Eric The Blue

Sociologist speaks

Brooke Harrington is on the Sociology Faculty at Dartmouth College. She's researched and written a lot about the odd subculture flourishing at the high end of our wildly top heavy socioeconomic range. This work is of interest to me, I think mainly because it helps explain something I've wondered about while watching the Congress in action: this is the best we got? At the time the Declaration was signed, the population of the country was around 2.5 million, and included George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, Benjamin Franklin, Alexander Hamilton, Thomas Paine, John Jay. Now we have a transcontinental nation of well over 300 million and among the 535 in the Congress are Lauren Boebert, Marjorie Taylor Greene, and Matt Gaetz. Were any of the signers such manifest dunderheads? Maybe it's cherry-picking to name these pyrotechnic specimens of narcissism and stupidity, but there are also innumerable low-profile clowns, like Jim Inhofe, of Oklahoma, who a few years ago displayed a snow ball on the floor of the US Senate to "prove" that climate change is a hoax. He's still there, age 86, filling the halls of power with his wit and intelligence. 

I'm sure there are plenty of brilliant Americans, but relatively few of them are in public life. Most work in the world described by Harrington, where they solve the problems of rich people while becoming rich themselves. The leading fields are law and financial services, which tend to converge at certain points—tax avoidance, for example.  American society is a kind of Theater of the Absurd wherein one set of ambitious people figure out what laws we should all live under while another set of ambitious people get paid a king's ransom to help the rich work around those laws.

Well, that would be bad enough: actually, it's worse, since the two sets of ambitious people are in league together to make sure it's not too difficult to reduce the difficulties associated with being rich. All perfectly legal, as is sometimes pointed out by people whom Harrington disapproves of on account of their failure to disapprove. 

I got to thinking about Harrington when I saw this somewhat long Twitter thread she recently posted on another topic, Covid deniers and assorted anti-vaxxers. She seems to be interested in the same things I am but, instead of being merely puzzled, she sheds light. Why do people decline to be vaccinated? It's a case of the public and private interest coinciding, an easy call! Yet journalists track them down, in their hospital beds, on oxygen, ranting about the perfidies of Anthony Fauci. In case you don't want to click on the link, it turns out that there's a famous paper in social psychology relating to the behavior of "marks"—people who have been the victims of a scam, such as a business fraud. The truth eventually comes out, but they are not the kind to then place a call to the Attorney General or the Better Business Bureau. It's embarrassing to admit you've been had, that you fell for the scam. Harrington applies the findings of this paper to this new variety of mark, devotees of Fox News and Tucker Carlson. They've been had but won't admit it. What to do about them? They're plainly a danger to themselves and others. Harrington points out that we tend to consider just two options: love, kindness, and understanding (liberals), or zero tolerance (conservatives).* This, she suggests, ignores a tradition of American pragmatism that has worked with addressing other problems, such as driving under the influence: drunk drivers deserve neither loving kindness nor the death penalty, but we need them off the roads before they kill people.

You should read her, not me trying to indicate the flavor of the argument.

 

*Covid seems to have scrambled the ideological preferences. When an article in the right-wing National Review argued that anti-vaxxers would not be persuaded by ridicule, but needed to be "understood," liberals replied with pictures of right-wingers wearing tees with the message, "Fuck your feelings." 

 

Josh Hawley's smarm offensive

The Left wants to teach our kids that America is systemically racist. That’s false and it’s meant to divide. It’s time to replace lies with the truth! America is a great nation of good people - and our kids should be proud of that. That’s why I’m introducing the Love America Act

— Josh Hawley (@HawleyMO) July 23, 2021

 

Sen. Josh Hawley, R-MO, might be the smarmiest member of Congress, though I admit the competition is stiff. The Love America Act? Gag me. The rest of his thread goes like this:

It will require schools that get federal tax dollars to teach kids the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution & Bill of Rights, and the Pledge. These texts affirm the truths that unite us, and make us a great people. 

No more critical race theory. No more hate. Let's teach our kids what unites us as Americans—what we love together. Let's teach them the truth.

The principle of "local control" applies unless Josh doesn't like what the locals are doing, in which case the Big Bad Federal Government must bud in to make sure that schoolchildren are sufficiently reverent toward the homeland. There isn't another way to understand his proposal, but, since schoolchildren like mine, in Ilhan Omar's congressional district, already learn about the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and begin most days with a  recitation of the Pledge, the Love America Act is just hand waving—virtue signaling, one might say.  

