Part I of an infinity part series dedicated to dissecting the bad ideas of SABR-bashers.

We’ve all reached that point in the discussion. The point when, say, you are debating the merits of a given player and you have just cited xFIP, or wOBA, or WAR.

“What!??” your opponent replies incredulously. “What the hell is xFIP/wOBA/WAR?”

“Well, it’s an advanced metric that measures such and such,” you explain.

Your opponent scoffs. “I don’t have time for these made-up stats. They take all the fun out of the game for me.”

It is at this moment that the discussion has usually reached the point of no return. It’s like one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books; you can either escalate things by snarking the living shit out of your opponent or you can extricate yourself from the discussion and risk looking weak. Either way, there can be no “winner”.

Not too long ago, the release of the book The Beauty of Short Hops: How Chance and Circumstance Confound the Moneyball Approach to Baseball by Alan and Sheldon Hirsch touched off a minor controversy in the world of baseball commentary. Among other things, their book takes up the “sabermetrics takes all the fun out of the game” position:

[T]he saber-obsession with numbers occludes a major aspect of baseball’s beauty – its narrative richness and relentless capacity to surprise. Baseball, thank goodness, transcends and often defies quantitative analysis. Games are decided by bad hops and bad calls, broken bats, sun and wind, pigeons in the outfield, and fans who obstruct players, among other unforeseeable contingencies. That may seem obvious (apart from the pigeons), but not to the folks who increasingly run the show. Rather than celebrating baseball’s delightfully spontaneous quality, sabermetricians deny it or rebel against it.

Let us leave aside for a moment that this sentiment is commonly expressed by people who are unable or unwilling to grapple with new statistics with which they are unfamiliar. Of course these people too use statistics to make sense of what happens on the baseball field, just less insightful statistics. In fact, a large portion of the Hirsches’ book is devoted to a feeble attempt at debunking specific advanced stats. Others have already done a fine job of critiquing the Hirsch brothers’ book and I do not wish to retread too much old ground. Rather, here I want to engage on its own terms the all too common argument that advanced statistics obscure the game’s beauty.

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That clamor you hear is the people’s collective demand to be introduced to the 1976 AL starting All-Stars. As is the case with anything having anything to do with baseball and or matters of the heart, I’m here to satisfy.

Witness George Brett in “young man somewhat agape at the possibilities before him” mode! See Thurman Munson exchange pleasantries with a Red Sock of Boston! There’s an understandably self-serious Ron LeFlore! Toby Harrah has a puzzling coif! Rusty Staub is somewhat gigantic! And most and best of all: Gaze upon the still photograph of a certain starting pitcher and tell me all is not well …

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oeT4AyXUu2Q&playnext=1&list=PL1DD909EC17590A1F

Also: Kick its ass, Dave Cameron.

OK, so technically those are stirrups. Specifically, those are Evan Longoria’s stirrups, and I don’t feel I’m going on a limb declaring these the best aspects of the Tampa Bay Rays uniforms.

More importantly, I would buy a pair of these things in a New York Tampa Bay minute, but I can’t seem to find them for sale anyway. I’m not insane for wanting a pair of these. Right? Right?

Today I have something in common with the idle rich. I am manifestly not rich, but I am now quite, quite idle. That’s because yesterday, after nine years of service — service that gave off every appearance of being loyal — FOXSports.com let me go. It was a budgetary decision, which allows me to fall on the less displeasing end of the somewhat blurry laid off/fired continuum. So that’s something. Right?

Anyhow, I’m not going to sit here and meow on and on about my grim circumstances. Plenty of people are much worse off, and I have cabinets full of canned goods, SSRIs and mind-altering spirits. I’ll be fine. Rather, I’d like to reflect upon some positives that have arisen from my new, blighted condition. To be sure, I have some regrets right now — no longer working with some terrific editors over at FOX is chief among them — but some things sustain me …

Above all, I carry with me no hard feelings, and I still, in my own estimation, number among the lucky bastards of this world. And as with all things in life, an Internet meme provides guiding wisdom …

Thank you for listening.

Apropos of absolutely nothing, these two eerily similar utterances come to us courtesy that long ago carnival ride known as “the 1990s”:

Albert Belle, Retired Ruckus-Raiser:

I’m not going to change my personality because someone wants me to change.

Ad-Rock, Pioneering B-Boy:

You think I’m gonna change up my style just to fit in?

