Originally, I'd planned to go to the game with Alex Belth, who joined my ticket group this past winter. Alex had been single-minded in his pursuit of a ticket to an early-season Angels game, primarily because he wanted to see Vladimir Guerrero in his new halo, or something. But the day before the game Alex had to bail; it seems I'm not the only one who's been burning the candle at both ends. So I substituted my old college friend Ben, who took my girlfriend to Game Seven last year (it's at the point where Yankee fans don't even need to detail which Game Seven they're tallking about anymore).
When I left work from Brooklyn, I figured that the edge would come off of the muggy mid-80s temperatures which had kept my brow damp all day long. The A/C at the place I'm currently freelancing has been decidedly below the Mendoza Line, and all day long I'd stolen glances at the cement floor, yearning for a cool nap underneath my desk. I imagined the warm day would make for a pleasant night at the ballpark. But I was a little unnerved when a pair of guys in obviously rain-drenched t-shirts got on the 4 train at Grand Central, hoping it was just a brief cloudburst. By the time I got to Yankee Stadium, things appeared to have righted themselves, though Ben confirmed the shower, which struck just before he boarded the same 4 train in midtown.
We settled into our seats in the tier box section of the upper deck, just to the third-base side of home plate, buzzing about the night's Yankee starter, Kevin Brown. We found our seats next to a father with two kids, an eight-year-old on the aisle and a six-year-old immediately on my left. This stressed me out a bit, as I'm not the most kid-friendly gentleman with whom to watch a ballgame. "What's the over/under on which inning I piss this kid's dad off by shouting 'fuck'?" I asked Ben. "No shit, he said, shaking his head. "I've got the mouth of a fuckin' sailor." We had a good laugh over that one as he spotted the Beck's beer man and procured us a round.
We soon needed it. Brown struck out Eckstein, a difficult thing to do, to lead off. Chone Figgins then hit a blooper which must have landed about six inches in front of centerfielder Kenny Lofton, who refused to dive. I was about to yell at Lofton to take up his oft-threatened career as a valet, but thinking of my surroundings, ended up muttering "Go park some fucking cars, man," into my beer. Vlad the Impaler then roped Brown's first pitch into the left-center gap, which not only scored the speedy Figgins but could probably have sent him around home and back to first on the play. Two pitches later, Troy Glaus golfed a shot into the rightfield bleachers, his league-leading 11th of the year, and suddenly the Yanks were down 3-0.
The father to my left had sent his elder son on a mission to buy a program with a scorecard for the younger one. "He'll help us catch up," he told the younger one, nodding to me. "You'll help me catch up," lisped the six-year-old through missing front teeth s he looked up at me. I gazed down at my beer, puzzled, imagingn the kid drinking one as well -- until I remembered that it was my scorekeeping he was talking about. "Sure, sure, kid."
As the dad reminded the kid of the nuances of of a relatively simple scoring method, I though back to the first time I tried to score a game -- Game One of the 1978 World Series between the Dodgers and the Yanks. I was eight years old, and my parents left my brother and me alone for the evening, parking us in front of the TV. "Do you know how to keep a box score?" my dad had asked. "It's a way of writing down what happened in the game." Rushed for time, he didn't get to explain further, so I dutifully wrote down event by event for a few innings ("Dusty Baker homered!") before my attention span got the better of me. When he got home later, he looked over my work, then showed me a system of lines, dots, shading and numbered fielders that I still take to the ballpark every time.
The Anaheim third had a couple of adventurous plays for novice scorers. Figgins squirted a double down the leftfield line and then took third on Vlad's fly to centerfield (8, but no SF, kid). Glaus grounded to second, but Miguel Cairo threw home, nailing Figgins at the plate (FC 4-2). On what might have been a busted hit-and-run, Glaus then tried to steal and Posada gunned him down (CS 2-6). Just as he had for every other half-inning, the kid turned to me and asked, "How many hits in that inning? How many runs?" I tried to explain that he could just look at the scoreboard, but after about the third time I realized that concept still eluded the tyke.
The Yanks got two back in the third. With one out, Anaheim starter Kelvim Escobar walked Cairo. "Walking the number nine hitter is a bad idea in this lineup," I declared to everyone within earshot, and soon enough I was proven right. Lofton drew a walk and then Derek Jeter doubled to the base of the centerfield wall, scoring Cairo. Alex Rodriguez slapped a sharp single through the left side, and Lofton came home, cutting the score to 3-2.
