Hot dogs, sandwiches, and having a catch: The role of nonsense debates in baseball Twitter

On Thursday, Marc Normandin, baseball editor at SB Nation, tweeted something that might have seemed a bit cryptic to some readers:

To the uninitiated, it sounds like an unpublished Frank O’Hara poem, but it was actually a condensed manifesto, laying out positions on a number of mini-debates popular among the group of writers, analysts, and fans known as “baseball Twitter.” Specifically, the debates are:

  1. When you throw a baseball back and forth with somebody, do you call that “to play catch” or “to have a catch”? (This seems to be the latest hot-button debate in sports Twitter.)
  2. Is “gif,” the abbreviation of “graphical interchange format,” pronounced with a hard g or a j?
  3. In baseball, when a team is said to have “batted around,” does this mean 9 batters or 10 have come to the plate? (Devoted readers may remember I covered this topic almost exactly two years ago, and reached the same conclusion Normandin does.)
  4. Are olives good?

Only two of these questions, obviously, are at all related to baseball, and both of them are about inconsequential matters of terminology. Then you have one pronunciation question and one question of pure taste (about a food as far from ballpark fare as you can get). Yet anyone who follows enough of baseball Twitter knows that these debates are a core component of the culture, even during the baseball season when, like, games are being played and everything:

Please understand, I’m not disapproving of any of this. On the contrary, I love it (as the following 1000+ words will bear witness). But why do I love it? And why are these debates such a feature of baseball Twitter in particular?

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Clinton, Trump, and Reverse Sour Grapes

You’ll have to pardon me, but this is a political post—not sports politics, like stadium deals, but politics politics, presidential politics. But as I wrote a while back, the way we generally follow electoral politics is as a sport, so understanding how we relate to sports can help us understand how we relate to politics. So with that in mind, I want to use the closing days of the Trump-Clinton race to think about how we talk about losing.

One of my favorite sports paradoxes is the expression, commonly heard from a losing team or its fans after a game, “They didn’t beat us; we lost.” It’s paradoxical because “we lost” implies “they beat us” (except in the case of a forfeit, I guess), and yet it makes intuitive sense: in theory, a sports result reflects a gap in performance between the winner and the loser, and that gap can be created more by the winner’s good play (“they beat us”) or by the the loser’s poor play (“we lost”). “They didn’t beat us; we lost” suggests that in this case, the gap was 100% due to the latter. Partly, this is bitter self-excoriation: we could have won if we had played up to our potential. Partly, though, it’s a way of denigrating the winning team. The message to the winners is, “you don’t get credit for winning; in fact, you’re irrelevant to the contest. We alone determine who wins. Fortunately for you, we failed ourselves this time, but given another match it would probably go differently.”

Obviously, this is a form of sore losing, for which I propose the name reverse sour grapes. The ordinary form of sour grapes says that a loss doesn’t count as a loss, in effect, because the goal wasn’t desirable. Reverse sour grapes says that a win doesn’t count as a win because the winners didn’t prove their superiority over the losing team. Either way, the losers are spared the humiliation of having been beaten in something they wanted to win.

This is relevant now because Hillary Clinton, by all indicators, is about to blow out Donald Trump in the November 8 election. (A nice thing about politics as opposed to sports is that, since the actual “scoring” is done by voters rather than by the candidates themselves, it doesn’t feel like a jinx to talk about the likely results in advance. The odds of Clinton losing may be the same as the odds of an NFL kicker missing a 30-yard field goal, but it wouldn’t be Clinton missing the field goal; it would be the voters, or perhaps the pollsters.) Naturally, people who would prefer a candidate other than Clinton to be president are looking for ways to feel better about her impending victory, and that’s exactly what sore losing provides.

The most basic form of sore losing, in politics and in sports, is to claim that the game was rigged, the officials were biased, etc.; a loss doesn’t count if the competition wasn’t fair to begin with. We’re seeing plenty of that this year, but it’s crude and conspiratorial, and beneath many people’s dignity (though not Trump’s). Sour grapes won’t work here, obviously—you can’t pretend the presidency isn’t desirable (although “well, she won’t be able to get anything through Congress” is a move in this direction), so reverse sour grapes is a popular option. In the presidential race, I’ve seen two forms, which are mirror images of each other. The first holds that the defeated opponent is the only opponent the winner could have beaten; any other opponent would have won in a rout. This is the form you adopt when you wanted your team to go up against the winner, but they were eliminated before getting the chance. In sports this would mean the team from your league or conference or side of the bracket lost where a different team—your team—would have won (as when some bitter Cardinals fans claimed that the Dodgers intentionally let the Giants into the playoffs, out of fear that they would have to square off against the Cardinals). In this presidential race, you’d use this if you were a Republican who wanted someone other than Trump to be the nominee. All of these tweets are from the last week:

There are many, many more. (By the way, lest you think I’m egg manning, note that some of these accounts have thousands of followers.)

