Some Small Changes

Last night, while debating with myself how the Knicks could possibly lose to the Timberwolves by 21 only six days after beating them by 27, I made a few small changes to the blog. The most noticeable is the addition of the Statistics page, which currently lists and explains the baseball metrics used here at Fan Interference. The basketball statistics are forthcoming. But in the meantime, it can’t hurt to familiarize yourself with the statistics, especially if you’re unclear or curious about some of them.

I made three smaller changes as well. I changed the F.A.Q. to include a significant and perhaps egocentric section about me personally (who I am, where I’m from, what I do, etc.) Check it out if you’re in search of some solid, personal information to use in insults next time you think I’m being unreasonable or stupid. I also added a picture of me to this section. Perhaps I did this to satisfy some latent narcissism, or because I want this blog to be a little more open and personal. I can’t decide which. Lastly, I updated the Editor’s Picks section for the first time in several months.

Anyway, that’s it. Just wanted to let you know.

The Relationship Between Fielding Effectiveness And Balls In Play

What you see before you is more than a funny looking picture. It is a symbol of my unrelenting devotion to truth, the physical embodiment of some of the data to be revealed in this post, and evidence that I am a Grade A dork. But let’s not focus on that last one. This thing is called a “boxplot,” and I know that because my good friend and occasional commenter told me so after creating it for me. This friend graduated from Vanderbilt with me in 2008, and has gone on to earn two master’s degrees – one in economics, and one in mathematics. He is also the person I turn to when I have a hypothesis, a ton of sports-related data in a spreadsheet, and not a blasted clue about what to do with it. So, R. Thomas, this boxplot’s for you.

Back to sports. If you are a baseball fan and you watch baseball games, I’m willing to wager my considerable life savings that you’ve heard an analyst talk about the importance of fielders “staying on their toes.” This usually happens when a pitcher is working quickly and accumulating outs fly and ground balls. The analyst will talk about how keeping the fielders involved in plays increases the quality of the defense behind the pitcher, because it prevents fielders from getting distracted, dozing off, or stiffening up due to lack of movement. This saying is, at its core, a variation of the old “practice makes perfect” dictum. If a pitcher pitches in such a way that his defenders stay involved and get into a fielding rhythm, their defense improves. That’s what they say.

Of course, just a small amount of critical thinking reveals some serious holes in this logic. Supposing pitchers do have some control over how and where their pitches are hit (a huge and false supposition), wouldn’t leaning so heavily on their defense yield tired fielders? If pitchers do have this sort of control, shouldn’t they just remove any possibility of an error and try and strike batters out? Wouldn’t the increased number of balls in play create more chances for hits and fielding errors? There are a ton of problems with the idea that fielders field better when under constant fire, but that hasn’t stopped it from emerging almost daily during baseball season.

Well, this is me doing my small part to refute this erroneous claim. The first thing I did was acquire the number of balls in play allowed by the pitching staffs of every major league team since 1990. Then I looked up each team’s defensive efficiency, which is the rate at which balls put into play are converted into outs. Lastly, and with the necessary help of my aforementioned friend, I examined the relationship between the two via the correlation function in Excel. The results shed light on the extent to which the two variables (balls in play and defensive efficiency) are related. The closer the number is to +1.0, the more positive the relationship between the two is (if one goes up, the other goes up). The closer the number is to -1.0, the weaker the relationship between the two is (if one goes up, the other goes down). I’m sure this is fascinating, so I hate to tear you away from the riveting inner-workings of statistical functions, but here are the results:

• 2009: -0.42
• 2008: -0.59
• 2007: -0.32
• 2006: -0.52
• 2005: -0.56
• 2004: -0.02
• 2003: -0.15
• 2002: 0.11
• 2001: 0.13
• 2000: -0.03
• 1999: -0.11
• 1998: -0.53
• 1997: -0.50
• 1996: -0.36
• 1995: -0.50
• 1994: -0.29
• 1993: -0.53
• 1992: 0.08
• 1991: -0.49
• 1990: -0.20

As you can see, only three (1992, 2001, 2002) of the past 20 seasons reveal some sort of positive relationship between the number of balls in play and defensive efficiency. And in all three cases, the positive correlation is quite weak. On the other hand, the 17 other seasons that I examined reveal a negative relationship between the two variables. With a few exceptions (1999, 2003, 2004), the negative relationship is pretty pronounced. As a result, these numbers suggest fairly strongly that, at least in the last 20 years, defenses labor when more balls are put into play by hitters. This makes a great deal of sense given the very obvious and intuitive problems with the whole “keeping fielders on their toes” idea.

