Infospigot: The Chronicles

Understanding Too Late

It's early yet, but the teams I follow in the major leagues of North American baseball seem headed in opposite directions: The Cubs south, having dropped six of their first nine, demonstrating a penchant for losing from in front: the A's north, winning eight in a row after playing their first two games of the season without bats; the A's play far from perfect baseball but when things are going their way, they look like a bunch of kids, no cares in the world.

While watching the A's take apart the American League franchise from Anaheim on Wednesday night--I find few things in televised sports are more fun to watch than a glutted, money-besotted team fall flat on its face the way the Angels did to the underpaid Athletics--Kate pulled out a book of baseball poetry, "Hummers, Knucklers, and Slow Curves." She turned to a poem we've read many times in the past, "Pitcher," by Robert Francis (1901-1987).

Here it is, reproduced without permission (but believe me, not for profit):

Pitcher

His art is eccentricity, his aim
How not to hit the mark he seems to aim at,

His passion how to avoid the obvious,
His technique how to vary the avoidance.

The others throw to be comprehended. He
Throws to be a moment misunderstood.

Yet not too much. Not errant, arrant, wild,
But every seeming aberration willed.

Not to, yet still, still to communicate
Making the batter understand too late.

That is a gem, a perfect description of something you can watch inning after inning, game after game, season after season and still not see how different appearance is from intent. And that's where I think I tend to read poetry, too--on the surface. In poking around to see if I could find a copy of "The Pitcher" online, I came across a nice analysis that looks beneath the appearance of the couplets to examine the poem as a metaphor for writing poetry (I found a more technical analysis here).

Why didn't I see that? Now that you say it, it's obvious, like the way an inside fastball can set up a slider low and away. Or another inside fastball.

Here's another Francis poem, "Catch." Maybe what's going on here--I'm talking about intent, not technique, about which I know nothing--is a little clearer.

Catch

Two boys uncoached are tossing a poem together,
Overhand, underhand, backhand, sleight-of-hand, every hand,
Teasing with attitudes, latitudes, interludes, altitudes,
High, make him fly off the ground for it, low, make him stoop,
Make him scoop it up, make him as-almost-as-possible-miss it,
Fast, let him sting from it, now, now fool him slowly,
Anything, everything tricky, risky, nonchalant,
Anything under the sun to outwit the prosy,
Over the tree and the long sweet cadence down,
Over his head, make him scramble to pick up the meaning,
And now, like a posey, a pretty plump one in his hands.

Let's Go Oakland

It's been years since I paid more than passing attention to baseball, but it happened again this summer. It was a purely selfish thing: the teams that I had followed most avidly, the Cubs and the Athletics, had become perennial disappointments. In the case of the Cubs, they're deserving objects of ridicule and a model of how weirdly wrong a franchise can go: since they play in a "destination" ballpark, the home nine's wretched performance on the field has no bearing on the organization's ability to pack the stands game in and game out.

The A's case is different. Heck, there's a book and movie out there that explains the general manager's technique of finding undervalued talent, and he is well known for putting together a roster of kids and cast-offs who win more games than anyone would expect. A less celebrated side of the A's way of doing baseball is that very few players get to stick around long enough for the fans to get attached to them. Do the A's have a standout first baseman or shortstop or pitcher? You know that when they're eligible for free agency, they'll be gone. So the cast of characters change and change and change, and while the teams the A's have fielded the past few seasons may have made some sort of economic sense--at least from the standpoint of an owner who wants to take the team to a new city and seems utterly uninterested in investing a dime, or more than a dime--the results have been a little dispiriting for the casual fan and unlikely to win any new converts.

