Monday, April 6, 2026

Hey Bill (part 1)

This will be a long, five-part post, possibly broken up by other stuff…In 2023, Bill James shut down Bill James Online, which he launched in 2008 as a home for the kind of writing and studies—when I think of James, the words “you could study that” immediately come to mind—that used to find their way into his annual Abstracts and Baseball Books. The site also had a section called “Hey Bill,” where readers could send in a question and he’d answer as many as he felt like answering. One of the first indicators for me that the site was nearing its end, actually, was when the “Hey Bill”s slowed down drastically; James had always been really good about posting a few almost every day. (The site was, surprisingly, put back online recently—not sure exactly when—but, without the ability to log in, only a small part of it can be accessed.)

I was, of course, an enthusiastic and prolific “Hey Bill”-er. I saved everything, and below are the first few years of all the “Hey Bills” I had answered, starting with a question from August of 2010 about, of all things, Tiger Woods’ car crash. Time stands still…

Writing James was a bit of an adventure, and, I’ll say with some humility, I got pretty good at getting questions into print (I’d say he answered about 80-90% of what I sent in) and making sure not to press his buttons (you’ll see that I did, every now and again). Getting slapped down by James wasn’t pleasant. He could be rude, and he could be maddeningly arbitrary. The latter was especially fascinating to observe, and to use as a guide of what to avoid. (If this is starting to sound a little bit like Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi, that’s because it’s not a bad analogy.) For a while, acronyms were verboten; if you sent in a question that mentioned FIP, he’d print it just so he could say “Sorry, I don’t answer questions with acronyms.” The next day, there might be a question he clearly liked with two or three acronyms. The biggest red flag for a long time was WAR, which he hated and didn’t think contributed anything to understanding a player’s value. (I’ll spare you a long digression, but part of the issue was that the sport settled on WAR rather than James’s own Win Shares as the default analytical tool.) Again, if your question referred to WAR, he’d just brush that part of it aside. Eventually, he kind of gave up and accepted it as a necessary evil. Just to make sure, though, you’ll see that whenever I mentioned WAR, I usually threw in a reference to Win Shares alongside it.

I happily lived with all of it. As I often say, the chance to regularly correspond with one of my key writing heroes would have been almost unthinkable pre-internet. And I’m forever sorry that I didn’t get to do the same with Pauline Kael. (Both Greil Marcus and Robert Christgau have incorporated “Hey Bill”-like features into their Substacks.)

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Bill: You've written a lot on age and peak performance in baseball. Any thoughts on the degree to which Tiger Woods' worsening play is a function of his off-course problems? Is the one wholly causing the other, or is it more a case that the personal stuff is masking (and exacerbating) a decline that was inevitable anyway?

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: August 10, 2010

I don't know nothin' about golf, but my assumption has been that this was 99% caused by his personal problems, leading to massive distractions and an inability to stay on the course. Golfers age slowly, don't they? I think their aging curve has a lower slope, so that a golfer of Tigers' age would not normally be experiencing a decline of anything like this magnitude.

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Bill: A baseball fan since 1970, and a reader of yours since 1983, I've been arguing with some hardcore sabermetricians (i.e., they keep throwing metrics at me I've never heard of) on a message board over the prospect of a Triple Crown Winner. Me: It's something I've been waiting forever to see, and I'm excited. Them: RBIs are overrated, BA is overrated, who cares. Me: I know all that--I'm still excited. Am I wrong? I never felt like the purpose of sabermetrics was to reach a point where you'd shrug off two guys within reach of a Triple Crown.

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: August 30, 2010

No no…you're right. They don't have to care about the Triple Crown if they don't want to, but nobody should step on your enjoyment of it because they think RBI aren't meaningful. I think it's a clear case of "Up yours, buddy."

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Bill -- Sparked by Posnanski's column the other day about worst post-WWII Series winners, my message board has been debating the issue. I suggested that the '80 Phillies are a candidate, in that they were a very mediocre team propped up by two all-time greats and Tug McGraw. Another guy is countering that the mere fact of Schmidt and Carlton being on the team eliminates them from consideration. Any thoughts?

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: November 7, 2010

I think you may both be 90% right. You are certainly correct in saying that that was a fifth-place team that was carried to the top by two fantastic talents and a good reliever. Your counterpoint may also be correct in saying that that's enough to lift them out of the class of truly weak champions.

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Bill: No question, just an idea. You need a catch-phrase for every question that annoys you for one reason or another (presumptuous, long-winded, etc.). Something like "You're fired," or "No soup for you--next!" Having one phrase at-the-ready will save you a lot of time andeffort. (I've just set you up perfectly to give your new line a test run...)

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: December 5, 2010

Questions that annoy me I delete immediately, and you never know they exist.

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Bill -- Sorry to turn to you as a litigator of message-board arguments yet again. 1973 Cy Young vote...Briefly: a) slam-dunk for Blyleven over Palmer, or b) a case could be made for either. As you might guess, the argument arose out of Blyleven's HOF candidacy.

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: January 2, 2011

It's a legitimate contest, and a case can be made for either; in fact, I kind of think I might vote for Palmer. They pitched a comparable number of innings (325 for Blyleven, 296 for Palmer), and Palmer had a better ERA (2.40 to 2.52). The Park Factor for Baltimore (Palmer) was actually HIGHER that year (111) than the park factor for Minnesota/Blyleven (108). Lee Sinins' Runs Saved Against Average shows Blyleven at +53 (53 runs better than an average pitcher), Palmer at +54. The pro-Blyleven argument relies, then, on strikeouts and walks; Blyleven's K/W was 258 to 67, whereas Palmer's was a very unimpressive 158 to 113. Palmer's excellent ERA apparently derived in substantial measure from the superlative Baltimore defense, which had Gold Glove quality fielders at second (Grich), third (Brooks Robinson), short (Belanger) and in center field (Paul Blair). Blyleven's advocates can reasonably argue that the Runs Saved analysis credits to Palmer the good work of the fielders behind him.

Yes, that's true, and certainly…I'm sort of assuming people know this…Palmer had better offensive support. Blyleven was shackled with 2 runs or less in 16 starts. He had a 2.99 ERA in those starts, but was 4-12. Given 3 runs or more to work with he was 16-5, but that only adds up to 20-17. 

Palmer, on the other hand, had "only" nine starts of 2 runs or less. He was 1-6 in those starts, but 21-3 with 3 runs or more, which makes 22-9.

Yes, that's true, but there are a couple of other points on Palmer's behalf. First, Palmer was charged with only 7 un-earned runs; Blyleven, with 18. There's another 11 runs for which Blyleven escapes all responsibility because of the vagaries of the un-earned run rule. 

Second, if you look at the games that Palmer and Blyleven did have a chance to win…Bert Blyleven had 6 starts in which he had 3 runs of support. He gave up 20 runs in those six games (five of them un-earned), had a 3.00 ERA, and was just 1-4 in those six games. Palmer, in his six games with three runs of support, had a 1.80 ERA with no un-earned runs, and was 4-1. There's a three-game swing that can't be attributed to offensive support.