Note: Chloe Sevigny really is in this video — at the 2:15 mark. This was actually before her first film role, in 1995’s Kids, when she was an intern at Sassy magazine.

Like my NotGraphs comrade Carson, I am a Peter Gammons pocket tweet enthusiast. I am also a firm believer in using images to convey emotion at key junctures in baseball games. Which made me think: Why not combine Peter Gammons tweets with images (of Peter Gammons) that can be used to convey emotions at key junctures in baseball games? It’s perfect! After all, there is a large untapped market for image macros on the web.

So, with that, I am proud to unveil to the world a select sampling of LOLGammos. I encourage you all to make a meme of it. Meaning: create two, three, many LOLGammos!

Old Favorites:

1.

Emotion: sadness/disappointment

Example of proper in-game deployment: Your team is down one run with two outs in the bottom of the ninth. The bases are loaded and your best hitter at the plate. He works a full count and…strikes out looking.

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Weary of those ancient ballpark urinals found in haunts like Wrigley, Fenway and Dodger, the ones taken from Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello estate? Know that the future brings hope …

“Thermochromic coating on steel panel” or urination sorcery? The latter, obviously.

If nothing else, team owners now have the tidy rationale they need for the next round of taxpayer-funded stadium refurbishments. Bodily Functions 2.0!

Last week, I gave you those baseball players that make up the latter half of my top 10 most favorite baseball players in the whole wide world. If you missed it, and would like to read my most scientific of scientific reasoning, here’s the post. However, since then, I’ve had to make one change to those very rankings. Here they are, in short order:

10. Melky Cabrera and Coco Crisp. It’s a tie. Actually, to be more specific, Melky Cabrera and Coco Crisp’s afro.
9. Kirk Rueter
8. Paul O’Neill
7. Tony Fernandez
6. Mark McGwire

Without further ado, I present my top five:

5. J.T. Snow

The more I thought about this most fruitful exercise, the more I thought about J.T. Snow. And I’ve come to the realization that, deep down, I’ve always had an affinity for slick-fielding first basemen. And that love affair began with J.T. Snow. The scoop at first, it’s an art. And Snow was an artist. He wasn’t the greatest hitter, and, even though he spent the majority of his career in the National League, I always kept a watchful eye on Jack Thomas’ career. And, hey, on top of winning six straight Gold Gloves, Snow saved young Darren Baker’s life. That counts. (On an aside, I’ll never forget Dusty Baker’s reaction in the dugout after the incident. Baker knew, as we all did, that when he got home that night, he was a dead man.) In the end, two years after his retirement, Snow’s career ended the way so many players’ don’t: He signed a one-day contract with San Francisco, and left the game once and for all a Giant.

4. Ken Griffey Jr.

“The Kid.” That swing. Along with John Olerud’s, the sweetest swing I’ve ever seen. It’s rare for a player so highly touted — a first overall draft pick — to not only meet, but exceed lofty expectations. Ken Griffey Jr. did, and more. He played with his father, he played with swagger, and he played center field the way I did in my dreams. Junior was the reason I wished I didn’t bat right-handed. Junior was the reason I tried, at the very least, to switch hit.

Last summer, I was in Seattle to watch the Mariners only a few of days after Junior announced his sudden retirement. I spoke to a man outside Safeco Field, who left a written message on a photo of Griffey Jr. that adorned the ballpark’s wall. (I did, too.) The man, this baseball stranger who I’d never met before and will never meet again, was super emotional as we spoke, after I asked him to describe what Griffey Jr. meant to him. “[Ken Griffey Jr.] built this ballpark, man” he said, fighting back tears. “He saved baseball in Seattle.” It was raw emotion. “I wanted one more chance to see him,” he said. We all did.

Junior did it all, from playing with his father, to playing at home in Cincinnati, to returning to Seattle, where it all began. Full circle. If healthy, there’s no doubt he goes down as one of the best ever. Growing up, it didn’t matter where you were from or who you rooted for. You wanted to be like “The Kid.”

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You’re in for another treat, as the day of lists and bullet points at NotGraphs continues. You’re welcome I’m so sorry.

Last week, “in these very electronic pages,” as the ever eloquent Chairman Cistulli likes to say, I mentioned that upon watching Melky Cabrera high-five Joe West, and then pick something off his bat and eat it, I had to make some changes to My Most Favorite Baseball Players in the Whole Wide World list. Well, what kind of writer basement-dwelling blogger would I be if I didn’t share said list with you?