I’m sure this information is completely unsurprising to baseball teams and the (usually) very bright individuals who run them. By no means is this meant to be some sort of breakthrough that organizations can use to construct better teams. Instead, this post is targeted at those who believe (or have got into the habit of saying) that fielders perform better when they are put to regular work. I’ve heard broadcasters say that fielders are more comfortable when they remain active in the game, and I have no doubt that some players truly feel that way. But in the last 20 years, increased fielding activity has in no way boosted teams’ defenses. In fact, the opposite appears to be true.

I guess the key to good defense is just having plain old good fielders.

About Devan Downey

Like most fans, I was expecting Kentucky to beat South Carolina handily last night. I suppose Kentucky’s youth and questions about road performance are going concerns, but the Wildcats are roughly fives times more talented than the Gamecocks, so victory seemed like a pretty sure bet. Also like most fans, I was surprised to see Kentucky leading by only three points at the half. So I booted up my laptop, connected to something called the “Nunez network,” and caught the second half of what was an exhilarating game.

As you probably know by now, South Carolina ultimately pulled off the upset, ostensibly on the strength of a Herculean, 30-point performance by Gamecocks’ point guard Devan Downey. I know this is the reason why South Carolina won, because other than the occasional praise for Kentucky’s young talent, it was the only thing that commentators Jimmy Dykes and Brad Nessler talked about for an entire half of basketball. Ignoring the fact that the production team kept putting up graphics revealing Downey’s dismal field goal percentage (he finished 9-29, which my calculator tells me is 31%), Dykes and Nessler relentlessly praised Downey for his “great individual performance” and “his willingness to carry his team on his back.” In the waning moments of the game, Dykes said that “Downey is now in the discussion for National Player of the Year.” And while the fans were rushing the court, he offered his big finish:

“It’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen as good an individual performance on the big stage as I did from Devan Downey tonight.”

I did and still do have some pretty heavy cognitive dissonance about Downey’s performance and its lofty praise. On one hand, it was clear from watching that South Carolina could barely be described as a basketball team for the two minutes that Downey wasn’t on the court. They were terrible without him. On the other hand, Downey’s 9-29 effort did contribute mightily to the team’s 34.4% shooting for the game. It’s hard to argue that shooting 31% on 29 shots is helping your team, no matter how incompetent your teammates might be. I still don’t know what to make of this conflict in analysis.

Michigan State Should Not Be Ranked #5

I tried to get worked up about this week’s college basketball rankings. I really did. After a weekend spent complaining about Connecticut and North Carolina’s undeserved rankings (in the former’s case: oops), I was sure the voters would give me some cause to take up until the beginning of February. But after careful examination of the polls, I’ve decided that there isn’t much wrong besides a few minor issues.

Except for Michigan State.

The Spartans are currently ranked #5 in both the AP and coaches’ poll. They have a 17-3 record overall, including a 7-0 performance in their conference. Obviously, the 17-3 record is a nice and alluring shiny object for the voters, especially when it works in tandem with the “State” that is emblazoned across all Spartans’ chests. Throw in the fiery Tom Izzo and his probably tremendous appeal to fans (read: men over 40, which happens to be the pollsters’ primary demographic) of good, hard-nosed basketball (read: boring slugfests), and it must be downright impossible not to rank Michigan State that high.

A deeper look at their performance, however, reveals that Michigan State is a good but not elite basketball team. Their only three losses – to Florida, North Carolina, and Texas – certainly have the look of respectability. But these name brands don’t (or shouldn’t) carry the reputation that they did in years past. Florida is a decidedly average team this season, as the Gators have a 14-5 record, a 3-2 conference record, and two really bad home losses to Richmond and South Alabama. North Carolina’s schedule has been fairly difficult, but the fact remains that the Tar Heels are 12-7 overall and 1-3 in the ACC. Texas is an elite team, despite its recent and disconcerting loss to UConn, so there’s little shame in losing to them.

Of course, a team’s losses are only a part of the story. It would be unfair to ignore which teams Michigan State has beaten on its way to such a lofty ranking. The Spartans’ best win undoubtedly came at home against Wisconsin, beating the 16-4 Badgers by seven in a good, old-fashioned, 54-47 Big Ten game. After that, the pickings get pretty slim. They beat a decent Gonzaga team by four at home. They beat an average Illinois team by 10 at home. They beat Minnesota twice, which is only impressive if you put unrelenting faith in Ken Pomeroy’s rankings (don’t get me wrong: Pomeroy’s website is an incredible tool, but occasionally he has some rankings that simply defy common sense. Yes, I’m still bitter about picking Memphis to win it all last season). But generally speaking, Michigan State’s cupboard is rather bare. And yet, they are ranked fifth nationally.