In the top of the fourth, the rain began pelting us. Ben was in shorts and a t-shirt and didn't seem to mind, while I had a jacket -- the wrong jacket, a custom-made corduroy and leather badass jacket that I didn't want to see soaked. Neither did I wish to douse my iPod or my scorebook, so we trekked down and around to take cover in the Loge level. At that point Ben went on a tirade about the covered environment. "If I had to watch games from the loge, I don't even think I'd come to the ballpark," he said, "Upper deck is where it's at." I nodded in agreement. We settled near the rightfield foul pole and talked NBA playoffs during the delay; with my Utah Jazz having missed the postseason for the first time in nearly 20 years, I haven't even seen a whole game, but the local angle with Pistons coach Larry Brown's feeble attempts to browbeat the New Jersey Nets young coach, Lawrence Frank, had piqued my interest.
Within a half-hour, play had resumed. The Angels had put a man on third as the rain had started via a Jeff DaVanon double and a fly ball. Bengie Molina lofted a long fly to right-center which Lofton ran down, but the ball was deep enough to score DaVanon, 4-2. Shane Halter struck out to end the inning, and before the next frame could start, the rain retuned. Ben and I wandered out to the concourse and stood around for about 20 minutes as I explained that if the game went less than five innings, none of it counted. "None of it? Wow. The homers?" Washed away. The idea seemed to blow his mind. "I did not know that." Finally, we pulled the plug and piled onto a crowded 4 train full of wet fans.
As it turned out, play resumed after a 1 hour, 48 minute delay and the game, the remainder of which I caught on TV, turned into a classic. The Yanks tied the score 4-4 in the fifth on a Cairo single, a Lofton triple, and an A-Rod single. The Angels retook the lead in the next half-inning when Vlad crushed a pitch to right-center off of Brown, who had strangely waited out both rain delays to stay on the mound. The Bombers took a 6-5 lead in the eighth off of their nemesis from the 2002 postseason, Francisco "K-Rod" Rodriguez, as Derek Jeter stroked an RBI single and then A-Rod reached on a two-out error, scoring Lofton.
Mariano Rivera came on in the ninth for the Yanks and you could just see it all wrapped up in a neat little package, another great comeback topped off by Mo dropping the hammer. But not on this night. With one out, Rivera yielded a hit to rookie Angel first baseman Casey Kotchman, his first in the bigs. Kotchman went off for a pinch-runner as the Yanks retrieved the ball, Jorge Posada flipping it to him as he crossed the foul line. Molina, the light-hitting catcher, was the next hitter, and he shocked everybody by slamming a two-run homer over the rightfield wall. Rivera could be seen mouthing, "Oh my God!" as he watched the ball and the Yankee lead disappear -- his first blown save since last August, a 27-save streak.
But the Yanks would not die. With one out, Jorge Posada singled off of Troy Percival and then yielded to pinch-runner Homer Bush, who promptly stole second. Hideki Matsui walked and then Ruben Sierra, a man with more than his share of clutch hits in this young season, drove Bush home by lining a single up the middle. The Yanks won it in the tenth as Gary Sheffield doubled home A-Rod, topping off a wet, wild, and wacky night of baseball which ended nearly six-and-a-half hours after it began.
Am I sorry I left in the face of this classic? Hell no. Call me jaded, but after being hot and sweaty all day long and then soaked at the park, curling up on the couch wearing dry clothes, beer in hand and A/C on full blast in front of this epic was exactly where I wanted to be last night. Since the Yankees are going to let us exchange our tickets for another (lesser) game, it's a really a no-lose situation. Just like the Yanks themselves these days.
Another bad thing is that unlike the third-party comment systems, or MT's built-in one, this one has no field for either an email address or a home page link. I encourage those of you commenting (and I wish there were more of you) to include either one or the other, because I always take comments from those who stand behind them with their "identity" much more seriously than semi-anonymous ones.
Anyway, enough for now. Please feel free to email me if you're having trouble with any part of the new system, and otherwise, enjoy!
The day after I visited the Productive Outs issue, Larry Mahnken published his own debunking of this nouveau statistic at The Hardball Times. Mahnken did a good bit of research on the issue; most importantly, he highlighted the fact that ESPN's Buster Olney didn't even define the stat correctly, something which everybody else (myself included) missed.
Mahnken's piece starts by taking issue with the way Olney presented his figures in the article, and he gets in several good points along the way:
Olney provides very little data, period, and what data he does provide is presented in a manner which will make the non-skeptical reader believe it supports him. The rate of productive outs is given for only 12 teams this season, the top six and bottom six. The top includes some teams that have surprised thus far, the bottom includes teams that have disappointed. The implication being that making or not making productive outs is the cause of their success or failure.