Both Blyleven and Palmer also had five starts with (exactly) six runs of support. Again, Palmer pitched better in those games. Palmer had a 2.00 ERA in those games, and his team won all five games; Blyleven had a 2.59 ERA, and his team lost one of those games (although Palmer was not charged with the defeat.) Palmer limited opponents that year to a .199 batting average (.249 slugging percentage) with runners in scoring position. I'd be reluctant to assert that that was luck, in that Palmer's career batting average allowed with runners in scoring position was .213.

It seems to me that to say absolutely that Palmer was better than Blyleven relies heavily on the argument of strikeouts and walks--to the point of saying that other things don't count. I believe in strikeouts and walks, but not to the extent of saying that other things don't count.  I think it's a legitimate contest.

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Bill -- Any thoughts on the relationship between post-season performance and a closer's HOF candidacy? We've been debating Billy Wagner's case. View #1: Sample size matters, and you can't base anything on 11.2 innings. View #2: The nature of a closer's job is different--they're supposed to come up big when it matters most. (View #3 is called Mariano Rivera--post-season's the difference between getting 98% of the vote and 99%.)

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: January 2, 2011

Or Rollie Fingers. Fingers is in the Hall of Fame mostly because of what he did in post-season, I think. I don't have a theory to explain here.   

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Bill: It's highly unlikely Roy Halladay will retire with as much career value as Clemens or Maddux. (At least I think it's highly unlikely--not impossible that he'd catch Maddux, I suppose.) Where do you think he stands in relation to those two guys in terms of peak value, though? We should have a pretty good idea of Halladay's peak value by now. What's your gut instinct tell you? (If you want to throw in Pedro and Randy Johnson, even better.)

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: April 8, 2011

Not less than them; a little different, but not less. He's probably the top pitcher in his generation, and I'm not sure you can go higher. You strike out 215 batters a year and walk 30…it's not Clemens, it's not Maddux, but it's not LESS than Clemens or Maddux. 

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Bill: I was listening to a short interview of Tom Verducci reacting to Verlander's MVP win. I like Verducci a lot, but something jumped out at me (speculating on Verlander's future): "We know he's a power pitcher, and those guys tend not to last a long time." My first thought was "Ryan, Clemens, Johnson, Seaver, Schilling, etc." Second thought was, "I thought Bill James had something in an old Abstract that debunked this idea." Is this still a common fallacy, or, more broadly speaking, is there truth to what Verducci says--i.e., are there three Kerry Woods for every one of those guys? (In fairness, Verducci seemed to think Verlander would last.)

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 11/22/2011

There are three Jeff Francises for every Kerry Wood. This idea is not merely a fallacy; it is the direct opposite of one of the game's most important truths: That power pitchers last DRAMATICALLY longer than finesse pitchers. Essentially ALL pitchers who last a long time are power pitchers.  

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Bill -- I'm sure you'll be deluged with suggestions for your "Going Out on Top" piece, so let me be the first: Tom Henke, one of my favourite players ever. He had 36 saves, a 1.82 ERA, and the usual array of excellence across his peripheral stats. I'm guessing it's easier for a stopper to go out on top than a starter or position player.

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 12/17/2011

Thanks. 

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Bill: This isn’t the most precise question, but I’ll give it a go anyway...Do you believe--or do you know of any studies that indicate--there’s a correlation between teams who play better late in the season (as opposed to April and May) and winning divisions/pennants? This springs from some recent back-and-forth I had over the relative merits of Verlander and Bautista for MVP. Obviously, all wins count equally in the standings--a win in September is a win in June is a win on Opening Day, etc. But in making the case against Bautista, I remarked that it bothered me that he was so much more formidable in April and May than he was the rest of the way, while Verlander was close to unbeatable the last two months. But I don’t know if I’m placing importance on something--the notion that players have added value if they perform well down the stretch--that has no basis in fact.

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 12/30/2011

Well…in general championship teams play better late in the season. The league "pulls apart" late in the year; the .400 teams play .350 baseball, the .600 teams .650 baseball…actually .640 or something, but the gap widens. It isn't what you were asking, but it IS a correlation between playing better later in the season and winning the pennant.

It has been shown that playing well late in the season has SOME carryover value to the next season. If you take two 90-72 teams, but one was 50-31 the first half, 40-41 the second half, while the other was the opposite, the team which played better late in the season has some advantage in the next season. But I am not aware of any study that shows that teams that play well late in the year have a meaningful advantage in post-season play.

On a related issue…I remember we used to have people in the field who would fume about late-inning homers being counted as more important than early-game homers, etc. We just hadn't worked out a coherent way to think about the problem. Eventually we all came around to the concept of "leveraged" situations, a concept with which people are comfortable, so people stopped bitching about game-time performance being given additional weight. It's not unreasonable to think that late-season performance in a pennant race is ALSO leveraged performance, and should be given weight.

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Bill -- One thing I loved in Popular Crime was your digression on the Rosenbergs, and how things that initially seem frivolous will later be viewed as hugely important (and vice versa). I'm always amused when little political controversies flare up (e.g., the Ann Romney thing from last week), and a certain mindset automatically dismisses them as meaningless distractions from the "real issues." Anyway, I thought of you when I read this piece in Slate that tries to quantify various political controversies. The writer's approach to the question reminded me of the way you often lay out your own thinking on various matters--categorize, organize, systemize--even though I don't think he gives enough weight to something like the Romney flare-up.

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 4/16/2012

Thanks.

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Bill -- A leap into the dreaded land of intangibles...Most everyone agrees now that the irreplaceability of a closer was vastly overstated for a number of years; teams move guys in and out of that role continually. Watching the Jays struggles this year, though--five blown saves in 21 games--has hurled me back to the couple of years in the early '80s before they got Tom Henke, and the memory of how demoralizing a series of blown saves can be to an otherwise good team (to a fan, anyway). Question: even though the difference between a great position player and an adequate one is undoubtedly quantitatively larger (in terms of WAR, or Win Shares, or whatever) than the equivalent difference between a great/adequate closer, might there be an intangible psychological importance to the great closer that can't be measured?

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 4/29/2012

Implying that it isn't demoralizing to lose a game in other ways? If your offense is poor and you lose games because you can't score runs, this doesn't demoralize the pitchers? If your starting pitching is bad and you're playing from behind every day, this doesn't demoralize the rest of the team?  

Of course it is POSSIBLE that there are things we can't measure, in the same way it is possible that the world around us is full of creatures or beings of some nature of which we are unaware because none of our five senses will pick them up. The question is, why should one believe in any one of these things? 

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Bill -- Re Hank Gillette's letter yesterday: I became really interested in Triple Crown challenges the year Delgado made a run at one with the Jays. I started fooling around with this formula to quantify how close various people have come: [(BA/BA leader) squared + (HR/HR leader) squared + (RBI/RBI leader) squared]/3. Using that, my Top 10 closest since Yaz are: 1) Dick Allen, '72; 2) Matt Kemp, '11; 3) George Foster, '77; 4) Jim Rice, '78; 5) Albert Pujols, '10; 6) Mike Schmidt, '81; 7) Dante Bichette, '95; 8) Willie McCovey, '69; 9) Larry Walker, '97; 10) Barry Bonds, '93. Also, for what it's worth: if Billy Williams had gotten one extra game in '72 and hit three solo home runs, he would have won a Triple Crown. Anyway, the point holds--since none of them went 1st-1st-2nd, no one player ever prevented anyone from winning a Triple Crown.