Michigan State deserves to be no higher than #11 in the country. For my money, the best five teams right now are Kentucky, Kansas, Syracuse, Texas, and Duke (strangely underrated, look at their profile). After that, I’d put Villanova, West Virginia, Purdue, Kansas State, and Wisconsin. I’d listen to a reasonable argument for BYU, but given that they have played absolutely no one, I don’t think such an argument exists. That leaves Michigan State outside the top ten, and in the very-good-but-not-great pool with Georgetown, Tennessee, and Ohio State. Perhaps the Spartans will blast through the rest of their schedule convincingly, making me look like a total fool in the process. But right now, Michigan State has the look of a team that doesn’t really deserve to be anywhere near the top five.

EDIT: Michigan State just beat Michigan by one on the road. The Wolverines were 10-9 entering tonight’s game, and were ranked 61st in Ken Pomeroy’s ratings. Also, Michigan State shot 49% from the field while Michigan shot 33%… and the Spartans still just barely won. I’m just saying.

Praise Ye Sports Gods

And, in the interest of fairness…

Two out of three ain’t bad.

A Frequent Problem With Steroid-Related Condemnations

I’ve determined that I simply can’t get worked up about steroids in baseball. I just can’t do it. Even though I’ve written about this issue in the past – and in this piece, most significantly – it doesn’t have the same inflaming effect on me that it apparently does on many other people. It is, at its core, a rather simple issue. Major League Baseball didn’t have strict rules against or testing for performance-enhancing drugs. Baseball players, who are fiercely competitive and enjoy the accumulation of money (just like everyone), dabbled in or abused these drugs that were essentially condoned. And in recent years, when the problem because too obvious and big to ignore, Major League Baseball retroactively vilified and persecuted the same players off of whom it had previously profited, and perhaps had done so with knowledge of steroids’ proliferation. Many choose to focus on the immorality and duplicity of the most prominent players involved in this era, but to me, what I just wrote is the story in its purest and most important form.

What I absolutely can get worked up about is the overwhelming sanctimony put forth by the brainless writers, analysts, fans, and former players that this issue seems to attract. In the interest of brevity and maintaining a minimally civil discourse, I’m going leave completely untouched the first three groups in that sequence and focus on the last – former baseball players. Some of these men have been understanding of the so-called “Steroid Era,” recognizing that athletes habitually seek ways to gain an edge, and that many baseball players had way more reasons to experiment with performance-enhancing drugs than they did to eschew them. Sure, they frown up the decisions some of their contemporary peers made, but they understand them. Most importantly, they appear to be genuine in their desire to move on.

Then there are former players like Goose Gossage and Jack Clark. These men not only appear unwilling or unable to forgive users with any modicum of understanding, but they also appear to be relentlessly ignorant of the inconsistency (and occasionally outright hypocrisy) of their condemnations. And, as I hope you will see, it’s infuriating.

Is Ty Lawson Better Than Chauncey Billups?

*More than usual, this post is heavily statistical. If you have a deep and abiding interest in the Denver Nuggets, Ty Lawson, Chauncey Billups, statistics, or anything I have to say in general, then I would encourage you to read on. If none of these interests apply, you might find this to be kind of a snooze.

Through a certain friendship, I’ve become well-acquainted with Denver sports over the years. The Nuggets, Broncos, and Rockies have joined teams like the Louisville Cardinals, Tennessee Titans, and Atlanta Braves in the group of teams that I’ve developed a small rooting interest in because of intra-national friendships. And because my Denverite friend lives right here in New York, I often find myself discussing the Coloradan sports scene. Past topics have included Jay Cutler’s petulance (go ‘Dores!), Josh McDaniels’ incredible ability to alienate, and the Matt Holliday and Allen Iverson trades. I can’t believe I have a strong opinion about each of those items, but I do.

Just recently, however, the Nuggets’ swoon has been a hot topic. That it has coincided with starting point guard Chauncey Billups’ injury has added an interesting element to our conversations, primarily because of our differing assessments of Billups’ ability. I asserted (with some vague knowledge of the pertinent stats) that the drop-off from Billups to rookie backup Ty Lawson isn’t as significant as many might think. He asserted, quite understandably, that Billups is the experienced caretaker of the offense, the team’s leader, and oh yeah, he’s still a pretty good player. Us being us, we proceeded to argue this point at length on several occasions. And me being me, I’ve hit the internet for some evidence that would either support or refute my claim. After some research, I’ve more or less decided that – at worst – Billups and Lawson are equally effective, and that it’s more likely that Lawson holds a slight edge.

A Christmas Miracle

Hours ago, I was on the uptown 1 train, heading to Washington Heights. There my girlfriend was napping, blissfully sheltered from the Christmas frenzy that makes New York so chaotic in late December. She does not celebrate Christmas, but it only seemed right to pay her a visit before the strict, family-only attendance policy was put into effect for the next 24 hours or so. So, there I was on the subway – again.