The only "Productive Out Percentage" numbers given for past years are the POP numbers for the Florida Marlins and Anaheim Angels last season, both of whom ranked in the top five. The implication is, of course, that making productive outs is the reason these teams won the last two World Series (over teams that currently rank in the bottom five).
Ignored is the fact that Florida's POP during the regular season last year is not particularly relevant to their postseason success, and that Anaheim's POP last season, when they finished 77-85, is not even close to being relevant to their postseason success in 2002.
It's clear that Olney did very little research for his article, and what research he did do was data mining, trying to find stats that supported his claims.
Because the data is compiled by the Elias "You'll Know What We Want You To Know" Sports Bureau, productive out data is impossible to find, making an independent study of regular season productive outs almost impossible. However, for the sake of discovering and spreading truth, rather than dogma, I did an independent study of the past two postseasons using the game logs available at Retrosheet. The study was long and tedious, but I believe the results were worth it.
* A baserunner advances with the first out of an inning.
* A pitcher sacrifices with one out.
* A baserunner is driven home with the second out of an inning.
Productive Out Percentage was described as "productive outs divided by the total number of outs." But as Mahnken points out, this is incorrect. The numbers offered for POP aren't based on dividing by total outs, nor on dividing by productive out situations. Rather, it's productive outs divided by outs made in productive out opportunities. Commented Mahnken at the newly reconstituded Baseball Primer: "As for dividing by outs in opportunities, it's the only way the stat is similar to what Olney listed. If you divide it by all outs, then the Marlins had something like a .090 POP last postseason."
Bless the patient soul that sits somewhere under Mahnken's Yankee cap, because Larry and I swapped emails three times before the sublety of the difference between "productive out situations" and "outs made in productive out situations" finally sunk into my thick skull. Using the aforementioned definitions of a productive out as p1, p2, and p3, here is the formula, along with a very similar one to which Mahnken refers in his article, the rate of productive outs (RPO). Larry did an excellent job of spelling out the difference between the two, so I'll quote his email:
POP = [productive out (p1+p2+p3)]/[outs in productive out situations]
RPO = [productive out (p1+p2+p3)]/[productive out situations (p1+p2+p3)]
If there's a runner on base with no out, that's a productive out situation. If the batter makes an out and the runner doesn't advance, his POP is .000. If he makes an out and the runner advances, his POP is 1.000. If he doesn't make an out, his POP is .---, because he made no outs.
If the batter has ten productive out situations and makes four outs, two of them productive, his POP is .500 [2/4] , his RPO is .200 [2/10].
It should be pointed out that the hypothetical batter above would have a .600 OBP in those productive out situations, at which point no respectable analyst alive would give a rat's ass about his Productive Out Percentage. But the difference in the formula is important. It's the anwswer to the question, "When this guy makes an out, how often is it a productive out?" but not, "How often does this guy make a productive out in a situation which a productive out can be made?" Those are two different numbers. Looking at it back in plain English, I can see why the definition would be prefereable to that of RPO, but the latter is the formula I'd assumed was being talked about when I first read the article. That Olney and whoever's editing him at ESPN couldn't even bother to define it correctly still galls me; that I didn't check it more closely for myself galls me only a bit less.
In the Hardball Times article, Mahnken goes on to point out that while eventual champs Anaheim and Florida did well in POP in the postseasons in which they won, both ranked third among the eight playoff teams in their respective campaigns. Many teams with higher postseason POPs went home earlier than the champs. A much better indicator of team success for the past two postseasons (72 games in all) that Mahnken found was on-base percentage in productive out situations (in other words, getting a hit or a walk instead of making a productive out). OBP in those situations had a .750 correlation with winning percentage, compared to .463 for POP and .283 for RPO.
Furthermore, the overall correlation of POP to winning percentage in the postseason sample was very low compared to more familiar overall indicators (that is, not just in productive out situations):
OBP: .841
SLG: .855
OPS: .874
POP: .463
In the words of Eric Cartman, "Dude, that is f---ing weak."
Mahnken concludes his article by trying to point out the fallacy of some offhand comments that Yankee announcers Jim Kaat and Paul O'Neill had been making about the current Yankee team. Olney wrote:
As club broadcasters Jim Kaat and Paul O'Neill noted last weekend, the team's offense is built much differently than in the championship years; in those seasons, the Yankees advanced runners, put runners in motion, bunted occasionally. While they didn't always have an overpowering offense -- the notable exception being the 125-win season of 1998 -- they had an efficient offense that provided the team's typically strong pitching enough runs to win.