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 5/12/2012

Thanks. 

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Bill: Do you know of any pitcher who has ever averaged two strikeouts per inning over a decent-sized sample (say a minimum of 60 innings)? Aroldis Chapman has struck out 80 in 42.2 IP so far. All the seasonal leaders lists are based on ERA qualifiers, so they don't help; I threw the question out on a message board, and the closest suggestions (Billy Wagner, Eric Gagne) all topped out at 14-15 K/9.

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 7/24/2012

Taking that record all the way back to 1876, and using 60 innings as the standard all the way…in 1876 Tommy Bond averaged 1.94 strikeouts per 9 innings, leading the National League.  In 1877 Bobby Mitchell increased that to 3.69, and in 1878 Mitchell broke his own "record" with 5.74 strikeouts per nine innings.

You have to remember that in this era they would still, for example, change how many strikes were required for a strikeout…one year it was 5, the next year 4, etc…so records were pretty fluid. In 1883 Grasshopper Jim Whitney (so called because he had a tiny little head that looked like a grasshopper's head) struck out 6.04 batters per 9 innings, and in 1884 One Arm Daily (so called because he had only one arm) struck out 8.68 per 9 innings. In 1885 Toad Ramsey (so called because. . .) struck out 9.46. 

We could start the sequence over at 1900, but…let's not. If we credit the 19th century record as a legitimate major league record, that record stood until Bob Feller struck out 11.03 batters per 9 innings in 1936, the remarkable thing being that Feller was only 17 years old at that time. This record stood until Dick Radatz (The Monster) struck out 11.05 per 9 innings in 1963.  

That record stood until John Hiller struck out 11.08 in 1975. That record stood until Dwight Gooden struck out 11.39 in 1984; Gooden was only 19 years old, and Gooden was the last starting pitcher to own the record, and the only starting pitcher to own the record since Bob Feller. 

Tom Henke broke that record in 1986, at 11.63, and then Henke broke his own record in 1987, at 12.26. Henke's record was broken in 1989 by Rob Dibble, at 12.82; Dibble then broke his own record twice, upping the ante to 13.55 in 1991 and 1992. His record was broken by Billy Wagner. Wagner struck out 14.38 in 1997, then broke his own record twice, with 14.55 in 1998 and 14.95 in 1999.  

Wagner's record was broken by Eric Gagne, who struck out 14.98 in 2003. Gagne's record was broken by Carlos Marmol in 2010; Marmol struck out 15.99.

So…Chapman may well break the record. If he doesn't, somebody will within a couple of years, and then it is fairly likely that that person will break his own record once or twice, and then the record will be handed off to somebody else within a few years. Records are made to be broken--in this case probably within five years. 

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Another big message-board argument--like most of the things we argue about, extremely basic. When weighing an MVP candidacy, do you place any weight on late-season performance (from Sept. 1 onward, say, presumably for a team in contention)? Is it worth a lot, a little, nothing, or does it vary from year to year and player to player?

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 10/4/2012

I would think you could place SOME weight on late-season play.   Obviously we don't want to encourage a repeat of 1979, when Willie Stargell stole an MVP award with three big late-season hits.   

We used to have passionate arguments about how to give weight to the innings pitched by relievers.  Tango got us out of that rut by developing the Leverage Index, which rationally compares innings pitched by the situation.  So the question is, has anyone developed a "Game Leverage Index", which compares the pennant impact of different games, and thus would create a pathway toward a reasoned resolution of this?

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Bill -- I did an online piece a few years ago where I listed and wrote about all the Neil Young covers I'd collected (self-aggrandizing link below). I speculated in the piece that Young was the third-most covered pop artist ever--behind Dylan at number two and, way, way out front, the Beatles at number one. At the time, I'd collected about 115 hours' worth of Beatles covers. I don't know how many hours I'm up to now, but I'd estimate I've got somewhere between 5,000-6,000 Beatles covers on my external drive, and I basically confine myself to what I get from a couple of sites that specialize in Beatles covers (i.e., if I ever started actively searching, there'd be no end to it). So, while I think Dylan was probably covered as frequently in the '60s, I suspect the Beatles have lapped him many times over by now. 

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 10/3/2012

Yeah, well…experts are experts, but it still doesn't seem plausible. And Dylan HAS to have been covered more in the last ten years than the Beatles.  

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Bill -- Apologies if this has been asked in this forum before, and I know it probably doesn't lend itself to a quick and easy answer, but do you have any strong convictions about the relationship between viable MVP candidates and team performance? We've been arguing about this on my message board, and as is almost always the case, I lean towards the conventional, probably soon-to-be-antiquated notion that team performance should be factored in, while everyone else is on the side of MVP = best player, plain and simple.

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 11/16/2012

I think it is MVP = Best Player, for this reason. The definition of the best player is the player who does the most to help his team. What other definition is there? If the definition of the best player is the player who does the most to help his team, then how can the team be a separate and distinct consideration?

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Bill: Carlos Baerga always comes to mind when I think of players falling off a cliff early in their careers. Not sure how he computes in terms of Win Shares, but at least according to WAR, it looks as if 100% of his career value comes by the time he's 26; he did go on to have three more mediocre seasons before turning 30. I can't remember if there were any explanations offered at the time.

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 2/28/2013

Well…not saying that Carlos was a steroid guy, but…one of the chief effects of steroids was to PROLONG player's careers. Outfielders and first basemen who used steroids effectively continued to IMPROVE after the age at which they would ordinarily be in decline. 

But among middle infielders of that era, the opposite pattern is apparent. There are a number of "slugging middle infielders" of that era whose careers tailed off very suddenly. 

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Bill: Not a question, but following up on the knuckleball talk, an enthusiastic recommendation for the recent documentary Knuckleball. It was my favourite film from last year. If the people who made it missed a living knuckleballer, I'm not sure who that would be--besides Dickey and Wakefield (who are the focus of the film), there are also interviews with Hough, Niekro, Bouton, Candiotti, and even Wilbur Wood. The camaraderie among these guys is amazing--the basic premise of the film is that they're like some esoteric sect of monks who can only communicate with each other. There's a scene where Dickey, Wakefield, Niekro, and Hough all go out golfing together that still makes me smile thinking about it. Everyone, see this film!

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 3/19/2013

Thanks. No Eddie Fisher?

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Bill: Leaving aside the question of whether or not closers should get Cy Young votes, the fact is that they do, and they even used to win them semi-regularly during Tom Henke's peak years. So I'd like to put forth his name as another pitcher who was drastically shortchanged by Cy Young voters. Total votes: zero, even though he was arguably the second-best closer in the game after Eckersley from '85-95. He did draw MVP and ROY votes during three of those seasons.

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 5/26/2013

Left the game when he could still pitch. He was a dominant closer, for sure…built like Papelbon.

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Bill: The other day, Bob Costas got a little sarcastic about the Mets going crazy over their extra-inning win over the Cubs (“another sign of the decline of Western Civilization”). On a message board where I post, a couple of people took umbrage at Costas’s derision. While I agree that he maybe shouldn’t have targeted the Mets (a little celebration in the midst of a rotten season seems understandable), I also find the recent ritual of treating every walk-off win like the 7th game of the World Series a little excessive and puzzling. Any idea when this took hold? I don’t remember teams doing this in the ‘70s or even the ‘80s for mid-season games of no special consequence.