The train filled up at 96th street. A very large man pulled up next to me in the depths of the car. He was at least 6′3″ tall, with a big bulky frame. Other than his sheer size, his other notable characteristic was his attire. I would classify it as somewhere between a vibrant urban statement and a gaudy eyesore. His outfit’s coup de grace was his hat. Imprinted all over the brim and body was the New York City subway map, blindingly adorned with some combination of real and fake jewels. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Unfortunately, it was at this moment when he turned me and asked “does this train go to 125th street?”

Then I heard myself say: “You could consult your hat.”

My eyes widened. I had said a stupid thing. For all I knew, this man was under tremendous duress. He could be down to his very last dollar and fearing for his financial future. He could have just spent all day scouring the city for an evasive and rare gift, and grown pugnacious because of his failure to find it. He could have an apartment full of unpleasant, imposing, and unwelcome inherited family at home, and he was down to his absolute last nerve. Any and all of these things were possibilities. Plus the guy was huge. I braced for a right hook to the jaw.

He recoiled for half a second. Then he grinned sheepishly. “Yeah,” he said with a conciliatory chuckle “I guess I could, couldn’t I?” He removed his hat, found his answer, and braced himself for the train’s impending movement. We stood side by side until he got off at 125th street with a cordial “Merry Christmas.”

That I still have all my teeth is truly a Christmas miracle.

Doubting Tyler Hansbrough

If, heaven forbid, my four years in college had been streamed live on the internet, there’s a good chance you would have seen me doing one of five things every time you tuned in. The first is me socializing. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination. The second is me hunching over my computer screen watching the Yankees on MLBtv. The third is me agonizing over whether or not to skip a class so that I can hunch over said screen. The fourth is me frantically writing papers or studying for tests, usually in a massive unlocked lecture hall at three in the morning. And the fifth is me making fun of Tyler Hansbrough. Hansbrough’s four years in college doubled (or even tripled) mine in fanfare, fame, and prosperity. You can familiarize yourself with his many accomplishments here, but it’s safe to say that he had one of the greatest college basketball careers in history. He was an incredibly effective and productive player, and there’s really no room for argument there.

Hansbrough was also one of the most awkward, high-strung, spastic, and irritating players I can ever remember watching. These things would have been true even without the heaps and heaps of sometimes-creepy adulation foisted upon him by the sports media. His celebratory high-fives often missed his target’s hand. He paced around the court during stoppages in a disturbing way, in a way that you would expect a tortured mad scientist to in the bowels of his dysfunctional laboratory. He always expected any physical contact with his body to result in a foul on the opponent, and when it didn’t happen, we were graced with what was – for my money – Hansbrough’s most enduring contribution: the Hansbrough Face. Bug-eyed, bobble-headed, and mouth agape, it was a look of almost total incredulity mixed with a bit of entitlement. It’s more than a little reminiscent of Beaker. It was this face that I relentlessly mocked throughout college, often with the help of my assenting friends.

During today’s North Carolina-Texas game, ESPN’s Dick Vitale fulfilled his contractual obligation to bring up either Tyler Hansbrough or Mike Krzyzewski at some point in the broadcast. Senior forward Deon Thompson scored a basket, which caused Vitale to say the following:

Deon Thompson is the number one or two option on this year’s team. Last year, he was the fourth or fifth option, because of all the great players on that team like Tyler Hansbrough and Ty Lawson. And how about Hansbrough proving all the doubters wrong in the NBA this season? That kid can play.

Tyler Hansbrough was a great college player. I knew this without Vitale’s paroxysmal reminders throughout Hansbrough’s time at North Carolina. But there is absolutely, positively no way that anyone can argue that Hansbrough is “proving all the doubters wrong” with his current performance in the NBA.

The Granderson Trade, And Other Thoughts On The Off-Season

I suppose it’s about time that I post something here. So much has changed since December 2nd. Tiger Woods’ life and reputation have been irreparably changed. Roy Halladay has been traded. In a move that will surely solve all of the franchise’s problems, the Knicks signed former lottery pick Jonathan Bender. And most importantly, I set a new personal record by riding eight separate trains (in order: 1, 3, 2, 5, R, V, D, C) in one day. It is truly a new world.

Other than my epic day of subway riding, the most pertinent development in the last thirteen days has been the New York Yankees trading for center fielder Curtis Granderson. I found out about this the way I usually find out about important sports news – by my phone buzzing incessantly while I’m at work (my phone darn near broke the day David Ortiz was outed as a steroid user). After personally assuring each and every one of my students that, yes, that is my phone that’s buzzing and yes, I’m aware that it’s a terrible injustice that I can have my phone in school and you can’t, I found a brief moment to read one of the six text messages sitting in my inbox. By chance, I happened to see the one co-founder Keesup sent me, which read something like “[Expletive] you. Seriously? Granderson?” He later sent me the details of the trade, and after much contemplation, I’ve decided that I approve of the Yankees’ decision.