The A's ballpark, the Oakland Coliseum, has become the opposite of a baseball shrine. The limitations of a multi-purpose stadium were built into the place, but it had its graceful points if you were willing to see them. The park featured a beautiful view to the Oakland Hills to the east (though yes, right in the center of the vista was a working rock quarry). Back in the '90s, the city and county made a deal to get the Raiders to come back, and part of the deal was to remodel the stadium. The result was a grossly ill-proportioned concrete monstrosity that bans the view of anything that might soothe the eye. So, regular outings to the Coliseum is a hard sell to anyone who's not already a convinced follower of the local teams.

This season? Well, this season was certainly different. The A's, with the usual collection of odd parts, played their first 61 games in the expected fashion. On June 10, the team was 26-35. From that point on, they won more games than any team in the major leagues, going 68-33. Wow, was that fun to see. And so by August--did I hear someone say, "Fair-weather fan"?--I started going out to see what was happening out at the Coliseum.

That's all by way of saying that an NPR sports show, "Only A Game," was looking for a story on Bay Area postseason baseball (the Giants are in the playoffs, too, if anyone is wondering). The story will air tomorrow (I'll put up a link when I see one audio is embedded below). And just for the exercise of showing what a radio script looks like, I'm including that below (including the speculative host intro). Here it is:

**

Major League Baseball’s post-season continues this weekend … with the San Francisco Giants returning home to play the St. Louis Cardinals tomorrow in their National League Championship Series. The Giants go into Game Six against the defending champions … hoping to get back to the World Series … and reclaim the crown they won two years ago.

Across the Bay from the Giants' sparkling ballpark … another team made the playoffs this year. Dan Brekke of NPR member station KQED reports on the surprising Oakland Athletics … a franchise that battles the best in the American League … and sometimes its own fans.

Track …

Back in early June … this is the last thing an A’s fan would have expected to hear … as the year wound down.

Ambi 1/Glen Kuiper game call:

Swing and a miss! He struck him out! And the Oakland Athletics are going to the postseason! Un-be-lievable!:10

The A’s turned a mediocre spring into a summer of conquest. Their roster of unknowns, re-treads, and rookies ended the regular season by sweeping past the Texas Rangers to steal the American League West Division title.

And then … on to the playoffs.

Ambi: Let’s go Oakland chanting.

(Play two or three reps, then end abruptly)

But … before we continue with that feel-good story, a word about Oakland, the A’s … and Bay Area baseball.

The A’s owner … developer Lew Wolff … is determined to take the team to San Jose … build a new stadium … and sell luxury boxes to the Silicon Valley super-rich.

So … a lot of A’s fans aren’t crazy about Lew Wolff. There’s little love lost for the Giants, either, who seem to have everything the Athletics don’t: a beautiful waterfront stadium, a sell-out every game, and money to go out and buy top-level talent.

Something else the Giants have: the territorial rights to Wolff’s coveted new home in San Jose. So far, they've blocked the move.

So for now … Oakland fans and Wolff are stuck with each other … in a historic but hideously remodeled ballpark … that ranks near the bottom of the major leagues in attendance.

Ambi 2 or 3:

Let’s go Oakland ambi(in clear for two or three reps, then under)

But all that seemed to change … as the A’s made the playoffs … and came home to play the Detroit Tigers on October 9th.

The Oakland Coliseum was packed … and loud

Ambi 4: Crowd roar

But even then … lots of customers were unhappy with management. With fans begging for tickets … the team left 10-thousand upper-deck seats covered with tarps … and off-limits.The A’s explained they wanted to maintain an “intimate” feeling at the game. For fans … it was just another sign that the organization doesn’t care about them.

Cut 1: “Brad from Santa Cruz”

They probably wouldn't sell it out and it would look weird. But I agree, that's a pretty lame reason [… internal edit …]Let's let the people watch some baseball, know what I mean? :08

Butt to:

Cut 2: “Essence Harden”

EH: It's completely insane.[…internal edit …]. I understand that during the normal season there might not be enough to fill up those seats. But this game sold out almost immediately, and the idea of having those tarps on there still is completely horrible to the tons and tons of A's fans that would love to have seats right now.