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 6/19/2013

It's the last ten years. But you SHOULD get excited when you win a game in dramatic fashion. If you don't, you're not participating in the emotional experience of the game.

Used to be, I think, that players didn't celebrate on the field out of the fear of "showing up" the opposition. The practice of lining up on the field to congratulate everybody on the win started in the late 1970s, and the jumping around celebrating kind of grew out of that. Since you're on the field anyway, it seems natural to express your passion for the game. There's nothing wrong with it.

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Bill: I think you, with some help from Robin Yount, addressed the Puig question very well in the '83 Abstract. Yount: "I can't really answer that question because I don't know who the game is supposed to be for. I don't know if the game is supposed to be for the fans or if it is supposed to be for the players." You: "The answer you select to that question will tell you who ought to elect the teams." You and Yount are talking about who should pick the team, but I'd extend that to controversial choices as to who should be on the team. If the game is for the players, I'd agree that Puig is a very specious choice. If it's for the fans, well, rightly or wrongly, he's captured their imagination and they want him there. I suppose the obvious counter to that would be, "What if the fans want Jeff Keppinger, does he get in?" And if Puig's numbers were like Jeff Keppinger's, I'd agree. But they're not.

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 7/10/2013

It doesn't seem to be self-evident that the fans want to see Puig. Maybe it's just a media thing?

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Bill: In light of Chris Davis, Jay Jaffe compiled a chart the other day of all the players who've had 30 HR by the All-Star break; the chart also included how many they hit after the break and their total for the year. The fewest after the break (excepting strike years and injuries) were 10, by Mays in '54 and Reggie in '69. A reader comment offered an explanation for Mays--that Durocher asked him to concentrate on spraying the ball around the second half (no idea whether that's true or not). Any recollection of what happened with Reggie? His walk rate went up--once every 6.5 PA first half, once every 5.5 second half--and the All-Star Game wasn't until July 23 that year, but they wouldn't seem to wholly explain such a drastic 37/10 split. I also notice that he had 24 doubles and two triples before the break--63 extra-base hits! His slugging average dropped 260 points the second half.

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 7/4/2013

The strikeout was invented in mid-season. 

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Bill -- I was watching game 7 of the ’71 Series (on a VHS re-broadcast someone gave to me; you can find the whole game on YouTube). There was an exchange between Curt Gowdy and Chuck Thompson in the bottom of the 6th that surprised and sort of amazed me. A precise transcription: GOWDY: Cuellar, like Palmer, doesn’t mess around on the mound. He likes to work in a hurry. THOMPSON: Curt, that is something that George Bamberger, the Orioles’ pitching coach, brought with him. He likes his pitchers to work in a good rhythm. He figures their concentration stays a lot better that way. GOWDY:...They talk about speeding up the game. The best way to speed it up is what Cuellar’s doing and Palmer did yesterday. They really make a game move. So people were talking about speeding up the game as far back as ’71? Wow. That particular game took two hours and ten minutes. It was low-scoring and well-pitched, but a 2-1 Game 7 would nevertheless surely take three hours today.

Asked by: Phil Dellio

Answered: 3/31/2014

People were actively debating ways to speed up the game in the early 1950s. Lot of articles in the early 50s about how the games were dragging.

Thursday, April 2, 2026

Visions of Johan

I used to write about the Hall of Fame a lot--I think I’m quoting Bill James there, possibly even the opening sentence of his HOF book. “A lot” is a stretch for me; once every decade or so. You can find three roundups of candidates on this blog, one from 2001 (when I think the concept was still relatively novel on the internet; such roundups are ubiquitous now, and not even confined to the weeks leading up to the yearly vote), from 2010, and, most recently, from 2018. (It would be more accurate to say I post about the Hall of Fame a lot, on the I Love Baseball message board--that much is true.) Joe Posnanski recently reevaluated some HOF prognosis he did for Baseball Digest back in the mid-’70s, when I’m guessing the idea was virtually unheard of. Joe knew that one day he’d be writing a Substack on the internet, so he took great care when thinking through his predictions.

I usually start by taking a look at what I wrote last time. Quickly:

  • of my seven “100% Locks,” one is in (Adrian Beltre), and the other six will follow soon.
  • I designated eight players as “Good Bets;” the one who has since retired, Buster Posey, is almost a sure-thing now, and of the seven who are still active, I’d say six are going in. Giancarlo Stanton is very much up in the air but fading fast.
  • there were a bunch more categories I won’t go over individually, but out of players mentioned, two have gone in--Sabathia (“Hard to Say”) and Mauer (“Probably Not”--really goofed there)--three are almost certainly going in (Greinke, Harper, and Soto), Acuna is still a very good bet, and a bunch have seen their windows close. Kind of funny from the vantage point of 2026: nowhere did I mention Aaron Judge (then already close to 100 HR into his career) or Shohei Ohtani (the year of his rookie season).

Which is again where I’ll start this year’s slate, 100% Locks, which can almost be subdivided into three smaller groups:

1) Judge and Ohtani, with one small caveat: I’m not entirely convinced that, somewhere down the road, some enterprising reporter won’t revisit Ohtani’s gambling scandal and turn up something that resurrects that story.

2) Generational Starters: Kershaw (just retired), Verlander, and Scherzer. Verlander gets his first start of 2026 tomorrow. Something I continue to believe, although people on the message board think I’m insane: I haven’t ruled out 300 wins. At 42, he’s got 266…what if everything fell into place this year (he’s on a good enough team that he wouldn’t have to pitch spectacularly) and he picked up 15 wins? 280 wins at 43? And a guy who’s announced his desire to make it to 300 many times? In that situation--again, a longshot--I can't see that he'd walk away.

3) The Rest: Betts, Freeman, Goldschmidt--the last two used to march in lockstep; Freeman has moved ahead, but PG still seems like a sure thing--Trout, Machado, Ramirez, Harper, Lindor, Arenado. You could, I suppose, say that they’re not all past the finish line yet, in which case please contact me and we can make a bet for a large sum of money…well, I might balk a bit on the last two myself; we can bet a smaller sum of money on them.

Peak Is the New Career: I was wrong on Mauer because the growing preference for (or at least acceptance of) peak value vs. career value hadn’t yet, in 2018, taken hold. After Mauer and then Andruw Jones (with Posey on deck), I think it has, and with that in mind, Chris Sale is going in. From 2012 to 2018 he was 99-59, had an ERA and FIP that were both under 3.00, his WHIP was just over 1.000 and K/BB ratio over 5.5, and he finished in the Top 6 in Cy Young voting every year. When he shocked everyone with his comeback Cy in 2024, that pretty much sealed it, I think, even with last year's injury.

Best Bets Still Under 30: I haven’t forgotten about Soto, who has accumulated over 40 WAR before his 28th birthday. Barring anything unexpected, a lock--but under 30, lots could still happen, so I’ll put him in a separate category. Joining him, you’ve got Acuna (28 WAR at 28), Vlad (26 WAR at 27), and, farther behind, Alvarez (24 WAR at 29). Tatis has 27 WAR at 27, right there with Acuna and Vlad, but--first thing I thought of when he got nailed (as in, “How could you be so stupid?”)--PEDs will keep him out, short of the damn-break that never comes.