And the details of the signaling are a little weird. Why does he want kids to study the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, specifically? Since the Bill of Rights is the first ten amendments to the Constitution, he appears to be deliberately omitting the subsequent ones, which include the Thirteenth (bans slavery), Fourteenth (requires equal protection of the laws for all citizens), and Fifteenth ("The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude"). These amendments were necessary because parts of the Constitution that he seems to think should inspire veneration and "unity" are actually—I hope we are united in agreement—deplorable. For example, Article 1, Section 9:

The Migration or Importation of such Persons as any of the States now existing shall think proper to admit, shall not be prohibited by the Congress prior to the Year 1808, but a Tax or duty may be imposed on such Importation, not exceeding ten dollars for each Person.

Slave owners wanted to keep importing Africans to be slaves on their plantations. The Constitution guaranteed that this evil could continue for at least 20 years. In that amount of time, perhaps enough Africans could be "imported" so that procreation alone would meet their needs. In any event, they got what they needed for 20 years, and could fight again then if necessary. 

And from Article 4, Section 2:

No Person held to Service or Labour in one State, under the Laws thereof, escaping into another, shall, in Consequence of any Law or Regulation therein, be discharged from such Service or Labour, but shall be delivered up on Claim of the Party to whom such Service or Labour may be due.

Such dainty language! It just means that if slaves escape to a state where slavery is illegal, their owner gets them back anyway. A constitutional right to own slaves explicitly trumps any state law that might seek to limit or bar it. 

Then there is this, from Article 1, Section 2:

Representatives and direct Taxes shall be apportioned among the several States which may be included within this Union, according to their respective Numbers, which shall be determined by adding to the whole Number of free Persons, including those bound to Service for a Term of Years, and excluding Indians not taxed, three fifths of all other Persons.

The "other Persons" were the slaves. Some people imagine that the scandal of this "three-fifths compromise" is that slaves were deemed just 60 percent of a person. But the scandal is that, for purposes of determining representation in the Congress, they were counted at all.  Their owners wanted to send to Washington as many representatives as possible to make pro-slavery policy, in direct opposition to the interests of the slaves they would "represent." That the slaves had no political rights whatever made it necessary to accept the 40 percent discount.

I'm no scholar of critical race theory, to which Hawley refers, but it seems what upsets him is the idea that the country, going back to its founding, has been all about race and slavery and the oppression of people of color. As a corrective to this grossly distorted view, he will require that schoolkids study the Constitution, so that they learn what virtuous people we have always been.  LOL!

Sammy says

Friends, relatives, anyone within range:

Do not listen to Tucker Carlson. Listen to Sammy. Vaccines work. If you haven't, get vaccinated. 

Can't help but notice that the visible replies seem more interested in ancillary matters:

1) How the f do people get invited to orgies?

2) LinkedIn usually.

Sammy, the voice of reason on vaccine efficacy; his repliers, voices of perplexity and experience in regard to orgy attendance. Don't try and tell me Twitter is a wasteland.

PRRI on religious affiliation in America

The Public Religion Research Institute (PRRI) recently released a "2020 census of American religion" breaking down, to the county level, the religious affiliation of Americans. Since election results are routinely reported at the county level, it's possible to judge how religious identification affects voting, and the answer appears to be: profoundly. Sometime within the past ten years or so, the percentage of American adults who are white Christians dropped below 50 percent. In the counties carried by Trump, however, white Christians are on average just about exactly two-thirds of the population. Meanwhile, in the Biden counties, about a third are white Christians, a third nonwhite Christians, and a third "other"—Jews and other atheists, Archie Bunker might say. (Actually, by far the biggest group within the "other" category is Americans who, asked about religious affiliation, reply "none"; these "nones," according to PRRI, are now 23 percent of all adults.)

The differences are amplified if one sifts out white evangelical Christians or looks at counties that went for one or the other candidate by a wide margin. White evangelicals, for example, were 34 percent of the population in counties that voted for Trump, but only 15 percent of the population in Biden counties. In 15 of Biden's 20 best counties, almost all in large urban areas, white Christians were less than a quarter of the population. They are about 45 percent of the national population. Trump won more than a thousand counties by at least 50 percent of the vote—by more, that is, than 75-25—and, in these, almost all small and rural, white Christians were more than 70 percent of the population. 