DB: And why do you think they didn’t open it?

EH: I think Lew Wolff hates us so much. I don’t know why. :20

A’s management did relent … announcing it would open the upper-deck seats … for the league championship and World Series.

That was before the A’s ran into Justin Verlander in the deciding game of their divisional series match-up with the Tigers. He pitched a shutout … and it turned out the tarps could stay on all winter. Some fans complained Wolff had jinxed the team … by finally agreeing to open the upper deck.

But the fans … and the surprising team they had come out to cheer … had a final moment together.

As the Tigers celebrated on the infield … the Coliseum crowd gave the Athletics one last ovation.

Ambi 5: Out on “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” ambi? (Not sure the song pops enough).

For Only A Game, I’m Dan Brekke in San Francisco.

***

Journal of Arcane Baseball Research

Update: The Giants won, and that means they're the first team to come back from a two-nothing deficit at home to win a five-game series with three straight wins on the road. This was the second five-game series (the history goes back to 1969) in which a home team didn't win a single game (the first was Texas-Tampa Bay in 2010, when the Rangers clinched at the Rays' dome). 

Previously:

"Arcane baseball research." Is there any other kind?

That fine point aside, the San Francisco Giants have a chance for a rare playoff achievement today: They could become the first team in baseball history to lose the first two games of a five-game playoff series at home, then go on to win the final three games on the road. In fact, the Giants are only the fourth team to force a fifth game after losing the first two games of a five-game series on their home field. Here's how that history breaks down:

Teams that forced a fifth game in five-game series after losing first two at home*:

2-3 configuration (two at home followed by three on the road; 1969-1998, 2012):

• 2012 Giants (vs. Reds; series tied 2-2).
• 1981 Brewers (vs. Yankees; Yankees won 3-2. at Milwaukee).

2-2-1 configuration (two at home-two on road-one at home; 1999-2011):

• 2001 Yankees (vs. A's; Yankees won 3-2; fifth game at home).
• 2010 Rays (vs. Rangers; Rangers won 3-2; fifth game on the road).

Other teams that lost first two at home in five-game series (and result), any configuration:

• 2010 Twins (vs. Yankees; Yankees won 3-0).
• 2008 Angels (vs. Red Sox; Red Sox won 3-1).
• 2008 Cubs (vs. Dodgers; Dodgers won 3-0).
• 2007 Phillies (vs. Rockiers; Rockies won 3-0).
• 2006 Twins (vs. A's; A;s won 3-0).
• 2006 Padres (vs. Cardinals; Cardinals won 3-1).
• 2004 Angels (vs. Red Sox; Red Sox won 3-0).
• 2002 Diamondbacks (vs. Cardinals; Cardinals won 3-0).
• 2001 Astros (vs. Braves; Braves won 3-0).
• 2000 White Sox (vs. Mariners; Mariners won 3-0).
• 1997 Mariners (vs. Orioles; Orioles won 3-1).
• 1996 Dodgers (vs. Braves; Braves won 3-0).
• 1995 Rockies (vs. Braves; Braves won 3-1).
• 1984 Royals (vs. Tigers; Tigers won 3-0).
• 1981 Royals (vs. A's; A's won 3-0).
• 1979 Reds (vs. Pirates; Pirates won 3-0).
• 1979 Phillies (vs. Dodgers; Dodgers won 3-1).
• 1976 Phillies (vs. Reds; Reds won 3-0).
• 1974 Pirates (vs. Dodgers; Dodgers won 3-0).
• 1970 Twins (vs. Orioles; Orioles won 3-0).
• 1970 Pirates (vs. Reds; Reds won 3-0).
• 1969 Braves (vs. Mets; Mets won 3-0).

*100 5-game series since 1969; approximately 52 with 2-3 configuration. Twenty-five teams have started a five-game series with two games at home and lost both those games. Prior to this year, one won the series 3-2; two lost the series 3-2; five have lost 3-1; 17 have lost 3-0.