Starters: Looking past the easy ones (the big three plus Sale), and mindful of how drastically the nature of starting pitching has changed the past few years--and also how we evaluate starters--there’s more guesswork here than anywhere, I think. 1) deGrom: one of the strangest HOF cases ever (I wrote about him here). He’s 37 now, stuck on two Cy Youngs, shy of 50 WAR and 100 wins (not that important anymore, but I’ll say that again: shy of 100 wins), and apparently hurting again. 2) Gerrit Cole: coming off his Cy Young in 2023, looked to be a near-lock. Has pitched 95 innings in the two seasons since (TJ surgery), may be back in June. 35 now, 43 WAR. 3) Skubal and Skenes: inarguably the two best pitchers in baseball are separated by almost six years, so their HOF cases are positioned very differently on a timeline. Skubal has two Cy Youngs, but he’ll turn 30 after this season. When and if he picks up a third, that should secure his induction; but, like deGrom, he just doesn’t have enough time to compile career stats that would bolster his case significantly (unless the whole peak/career thing tilts so drastically towards peak in the next few years that the standard career benchmarks undergo an inverse reevaluation). Skenes, with one Cy and a ROY, has all the time in the world; he’ll turn 24 this May. Who has the stronger case, I’m not sure--I’m leaning Skenes, but Skubal’s two Cys are already secure, and he looks primed for a third this season. (Skenes’ first 2026 start was disastrous, but reportedly he was victimized by some poor defense and bad luck.) 4) Blake Snell--the poor man’s Jacob deGrom (or Johan Santana). Also two Cys, but has even fewer wins, hasn’t received a single CY vote in seasons where he didn’t win (deGrom drew support in five other seasons), has registered exactly one complete game for his career, is on his fourth team in 10 years, and, possibly related, does not seem to be the world’s most likeable person (I may be projecting after his World Series smarminess last year). Needs a third Cy to be viable. 5) The field, which at this point I might reduce to Max Fried, who all of a sudden--did anyone think of him a HOF’er going into 2025?--looks plausible. At 32 he’s 94-41 with a career ERA of 3.00, is edging close to 30 WAR (he’ll have to pick up the pace there), has made a few AS teams and finished second, fourth, and fifth in Cy voting (no wins), and is off to a great start in 2026. I’d have to look, but I bet I could find one or two HOF pitchers who had less of a foundation than that going into their age-33 season. But he needs some foreground; he needs at least one of those flashy seasons where he transforms into the Other Max. Last year was as close as he’s ever gotten, and he wasn’t all that close.

Closers: same old story: you’re looking at the same three guys--Chapman, Kimbrel, and Jensen--who’ve been the only realistic candidates the past decade to satisfy the more stringent post-Mariano HOF bar for closers. And it looks like Jensen is the guy who’s broken through. Chapman was awesome last year, but he’s going to fall woefully short in the character-counts department (and it does these days: cf. Curt Schilling and Omar Vizquel, for starters). Kimbrel hasn’t been the same pitcher since leaving Boston seven years ago; his 440 saves and 2.58 career ERA would have made him a cinch two decades ago, but he bounces around, no one seems to like him (for reasons I’ve never quite understood), and his post-season resume’s not great. Jensen, meanwhile, has more saves than Kimbrel (closing in on 500), has been pretty consistent the past few seasons, has a very good career post-season line, and doesn’t have any of the baggage of the other two.

Everyone Else: There are definitely other future HOF’ers active right now who I haven’t yet mentioned--there always are.

1) Infielders: Jose Altuve, Corey Seager, Trea Turner, Carlos Correa, Alex Bregman, Matt Chapman, Marcus Semien, Xander Bogaerts--my guess is two or three of those guys will go in. If not for bang-a-gong, I might have put Altuve in with the sure-things; he’s got a shot at 3,000 hits, but he’s a little light on WAR. Now that Beltran’s in, though, I can’t see the scandal keeping him out. Altuve, 36, leads that group in WAR with 53; the other seven are bunched between 49.5 (Semien--surprised, aren’t you?) and 41.7 (Turner), and between 35 (Semien again) and 31 (Correa) years old. So nothing is decided yet. As a Blue Jay fan who spent two seasons tearing my hair out watching Matt Chapman at bat, I’m not enthusiastic about the idea of him one day going in.

2) Catchers: Salvador Perez, Will Smith. What happens with Molina may line up well with Perez’s chances: Molina was low on WAR (42) but famous for his defense and an acknowledged team leader; Perez is even lower (36), but is still hitting well at 36, has over 300 HR (his 48 was briefly the single-season record for catchers) and numerous AS games and GG on his resume, and is an acknowledged team leader. Their cases seem roughly comparable. Will Smith is the longest of longshots right now, with a case that will be largely determined by how far the Dodger dynasty extends; if he remains a mainstay and builds up some other credentials, you never know. Mind you, that same dynamic didn't help Jorge Posada get to a second ballot. Alejandro Kirk is already in my personal Blue Jays Hall of Roly-Poly Catchers Who Are Worth the Price of Admission Just to See Them Run Out a Double (I have, twice), but I think he’ll fall short of Cooperstown.

3) Pete Alonso/Kyle Schwarber: I’ll give them a category of their own. Alonso’s 31 and has 265 career HR; Schwarber’s 33 and has 342. Alonso doesn’t have any post-season heroics that I remember; Schwarber has many. If either or both get to 500 HR, you can start to look at their chances then.

4) Outfielders: Christian Yelich, George Springer. Yelich looked like a good bet coming out of his back-to-back monster years just before COVID; he’s been fairly consistent since then, but at a much lower level of ~ 3.0 WAR per season. Springer’s great comeback season last year brought him back onto the radar; winning the WS would have helped, but he’s once again, I think, in longshot range. With guys like him, my thinking goes something like this: before you play yourself into the HOF, you have to not play yourself out of it. And I don’t think he has, not yet.

After all that, you can be sure I’ve missed someone--a player who’ll do things over the next five-seven seasons that will have people asking “Geez, is this guy a HOF’er?”--or maybe I’ve simply forgotten someone who’s obvious already.* In any event, I’ll be checking back here in 2034 to see how I did, at which time I fully expect the whole HOF experience--committees, voting, induction day, everything--to be a subsidiary of BetMGM, with John Hamm installed as the new face of Cooperstown.

*10 days later...Indeed I did: Bobby Witt Jr and Julio Rodriguez. 1) At 25 (turning 26 in a couple of months), Witt is just under 23 WAR; much better than Yordan Alvarez, and, by the end of the season, he should be right there with Acuna and Vlad. He also has a couple of GG and SS awards, three top-seven MVP finishes, and a lot of black ink on his career box: he's led the league in hits twice, doubles and triples once, and he won a batting title in 2024. 2) J-Rod, younger by about 200 days, has one SS and won ROY in 2023. No black ink, so a little less flashy than Witt, but his OPS+ is almost the same, and the two are more or less dead even in WAR. Not sure why I forgot them.

