the polls. Then Michele Bachmann stormed to the top over the summer. Then Rick Perry, then Herman Cain. Then it was Gingrich's turn as the calendar turned to December. Then suddenly everyone noticed Paul.

That was when it really got interesting. In one week, it seemed like the entire Iowa GOP flocked en masse behind Rick Santorum. So decisively did he rally that support that he appeared on top of the world—until one week later, when Romney's powerful New Hampshire victory speech made him seem inevitable. Everyone, including this blogger, thought he was on his way to a win in South Carolina and the title of "presumptive nominee."

That was just one week ago. Yesterday, Newt Gingrich won South Carolina by 12 percentage points. According to Nate Silver, it's "one of the most shocking reversals of momentum ever in a presidential primary"—and it's hard to disagree.

The conventional wisdom is that this primary season has been so volatile because Republicans aren't ready to settle down with Mitt Romney, unctuous and sober, as their nominee. I'm sure that's part of it. But the election results in 2012 so far have actually been part of a broader pattern.

In 2006, 2008, and 2010, the United States experienced three consecutive "wave" elections—contests in which a new party swept magnificently and convincingly into power. In 2006, Democrats pulled the trick by adding 31 representatives and six senators; in 2008, they built on those impressive totals, gaining eight Senate seats, 21 House seats, and, of course, one White House. However, in 2010, the Tea Party struck back for the right; the GOP's gains of 63 in the House and six in the Senate crippled the Democratic gains of the previous two cycles.

These were remarkable elections considering the safety that congressional incumbents in particular have enjoyed throughout American history. In each of the five cycles before 2006, no party flipped more than nine House seats. Indeed, throughout the 20th century, changes in the partisan control of the House and Senate were relatively rare. (Even when power did change hands, it was due to extremely incremental changes, such as a party switch or tight election in a closely-divided Congress—nothing like the emphatic swings from +30 to -30 of recent years.) Lately, though, we've been on a seesaw ride, with the American public seemingly incapable of choosing which party it wants in power. Until recently, wave elections were safely a once-in-a-generation occurrence—yet here in the 2000s, we may just be getting started. With incumbents' record-low popularity, 2012 is considered a good candidate for a fourth wave election in a row.

This cannot be explained with the frequent narrative that today's America is extremely polarized. If that were so, everyone would stubbornly vote for the same party or candidate every election and the results would be the same year in and year out. Instead, I suspect it may be simpler—Americans just don't have the patience we used to have.

There is evidence to suggest that human attention spans are getting shorter. The average sound bite, for instance, lasted 43 seconds in 1968 but is now under eight seconds—seemingly tailor-made for today's rapid-fire Twitterverse and blogosphere. Other modern technologies may be hurting us, too; the preponderance of devices (raise your hand if you watched Saturday's primary with a laptop, smartphone, AND iPad) makes it far easier to multitask, which perhaps unsurprisingly has been linked to increased susceptibility to distraction. The problem appears heightened among our youth, who (stereotypically at least) rely most heavily on the internet and smartphones; one study found their attention span to average only 10 minutes. Finally, television—such as the recent phenomenon of 24-hour cable news—is thought to sap our attention spans as well. (It's been speculated that the press is especially to blame for the umpteen frontrunners we've seen in this presidential primary—the media seem to leap on and off bandwagons with remarkable alacrity.)

The actual effects of modern technology are still debatable, of course—and I'm certainly no Luddite, as I believe that Apple, Google, Twitter, and the rest of the internet have improved our richness of existence, not to mention of tracking politics. But it seems like a plausible explanation for a society that appears to have lost all patience with its politicians. Where America was once willing to sit and listen to a 43-second sound bite, it may also have been content to give a political party multiple years, and multiple chances, to solve the issues of the day.

Today, though, because every spare second is filled with tweets and punditry, the two years between elections feel like a lifetime. It's easier for voters to say "They've had enough time!" when in fact crises like a hostile world or a deflated economy require gradual, long-term solutions that can be jeopardized if the party line of the US government changes every two years. Just as we now get cranky if a website takes more than five seconds to load, we unrealistically expect instant gratification—and instant results—out of our leaders.

This is just a theory, based (admittedly) on mostly anecdotal evidence. But at the very least, the world is moving faster today than it ever has before (chew on this: five years ago, there was no such thing as a smartphone)—and so are our politics. Time will tell if this is a phase or our new reality.

South Beach Showcase

2012-01-15T18:06:00.002-05:00

He has been called "The Showcase." He's so mysterious that no one is quite sure how to spell his name. And he is coming to MLB.

Yoenis Céspedes is not just the latest baseball player to defect from Cuba—he is being called the best position player to emerge from the island in a generation. The American baseball community is on pins and needles about where he'll play—and how much money will be thrown at the talented outfielder. The most recent reports indicate that his services will be awarded to one of six teams: the Cubs, Indians, Marlins, Orioles, Tigers, and White Sox.

All six of these teams have needs in the outfield, which obviously explains their interest. But only one absolutely needs Céspedes. It's the Miami Marlins, and after the spending spree that that team perpetrated at last month's Winter Meetings, it will be a major disappointment if they don't land him.

You see, the Marlins are writing a new chapter in the annals of franchise history. They've rebranded themselves from "Florida Marlins" to "Miami Marlins" in conjunction with the debut of a much-hyped new ballpark in 2012. As evidenced by their free-agent binge, they're seizing the moment to transform a moribund franchise into a competitive, popular team that South Florida can be proud of. But to build a consistently strong fan base, they need more than a contending team. They need a smart business approach.

Yoenis Céspedes fits the second objective just as well as he does the first. Few places in the United States are so synonymous with a given ethnicity or immigrant community as Miami is with Cuban-Americans. As of the 2010 census, Miami-Dade County was 34.3% Cuban, outnumbering other Hispanic ethnicities (30.7%) and almost eclipsing all non-Hispanic ethnicities combined (35%). It is the unquestioned epicenter of Cuban culture in the US; in fact, Miami-Dade contains 47.9% of all Cuban-Americans nationwide. (My favorite stat: of the 101 cities with the highest Cuban-American population, 97 are in South Florida.) For the Marlins to truly become Miami's team, they need to make fans out of this community.

With Cuba's rich baseball tradition, it shouldn't be an uphill battle to do so. But the single biggest step toward capturing that market would be to sign the most exciting Cuban player in the game today. Hometown heroes have always been a valuable commodity in baseball, from Tony Gwynn to Jason Heyward. Céspedes isn't a conventional hometown hero, of course, but to Florida's million-plus Cuban-Americans, he might as well be. Already a hero among Cuban-American baseball fans, he would drive them to the seats on a regular basis if he makes New Marlins Ballpark his home. He's a natural fit for a fan favorite in Miami like nowhere else; if the team wants to sell jerseys, they'd do well to make sure his name is on one of them. And how better to build a long-term fan base than to get the children of your city on board? Kids in particular will seek out a baseball idol whom they can relate to; Céspedes is that for Miami's young Cuban-Americans.

Signing Céspedes could be an even bigger boon for the Marlins than that, though. If Céspedes becomes the superstar he is projected to be, he'll earn the admiration of Cuban-Americans nationwide, giving the Marlins the chance to be a team with national appeal. The Mariners and Red Sox cashed in on Ichiro Suzuki's and Daisuke Matsuzaka's popularity in Japan in much the same way.