Over the past two postseasons (one first-round loss, one trip to the World Series) the Yanks had a POP of .310, while the 1998-2000 teams (all of which featured O'Neill and ended in dogpiles on the pitcher's mound) their postseason POP was .268. While at first glance this seems worthy of a smirk at Kaat, O'Neill and Olney's expense, Mahnken himself already reminded us that postseason POPs weren't especially relevant to regular-season POPs; in this case, the trio has been harping on some heretofore unreported high regular-season POPs of the Yankee teams of yesteryear and comparing them to the current Yankee lineup, and we've only got a tiny, now-outdated sample of this year's model to go on. Hey ESPN, when are you going to update that chart now that the Yanks have started winning?
As tempting as it is to declare total victory over Olney's ignorant piece, the sample size issue is still something of a fly in the ointment. Seventy-two postseason games is less than half of one team's full-season schedule. A full season's worth of data for thirty teams would yield much more substantial (if not necessarily more conclusive) results, as would a full study which included the 142 playoff series since 1969 (the sample of which was the basis of Olney's postseason postmortem last November). As somebody who's basked in the raibow of tedium when it comes to baseball research, I can tell you taht Mahnken has done an admirable job of slogging through the play-by-play results thus far, but a larger-scale approach is needed to debunk the stat further.
Onto some other points I'd like to make on the issue...
One of the more interesting criticisms I received, both here and at Primer comes from one Nod Narb, who wrote:
Lots of well deserved criticism here. I agree with it all. However, I can't help but think that you haven't looked at Wilkins' BP study with the same critical eye. I know a number of studies just like Wilkins' have shown that Ks aren't detrimental to run scoring, but it's a flawed analysis. Not to get into it too much here, but you can't look at post-hoc outcomes, you also need to consider the other possibilities of balls in play. While a ball in play may lead to a double play, it may just turn into a regular out, it may fall in for a hit, or it may be booted...
If you're going to be so critical of articles by people who oppose sabermetrics, at least treat sabermetric articles with the same critical perspective.
First of all, I chose to focus on what the writer refers to as "post-hoc outcomes" rather than a more game-theory oriented approach because my interest in the stat was whether it had any predictive value on a large scale with regards to scoring runs, not on a micro level trying to divine what the batter's intent may have been. I chose Wilkins' study on strikeouts primarily because of its immediate accessibility rather than its air-tightness. I don't have the data facility to replicate the BP study, but they do this kind of stuff routinely and have staked a small empire on their ability to do so accurately. I won't give them a free pass, but given the scrutiny which the group's work receives internally, I have less reason to doubt that they've erred on the level of Olney's incorrect definition.
Regardless, looking at the post-hoc correlation of strikeouts to runs scored is only one way of looking at the matter. Another way of looking at it is to compare the value of a strikeout to that of a non-strikeout. For that I've turned to Tangotiger's estimable work on run estimation (the "How Runs are Really Created" series), which is a bit tricky to find given Baseball Primer's transitional dust -- it's in the Google cache, minus the graphics. In the first installment, Tangotiger's computation based on Retrosheet data from 1974-1990 puts the marginal value of a strikeout at -.269 runs, that of any out at -.265 runs -- not a huge difference, but a slight disadvantage to strikeouts if we're trying to predict the total number of runs. Across the broad range of 24 base-out combinations, a strikeout does slightly lower your run expectancy. Grounding into a double-play, of course is much more detrimental; in the comments section of that article, Tangotiger notes that the value of a GIDP is "about -.45 runs". Why the inexactitude given his propensity for precision, I'm not sure.
Elsewhere within that article is a chart which has some additional relevance to the situation at hand. As Earl Weaver's Fifth Law goes: "If you play for one run, that's all you'll get." Using the run expectancy matrix in my last piece, I showed the total number of runs expected in particular base-out situations such as moving a runner from first to second with the first out goes down. But the chance of scoring a single run, according to the data supplied by Tangotiger, actually increases:
Chance of scoring, from each base/out state
0 outs 1 out 2 outs
1B .38 .25 .12
2B .61 .41 .21
3B .86 .68 .29
So the runner who moves from first to second with the first out has a slightly higher chance of scoring (41% as opposed to 38%), even while the total run expectancy for the inning drops from .953 runs to .725. The runner moving from second to third on the first out has increased his chance of scoring to 68% from 61% even while the total run expectancy for the inning goes from 1.189 to 0.983. Note that moving a runner from second to third with the second out drastically decreases his chance of scoring, from 41% to 29%. Still, as there are times when a one-run strategy may be preferable -- to tie or win a game in the bottom of the ninth, or perhaps to get an early run on the board against a stingy pitcher -- advancing the runner with the first out will increase his chances of scoring. One run you want, one run you may get.