Tuesday, March 24, 2026

Into My Own Parade

2020
1. Education (from the Small Axe series)
2. What She Said: The Art of Pauline Kael
3. Recorder: The Marion Stokes Project
4. Never Rarely Sometimes Always
5. The Last Dance
6. Nomadland
7. The Nest
8. Portrait of a Lady on Fire
9. I’m Thinking of Ending Things
10. Little Women

2021
1. The Velvet Underground
2. Kurt Vonnegut: Unstuck in Time
3. Red Rocket
4. Zola
5. The Power of the Dog
6. Malcolm & Marie
7. Licorice Pizza
8. Audrey
9. Don't Look Up
10. Spencer

2022
1. Turn Every Page: The Adventures of Robert Caro and Robert Gottlieb
2. Ice-Breaker: The '72 Summit Series
3. The Worst Person in the World
4. The Banshees of Inisherin
5. She Said
6. TÁR
7. EO
8. It Ain't Over
9. All the Beauty and the Bloodshed
10. The Quiet Girl


2023
1. Showing Up
2. Past Lives
3. American Fiction
4. The Zone of Interest
5. Anatomy of a Fall
6. The Teachers’ Lounge
7. Air
8. You Hurt My Feelings
9. Oppenheimer
10. Leave the World Behind

2024
1. A Complete Unknown
2. Every Little Thing
3. Kinds of Kindness
4. Evil Does Not Exist
5. Nickel Boys
6. The Apprentice
7. The Brutalist
8. Eno
9. September 5
10. A Real Pain

Mid-Decade Top Ten
1. Velvet Underground
2. A Complete Unknown
3. Turn Every Page: The Adventures of Robert Caro and Robert Gottlieb
4. The Worst Person in the World
5. What She Said: The Art of Pauline Kael
6. Showing Up
7. Education (from the Small Axe series)
8. Kinds of Kindness
9. American Fiction
10. Fargo/Better Call Saul/Homecoming

-------------------

Four Top 10s submitted to the annual ILX year-end film poll, plus a mid-decade Top 10, a stand-in for 2025, a year where I doubt I could generate a Top 3. (The ILX polls run on a very strange timeline that lingers from COVID; the results of the 2024 poll haven’t yet been posted, and voting for 2025 won’t happen for months.) I had to tweak a couple of the lists; I only submitted a Top 8 in 2020 (explanation obvious), and I ended up voting for The Zone of Interest in both 2023 and 2024—that strange timeline again—so I replaced it with The Apprentice on the later list.

I don’t think it’s been a great decade so far. The biggest story for me has been the aversion I’ve developed to many of the directors who made my favourite films from the ‘90s forward: Scorsese, the two Andersons, the Coens (one Coen now), Sofia Coppola (based on everything since The Bling Ring), Kelly Reichardt (based on her last two), Noah Baumbach (based on his most recent), etc., etc. Wes Anderson is the worst of them by far. The internet, where many of their films are immediately embraced as masterpieces, doesn’t help (and, if I’m honest, predisposes me to a degree to dislike everything they do now—but I continue to believe that a legitimately good film will break through the din regardless). On those rare occasions when someone does write something negative, like Greil Marcus on One Battle After Another—"it’s not a statement for our times (“An Antifascist Movie at a Fascist Moment,” as Michelle Goldberg’s New York Times piece was headlined), but a self-righteous comic strip that moves fast”—I want to stand up and cheer.

My top two mirror two of my favourite films from the century’s first decade: Todd Haynes’ Velvet Underground pairs up with Ric Burns’ Andy Warhol: A Documentary Film, while James Mangold’s A Complete Unknown fictionalizes Scorsese’s No Direction Home (I haven’t kept up with everything, but I continue to take an interest in Scorsese the documentarian). So I’m still finding comfort, pleasure, and inexhaustible surprise and mystery in the shadows cast by narrow, long-gone windows in time. To quote myself (writing about John Coltrane a few years ago) quoting Tommy Lee Jones in No Country for Old Men, they’re a rebuke to the dismal tide of today.

In stark contrast to the century’s second decade, when I was finally catching up will all the foundational prestige television shows from the ‘00s—Mad Men, The Sopranos, Breaking Bad—and staying current with many others I loved, television hasn’t meant as much to me this decade either. Succession? Well done, as far as it goes, but not a great deal of scope, to put it mildly. (Rest of the world responds: “Fuck off.”) The first season of Severance felt like a classic at times, then they lost their way. Again, the internet doesn’t help: if someone loves Severance, they’re not necessarily open to suggestions of imperfection. Anyway, I wanted to include some TV, so I’ve cheated a bit (above and beyond the cheating of wanting to include some TV): the three series I’ve listed all started in the ‘10s (Fargo as early as 2014) and finished up this decade. If Mr. Robot had delayed its final episode (Dec. 22, 2019) a couple of weeks, I probably would have snuck that in too. My television-viewing habits have become just like my movie-viewing habits used to be (but aren’t so much anymore, since leaving Toronto and all its rep theatres): instead of seeking out new stuff—the one thing you’re never short of is recommendations from friends—I watch the same series over and over.

Maybe I’ll have a list for 2025 at some point. I'm still waiting for someone to make a film that gets inside the dismal tide as definitively as all those great American films from the ‘70s did; maybe some has and I missed it. I found glimmers of that scattered through many of the films listed above.

Monday, March 23, 2026

Everything Everywhere All at Once

And so ends the great migration of 2026: 106 pieces moved over from my Tripod homepage to here, pieces dating back to the late-'90s and the still-relatively-new advent of homepages and blogs. (I still have to double-check dates on a few of them.) The Tripod page is still up, but--what precipated all this in the first place--I can only access it about half the time. As I recently posted on Facebook, I'm amazed that it's still functioning at all (and that I was able to get some tech support, even though it didn't take).

I still have four huge corners of the page to move over: 1) a record inventory where I logged and wrote about the ~3,500 albums then in my collection; 2) almost-daily posting I did during the 2008 presidential election; 3) a countdown of my 100 favourite songs on Facebook (alongside Scott Woods); and 4) a follow-up countdown of my 50 favourite movies, also on Facebook and joined by Jeff Pike and the late Steven Rubio. I don't know how many words those four projects entailed, but likely enough for a book; they'll take some time.

Meanwhile, I'll be filling in some gaps here and there--things that were linked to on the Tripod site--and I've arranged for an upcoming Zoom interview with Scott about his varied and mysterious creative work as DJ Shoe North over the years.

To start: five different WordPress sites from the past few years, two of which were set up to promote existing books, and two which eventually led to published books themselves.

1. Interrupting My Train of Thought: Scott set this up for a collection of writing I published in 2014.

2. Managing the Decay: Again working with Scott--and sparked, I think, by what I tried with the 2008 election--we set up a blog to cover the 2012 election. Kind of a forgotten one, befitting the runaway charisma of the Romney/Ryan ticket, but, I believe, crucial in paving the way for the nightmare of 2016.

3. You Should've Heard Just What I Seen: In advance of the final Mad Men episode in 2015, Scott and I were looking for a place to speculate on what song the series would go out on. We then expanded the idea into a running blog on pop music as used in movies and TVs; eventually, I took all of my entries and put out a book of the same name.

4. Unshackled; The Dustbin of Donald Trump: set up by Scott to promote our book about the cultural and political origins of Trump. Who, as soon as he lost the 2016 election, would be little more than a bizarre footnote in the political history of America (hence the "dustbin" idea).