Some may call this pandering, and that's understandable. Bitterness arose when it appeared that the team coveted Albert Pujols over Prince Fielder because the latter was not Latino (although those in the know dismiss such theories). But while the Marlins certainly shouldn't discriminate against any players for their ethnicity, it's perfectly all right for them to put in extra effort to woo a player who jibes with their natural constituency. Even as, yes, the team makes money from the marriage, it also does a service to the largest segment of its fan base. It gives them a player they can relate to—someone who, like them or their ancestors, escaped from communist rule to make a better life; someone who is more likely than either Fielder or Pujols to make inroads, or even a permanent home, in their community. (Cuban-American singer Gloria Estefan, for example, has used her success for her hometown's benefit; she's active in Miami as a businessowner, philanthropist, and activist.)

Indeed, landing in Miami is also probably a good outcome for Céspedes himself. Players making the leap from Nippon Professional Baseball often speak of a comfort level achieved by joining teams with other Japanese players; a Cuban defector would likely have a similar desire to feel at home. Granted, Céspedes would probably be "most comfortable" in whatever city offers him the most money, but if that's Miami, he could count on a community and culture that he can relate to just as much as they can relate to him.

Despite all the sense this makes, there is also the sense that Miami may be reluctant to pay Céspedes's rumored asking price ($50 million guaranteed for an MLB rookie is, to put it mildly, risky). But if there is any team for which Céspedes is worth the steep investment, it is the Marlins; indeed, it would be foolish of them not to capitalize on one of the few regional advantages that they do have. At the very least, the Marlins understand the exciting possibilities that Céspedes represents for them: team president David Samson put it best recently when he quite rightly declared, "He should not be anywhere but Miami."

The Baseball Hall of Notoriety

2012-01-09T12:27:00.000-05:00

Later today, after weeks of columns on the topic, the results of Hall of Fame voting will be announced—and immediately afterward, everyone will undoubtedly parse and complain about them. I obviously don't have a vote for the Hall of Fame, and I'm kind of glad about that, because I truthfully have no idea how I would fill out my ballot. It seems like today's Hall of Fame elections are marked by divisive debates that didn't exist, or at least were not so flamboyantly public, even five or 10 years ago. Is Jack Morris worthy of induction because he was the best pitcher of the 1980s? Should suspicion that Jeff Bagwell took steroids mean voters should reserve judgment on him, or is he innocent until proven guilty? And, of course, the big one: Is there any place in the Hall of Fame for known PED users? [Hyperlinks omitted due to overwhelming number of articles to choose from.]

As a disciple of the written word, in times like these I look to language to help illuminate the way. While I suspect that most of the writers with actual votes are way beyond this question, if I were given a ballot I would start by asking, "What is a Hall of Fame?" and "What is it for?"

At the risk of sounding like a terrible snob, the Oxford English Dictionary gives the following definitions for the most common usage of the word "fame": "The character attributed to a person or thing by report or generally entertained; reputation. Usually in good sense." and "The condition of being much talked about. Chiefly in good sense: Reputation derived from great achievements; celebrity, honour, renown."

Many writers break their Hall of Fame ballots into "Hall of Fame" and, for those who just missed the cut, "Hall of the Very Good." In this way they're using "fame" as a synonym for "excellent." However, as we can see from the OED, that's a questionable connection to draw. While the connotation of the word "fame" is indeed "chiefly in a good sense," its actual denotation hinges on reputation, renown, and consequence. Put another way, a given player's "fame" can be measured by the impact they had on the game and its history. I'm sure a lot of writers would tell you that they vote on this very basis, but the reams of Hall of Fame columns say otherwise: the elaborate explanations based on statistics, the moralizing over steroid use, and other elements. Almost to a man (there are unfortunately precious few women voters), these columns either imply or outright state that election to the Hall of Fame is an honor. Maybe it shouldn't be. Maybe it should just be a time capsule.

Indeed, to segue into the second question ("What is it for?"), I think the point of the Hall of Fame (as reinforced by its tendency to eat up any history-making baseball or bat within minutes of a legendary game or event) is to memorialize baseball. In 1,000 years, when aliens excavate upstate New York, the National Baseball Hall of Fame—and Museum—should contain all that we wish to pass on about our glorious pastime. When telling the story of baseball, we tell about the giants of the game—the prodigious hitters, but also the scoundrels, the larger-than-life personalities, even the historically bad. We should immortalize all of these things in the Hall.

Put these thoughts together, and you get an interesting hypothesis: a player should be elected to the Hall of Fame based on fame, and all that that means: reputation, renown, celebrity, notoriety, name recognition. It's a Hall of Fame that would include Babe Ruth and Hank Aaron but also Barry Bonds and Mark McGwire. Stan Musial would be in there, but so would Pete Rose. It would include Jackie Robinson even in an alternate universe in which he was actually a really bad player. It would include the Legend of Doc Gooden, because even though his career was much less impressive than many others, he's a name we remember today. Even Mario Mendoza—he did nothing to warrant it, but he is an important part of baseballology.

Everyone on every side of the aforementioned divisive debates would probably have a problem with these criteria. It would unquestionably mean putting some of the biggest names in steroid use in the Hall. It would also upset the statheads, because it would mean narrative-driven candidates are not only permitted, but also encouraged. And it would probably upset everyone to put players in Cooperstown just because they played for the famous Yankees and not equally legendary players who didn't get high media exposure in Colorado or Seattle—which would inevitably happen under such a system.

I'm not advocating this voting strategy; clearly it's a kooky approach to something that many people take very seriously. It's just an interesting idea, and it's probably as good a strategy as any of the other arbitrary parsings that BBWAA members have devised for muddling through the mess that is the balloting process these days. Good thing other election processes in this country make more sense. Oh, wait...

Rick Perry is Literally a Dead Man Walking

2012-01-08T11:09:00.000-05:00

In last night's and this morning's back-to-back GOP debates, it was apparent that Texas Governor Rick Perry is no longer a serious candidate for president, polling at only 5% in South Carolina and 1% in New Hampshire (tied with Buddy Roemer). Reflecting his increasing irrelevance in the race, Perry received only a small fraction of the speaking time, and the things he did say were not taken very seriously (despite a controversial statement about Iraq). My favorite line of his, though, was from last night's debate:

"We're going to see Iran, in my opinion, move back in [to Iraq] at literally the speed of light."

This line attracted a fair amount of ridicule on Twitter and the blogosphere for, of course, misusing the word "literally." It would be very difficult for Iran to send troops into Iraq that are traveling 300 million meters per second.

This use of "literally"—as an intensifier, much like you would use "absolutely" or "extremely"—is becoming more and more common. Vice President Joe Biden is a fan; The Fix blogger Chris Cillizza was also a recent transgressor. There's now a blog devoted to its particularly humorous misusages. Primarily, though, you'll hear it in conversation, especially (in my experience) among young people (compare to "like, totally"). The frequency of this misapplication seems like it has spiked in the past five years or so, and it gives traditionalist grammarians fits.