Talkin' Baseball

Me: [Erstwhile Cubs closer Carlos] Marmol. He's bad. He's explosively bad, like a bad case of diarrhea.

Thom: Yeah?

Me: Yeah. He's the only pitcher who has recently been likened to diarrhea. 'Cause when he's on the mound, the other team gets the runs.

Thom: Aw, shit.

Me: Exactly.

Journal of Self-Promotion, Sports Radio Edition

A week of light posting because, well, there was work to do. I got to do a little radio feature on the San Francisco 49ers for an NPR sports show produced at Boston's WBUR, "Only A Game." It was sort of a quick-hit story, and the field reporting involved going to a couple fan bars last Sunday. People were amazingly willing to talk, for the most part, and they were not even liquored up. The folks at WBUR did a very nice job on the story, too.

Link to the story page: Jim Harbaugh Inspires 'Niners to Division Title

And the MP3 link to the story audio.

Oh, yeah, and here's the rap that's referenced in the story:

Ballpark

On the walk to the ferry tonight. When I have time, I like to walk by AT&T Park on the waterfront side. It's always cool to see the stadium, something of a waterfront jewel, landfill be damned. One of the features along the water frontage is an arcade where you can see into the ballpark from field level--you're essentially standing just behind the right fielder. During the season, fans are welcome to take in the game for free from that vantage point; your turn lasts three innings if it's crowded, and it's nearly always crowded.

I've always found something sweetly pleasing about a ballpark as it empties out after a game, and among the favorite games I ever attended were afternoon dates at Wrigley Field when you could drift down from the cheap seats after the last out and just sit and watch while the last players cleared the dugout and the grounds crew started its postgame rituals. There's a way in which the field is still alive for me though the play has stopped. You can still see what happened out there, the traces of arcs, parabolas, curves, lines, vectors all nearly still visible. The physical qualities of that space--the color of the grass, its texture, the shadows on the field, the immense and unconquerable but somehow finite and intimate distance to the outfield walls--have a power of their own that speaks as you linger, a power independent of the action you've just taken in. (I don't think the modern major leagues allow much loitering in their amusement complexes now, and the field never seems as close as it used to. On the occasions I have tried to just hang out, there's no going down to the expensive seats after the game, and the general experience is one of being hustled out as if your $20 or $30 or $50 or $100 entitles you to just so much and whatever that is it's been used up. Go on home now.)

A ballpark after the season ends is a different story. Melancholy, a place deserted by everyone and everything that gave it purpose. The spaces, those unfathomable distances, are voids. No arcs or parabolas there. Until that changes, which they say happens next year, if we wait.

Bears Down

If graciousness were in my playbook, I'd say, "Go! You Packers! Go!" and wish them well in bringing home the bacon to old Green Bay. But that's a big if. Instead, I'll note that the sum total of my media experience for the game was turning on CBS Radio when we got back in range (we were driving home from a weekend outing to the Mendocino coast) and hearing, "So the Packers will move on to the Super Bowl, beating the Bears 21-14." Which only left the suspense of how well or badly the game was actually played. I come away from the game stories I've seen feeling like the Packers needed luck to get out of there with the game and the Bears supplied it. Not a bitter disappointment--the Bears were clearly not a great team, but they were entertaining on their better days. It would have been a great story to see the third-string quarterback bring 'em home.

Rooting Interest

I'm going to do what no Chicago sports fan should ever do—the great majority of us seem not to abide by this wisdom—and say I'm really hoping they win tomorrow. Beyond matters of vicarious athletic attainment and hometown pride, I hope they prevail for aesthetic reasons. In an anthem vs. anthem matchup, Chicago's "Bear Down, Chicago Bears" must triumph over Green Bay's polka-flavored, raccoon coat-evoking slop, "Go! You Packers! Go!" I submit lyrics and clips in support of my position, starting with "Bear Down"

Bear down, Chicago Bears,
make every play clear the way to victory.
Bear down, Chicago Bears,
Put up a fight with a might so fearlessly.

