Monthly Archives: January 2012

PROPOSITIONS IMPOSSIBLE: The Babe Ruth Cup

The Propositions Impossible Series is a list of ideas that could never happen. Whether too absurd or too perfect, these are not serious suggestions as much as thought experiments. Food for thought that’s probably gone bad.

This installment of Propositions Impossible: In which we respond to a recent Men in Blazers podcast that wondered aloud how fantastic an FA Cup for baseball would be by asking, “Why the fuck not?” So we give you The Babe Ruth Cup©: an elimination cup tournament that runs concurrently with the baseball regular season.

Here’s how it would pan out for the regular season: each Major League team would play 3-game home-and-home series with every team in their league. So the A’s play 3 games against the Yankees in Oakland and 3 games in New York. No interleague play – leave that for the pre and postseason. With 15 teams in each league, one team would play 14 series at home, 14 on the road. At 3 games each, that’s an 84-game regular season schedule. At the end, the top team in each league would then play for the World Series. No wild cards, no automatic division-winner berths. Only the two best teams, just like it was in the beginning. The best is the team with the most wins; with a bevy of tie-breakers – most series wins, run differential, most runs, most away wins/runs, whatever. Point being, every game in the regular season matters when determining the best team, and the slate is not wiped clean by any playoffs.

And here’s how the Babe Ruth Cup© would pan out: Um yeah, someone should do some real research on how many Single A-, Double A-, and Triple A-ballteams there are out there, but the essence is to have an initial draw where the Singles and Doubles have a knock-out phase, then another draw start to play the big boys. [Ed. - There are 30 Triple-A teams, one for each MLB team. There are 32 Double-A teams and 30 Class A teams. Plenty of room for group play, round of 16, then on down to 2.] Initial series would be group play, with the top teams advancing, then on to elimination rounds. Again, every series is 3 games, only they’re knock-out series – you lose you’re done – so this would essentially be a bracket at this point. Any team can play any other team, regardless of affiliation or league, so you’d get some interesting interleague and intraorganization match-ups. Yes, certain teams would get knocked out early, meaning fewer games and fewer gates for less successful teams. Sorry communists, but that’s how the real world works.

Keep in mind the Major League regular season and Babe Ruth Cup© would occur simultaneously: MLB would get the prime weekend series: Friday, Saturday, Sunday. BRC© would get mid-week, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday or Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday depending on travel. Doubleheaders for weather makeup games, as per usual. I imagine this would be another 80-90 games, meaning the entire season would take place over the same length of time. After the MLB regular season and BRC© bracket play, the BRC© final is a 7-game series the two weeks of October, and the World Series is another 7-game series over the last 2 weeks of October.

(Other people have proposed relegation/promotion models for baseball, and if you want to add those to this structure, that’s cool, but not necessary.)

There you have it. Simple, concise, every game counts without screwing around with the format too much. You’re welcome, baseball – you just got way more exciting.

The Great Friday Hangover Brain Dump

A forum to flush out the week’s ideas after a strong cup of coffee…

There’s pretty much just one person who gives a flying fuck whether Messi is better than Pele. Well, maybe two. The fact remains Pele is having an argument with himself. I watch as many Barca games as I can, and not once have I compared Messi to Pele. Somewhat because they are two different players in two different eras against different sets of competition, but mostly because I don’t care. (And, if Messi is taken at his word, he doesn’t care either: “I never…compared myself with another player.”) Maybe I’m too young, or I don’t respect the legends of the game, but every time Pele heckles other players I enjoy him less. One imagines Pele sitting at home like the 1972 Dolphins, popping a bottle of Korbel after every World Cup game in which Messi goes scoreless. Instead of the happy, gracious World Ambassador of Soccer he appears to be in photos, every time Pele opens his mouth about “greatness” he sounds old, bitter, and impossibly afraid to be swept out of the game’s consciousness. Actually it sounds pretty familiar.

I found myself nodding along vigorously to Matt Hinton’s critique of the Super Bowl-bound New York Giants and why playoffs aren’t always a perfect. He also right to point out that any feasible college football playoff would keep mediocre teams like the Giants out entirely. I would differ with his criticism of the “regular season is a playoff” and “every game counts” mantras in the college game. Of course those assertions are not absolutely true, but among American sports it is more true in college football than anywhere else. The perfect, every game counts regular season? English Premiere League, La Liga, etc. There every game is assigned points based on performance (win, lose, draw) and the team with the most points after the regular season wins. Obviously I’m not arguing this model for college or pro football. But on the regular season spectrum, at least college football is further to the meaningful end than any other American sport. (Sorry, NASCAR.)