The problem is—as with many linguists' favorite misusages to gripe about—"literally" is not the latest example of how the internet age is deteriorating our language; it has been misused in this way for at least 200 years. In 1769, Frances Brooke wrote in The History of Emily Montague, "He is a fortunate man to be introduced to such a party of fine women at his arrival; it is literally to feed among the lilies." The famous Mark Twain was also an offender in Tom Sawyer: "And when the middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally rolling in wealth." Rick Perry's comment from last night was only the latest example of this fine literary tradition. Moreover, of course, Perry was merely employing a speech pattern that most of us have slipped into in the past—myself included. Considering that usage drives grammar, it's not a stretch to say that "virtually" or "utterly" has become one of "literally's" accepted definitions. Here in the year 2012, I don't think it's fair to condemn Perry for jumping on the bandwagon.

That said, I do wish "literally" were used with more care, for the sole reason that, once it is (mis)appropriated for that purpose, there will be no word left to mean "literally"! If you think about it, the words "really," "truly," and "actually" underwent similar transformations; if someone is "actually about to die laughing," that is not meant in the "actual" sense. Yet we hear this just as often as "literally," and it's probably more accepted—because we always had "literally" to fall back on when we meant that someone was literally dying from laughing too hard. Now there is no universally agreed-upon word to denote this; we will probably end up continuing to use "literally," which could create some unfortunate confusion considering its two possible (and practically opposite) meanings.

So here's your daily Baseballot public service announcement: the next time you're tempted to use the word "literally," think twice about whether you literally mean "literally." It could be the difference between life or death.

Hiroyuki Nakajima and Norichika Aoki: Somebody Sign These Guys!

2012-01-04T23:53:00.000-05:00

Quick—name a Japanese baseball import this offseason.

I think I can guess who Yu named. However, this has been a banner offseason all around for Japanese talent coming to the Major Leagues—pitchers as well as hitters. Perhaps because of all the Yu Darvish buzz, no one is really talking about two of the best hitters ever to come out of Nippon Professional Baseball (NPB): Hiroyuki Nakajima and Norichika Aoki.

Nakajima, a 29-year-old shortstop for the Seibu Lions, has consistently kept his OBP in Japan near .400 while playing Gold Glove defense. He's a 20/20 threat every year and can play all around the infield. In fact, using him as a utility player is what the New York Yankees had in mind when they won exclusive negotiating rights with Nakajima last month. According to this "posting" system, the Yankees must pay Seibu $2 million as compensation if their exclusive negotiations result in a contract. (However, the negotiating window expires tomorrow, and it sounds like the parties will not arrive at a deal in time.)

Aoki, who coincidentally turns 30 today, has been called the "best pure hitter" to come out of Japan since Ichiro Suzuki. The outfielder is a leadoff-type guy with power and some eye-popping statistics, including a .944 OPS in 2010. Most sexy, perhaps, is the fact that he has had more walks than strikeouts in three of his last five seasons in NPB. The Milwaukee Brewers won his rights with a $2.5 million posting bid, and the team plans to work Aoki out before committing to anything.

Unfortunately, we lack some of the more refined statistics (OPS+, WAR) for those who play in NPB, so it's harder to tell if they are as valuable as they seem. However, it is possible to calculate how Nakajima and Aoki performed according to my own preferred offensive metric: Bill James's runs created. Runs created are measured on a scale similar to runs scored: 60 is a solid regular, 80 is a lineup stalwart, and superstars crack 100 every year.

Let's use runs created to compare Nakajima's and Aoki's production to some of their would-be peers in the US; it's much easier for us to judge what they'll be worth to any of our ballclubs if we know which MLB players they resemble the most. Here is a chart comparing Hiroyuki Nakajima's yearly runs created to those of MLB players most like him—i.e., shortstops who were 28 in the 2011 season:

And here is a chart comparing Norichika Aoki's runs created to MLB outfielders who were 29 during 2011:

Both Nakajima and Aoki have the highest average runs created in their group. In other words, if they were MLB players putting up the exact same numbers here that they did in Japan, they would be considered the best players, at their age, at their position, in the game. In other other words, if they were MLB free agents this winter, Nakajima would be looking at a Reyes-sized deal (106/6) and Aoki at a Crawford-sized deal (142/7). Yet they both were posted at modest fees, and neither would command more than a few million dollars a year.

Obviously, this is all an exercise in curiosity; there's no truly accurate way to compare stats in Japan with those in the Major Leagues. Primarily, one would assume that the competition is tougher in MLB (although the Japanese team has won both World Baseball Classics thus far); however, NPB is notoriously pitcher-friendly, especially after the introduction of a new type of baseball in 2011, when both Nakajima and Aoki performed rather well even in strange, unfavorable hitters' conditions. In my opinion, the foreignness of Japan's new baseball in 2011 is a reasonable approximation for the adjustment of moving from NPB to MLB, so their muted 2011s might be a better indication of how they'd fare stateside. Still, not bad.

It may all just be for fun, but it is very intriguing food for thought. I'm usually of the school that NPB players are overhyped when they make the leap to America (e.g., Daisuke Matsuzaka and Kazuo Matsui) and are therefore not worth the financial risk, especially when a posting fee is involved. But this duo was posted with such little fanfare, their salary demands so inexpensive, and their talent so competitive that I have to believe they would make worthy Major League signings. Yankees and Brewers fans better hope their front offices wise up to these bargains.

Six Possible Post-Iowa Hangovers

2012-01-02T12:50:00.000-05:00

With the release of last night's PPP poll of Iowa, the results of that state's caucuses (tomorrow!) are looking more and more like a complete tossup. To recap for those of you who may just be emerging from a holiday-induced weeklong slumber: Mitt Romney and especially Ron Paul had been looking the strongest in Iowa, but Rick Santorum has picked up steam and is now nipping closely at their heels. Nate Silver's projections currently show Romney with 21.8%, Paul with 21.0%, and Santorum with 19.3%.

Such a minuscule margin raises the question of whether it even matters what order those three finish in; their vote totals will be so close, the actual winner will almost be random. We political junkies are all waiting breathlessly to see who wins on Tuesday, but is it even that suspenseful? Three candidates are going to be roughly tied, and three are going to pull up the rear.

While many people will argue that it doesn't matter (especially the campaign manager of the third-place finisher), I think it does. Sure, the top three candidates may earn identical numbers of convention delegates tomorrow (the ostensible reason that we go through this grueling primary season), but early primary elections are primarily about expectations and narrative-building. The media loves to anoint a winner, and the first-place finisher will have a much easier time arguing that they have that magic elixir of campaigns, momentum. The headlines on Wednesday, and the trajectory that the campaign narrative takes, will very much hinge on the order of finish, even if first and third are separated by one percentage point.

But we don't have to wait for Wednesday to find out what those headlines will be. Barring a shocking showing by Newt Gingrich, Rick Perry, or Michele Bachmann, there are exactly six possible outcomes of the 2012 Iowa caucuses. What could we expect to result from each one?

Scenario A

1. Mitt Romney
2. Ron Paul
3. Rick Santorum

This is probably Romney's favorite scenario. Because of his dominant polling numbers in New Hampshire, it would almost certainly result in the former Massachusetts governor sweeping the first two states, shutting out his opponents and making him feel even more like the inevitable nominee.

Scenario B

1. Mitt Romney
2. Rick Santorum
3. Ron Paul

This is obviously also great for Romney, who would still look unbeatable coming off twin Iowa and New Hampshire victories. But a second-place finish for Santorum—long considered the fringest of the fringe—would thrill his campaign and perhaps position him as the default candidate for the evangelical wing of the party, which could make things interesting in South Carolina. This scenario would also be spun as a falling-back-down-to-earth for Ron Paul, whose quirky candidacy is always teetering on the edge of being considered a joke by the media.