PRRI also breaks down religious affiliation by age. On this front, the news isn't good for Republicans. About two-thirds of Americans 65 or older are white Christians, a near match for the religious profile of Trump voters. But around two-thirds of Americans under 30 are something other than "white Christian," same as the religious profile of Democratic voters. It's not hard to tell which brand, going forward, is apt to grow its market share. Voter suppression, even when augmented by some of the rickety machinery of our 18th-century democracy, seems like quite a feeble response to demographic change in America. Put to one side the moral taint: just as a political strategy, making it harder to vote resembles a sacrifice bunt in the half inning before your bullpen faces Murderer's Row. Make America Great Again? Going to be too few dogs to hear that whistle. 

Feller dishes

 

I managed to write a bit about Bob Feller without mentioning that he is the source for one of my favorite baseball put-downs of all time. He lived into his 90s, never leaving the Cleveland area. Like Kaline in Detroit, he was a local institution, going to games, mixing with fans, following the Indians, and baseball generally, very closely. Unguarded and opinionated, he was good copy for journalists. He might have been one of these guys who thinks everything was better when he was young and is now in precipitous decline. I find I have more and more patience with this tendency. Anyway, in Florida once some baseball people were enthusing about Michael Jordan, who had quit the Bulls and was in spring training with the White Sox.  Feller was present and for a few moments listened to encomiums regarding Jordan's athleticism, etc. He then interjected his own verdict, which was that anyone who thought Jordan could play in the big leagues had to be an idiot.

"He couldn't hit a curveball with an ironing board," Feller said. 

I talk to the nuts

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The above is from a court document prepared by one of the Jan. 6 insurrectionists, Pauline Bauer, who is representing herself. In my job, I used to come in contact occasionally with crackpots of this genus and it's sort of fun to recognize their calling cards without having to talk to them in person. For one thing, there is this distinction they like to make between, on the one hand, someone with their name who has legal problems and, on the other, this more exalted entity who is beyond the reach of whoever is pursuing them—in Pauline's case, "the United States of America, a private corporation." I'm sure she has ideas about what makes Uncle Sam a private corporation and why it therefore cannot prosecute her, I mean her "vessel," for any crime someone named Pauline Bauer, who owns a pizzeria in Pennsylvania, may have committed in the District of Columbia last January 6. 

I'm also sure that the smudge over the end of her signature is her fingerprint. She dabbed a digit, or maybe her thumb, in red ink, unless it's her own blood—a common practice—and then made an imprint over the document's signature line. Solemn rites for solemn matters! Their documents always made me think of children playing at being adults: the game is about a world beyond their comprehension, so it must be endowed with mysterious elements. It's the same with their cousins the militia members who dress up like soldiers and crawl around with guns in farm fields in preparation for . . . something BIG. Only they understand.

Should they be regarded with scorn or pity? The ones I met were usually having their mortgage foreclosed. The fellow who made the biggest impression on me wanted to record a document called "Revocation of Power of Attorney." Naturally, you have to identify the Power of Attorney being revoked, and, in that part of the document, he had cited a certain Mortgage—his mortgage that was being foreclosed, no doubt. Someone else had already tried to explain that he could record a revocation of a previously recorded Power of Attorney, but he'd have to identify that Power of Attorney, not a mortgage. I got to continue this conversation with him and, as we talked, it eventually dawned on me that he was confused by the similar phrases "power of attorney" and "power of sale": in a standard mortgage instrument, the latter always occurs in a section enumerating the lender's remedies in the event the borrower defaults on the loan. He was trying to revoke the bank's remedy for his failure to pay his mortgage. Wouldn't it be nice if we could all do that? Bad for the banks, however. Anyway, I wasn't able to satisfy him, and our colloquy came to a conclusion when he took a couple steps backward, removed from his man purse what looked like a large wooden coin, held it up by the side of his head, and recited what sounded like it was supposed to be a hex upon me. I remember it began, "I am the only sovereign upon this premises." ("Sovereignty" occupies considerable space in their imaginations.) I could look past him and see my colleagues peeking over the tops of their cubicles, prairie dogging it. The guy was desperate, losing his house, and I felt bad about that but he was also a nut and it's good he had to go through weapons-screening before he could talk to us.