5. We Don't Wanna Know: a first draft of what turned out to be a book of the same name wherein I wrote about my favourite music videos.

I did contemplate moving the Tripod page to WordPress, but, you know, I'm trying to apply the rules of the stock market to blogging and taking great care to diversify.

Wednesday, Better Still (2024)

The Internet Is Not a Good Place to Argue with People, Part 53. Actually, this isn’t really about an argument, so call it The Internet Is Not a Good Place to Do Anything, Part 1. Except maybe buy stuff; I’m on there buying stuff all the time.

I have a friend who, every time we get together (only three or four times a year since I left Toronto), gives me a mix-CD. I used to burn CDs all the time for myself, and if I ever get ambitious, I could spend a whole summer burning all the unheard music I still keep on my hard drive from when I went on a downloading binge 20 years ago. I’ll likely die before I ever do--for now, a few days in the car with Steve’s mix-CDs each year is enough.

One of the two he gave me a few weeks ago had the Bobby Fuller Four’s “Let Her Dance,” one of their follow-ups to “I Fought the Law.” It’s an incredible song, one of my mid-‘60s favourites. Don’t think I’ve ever put it on a Top 100, which is an oversight--gives you a good idea of what Buddy Holly might have been doing in 1965 had he lived. (Just found out it’s used in Wes Anderson’s The Fantastic Mr. Fox, which I now may make an effort to see.) Not sure if Steve thought this would be a song I didn’t already have--I do, on a Rhino compilation--or if he just thought it fit in well with the other songs he included. It was followed by a good cover of Dylan’s “She Belongs to Me” by Augie Myers that I’d never heard.

In one of those intuitive connections that sometimes seize you out of the blue, I immediately thought of the Kamala Harris campaign; it was a song that somehow, to me, seemed to speak to the runaway excitement that had taken hold of one side in the election the past week or two. I started thinking of the kind of ad you could create if you had Harris’s cooperation and legal rights to the song. I then looked up the phone number of the White House and...not true; the fantasy stopped there. But I did think of the one ad Harris had already done (pre-Walz), the one that uses Beyonce’s “Freedom,” and how maybe, with the help of my friend Scott, we could use images from that one and swap out Beyonce for Bobby Fuller.

I liked the original ad, and I certainly get the immense cultural reach of Beyonce--who, seemingly hours after Biden stepped aside, had handed the song to Harris to use as her campaign theme. If you want to make a clean break from Biden (symbolically clean; the handover of course had to be handled gingerly by Harris), and you want to get the attention of younger voters, the song was a good choice for the first ad.

But I’m approaching this as a music guy, and a more detailed account of my reaction went something like this: “Good ad, does what it’s supposed to do, but I wonder what it would feel like if you used a better song.” Because “Freedom” is not, to put it charitably, very good; it’s bombastic, didactic, like having somebody stand there at a blackboard and announce “Today, class, we’re going to talk about freedom.” I know the ad wasn’t meant for a retired, 62-year-old Canadian grade-school teacher, and that’s why I’m responding to it two different ways: objectively, as to how well it does what it’s supposed to do, but also subjectively, which in my case means aesthetically. And if there’s one thing I’ve paid a great deal of attention to the past few decades, it’s the melding of pop music to images in a variety of contexts: in films and on TV (subject of a book I published in 2020), in music videos (subject of a book I expect to publish later this year), in commercials, and even in political ads--I loved the Bernie Sanders ad in 2016 that used Simon & Garfunkel’s “America.” I think, perhaps arrogantly, that I actually have a good feel for that sort of thing.

So that’s what Scott did: took the original ad, removed Beyonce and Harris’s voiceover (also images of Trump), replaced them with “Let Her Dance,” but otherwise left it mostly untouched. It was a heartfelt expression of our own runaway enthusiasm for the switchover from Biden, and, for me, it perfectly captured the moment.

The next thing I did was, based on 15 years that should have told every instinct I have otherwise, absolutely stupid: I posted the video in the dedicated political thread on the same message board that I’ve whined about before. I wanted to share it--think I posted within an hour of Scott finishing up--and was a little hesitant about Facebook because of copyright. I didn’t equivocate or hedge; it was obvious I was happy with what we’d done.

As much as it nauseates me to go back to the thread to check details, I will. The first response came five minutes after I posted. If the person actually watched the video, that’s less than four minutes after I posted--a lot of thought there, clearly. The post came from a longtime (going back to the board’s inception, I believe) poster, the reverence for whom completely mystifies me--most of the time, he’s like a human conduit for other people’s tweets, I think because, to paraphrase Frances McDormand in Fargo, he wants to let us know how, you know, connected he is. His complaint was that I replaced a song by a Black pop icon and Harris supporter with the work of “an old dead white guy.” (Probably just “dead white guy” would have sufficed--hard to be old and dead at the same time.)

Without dwelling too much on it, three quick points:

1) This is not an actual ad; it’s a DIY show of support from a couple of guys in Canada, guaranteed to be seen by a few dozen people, maybe. Cue Allen Iverson: we’re not talking about the game, we’re talking about practice.

2) The Pavlovian regurgitation of a phrase like “old dead white guy." I can't tell you how much bottomless contempt I have for clichés. (Good teacher that I am, I'll assign my contempt to the clichés, rather than to the people who recycle them. Focus on the behaviour, not the student: "You're not an idiot, you're just behaving like one.")

3) Again, we’re approaching the ad from a musical standpoint above all else. Beyonce’s “Freedom,” as a piece of music, is the exact antithesis of what it purports to be about: “Let Her Dance,” a work of lightness and grace and beauty, is the thing itself. It all makes me think of the Mad Men episode where Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. The assassination--news of the assassination (relayed by Paul Newman)--happened early in the episode, I think, when Don and some others were attending an awards ceremony. At the end, a signature Mad Men ritual by that point, Matthew Weiner had to choose exactly the right piece of music--and I mean exactly, as this was truly one of the monumental events of the decade. The obvious choice for the spring of 1968, a year dominated on the pop charts by soul from Atlantic, Stax, Motown, and elsewhere, would have been Aretha, the Temptations, Sly, Stevie Wonder, or Otis Redding; “(Sittin’ on) the Dock of the Bay,” right in the middle of a chart run that saw it  spend four weeks at #1 when King was killed, would have been made to order every which way, one fallen African American icon to commemorate the life of another. Weiner did something completely counterintuitive, though: he went back to the previous #1, Paul Mauriat’s “Love Is Blue,” a MOR confection that, other than historical proximity, would seem to have about as much to do with MLK’s death as Gomer Pyle, 1968’s #2 TV show after Laugh-In. But it worked brilliantly--you felt the full weight of the event in a way above and beyond what “(Sittin’ on) the Dock of the Bay”--too familiar, too canonical, too peaceful-- would have provided. It’s like the old saying about being able to hold two contradictory thoughts in your mind at once. That’s a lot to process in four minutes--much easier just to spew rote nonsense that you know will get on-the-marks and approving thumbs from your audience.

I dwelled a little longer than intended.