Scenario C

1. Ron Paul
2. Mitt Romney
3. Rick Santorum

This might fairly be called the boring outcome, as it's in line with many recent polls and might have the smallest impact on the dynamics of this campaign. The Paul camp would be delighted, of course, but it doesn't change the fact that he of the libertarian views is going to have a hard time ever winning a majority of Republican votes/delegates. Meanwhile, both Romney and Santorum would chalk this up as a solid showing but—tacitly admitting that it's nothing special—would both give speeches on caucus night of the "Let's soldier on and build upon what we did tonight" variety. Outlook: unchanged. Long-term advantage: still Romney.

Scenario D

1. Ron Paul
2. Rick Santorum
3. Mitt Romney

In contrast, in this scenario, Romney would put on a brave face but would have to be privately disappointed with the outcome. After assiduously keeping expectations low in Iowa, he went all out in the last month—only to be upstaged by two stereotypical single-digit candidates. Runner-up Santorum could use the momentum to make Romney's life difficult in the South, and Paul would be in his strongest possible position to achieve his stated goal of a brokered convention.

Scenario E

1. Rick Santorum
2. Mitt Romney
3. Ron Paul

This is the Rocky scenario—the underdog comes from all the way behind to win. The media would explode with "Santorum surge" stories as the former Pennsylvania senator would be anointed the latest non-Romney frontrunner while Paul, the current non-Romney, would be relegated to the second tier. However, with Romney still placing a respectable second (behind a guy who has lived in Iowa for the past 12 months), he would easily be able to shake off the loss to outspend and out-organize Santorum in the remaining states. This is the outcome Romney has been ready for since this campaign started—whether the name at the top was Bachmann, Perry, or anyone else.

Scenario F

1. Rick Santorum
2. Ron Paul
3. Mitt Romney

In this case we'd be treated to both "Santorum surges" and "Romney reels" headlines. This is the worst scenario for Romney, who would continue to face questions about why Republican voters keep refusing to get behind him. Even worse, while he coasts to an easy win in New Hampshire, the media may choose to ignore that increasingly unsuspenseful contest and give more coverage to Santorum in South Carolina or Florida. If Santorum manages the response right, he could translate Iowa into a series of wins in the Bible Belt and knock out the other evangelical candidates—whose vote totals combined would easily defeat Romney (and Paul) one on one. Hmmm...

Mr. Butler, Mr. Butler, and the Future of Derby, Connecticut

2011-12-30T17:52:00.002-05:00

A curious news item from Connecticut came to my attention recently. While the off-year 2011 elections were just a warm-up for 2012 for most of the country, for the Butler family of Derby, Connecticut, they were quite eventful indeed. James R. Butler, a Democrat serving on the town's Board of Apportionment and Taxation, was running for reelection, but when he walked into the voting booth he noticed something unusual: he was listed on the ballot as James J. Butler, which just so happens to be the name of his son. It would have been an innocuous typo anywhere else, but on a ballot, it was legally binding. As a result, the son, not the father, was declared the winner of the election. Not without controversy, he was sworn in on December 3, despite uncertainty over whether he would stay on or yield the seat to his father.

How to interpret the 1,526 ballots cast for James Butler is the political and legal equivalent of the age-old debate between grammatical prescriptivism and descriptivism. Proponents of the latter believe that a phrase like "I could care less" is correct if enough people accept it as such; therefore, if voters believed they were electing James R. Butler, then he should be elected irregardless. Prescriptivists, however, would say that the only ironclad application of the law is to seat the man whose full name was checked off—and, by the way, there's no such thing as a chaise lounge. (It's a chaise longue.)

I tend to take the prescriptivist view, so I'm sympathetic to the argument that, with such ambiguity present, obeying the letter of the law is the safest course. But being a prescriptivist often means two things: having a rigid grammatical philosophy and examining all questions on the most micro scale. However, the law (and grammar, I readily admit) requires consideration of the context and substance surrounding every nitpicking question. In the Butlers' case, even the most die-hard prescriptivist taking a broad view of the matter must see the serious legal, even constitutional problems with declaring James J. the winner. No matter what the ballot actually said, we have to use common sense about voters' intent, which almost certainly was to reelect the elder Butler. For better or for worse, most voters that day probably did not know what "their" James Butler's middle initial was—and if they did, most people probably didn't spot the typo. More troubling is that the candidate declared the victor (the younger Butler) was placed on the ballot improperly, maybe even illegally, evicting from the ballot the rightful Democratic nominee, his father. The son should never have been in a position to be sworn in in the first place!

At the same time, the name on the ballot still matters, and I don't think you can swear in James R. either. In Derby, we essentially have a situation where an ineligible candidate was nevertheless legally elected. But in order to assume a political office, you really need to do two things: get elected to it AND qualify for it. In this case—similar to if a 24-year-old won the presidency of the United States—no candidate has satisfied both requirements, and so the office should remain vacant. Then, as soon as practicable, the position should be filled through whatever means normally fill a vacancy (e.g., death or resignation) for that office.

Dubiously, Derby didn't take that seemingly sensible path. Instead, the younger Butler essentially staged a mini coup d'état of the Derby Board of Apportionment and Taxation. (Yes, that's a provocative term to use, but, strictly speaking, it's pretty accurate.) If there were to be an identical error on a larger stage (e.g., on a presidential ballot in a swing state), it would be a full-blown constitutional crisis; there isn't enough money in the world to pay all the lawyers' fees that would result. Additionally, the fact that James J. was sworn in even after the mistake was exposed makes it hypothetically possible for future ballot-printers to purposefully tamper with elections and affect their outcomes, at least if they feel like being an evil genius that day.

Really, what kept this from being a far nastier affair was the fact that the two "candidates" involved were father and son. Given the drama, there's an eerie lack of animosity apparent in interviews with the Butlers. At his son's swearing-in ceremony, James R. Butler sat in the front row, saying afterward, "If he wants it, it's his" and—betraying no interest in putting up a fight for a position he wanted badly enough to run for office to get—"It's my son's decision now on what he wants to do." As late as December 5 (almost a month after Election Day), James R. told reporters that father and son hadn't even talked about the issue yet. And rather than having the issue decided in court, the Butlers said they would discuss it as a family over dinner. (Eventually, James J. did resign and James R. was appointed to the seat via Derby's regular vacancy procedure—the elder Butler even earned a promotion to board chairman.)

I can't decide if this is dangerous or noble. On one hand, it doesn't matter how small your scale is—legal concepts are the same. There is no minimum threshold beyond which they can be ignored. While acrimony is never desirable, a legal dispute should be settled in a legal setting; especially when the legal concepts are this stark and the consequences this weighty, it's important that an appropriate and well-founded precedent be set. On the other hand, this self-settling controversy seems a reminder of a simpler time embodied by small towns like Derby. In hamlets where everyone still knows their neighbor, business can occur on an intimate basis, and compromises are easier to reach because they are personal and forged among friends. Where on a larger scale accusations of power-grabbing and corruption would fly, no one in this tiny town thought the Butlers were trying to install an unelected monarchy, despite the presence of all the legal loopholes discussed above. Even with such big concepts at play, this was an innocent mistake; who can blame the town for saying, "We're all responsible adults here—ethical, law-abiding citizens who trust each other and know that this is just a weird accident with our Board of Apportionment and Taxation. Surely we can come to a consensus solution and agree that it doesn't mean anything beyond who gets to crunch numbers for a couple years for a town whose budget isn't worth a fortune anyway." Why overcomplicate things? Would that all politics be so simple.