We'll never forget the way you thrilled the nation
With your T formation.

Bear down, Chicago Bears,
And let them know why you're wearing the crown.
You're the pride and joy of Illinois,
Chicago Bears, bear down!

And here's a representative performance of "Bear Down" :

Now, here's the Green Bay hymn:

Hail, hail the gang's all here to yell for you,
And keep you going in your winning ways,
Hail, hail the gang's all here to tell you too,
That win or lose, we'll always sing your praises Packers;
Go, you Packers, go and get 'em,
Go, you fighting fools upset 'em,
Smash their line with all your might,
A touchdown, Packers, Fight, Fight, Fight, Fight!
On, you Green and Gold, to glory,
Win this game the same old story,
Fight, you Packers,
Fight, and bring the bacon home to Old Green Bay.

And here's a specimen rendition of the above:

Berkeley: Memorial Stadium

A friend had tickets to last Saturday's game between the local college's gridiron squad, the University of California's Golden Bears, and the top-ranked University of Oregon Ducks. Great game. The local lads almost pulled off an upset before succumbing to the insistent nibbling of the visiting waterfowl (score: 15-13).

There's construction at the stadium,, which is built directly on a fault at the mouth of a canyon in the Berkeley Hills. The current project doesn't address the high seismic risk to the stadium. Instead, the university is building a training center for Cal sportsmen and sportswomen (it's called the Student Athlete High-Performance Center). [Update 11/19: I was wrong about this: the bracing illustrated here is part of the larger stadium renovation project that will get under way in earnest after the season's final home game, against Washington on November 27. Details here.]

In large part, the new center will be The House that Tedford Built. That's Jeff Tedford, the coach who ushered in an era of winning football at Cal (eight straight winning seasons, seven straight bowl appearances; both streaks could end this year). The university--the Athletic Department, the administration, and the alumni, not necessarily in that order--were so gaga over Tedford's prowess that they essentially promised they'd build the training center to get him to stay in Berkeley. Cal is also paying him north of $2 million a year--details of his contract here (PDF)--despite being so strapped for cash it has raised undergraduate tuition about 45 percent over the last three years. That's big-time college sports.

The stadium construction, though. Well, the temporary measures outside that exterior shell are kind of cool.

Fall Classic: 'Pitcher'

By Robert Francis, and pointed out to me by Kate (more than once) in the anthology "Hummers, Knucklers, and Slow Curves," edited by Don Johnson.

His art is eccentricity, his aim
How not to hit the mark he seems to aim at,

His passion how to avoid the obvious,
His technique how to vary the avoidance.

Yet not too much. Not errant, arrant, wild,
But every seeming aberration willed.

Not to, yet still, still to communicate
Making the batter understand too late.

Of Francis, I find not a lot online. Poets.org doesn't even include a listing for him, though he was once remarked to be a protege of Robert Frost (he got an obit in The New York Times headlined "Robert Francis, a Poet Hailed by Frost, Dies"). Three years ago, NPR ran a posthumous piece that featured Francis reading some of his work.

As to the poem, well, it gets to the part of pitching that's hardest to see, even when it's there in plain sight. You'd think it was the work of what W.P. Kinsella describes as "a true fan of the game." Here's what Francis has to say about his boyhood interest in sports in his autobiography:

No need to say that I was not good at any sport. A boy who shrank from the rough-and-tumble of recess would not be one to take to football. Baseball was a little better, but only if the pitcher was not too speedy. I lacked courage, toughness, surplus energy, but I also lacked interest, interest that could have made me a fan if not a player. I never learned a single big-league player's batting average. Once Father took me to a big-league game in Boston, but my chief impression was the grossness of the free-for-all urinating under the stands between innings.