If I knew all there was to know about Pauline and many of her co-insurrectionists, I might have some of the same vague, mixed feelings. Alas, they're just the type to be carrying, and usually they don't have to go through weapons-screening, which they regard as an abridgment of their sovereignty. It’s possible to be both dangerous and pathetic.

Bob Feller and the war years

Was looking forward to the Twins' doubleheader today in Detroit but it's been postponed. The single game scheduled for tomorrow will now be a doubleheader, weather permitting, and the second lost game will be made up at the end of August. The Twins won their last four games before the all-star break, which is four days long, and today's postponement means it's now been possible to feel good about "how the Twins are playing" for at least five straight days—some kind of a record for this dismal season.

My makeup activity has been scrolling around baseball-reference.com looking at player records. Somehow, I lit upon Bob Feller, the Indians' great pitcher of the 1930s, 40s, and 50s. I always think of Ted Williams as Exhibit A of great players whose lifetime statistics were diminished by military service in World War II. Williams did not play in 1943, 44, or 45, which were the seasons when he turned 25, 26, and 27 years old—the front-end of most players' prime. He finished his career with 521 home runs, so, barring injury, would almost certainly have hit more than 600 homers but for the lost three years. Only nine players have hit 600 career homers. At least three of them (Barry Bonds, A-Rod, and Sammy Sosa) are probable steroid users and a couple more (Albert Pujols and Jim Thome) hit a lot of their homers as designated batters. Williams's career batting average was .344, and if it had stayed right there during the missed seasons, he'd have the highest batting average of players with 600 home runs. Only the Babe, at .342, is even in the same neighborhood.

But Feller is Williams's rival in this regard. Both men were 23 years old on 7 December 1941. Feller enlisted two days later and missed more time than Williams did—all of the 42, 43, and 44 seasons, and almost all of the 45 season, when he returned to the Indians in August and pitched in just 9 games. To give some idea of what he might have done in the years he missed, during the 1941 season, his last before going to war, Feller pitched 343 [sic] innings, struck out 260 batters, won 25 games, and had an ERA of 3.15. Then in 1946, his first season back, he pitched 371 [sic] innings, struck out 348 batters, won 26 games, and compiled an ERA of 2.18. If we interpolate, filling in the missing years with the rough averages of these bookends, Feller accrues, conservatively, 90 wins and 1100 strikeouts. His career totals in these categories would then stand at 356 and 3681, respectively. On the all-time list for wins, he rises from 37th place to 8th, and for strikeouts, from 31st to 6th.

Feller's contemporary Warren Spahn pitched briefly in the major leagues for the first time in 1942  before serving in the Army during the 43, 44, and 45 seasons. His was not easy duty—according to Wikipedia, he saw action at the Battle of the Bulge and was awarded the Purple Heart. When asked what he might have accomplished in the years he missed, Spahn modestly but plausibly speculated that the saved wear-and-tear may have extended his career at the back end. People speak of Williams batting .388 in 1957, when he was 38, as the greatest season by an old guy, but Spahn, age 42 in 1963, pitched 22 complete games for the Milwaukee Braves while compiling an ERA of 2.60: his won-lost record was 23-7.  Spahn's point amounts to a caveat concerning the aptness of filling in statistics for missing years and adding them to career totals, as I've done with Feller. But what are you supposed to do when it's raining in Detroit? Spahn, by the way, is one of the seven pitchers who stays ahead of Feller on the all-time wins list even after you give Bullet Bob an additional 90. 

Conversion therapy banned in Minnesota, at least temporarily, by order of Gov. Walz

Hearing the news today that Gov. Walz has signed an executive order banning "conversion therapy" on Minnesotans under age 18 put me in mind of a movie, Boy Erased, that I saw about 2.5 years ago. I think it's been mostly forgotten even though it stars Russell Crowe, Nicole Kidman, and, as a gay teen who is placed in a conversion therapy program by his conservative Christian parents (played by Crowe and Kidman), Lucas Hedges. I reviewed the movie favorably here. It persuaded me, almost accidentally, that conversion therapy, however discredited, is hard to kill because it's failure to convert anyone is profitable for the purveyors:

Another thing the movie suggests is that the conversion therapy biz, still legal in 36 states, is beset by a toxic interplay of Christian fundamentalism and garden-variety greed. You can give people lessons on whom to be sexually attracted to, generally or specifically, and augment the lessons with heavy doses of shame. But it doesn't work. So the "treatment" goes on and on. The desperate parents keep shelling out, and a benighted religious purpose is further corrupted by a sluice of cash. 