The addendum to that would be that the cause of all this was something equally simple. Somewhere, someone misprinted a single letter. That's all. If a rural Connecticuter sitting in a drab town-hall office could touch off such a turmoil with one innocuous mistake, surely it can all be fixed, equally informally, without leaving the walls of that same town hall... right?

I'm not sure. And the only thing I take away from the Derby debacle for sure is this: if a constitutional crisis or the seminal debate over local control could arise from your work, be sure to double-check it for typos.

The #40dollars Campaign is Money for the GOP

2011-12-26T13:57:00.001-05:00

The latest installment of the popular quarterly soap opera "Congressional Brinksmanship" wrapped up with much drama just before this weekend's holiday. This particular episode was fought over the extension of the payroll tax cut—an issue that you'd expect Republicans to love and Democrats to be leery of. Instead, it was the other way around—once President Obama made it his mission to extend the tax cut, congressional Republicans dug in against him (as they have made it their life's work to do). Eventually, it became clear that public opinion was coalescing against them, and House Republicans agreed to a two-month extension of the tax cut.

This White House has had something of a difficult time winning PR battles—most notably with its landmark health-care law, which was a major legislative achievement but which even liberals view unfavorably. The one over the payroll tax cut, however, was waged masterfully. The centerpiece of the effort was a Twitter campaign that asked the social network's 100+ million active users, "What does $40 mean to you?" (Never mind the small detail that "40 dollars" is plural.) Forty dollars is, of course, the amount an average family saves every two weeks as long as the tax cut is in place. If you're one of the White House's 2.6 million followers, you certainly witnessed the overwhelming response: the hashtag "#40dollars" even trended on Twitter, leading the White House director of new media to call it the administration's most successful social-media campaign. The public reaction to the payroll-tax debate, epitomized on Twitter, was the straw that broke the Republicans' backs—a textbook example of the president's power to persuade.

The White House had a lot to celebrate this Christmas, from the signing of the tax cut extension to the fact that they actually out-messaged Republicans for once. But I believe it will prove to be a Pyrrhic victory for them. In any conflict, the downside to using a killer tactic or secret weapon is that it's not a secret anymore; the other side is thenceforth able to use it against you. It's even worse when the tactic is one that more naturally fits your enemy's strengths and not your own—and that is the case here. Democrats find themselves in support of tax cuts about once in a blue moon; meanwhile, Republicans are much likelier to find use for a "#40dollars"-esque campaign going forward. Expect the GOP to learn from this example in the future: not only to emphasize the real-world savings of a tax cut to average Americans, but to appeal directly to them to cause them to consider what that extra cash would mean to them. In fact, the expiration of the Bush tax cuts in one year will probably set up a far more explosive battle over a much more consequential tax. In that fight, Republicans will be the ones arguing for an extension—and now they know exactly how to win that argument.

Is High Attendance in Miami a Fish Story?

2011-12-24T18:02:00.001-05:00

In my last post, I laid out the argument for why the Miami Marlins should be optimistic about their attendance statistics next year. If I do say so myself, it was a convincing argument—with graphs and everything!—but, alas, it is a misleading one. Everything in that post is still correct, mind you, so Floridians should feel free to find a silver lining here. But look deeper into the same data and you'll find that the Marlins' attendance picture is a lot cloudier than the team would like.

As in the last post, it would behoove us to start by looking at the effect of a new ballpark on gate receipts. Here is the pertinent graph from last time:

We already discussed the impressive surge that a team receives from a new stadium. Conveniently left out of the "good news" post, however, was the dip back down that typically occurs during the stadium's second season. Just as a new park draws in a median 7,563 new fans per game in its first season, it loses a median 6,290 fans in the second year—essentially, as the graph shows in most cases, returning to square one. The two teams that sustained the increases, the 2010 Yankees and 2007 Cardinals, are both teams with consistently high attendance anyway; unlike the others, they didn't experience a bump when moving into the new stadium to begin with (what doesn't go up won't come down). And oh yeah—they also both celebrated World Series championships in their new parks' inaugural seasons.

For hope in breaking this trend, the Marlins might look to the 2011 Minnesota Twins, whose attendance dipped only slightly from 2010, their first year in Target Field. While it's too early to say if the Twins will be an exception to the rule (Great American Ballpark and PETCO Park both hung in there in their second seasons as well, but they eventually came down to earth), it is encouraging that the Twins have hit nearly 40,000 fans at every Target Field game after failing to crack 30,000 at the old Metrodome every year this century. Miami might hope that its transition from a Metrodome-esque multi-purpose prison to the bells and whistles of not-yet-corporately-sponsored New Marlins Ballpark will produce similar results: a fan base that sticks around due to the sheer attractiveness of the park. I wouldn't hold my breath, though—over the past decade, the Twins have built a rather devoted fan base whose true interest in the team is probably better reflected in the Target Field attendance figures anyway. It seems unlikely that the Marlins, in baseball-apathetic South Florida, have a parallel hidden fan base that is straining to burst out of the woodwork.

This line of thinking got me wondering. Aren't there some teams, such as the Red Sox and Cubs, who simply have a deeper and more devoted fan base than others? Anecdotally, this would certainly seem to be the case, and the suspicion prompted me to take a second look at the correlation between attendance and wins. Although my last post found an extremely tenuous relationship between the two, I decided to isolate for another variable—team—to double-check. Here is a graph showing the correlation between 2001-2011 attendance and wins for all teams in the NL East:

As you can see, four of the teams still show basically no relationship, but two of them show a strong one. The graphs for other divisions show a similar pattern, leading us to a new conclusion. The correlation between wins and attendance is not weak because wins matter only an eensy-weensy bit; rather, it is weak because wins matter quite a bit for some teams and not at all for others. It turns out that there are three types of teams:

1. Perennially Popular. These franchises draw fans by the boatload regardless of the quality of the team they field. In the NL East, the Braves fit this mold, hitting 30,000-35,000 fans per game every year despite a wildly varying win total. Other examples are exactly who you'd expect: the Yankees, Red Sox, Cubs, Cardinals, etc.

2. Bandwagon. Not to say that these franchises have fairweather fans, but they clearly show up when the team is successful and stay home when it's not. NL East examples are the Mets and the Phillies (yes, Philadelphia, I don't disagree with how devoted you are now—but where were you back in the Robert Person era?). Others include the Brewers, Tigers, and Mariners.

3. Fan-Repellant. Lastly, there are the franchises that just can't seem to fill their parks, no matter how hard they try or how much they win. (Well, more accurately, fan-repellant teams often do show a strong relationship between winning and attendance—they just draw 10,000 when they lose, 15,000 when they're OK, and 20,000 when they win.) Again, the list is easy to guess based on conventional wisdom: Tampa Bay and Oakland are the most infamous. Others like Pittsburgh and Kansas City might fit in this category as well, but this is harder to say for certain because they've never been successful enough to create a bandwagon. The NL East is represented in this category by the erstwhile Expos... and the Marlins.