There were another 10 or so posts in the next couple of hours, all of them, I think, expressing varying degrees of approbation. How much each post bothered me depended mostly on who was doing the posting; a couple of the comments were from posters I like, so those disappointed me the most. One complaint wildly misread the song choice, suggesting that Harris didn’t need anyone’s permission to run for president. God, no: as I wrote on Facebook (where I did, a few days later, post the video), “let her dance” = get out of her way, with no implication whatsoever of permission being granted. (Go forth, Kamala: two guys from Canada are okay with you running.) I was hoping that maybe one or two people would post something nice--surely somebody liked what we’d done, right?--but either nobody felt that way or, my guess, anybody who did was reluctant to find themselves on the wrong side of someone else’s pile-on. I’ve been in that situation myself as an onlooker, many times--better just to absent yourself.

There were a couple more posts referring to the “Let Her Dance” clip in the next week or two. The first, I think, was meant to push a button and fish me into defending it all over again; I responded, but instead of revisiting the “Let Her Dance” video, it gave me a chance to post a second one, which Scott and I made (again, thanks to Scott’s technical expertise; I’m more...the conceptual end of things) right after the Walz VP pick. No complaints this time: two old white guys celebrating an old white guy with music made by old (dead, even) white guys landed us squarely on the right side of a rose is a rose is a rose. (Not that that’s always an easy line to identify. Just before our handiwork, there was a video all over the internet of Harris leaving a record store with albums by Charles Mingus, Roy Ayers, and Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald that she’d just purchased; the video became a meme where her albums were replaced by work from the Pixies, Guided by Voices, Pavement, and others. I didn’t see any complaints there; that was acceptable.)

In the end, I actually did try to get the videos to the Harris campaign; I sent a short message with YouTube links for both (I uploaded them using an unlisted setting; I’ve since made them public) via the contact page on the VP’s website. I had to use a fake Zip Code--you aren’t able to enter a Canadian postal code. If Harris loses, her failure to hire Scott and me to head her YouTube Outreach Division will probably be the difference.

All in One Place (2023)

In the middle of all these dramas on social media (cf. previous two posts), I spent the last 15 months working on a book about Don McLean’s “American Pie.” Finally finished and got it uploaded a couple of weeks ago:

Happy for a While: "American Pie," 1972, and the Awkward, Confusing Now

That will take you to the Kindle version; there’s a button you can click on that page for a paperback.

I did a Zoom call the other night with Scott Woods and Chuck Eddy (who wrote the foreword), mostly about the book but touching on various other things, too:

Steve Pick, who’s part of the Christgau-inspired Expert Witness group on Facebook, wrote a really nice (and wholly unexpected) review of Happy for a While on his Substack blog:

A review from Jeff Pike, who's always been really supportive of whatever I'm up to:

An interview with Richard Crouse, ditto:

Two more Zooms: one, a two-parter, with Salon’s Chris Molanphy and Scott Woods, the second with Rolling Stone’s Rob Sheffield:

There will also be, if things fall into place, a couple of events in St. Marys; I’ll add any links as they happen. Promoting a self-published book continues to be an ordeal; promoting one post-pandemic and after having moved from Toronto to a small town of 6,000 people, even more so.

I’m looking forward to what Scott comes up with from our Zoom call, but I wanted to pre-emptively address something we spent some time on that has been gnawing at me a bit: the age-old issue of subjectivity vs. objectivity. I’ve written about this often, especially when posting movie and music lists here and there. The point I’ve always tried to make: it’s almost always a meaningless distinction. If I say that such-and-a-such is one of my 25 favourite films ever, then the implication is also that I think it’s one of the 25 best; the fact that I like it better than all the other films that aren’t on my list also implies I think it’s a better film--how could it not? Similarly, the idea of listing a film because I think it’s historically important or technically audacious or whatever--but also knowing it’s not a film I personally love--that has never made sense to me. Basically, favourite = best = favourite.

I may have backed myself into a corner (as I reconstruct everything in my mind) during the Zoom call at one point, seemingly supporting the view that subjective and objective are two wholly different things, so let me clarify. I have, especially the last decade or so--maybe beginning with a collaborative Facebook countdown of my favourite movies I did with Steven Rubio and Jeff Pike in 2010—begun to acknowledge instances where strong undercurrents of nostalgia mess with that equation. There were a few films I included in my list of 50 favourites on that countdown--To Sir with Love and The Paper ChaseThe Heartbreak Kid and North Dallas Forty--that in no way would I ever try to make a case that “this is one of the 50 greatest films ever made.” I’m very aware that I saw each of those films at a very impressionable time in my life, that they connected powerfully to whatever I was feeling at the time, and that those connections have stayed strong over the years. I still get far more wrapped up in them emotionally than, I don’t know, 2001: A Space Odyssey, or La Règle du jeu, or Vertigo, or hundreds and hundreds of other films I know are widely viewed as the very peak of cinematic artistic achievement. North Dallas Forty, my regard for which is inextricably linked to Ball Four and my high school basketball coach, is not that. And I believe that’s worth acknowledging. (In the Zoom call, I think it might have been mention of the Addrisi Brothers’ “We’ve Got to Get It On Again” that triggered this detour. Not the most applicable example for me--definitely underneath that umbrella of nostalgia, but a song I merely like, rather than love--which would be more along the lines of “A Horse with No Name,” maybe, or one of Chicago’s early hits.)

Moving onto a matter completely unrelated, I caught a panel on CBC radio yesterday discussing the new Martha Stewart Sports Illustrated cover. Historically the domain of 20-something supermodels and exceptionally photogenic female athletes (Serena Williams, Anna Kournikova), the 81-year-old Stewart is by far their oldest cover model yet.

I tuned in midway, but the basic thrust seemed to be “Nice gesture, thanks for trying, but who cares?” Venerable old print media such as Sports Illustrated is so far below the radar these days, this amounts to little more than a tree-falling-in-the-forest situation.

My first reaction was “Well, I know about the Martha Stewart cover, and I’m not exactly plugged into the Twitter/TMZ universe (if those references are out of date, that merely underscores my point), so it must be getting some attention,” but as I thought about how little I keep up with Sports Illustrated these days, it’s hard to argue. I was a faithful subscriber through the second half of the ‘70s, and I continued, through the ‘80s and ‘90s, to collect whatever baseball covers I could at library and yard sales. (I have almost every baseball cover for a period spanning four decades.) There was a time when SI wasn’t just a great sports magazine, it was a bellwether for the culture at large. I still remember their Joe Gilliam cover from 1974: “Pittsburgh’s Black Quarterback” it provocatively declared, immediately making you confront the insanity of that even being something to call attention to. I bet they lost a few hundred subscribers with that issue. I still kept up a little with the online edition as recently as ten years ago--can’t remember his name, but there was a guy who did monthly MVP and Cy Young rundowns I liked to read--but I don’t even do that anymore. It’s not as dead as Spin or George or Collier’s, but its centrality to the sports world would seem to reside in the distant past.

Having relegated Sports Illustrated to the dustbin of history--with a certain amount of detectable pleasure, I might add--you know what was next on the agenda? A 10- or 15-minute segment on the new Fast & Furious movie, where the three hosts enthusiastically assured listeners that the series survives for a reason, even invoking the term “folkloric” at one point (while simultaneously acknowledging that, like previous installments, it mostly consists of explosions and crashes).

I suddenly wanted to search out the latest issue of Sports Illustrated. Because whatever they’re doing these days, I’m quite sure it’s of more value than the new Fast & Furious film.