Banning conversion therapy is exactly the kind of thing government ought to do. I can imagine people thinking that parents, not the state, must always be allowed to decide what's best for their kids. But even if you take that view (I don't), conversion therapy is still a business scam. Its practitioners' only available defense is that they are as confused as their patients' parents, but even in that case I suspect it's the payments that keep them from comprehending the truth. 

Walz's executive action was needed because a bill before the legislature failed on account of unified Republican opposition. There is still no statute outlawing conversion therapy, and Walz's successor could rescind his order. John Helmberger, CEO of the Minnesota Family Council, released the following statement today:

This executive order will not end so-called "conversion therapy," since professional standards in mental health care already did that years ago. Instead, this will ban young people experiencing unwanted same-sex attraction or gender dysphoria from getting the voluntary, compassionate care they need.

I'll translate: The order will not end conversion therapy, it will only stop conversion therapy from being called "conversion therapy." The dolts who contribute money to the Family Council deserve more skilled obfuscation.

Jottings

Tweet: Re-realized for 10,000th time that my kitchen floor is exactly the same color as a spaghetti noodle. 

But I can't tweet because I'm banned from Twitter. Funny story. Someone I follow was traveling in Iowa and tweeted about the aggressive friendliness he encountered in diners and motels. I replied that if he thought he was being suffocated in Iowa, do not cross into Minnesota cuz "we will kill you." He "liked" the tweet but Twitter's algorithms did not. Lifetime ban!

Daughter told me a joke. What's the difference between Trump and a bird? A bird can still tweet. Almost confessed to her my own sentence. Her dad and Trump: both too depraved for Twitter. But I don't think Trump's ban is for the term of his natural life. 

Same daughter just said, "I'm going to Henry's house." I said, "Fine, go to Henry's." She said, "I wasn't asking you, I was telling you." 

I'm enjoying Jim Kaat as a color commentator during Twins telecasts. Today, I think he's mentioned around 18 times that in yesterday's game there were 18 full counts. I'm thinking he gets paid by the game, not the hour. Justin Morneau, on the other hand, is paid by the number of words he speaks. He says some smart-sounding things but I attribute this to the Law of Large Numbers. 

Kaat just said that when he was struggling with his control Twins catcher Earl Battey would set the target in the middle of the plate and then do the sign of the cross. 

Earl Battey! An under-appreciated figure from the early history of the Twins. He grew up in the Watts neighborhood of LA. I don't think many kids are playing baseball there nowadays. My daughter—older one, not the smart ass—has observed that all the Black players speak Spanish. (She's enough of a fan to keep the TV on during "Twins Live Postgame," when they interview players.) Anyway, Battey: he was a 4-time all-star, won 3 gold-glove awards, and finished in the top-10 of the American League's MVP balloting 3 times as well. Except for Mauer, best player at his position the Twins have ever had. 

Two excerpts from two plays by Samuel Beckett

I've been reading plays by Samuel Beckett—the two most famous ones, Waiting for Godot and Endgame. They are meant for the theatre, not the study: lots of stage directions, the most common being 

[Pause.]

When you're reading along, at least when I'm reading along, the tendency is to hurdle past to the words the characters speak, and one then misses the effect of haltingness, perplexity, befuddlement that is created in the theater. A mime act would be nothing but stage directions, and Beckett was moving in that direction: Godot premiered in 1953, Endgame in 1957, the same year as the aptly entitled "Act Without Words, A Mime for One Player." For some reason, pathos and futility lend themselves to wordless gestures. If things get bad enough, you quit talking, there's nothing to say, and the movements you make—sagging shoulders—tell the tale. But in Godot and Endgame the characters are still talking. It's often sort of funny. I imagine the audience often laughing, though a little uneasily. A professor maybe wouldn't approve but Beckett makes me think of Laurel and Hardy taking on Big Topics. For example, in Waiting for Godot, the scene is described tersely as

A country road. A tree. Evening.

and, before long, the two main characters discuss whether to hang themselves from the tree:

Estragon: Let's hang ourselves immediately!

Vladimir: From a bough? [They go towards the tree.] I wouldn't trust it.

Estragon: We can always try.

Vladimir: Go ahead.

Estragon: After you.

Vladimir: No no, you first.

Estragon: Why me?