Uh-oh, Miami. For those of you who asked after the last post, "What's the catch?", this is it. But let us not forget that wins never showed themselves to have much of an impact on the Marlins' attendance, even in the optimistic half of this analysis. Surely the other, stronger trends will discredit these categories—say, the combined win total of the previous and current seasons:

Er, maybe not. Even when using a different variable, the teams still break down into the same three basic categories; we now have confirmation. But just to triple-check, how about the number of wins from the previous season:

Still the Mets and Phillies have the most significant correlations, and still the Marlins are in the second division of attendance. You probably won't be surprised, then, to learn that hype doesn't position them any better. While the Marlins do have the division's tightest correlation with Vegas odds, it does them little good in trying to draw more fans, in absolute terms, than perennially popular or bandwagon teams:

All four graphs show that the Marlins' previously established attendance patterns are only a part of their third-category—"Fan-Repellant"—identity. As much as expectations and especially hype help this team draw, they have never exceeded an average of 22,871 fans per game. According to their attendance-vs.-hype trendline, the Marlins' ceiling—and this would be if they had a 100% chance of winning the World Series—is 35,050 fans per game. Like other teams in the fan-repellant category, they face the problem of far-too-rapidly diminishing returns: gains that are undeniable, yet so incremental that they run out of room to grow.

The graphs drive home a point that my previous post purposefully left out: context. It's painfully obvious from the visuals how many fewer fans the Marlins draw, even when they're on the top of their game, than the powerhouses in New York, Philadelphia, and Atlanta. Even a miserable Phillies or Mets season would be a good attendance year for the Marlins.

So after all that, it turns out that the single greatest determinant of attendance isn't wins, or even hype—it's whether you play in a "good baseball town." To Miamians, that hardly seems fair. So their team is doomed never to attract support? They'll tread water for a few decades and then move on to a different city?

Again, not exactly. I'm reluctant to believe that there are just intrinsic factors about Boston and St. Louis that are nonexistent in Miami or Kansas City. I do think that is part of it: Montréal, for instance, has a completely different culture from American cities; baseball always seemed an awkward fit in separatist, Francophone Québec. And baseball faces an uphill battle in the South (including Florida), where it will probably always take a backseat to college football. But there are cities, such as Pittsburgh or Cincinnati, that used to be "good baseball towns" and yet have faded away in recent years. Likewise, today's "good baseball towns" have not always been so. The possibility at least exists, then, for Miami to develop into a bandwagon team, or even a perennially popular one.

So what long-term paradigm shifts are capable of bumping a team from one attendance-predictive category to another? We can take a stab at it by looking at what each category has in common (other than actual attendance). In a post full of statistical analysis, this is complete theorizing, but here are a few ideas:

1. Ballparks. Fan-repellant teams usually have ugly ones. Perennially popular teams usually have stadiums that are destinations, either because they're historical landmarks or anchor popular or centrally located neighborhoods.

2. Dynasties. Many perennially popular franchises are league powerhouses not just for one or two seasons, but for years on end. The longer that something is trendy, the more time it will take to go out of style.

3. History. List the perennially popular teams, and you've got a pretty good approximation of the original AL and NL teams from the turn of the century, especially those that have never been relocated. If your grandfather grew up rooting for the Cardinals, you will too.

4. Marketing. The Red Sox haven't sold out 712 consecutive games just because Boston is the bee's knees. They've developed a masterful marketing plan that involves the now-sacred notion of "Red Sox Nation" and high community involvement on the part of the team.

5. Economy and demographics. I have a feeling that teams like Cincinnati and Pittsburgh would do better if the Rust Belt hadn't been hit so hard during the current recession. The once-proud cities of Detroit and Cleveland are also losing population—and therefore potential customers—at an alarming rate.

6. Geography. Yes, MLB teams in areas with less competition from other sports (college football in the South, hockey in Canada) will have an easier go of it, but, again, it's not insurmountable.

7. Television. Perennially popular teams often seem to have their own TV networks: YES for the Yankees, TBS for Ted Turner and the Braves, or WGN in Chicago. Even the Orioles' MASN might be responsible for bringing more fans to Camden Yards than you would probably expect. Bringing games into people's homes is obviously a great way to build a team's mass appeal.

Some of these are factors that the Marlins can control. Others, unfortunately, are intrinsic obstacles that the Marlins must succeed in spite, not because, of. All of them, though, will take time and patience to develop or overcome—more time than the quick fix of an offseason spending spree. The good news for Marlins owner Jeffrey Loria is that he has actually done everything right so far: built a new park, laid the foundation for a long-term winner, and rebranded the franchise with a new name and new logo. The bad news is that these things alone won't catapult Miami out of the bottom tier. It's going to take more work and a long-term dedication to this plan (something the Marlins have had trouble with in the past).

This has been a pessimistic post for the Marlins. But for the final word on the state of Miami's attendance going forward, we must combine the findings from the earlier post as well. If you take their 15/1 World Series odds, apply it to the tight correlation that Miami-specific attendance has with Las Vegas, and add a ballpark estimate of 10,000 additional fans for the first season of the new stadium, the Marlins should expect to draw 31,909 fans per game in 2012. That's a solid number, especially for a stadium with only 37,000 seats. But in 2013 and beyond, if nothing else is done, that number will fall—even if they sustain those high World Series odds, they'd top out at only 21,909 as long as they remain a third-rate franchise. Such a decline, sadly, would just confirm their reputation as a low-drawing franchise and make it harder for them afford the expensive new players inked at the winter meetings. It's that reputation—and, frankly, that reality—that the team must break with in order to break even.

Wins Don't Fill Seats—But the Marlins Will

2011-12-21T21:43:00.001-05:00

When the Miami Marlins left the baseball winter meetings earlier this month, they had committed as much money that week ($191 million) as their combined payrolls in the previous five seasons ($194 million). The baseball world was stunned; how could the Marlins be sure of affording all this? The franchise formerly known as the Florida Marlins had always been the biggest penny-pincher in Major League Baseball—because they were perennially last in the league in attendance. At the winter meetings, however, owner Jeffrey Loria let his actions make his argument for him: with the Marlins' beautiful new ballpark (set to open this season) and a roster newly infused with championship-caliber talent, the fans will follow.

Indeed, it's widely accepted in the industry that attendance rises and falls with a team's fortunes—that the surest way to a good profit is a good baseball team. (Likewise, it's believed that the quickest way to a good profit is a new stadium.) But as we've learned over the past decade, statistics can shoot down a lot of these widely held assumptions. So is this one fact or fiction? Is Loria's crusade to field a competitive team a brilliant business scheme, or is it going to run his Marlins into the ground?

To answer these questions, I compiled full attendance statistics for all 30 teams from 2001 to 2011 and scoured them for patterns. The first question I zeroed in on was the one I figured would be simplest: the new ballpark.