Now, please keep in mind, I grew up, and remain, an ardent supporter of Toronto’s Blue Jays. I was a freshly minted 10-years-old when the World Series trophy began its two-year northern vacation in 1992. In celebrating Toronto’s back-to-back championships, I was so hopped up on sugar I might as well have lined up and snorted the stuff.

Part I, players 10 through six on the list, is below, and not as Blue Jays centric as Part II will inevitably be. Shall we? We shall.

10. Melky Cabrera

He high-fived Joe West. He picked something off his bat and ate it. You’re damned right that was enough, at this moment in time in the universe, to crack my top 10 list.

9. Kirk Rueter

I was enthralled by Rueter’s 1993 debut with the Montreal Expos, Toronto’s baseball cousins, whom I always kept a close eye on. Rueter didn’t allow an earned run in his first two career starts, and finished his dream rookie season 8-0. Back then, pitcher wins weren’t everything. They were the only thing. Though he spent the majority of his career in San Francisco, Rueter, the furthest from a power pitcher, was the reason I rocked, for a short period of time, a blue Expos hat.

8. Paul O’Neill

It’s funny, for as long as I can remember, I’ve always despised the New York Yankees. It’s in my contract as a fan of another team in the AL East. But I could never find it in me to hate Paul O’Neill. He played the game — wait for it — the right way. At least that’s what it always looked like. In the late 90s, O’Neill was the consummate Yankee; America at its finest. And watching him play game four of the 1999 World Series hours after his father died was about as emotional as baseball has ever been for me. There’s a reason no Yankee wears #21. And, let’s be honest, the brilliant Seinfeld cameo helped. O’Neill hit two home runs for little Bobby!

7. Tony Fernandez

It was always the way Tony Fernandez threw the ball, from short to first, the side-armed flick, that endeared him to me, and so many others. He could field like nobody else. So smooth. Even the way he held his bat was different. An influential part of the up-and-coming Blue Jays of the late 80s, even in departure, traded to San Diego with Fred McGriff for Roberto Alomar and Joe Carter, Fernandez left his mark; the trade was the most crucial the Blue Jays have ever made. And Fernandez, for his part, always thought of himself as a Blue Jay. You could tell. It’s what made his return to Toronto in 1993 so special, as the Jays set out to repeat. In 48 games with the New York Mets to begin the season, Fernandez’s wOBA was a disappointing .293. After being reacquired by the Blue Jays, Fernandez, home again, hit .306 the rest of the way, with a .354 wOBA. Home, as they say, is where the heart is, yo. After winning the 1993 World Series, Tony was off on his way again, with stops in Cincinnati, New York, and Cleveland. Until he came home, to Toronto, again, for the 1998 and 1999 seasons. As much as Fernandez couldn’t get enough of Toronto, we couldn’t get enough of him. I’ll never forget June 1999, when, three months into the season, Fernandez flirted with .400. After a season in Japan, and a quick tour of Milwaukee in early 2001, Fernandez came back to Toronto again, a third time. It was only fitting. Fernandez had to retire a Blue Jay. Thanks for the memories, Tony.

6. Mark McGwire

The first non-Blue Jays jersey I ever purchased was a red, St. Louis Cardinals Mark McGwire one. It was the summer of 1998, when McGwire and Sammy Sosa were Chasing Maris. Like so many people, the home run brought me back to baseball, too. I ain’t mad at you, Mark.

This exercise, and the agonizing decisions that came with it, was a lot more difficult than I originally imagined. Who makes up the latter half of your top 10? Tell me in the comments below. Please? (I have to, I’m Canadian.)

And stay tuned for Part II, dropping in the coming days. And, one more thing: Follow me on Twitter. Why, you ask? I say: Why not?

Image courtesy LIFE, via — who else? — Google.

In the vital interests of your fleeting amusement, I’ve done the Lord’s work of going through “The Onion” archives to find the 25 greatest Onion baseball articles in the history of ever.

It is of course possible that you will disagree with my authoritative decisions, but you should know that my opinions are actually facts with large muscles. So instead blame the divining powers of the The Onion’s search function or the immutable laws of this, our grim human existence.

After the jump, the rankings, which I assembled for you at great personal hazard …

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