Vladimir: You're lighter than I am.

Estragon: Just so!

Vladimir: I don't understand.

Estragon: Use your intelligence, can't you?

[Vladimir uses his intelligence.]

Vladimir: [finally]. I remain in the dark.

Estragon: This is how it is. [He reflects.] The bough . . . the bough . . . [Angrily.] Use your head, can't you?

Vladimir: You're my only hope.

Estragon: [with effort]. Gogo light—bough not break—Gogo dead. Didi heavy—bough break—Didi alone. Whereas—

Vladimir: I hadn't thought of that.

They decide to do nothing drastic till Godot arrives. They wait and talk the whole play long and of course Godot never comes. At the end, they agree to give up and leave. The play then ends with the last stage direction: [They do not move.]

The landscape of Endgame is similarly desolate. There are four characters. The two older ones are in trashcans out of which, soiled, they occasionally rise to speak before sinking back down in the filth. One of the younger characters at one point tells the following "joke":

[Raconteur's voice.}

An Englishman, needing a pair of striped trousers in a hurry for the New Year festivities, goes to his tailor who takes his measurements. 

[Tailor's voice.]

"That's the lot, come back in four days, I'll have it ready."

Good. Four days later.

[Tailor's voice.]

"So sorry, come back in a week, I've made a mess of the seat." 

Good, that's all right, a neat seat can be very ticklish. A week later.

[Tailor's voice.]

"Frightfully sorry, come back in ten days, I've made a hash of the crotch."

Good, can't be helped, a snug crotch is always a teaser. Ten days later.

[Tailor's voice.]

"Dreadfully sorry, come back in a fortnight, I've made a balls of the fly."

Good, at a pinch, a smart fly is a stiff proposition. 

[Pause. Normal voice.]

I never told it worse. 

[Pause. Gloomy.]

I tell this story worse and worse.

[Pause. Raconteur's voice.]

Well, to make it short, the bluebells are blowing and he ballockses the buttonholes. 

[Customer's voice.]

"God damn you to hell, Sir, no, it's indecent, there are limits! In six days, do you hear me, six days, God made the world. Yes Sir, no less Sir, the WORLD! And you are not bloody well capable of making me a pair of trousers in three months!"

[Tailor's voice, scandalized.]

"But my dear Sir, my dear Sir, look—

[disdainful gesture, disgustedly]

—at the world—

[pause]

and look—

[loving gesture, proudly]

—at my TROUSERS!

The world he gestures at with disdain and disgust is mostly barren but with trashcans—the world according to Samuel Beckett. 

Fourth of July, 2021

It was just 115 degrees in Portland, a condominium tower in south Florida crumbled to the ground (with residents in it), and the fastest woman in the country, Sha'Carri Richardson, can't run in the Olympics because she got high in Oregon.

It's not even against the law to smoke pot in Oregon. Unless your sport is snacking on the couch, it's not a performance enhancer, either. 

Shockingly, the fastest woman in the country is clearly not Scandinavian, but people who might be are doing their best to corroborate Richard Pryor's take on "the way white people talk": 

So, William, how many miles to the gallon do you get with the Cutlass?

And by the way, regarding Sha'Carri Richardson, marijuana is a gateway drug, the rules apply to everyone, and she's a poor role model for the youth of America. We do not need such people representing our country in the Olympics!

I think a lot of white people don't like a black person excelling, especially if she seems to be enjoying herself. A wingnut on Twitter, unintentionally acknowledging that Richardson's known offense is trivial, pointed to her dyed orange hair and her long brightly colored nails before observing that "strong nails & hair can be a side effect of steroid use." She must be guilty of something we can agree is bad! Someone replied:

Olympics where all the athletes are bald and have weak nails. Only way to be sure.

Land of the pilgrims' pride! Happy Fourth!

Reminiscing on the Fourth of July

While trying to verify that our favorite bakery is open on the Fourth, I saw the above graphic on their Facebook page, and it reminded me of conversations overheard at the kitchen table more than 50 years ago. My dad would be explaining to my mom how to get somewhere she wanted to go.

MY  MOM: Which side of the street is it on?

MY DAD: That would depend, Yvonne, on which direction you're travelling.

MY MOM: Why must you be so difficult and haughty? I only want to know which side of the street it's on.

MY DAD: Well, if the store across the street is on "the right-hand side," then it's on "the left-hand side." [He achieves the quotation marks with the inflection of his voice.]