If history is any indication, the Marlins are right to be optimistic about their attendance in the immediate short term. Teams that have built a new ballpark in the past 11 years typically saw a dramatic spike in attendance (a median increase of 7,563 fans per game) in the stadium's inaugural season:

Even better for the Marlins is that teams moving from unattractive, multi-sport stadiums (e.g., the Phillies from Veterans Stadium or the Padres from Qualcomm) saw particularly big increases. (The Marlins are moving from unattractive, football-centric Sun Life Stadium.) In contrast, they have nothing in common with the teams that actually lost fans as a result of a stadium switch. The Yankees, Mets, and Cardinals all had extremely high attendance figures prior to the move; their numbers had nowhere to go but down. In addition, they were all moving out of historic ballparks whose attendance statistics in their final seasons were probably inflated by nostalgia.

The Marlins therefore look pretty certain to gain about 10,000 fans per game in 2012. But after that, will their winning ways (assuming they do win) keep attendance up? Here's how attendance figures for all 30 teams have matched up with wins over the past 11 seasons (just for kicks, teams with new ballparks are marked in red):

You can see that there's a vague trend, but the correlation is extremely loose; a 90-win team has been known to draw anywhere from 16,000 to 53,000 per game. So wins actually don't fill seats; something else has to be at play.

Could it be excitement left over from the previous season? Do some quick math, and you'll find that teams that made the playoffs the previous season average 8,911 more fans per game (36,989) than teams that missed out (28,078)—World Series winners average 10,661 more (38,739 average daily attendance the next season). Here are daily attendance figures correlated with wins in the previous baseball season:

Same problem (the correlation is slightly better, but it still has no predictive value). Surely, though, attendance is a combination of past winning and present winning. So here's attendance compared to total wins over the current and the previous season:

We're doing a little better each time, but we're still not there yet. It may be time to face the possibility that attendance has nothing to do with material wins at all. But what, then?

Of all people, Jeffrey Loria might have the answer. The 2012 Marlins haven't won a game yet, and the industry consensus is that Miami is as excited about baseball as it has ever been. It's all about the hype, and Loria bought himself a boatload of it at the winter meetings. We saw the same thing last winter in Philadelphia, where Cliff Lee created a mountain of anticipation behind the Phillies; likewise, the Angels' signing of Albert Pujols has whipped that fan base into a ticket-buying frenzy.

Hype seems like an excellent predictor of ticket sales, but it is difficult to measure. However, there is one variable that necessarily takes into account everything that hype encompasses (offseason splashes, willingness to spend to win, performance the previous season, and a realistic assessment of future competitiveness): Vegas odds.

Here is a graph relating attendance to teams' chances of winning the World Series, based on odds assigned the February or March before the season starts:

It's far from perfect, but this is easily the best relationship that we've found. The old axiom that wins fill seats is therefore imprecise: winning (and a winning tradition) can certainly increase your team's hype, but it's that electricity in the air surrounding a squad that has a greater impact on attendance. (This makes sense, too, because hype is a product of many diverse factors, mirroring the many reasons that fans might give for deciding to buy tickets.) At a respectable 15/1 chance to win the World Series, the Marlins have to like that.

For Miami fans who still don't believe it—it gets better. Isolate the data for the Marlins and you get an even more compelling case for hype selling tickets in South Beach. Here are the Marlins' attendances over the past 11 seasons as related to wins:

No relationship at all; in SoFlo, wins are actually irrelevant. Fans do, however, pay some attention to the heights achieved by the Marlins in the previous season:

The two seasons factored together are somewhere in between:

But Jeffrey Loria must have really done his homework, because what drives Floridians to Sun Life Stadium more than anything else is hype (as represented by World Series odds):

Except for one outlier, it's even a pretty tight correlation.

At this point, I'm about ready to go invest in some José Reyes jerseys. (Stay away from the Hanley Ramírez ones for now, though.) And the Marlins front office has indeed done everything right—everything in their power, anyway—to boost attendance. But, unfortunately for the Marlins and their fans, this is only half the story—and the other half is decidedly more pessimistic about Miami's box-office future. In the next post I'll play devil's advocate to this idea that Marlins tickets are going to be a hot sell going forward—and the devil is in the details.

Stay tuned.

The Radicalism of the Independent Voter

2011-12-16T11:15:00.000-05:00

Among those of us who eat up polling data like they're In-N-Out burgers, it can be difficult to pick up on some of the more obscure patterns in the crosstabs. However, there's been a trend in a handful of Public Policy Polling surveys recently that I've found impossible to ignore.

The trend concerns the responses of independent voters to candidates who, like these voters, defy labels. The latest example is a good starting point: in this week's poll of the New Mexico Senate race, PPP asked about a hypothetical faceoff between the two top Democrats in the race and former New Mexico governor Gary Johnson, currently a long-shot GOP candidate for president. PPP found that, if Johnson switched his ambitions to the upper chamber of Congress, he would draw huge levels of support from independent voters. The advantage (57-19 and 52-30 against Hector Balderas and Martin Heinrich, respectively) would be enough to put this Democratic-leaning Senate race into the tossup column.

We saw this before with a multitude of PPP polls testing Congressman Ron Paul's strength against President Obama, should Paul win the Republican presidential nod. In several states, Paul is the only Republican candidate to lead Obama among independents.

Based on this information and the myth of the independent voter, you would expect Johnson and Paul to be pragmatic, moderate voices known for their ability to work across the aisle. The problem, of course, is that that's not exactly the description that comes to mind. Famously, Johnson and Paul are both rabid libertarians—considered to have the most radical views in the presidential field and thought to be the most shocking (some would say dangerous) choice for the political establishment. It's fascinating, and a bit surprising, that these would be the candidates that most fire up this supposedly centrist voting bloc.

However, we really shouldn't be so surprised. PPP's findings underline two points that are crucial to keep in mind as we head into 2012. The first is the aforementioned myth of the independent voter. In reality, independents do not occupy some sensible middle ground between the two polarized parties. Instead, they are a diverse hodgepodge of voters on all ends of the political spectrum—or, more accurately, on all corners of the political map. Many of them are Democrats or Republicans who just don't like to be labeled. Others are populists who will wantonly swing between liberalism and conservatism from year to year. And yet others are way out there on the fringes of the so-called "mainstream"—including an apparently growing group of disillusioned, anti-government libertarians.

That brings us to the second point: as we know anecdotally from the Tea Party and Occupy Wall Street, voters are angry. This is especially true of independent voters, who don't have a built-in devotion to an established political party (by definition a part of the elite). If independents are looking for someone who will upend what they see as a broken system, they can do little better than Gary Johnson or Ron Paul. In a way, it makes sense for those swinging populists to land on a libertarian (or other third-party candidate) in 2012: they've alternated between Democrats and Republicans in the past, and neither one has worked out for them so far. And as other disaffecteds—such as the college students and first-time voters who stereotypically support Johnson and Paul—come out of the woodwork, they're sure not going to identify with the Ds or Rs when a pollster calls them up.

These voters are the reasons that Johnson and Paul are polling so well for PPP. Pundits can dismiss those types of radical candidates and radical voters all they want, but it would be in favor of a mythical moderate independent who doesn't really exist. In 2012, the angry, and those willing to make radical changes, seem to be the new kids in this bloc. They may not be what we think of when we hear the word "independents," but, truly, they are the most independent-minded voters out there.

Will Romney's Gaffe Hurt Him? Don't Bet On It

2011-12-11T11:20:00.005-05:00

Maybe Mitt Romney just got a little too excited after his home state recently approved casino gambling. In last night's GOP presidential debate, the erstwhile frontrunner took on Rick Perry by betting him $10,000 that Perry was misrepresenting the content of Romney's book. Immediately after the debate, Romney began taking heavy flak for the curious and seemingly elitist remark.