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read Gary Smith’s stunning piece on Gareth “Alf” Thomas, the Welsh rugby star who remains the most famous openly gay male athlete still playing. It is alternately endearing, heart-breaking, soul-crushing, and hopeful. Although it was cruel for Smith to open with a now-content Thomas seemingly surprised that no American athlete had come out yet, and then drag us through the years emotional and physical pain Thomas suffered before making his decision, the reaction from fellow players and fans was heartening. I would like to believe America is ready to embrace a gay athlete the same way, only I wish that athlete’s path to stardom and openness is less damaging in its course.

UPDATE: My god, I’m so sorry I forgot to include this.

Happy Weekend, Y’all.

The Drinking Man’s Guide To Thinking

All these fancypants mens magazines run segments trying teach impressionable boys who’ve yet to make a decision on their own how to drink more thoughtfully/ responsibly/ fashionably/ manlyly. Instead of that, every St. Thursday’s Eve we’re gonna learn y’all drunkards how to think. Here we go…

Alrighty, it’s time to get a read that truly brings out the vanilla and dried cherry notes in your cab franc. BOOM: This Is Not a Pipe.

Michel Foucault‘s meditation on Rene Magritte‘s meditation on artistic mediation is a cracking little mind bender. Take this line with a healthy gulp from your Target Wine Cube: “About even this ambiguity, however, I am ambiguous.” You see, it’s absolutely true that what you’re looking at is, in fact, not a pipe. Also, the written word “this” is not a pipe. Even “pipe” is not a pipe, nor is it even “pipe.” Now go ahead and open the spigot on that warming chianti and let the impossibility of knowledge wash over you:

What misleads us is the inevitability of connecting the text to the drawing (as the demonstrative pronoun, the meaning of the word pipe, and the likeliness of the image all invite us to do here) – and the impossibility of defining perspective that would let us say that the assertion is true, false, or contradictory.

There you have it: there is no truth, especially in art. Also, the statement “there is no truth..” is not true. We clear?

BONUS DRINKING: If you like a good roadie, you might like these.

BONUS THINKING: Apparently Maurice Sendak shares my views on electronic books and readers. I’ll link the video when it hits the interwebs, but to paraphrase: ”…maybe it’s the future, but I’ll be dead so I DON’T GIVE A FUCK!”

The Hard and Soft of English Soccer

I own the video to the right.  At the apex of my soccer playing career, I considered myself a hard defender, so far as one playing D-III soccer for a small private school in upstate New York can be “hard.” I was a marking back with decent speed, good on-the-ball defending skills, and sub-par distribution. I thought I was a good tackler; I enjoyed “getting stuck in.” I also broke my own tibia twice, in the same spot, on sliding tackles and never thought twice about altering my playing style. (Actually, I remember later targeting for retribution the player who I first broke my leg against.)

I am a changed man. I didn’t realize just how changed until listening to the recent Men in Blazers podcast discussing the explosion of straight red cards in the Premiere League. Michael Davies and Roger Bennett were bemoaning Vincent Kompany’s sending off against Manchester United specifically, and the changes in English football generally. Former English national player and ESPN analyst Steve McManaman did his best not to use the word “soft.”

Initially, I heard myself disagreeing with the hosts. “I watch soccer to see beautiful and spectacular feats of physical impossibility,” I thought, “and the smashed ankles of the most skilled playmakers decreases my chances of seeing that.” Therefore I nod along when Grant Wahl wonders how long Lionel Messi can withstand defenders’ assaults. I enjoy watching Barcelona play, and would like to continue that enjoyment. Then, as I heard McManaman saying, to paraphrase, “we like our tackles and the physical play,” I realized that my current taste in soccer aesthetics wasn’t always the case. After all, I own that video – and it’s the only soccer video I own. I dished out hard tackles and injury. And, on several occasions, I loudly argued that basketball was not a contact sport, while soccer was. Now I began to think of all the pickup games I’ve played since I graduated college. In 10 years I couldn’t remember one hard, sliding tackle, or even the last time I wanted commit one. In fact, the player I was is the same player I now scream at on the US National Team – “Why can’t we have someone who knows how to play out of the back, instead of hoofing it up top all the time?” I have to admit that, if I ever was “hard,” I am now “soft.” (Enjoy chuckling to any euphemistic jokes you can make.)

Similar hand-wringing from both the “protect the players” and “protect the sport” sides is occurring in American football and hockey circles. Concussions vs. Contact. Fights vs. Gameflow. I don’t know when exactly my tastes changed. But I’ve generally found myself celebrating international and Olympic hockey for it’s lack of senseless pugilistics and wondering if football is an inherently flawed sport that just can’t leave a former player with his full compliment of cognitive abilities. I can’t remember when I last watched “Soccer’s Hard Men.” Perhaps this evening I’ll go home, pop it in my dusty VCR and press play. I don’t know if I’ll begin to miss those meaty tackles of yesteryear, especially considering I had forgotten how much they defined my formal playing days. But it might be nice to see Vinnie Jones, squeezing a handful of Paul Gascoigne, and wonder if it’s impossible to have it both ways.

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