MY MOM: Was that so hard? Thank you!

MY DAD: [Reads newspaper.]

MY MOM: [Drinks coffee.]

 

Some baseball illogic

I meant to work something into my post about the Twins' poor June but then forgot. Here goes:

There's a staple of learned commentary about baseball that I think is unadulterated baloney. Since Twins' color commentator Justin Morneau is one of its advocates, I'm constantly being annoyed by its promulgation, and the time has come to try and exorcise my misery by the usual method: venting. Contrary to what Morneau and a million others believe, there is no reason to think it's a lot better to be behind by only 4 runs, as opposed to 5 or more, in a baseball game. The idea is that if you're behind by 4 you can catch up on "one swing of the bat"—a grand slam home run.  But being behind by 4 runs in a baseball game is not at all analogous to being behind by 7 points in a football game. A grand slam is not its own thing, like a touchdown. Other things have to happen before a grand slam can be hit, and those other things make it more likely that a 3-run deficit, or a 5-run deficit, will be overcome, too. The utility of an extra run is the utility of an extra run. Some aren't worth more than others.

The way this often comes up during a broadcast is that the home team, maybe Minnesota, scores a run in the bottom of the eighth inning to go ahead 7-2. Morneau then rhapsodizes about what a "key" run this was, since now, in the ninth inning, "one swing of the bat" can only make the score 7-6, whereas before it would have tied the game. If the Twins are ahead by 2 runs, they can be caught with a 2-run homer; if ahead by 3, they can be caught by a 3-run homer; and, if ahead by 4, they can be caught by a grand slam; but a 5-run lead?—in the clear! That seems to be the "logic."

Actually, you're "in the clear," so to speak, as long as the tying run doesn't come to bat. If you're ahead by a single run, the lead-off batter is the tying run—one swing of his bat can tie the score. If you're ahead by 2 runs, someone has to get to base before "one swing of the bat" can tie the score. If you're ahead by 4 runs, three batters have to get to base safely before "one swing of the bat" ties the score. If you're ahead by 5 runs, four batters have to get to base safely before the tying run bats. The likelihood of these things happening is a smooth downward progression. There is no "jog" in the graph when the deficit goes from 4 to 5. 

Twins in June

A few weeks ago, a fellow Twins fan asked whether I thought there was any chance the team gets back to a .500 winning percentage this season. Um, no, assuming one's rooting interest isn't allowed to overwhelm the rational faculties. At the time the team had played around 60 games. What reason was there to suppose the remaining 100 would be very much different? I know these month-by-month summaries are a little artificial, but by the time three are up it seems reasonable to think a pretty realistic portrait has come into view. This is why, according to lore (and reality), the team in first place on the Fourth of July usually finishes in first place, too. Three months of games is a representative sample.

In April the Twins were 9-15. Then in May they went 13-16. In the month just finished, they won 11 games and lost 14. They aren't a fifty-fifty team.

Yes, key players have missed a lot of games with injuries: Buxton, preeminently, and Garver just when he'd begun to smack the ball all over the yard. Others too, sure, but it happens around the league. I think the  real culprit is their starting pitching. Here's a selection of pitchers who have started at least five games this season, with ERA in parentheses:

Happ (5.83)
Shoemaker (8.06)
Maeda (5.56)
Dobnak (7.83)
Ober (5.84)

They've played 78 games and one of these five guys has been the starting pitcher in 48 of them. Hard to win when you're allowing runs at these kinds of rates. Within their division, only the first-place White Sox have scored more runs than the Twins, but no one has allowed more.

One can still take pleasure in individual performances. It's fun to watch Luis Arraez play baseball. Berrios has pitched well. Nelson Cruz is laying claim to being one of the great late-bloomers in baseball history—it's his 41st birthday today, and he leads the team in batting average (.307), OPS (.963), homers (18), and RBI (44). It looks as if guys like Kirilloff and Larnach have a chance to be good major-league players and it'll be fun to watch them get better (I hope they get better). At the other end of the spectrum, Miguel Sano, who so far this season has struck out 83 times in 200 at-bats, is now riding the pine most of the time. At least he has 14 homers and 34 RBI, both second best on the team. Kepler, I think, has been underrated as a bust: he's hitting .199 with 6 homers and 27 RBI. It's not that hard for a 41-year-old to be producing more runs than those two guys!