Obviously, Romney would have less of a debate hangover this morning if he had bet Perry a more modest sum. (Perhaps it would go from Vegas-sized to Salt Lake City–sized.) Despite other noteworthy moments from the debate, pundits and blogs this morning are using the $10,000 to hammer home a familiar theme: Mitt Romney is rich and out of touch with the average American. Indeed, the deeper they dig, the harder it hits. First it's "Mitt Romney is rich"; then it's pointed out that Romney was nonchalant about a sum of money that many Americans take months to earn. Then the math brings the issue into stark relief: by betting $10,000, Romney was gambling 0.005% of his $200 million net worth. If the median family were to bet 0.005% of their net worth, it would be a simple $5 bet. As a result, Romney truly might not have realized how pricey his bet was—after all, we don't think twice about betting $5 on the Super Bowl.

(However, one possible defense for the Romney campaign would be to argue that he intended to wager an exorbitant sum—because of how sure he was that Perry was wrong. We also don't think twice about saying, "I'll bet you a million bucks," to emphasize that there is no doubt in our minds that we are correct. Still, if this is what Romney meant, he probably should have bet Perry the full $1 million. And even if he was exaggerating to make a point, the fact that it was universally taken as a sign of his affluence proves that it was not the best way to draw attention to his point.)

So, yes, Mitt Romney is rich. But we knew that before the debate, too—and that's why, despite all the attention from the punditry, this gaffe is unlikely to put a significant dent in Romney's numbers. More so than any other candidate this year, or even this decade, Mitt Romney is a known commodity. Since 2007, when he left office as Massachusetts governor, he has been running for president almost nonstop—that's four years of media attention as one of the GOP's major national figures. His name recognition is high, and his positives and negatives are well established, unlike the many fluid candidates (Bachmann, Cain, Perry) that we've seen this cycle. As a result, Romney's poll numbers have famously (and frustratingly, for his campaign) held steady at around 25% all year.

Those 25% of voters know by now that Romney is rolling in it. They're still in his corner, though—probably because the reason for their support is something else well known about their candidate (his private-sector success or high electability, for instance). It's definitely not because Romney "most understands the needs and problems of people like" them—a statement only 13% (at most half of Romney voters) of Iowa Republicans agreed with in a recent poll. A cynic might say that this is the portion of the Republican Party composed of realists who have settled for a nominee they know is not perfect, but is—in their mind—still the party's best bet.

Romney's problem, of course, is the 75% of GOPers who seem to refuse to vote for him. The flip side of the same logic applies to them: these are the people who are aware of Romney's positives and negatives and have decided the negatives win out. But Romney had this problem long before last night, so "Bet-gate" can't explain it. Nor is the $10,000 offer likely to make things worse among this segment of voters; Romney's wealth is hardly their only misgiving about him, and conservatives are relatively unconcerned with the issue that the outsized bet speaks to. One national poll found that income inequality is considered a major problem by 59% of moderates, 68% of Democrats, and 83% of liberals—but only 48% of Republicans and 32% of conservatives. If there is one segment of the American public that this debate gaffe won't matter to, it is conservative primary voters. Flip-flopping, on the other hand, remains probably Romney's greatest weakness; if he misses out on the nomination, that's a far likelier culprit than his swelling bank account.

Now, this doesn't mean that the bet can't hurt Romney; well-executed spin can always be dangerous for a campaign. One thing to look for is whether one of Romney's opponents makes a play for that slice of voters that were grievously offended by the $10,000 bet. (I never said they didn't exist, just that they weren't a significant number.) The intended recipient of the bet, Rick Perry, has already tried to align himself with that bloc, saying that he found the bet as "out of touch" as everyone else did. If Perry or another candidate can really latch onto the everyman theme, it may make a difference in such a splintered primary field; even if Romney doesn't lose support in the aftermath of his gaffe, another candidate could gain as a result of exploiting it and knock Romney down one peg on the list of Iowa medal-winners.

Finally, never discount the role of the media in these campaigns. Rick Perry and Herman Cain didn't lose support immediately after their first few debate stumbles or sexual-harassment allegations, but rather their support eroded as the media continued to hammer away at them for it. If the media keeps the memory of Romney's bet alive, he's more likely to suffer from it. Only time will tell if this will be the case. In the meantime, it all adds up to the same conclusion: if you're looking to place money on this primary campaign, it's still safest to hedge your bets.

Post 1: The First Post

2011-12-08T19:39:00.003-05:00

Welcome to Baseballot!

Whew, that felt good to get off my chest. See, I'm kind of new (read: lime green) to this blogging thing. Now that I've actually taken the step of creating one, I feel like I need to set forth the reasoning behind this blog—a mission statement, if you will.

This blog is written for the sorriest species that roams this lonely internet, the nerdiest of the nerds: political junkies who happen also to be rabid baseball fans. I was inspired to start a blog on this subject because (a) I'm a writer who hasn't written in a while and that tends to cause people to explode and (b) I seem to have company as a member of this politics/baseball crossbreed. As one Washingtonian put it, "Baseball's the perfect sport for nerds. It doesn't require a huge amount of athletic ability to play, and it's got this cerebral component that appeals to people." The overlap is amazing when you think about it: Presidential first pitches. Congressional baseball games. Baseball is America's pastime, and America's politicians have to get with the program. As early as 1889, a New York newspaper wrote, "all statesmen of any aspirations for the future to consider that if they have not yet recorded themselves as lovers of our national game or some other sporting interest, they should do so immediately." The second commissioner of baseball, Happy Chandler, was first a senator from Kentucky. Hall of Fame pitcher Jim Bunning, after his retirement from the game, moved on to a second career—as, um, a senator from Kentucky. Justice Sam Alito went to Phillies fantasy camp. President Bush used to own the Rangers. White House press secretary Jay Carney and CNN anchor John King are rabid Red Sox fans. The list goes on.

The overlap isn't lost on fellow bloggers, either. In fact, if this is going to be Baseballot's mission statement, it only seems fair that I reveal my inspirations and influences as well. For baseball blogging, my first stop is HardballTalk, whose chief blogger Craig Calcaterra also seems to enjoy indulging in political commentary from time to time. The political blog I most admire is FiveThirtyEight, whose Nate Silver was famously first a writer and accomplished statistician for Baseball Prospectus. You can expect to see a little bit of both Craig and Nate in here, as well as a whole lot of myself and, hopefully, a more even balance between the ballgame and the ballot game.

Now, there are blogs about politics. There are blogs about baseball. How is this one going to be different? Well, first off, it's going to be about BOTH politics AND baseball; haven't you been listening? Seriously, though, I do want to add something that the internet doesn't already have. To that end, this blog will focus on a few specifics:

Delivering data-driven and scientific-method-inspired analysis of both politics and baseball, and applying "sabermetrics" (the philosophy thereof, not necessarily xFIP itself) to the myth-filled world of politics and campaigns.
Considering the role of language in both politics and baseball.
Giving special attention to local political and baseball-ian news stories that the national media tend to pass over.

Of course, having said this, I'm now sure that I'll veer off course and write about whatever tickles my fancy. But I've got a couple ideas already that fit pretty nicely into these categories, so for now, away we go! Thanks for coming along for the ride!