The other form of reverse sour grapes is to say that the winner was basically irrelevant, because the loser was so weak that anyone could have beaten them. This is the preferred stance if your chosen team would have faced the eventual loser but got eliminated before getting the chance. In this case, that means Sanders supporters who think that a Democratic victory would be just as assured with him as the nominee.

(By the way, left-wingers are capable of deploying the first form of reverse sour grapes too, as the below tweet shows, whereas a conservative can’t very well claim that Bernie Sanders would easily get elected president:)

I want to keep the political analysis to a minimum here, since it’s neither my point nor my specialty. I’ll just say that these points seem self-evident to me:

  1. Clinton certainly would have had a much more difficult election against almost any other Republican candidate, and it’s reasonable to think she’d be the underdog in such a race.
  2. Similarly, it’s reasonable to suppose that Trump’s many liabilities would have made it hard or impossible to defeat any Democrat, even one with views well to the left of the mainstream like Sanders (or Zombie Debs).
  3. At the same time, in a time of intense polarization like this one, very few candidates win the presidency by 10 points. Even Obama in 2008 only won 53-46. To say that another candidate would have “easily” won by that margin sounds less like analysis and more like hurt feelings.
  4. I voted for Sanders in the primary, but no Democratic nominee has had a program as far left as Sanders’s since…I don’t know, George McGovern? That makes it hard to say with confidence how such a platform would fare in the general election, even against Trump. Confidently suggesting, in effect, that there’s no point past which a left-wing platform would cut into a candidate’s support sounds to me like wishful thinking; I share the wish, but not the thinking.

But my point here isn’t to litigate the accuracy of these hypotheticals, which being hypotheticals cannot be accurate or inaccurate. And that’s exactly what I find annoying about reverse sour grapes: the hypothetical (if we’d played better, if you’d been up against a real opponent) frees us up to make whatever extreme claims the natural petulance of losing drives us to make, disguised as irrefutable analysis. You can beat me on the field, but not on the field in my head.

The other problem with reverse sour grapes is that it entails narrowing our thinking on a subject of real interest: how did the winner pull it off, and would they be able to adapt to beat a different opponent?

Christman is responding to an Ezra Klein piece that praises Clinton’s debate performances, and I actually agree with Christman that Klein’s piece is gushy and simplistic (the claim amounts to “her polls are better after the debates than they were before, so the debates obviously made a huge difference,” which has a serious post hoc/propter hoc problem). But going to the opposite extreme—that Clinton’s performance was indifferent or even laughable but she was bailed out by an even worse opponent—is simplistic too. First, on the narrow point, it won’t work to portray Clinton’s debate performance as identical to her try-too-hard social media outreach (“Alicia Keys”); yes, there was an occasional clunker like “Trumped-up trickle-down,” but in general she was substantive and wonkish. Treating a male candidate’s specific and policy-driven debate performance as kooky and trivial would merely make no sense; for a female candidate, it’s offensive, whether one wants to see that or not.

And on the broader point, of course, Clinton actually did mention an Alicia in the first debate: Alicia Machado, whom she used to totally sandbag Trump. Based on the dustup with the Khans, Clinton’s team knew that Trump could be baited into dragging out a feud; based on his past history, they knew that he would double down on misogyny. That perfectly set up the Billy Bush tape, which led to the sexual assault revelations, and here we are. Obviously, all of that is dependent on Trump being a horrible candidate and person…yet none of Trump’s primary opponents took advantage of any of it. Nor is it obvious that the Machado angle would have occurred to Sanders, and, if not, whether his preferred line of attack would have been as effective.

Reverse sour grapes insists on treating the winner as a fixed entity: sure that worked on Trump, but if she tried that on someone else she’d be destroyed. It’s limited in that it doesn’t consider how, in the counterfactual, the winner’s strategy would change too.  Rubio, Cruz, and Kasich probably don’t have a Machado in their closets, let alone a history of sexual assault. But it’s a mistake to think only in terms of Clinton’s tactics (mention Machado, goad Trump on his history) and not the attributes that made them possible: patience, psychological insight, political imagination. I have no idea whether any of that would be enough to beat a tougher opponent, given her own liabilities. But it’s unserious not to give it any consideration.

Sore losing is indulgent: losing hurts, and we want something to dull the pain. It’s a perfectly understandable impulse, and we’ve all given into its various forms at some point or another. But as a form of commentary, whether in politics or sports, the only proper response is a Yiddish saying, “As di bubbe volt gehat beytsim volt zi gevain mayn zaidah”: If my grandmother had balls, she’d be my grandfather.

Image credit: “The Balloon Drop at the End of the Democratic Convention” by Lorie Shaull is used under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

Sportswriting and the Humanities

A couple weeks ago, Rian Watt at Baseball Prospectus wrote a provocative post about the future of baseball writing. He notes the complaints that sabermetrics—known more broadly, outside of baseball, as analytics, the focus on statistical data—has become stale, with discussions increasingly calcifying around the same few narrow topics: pitch framing by catchers, the effects of defensive shifts, etc. (One factor Watt doesn’t mention is the trend in which talented analysts are often hired by sports teams, thus exchanging their publicly-available work for proprietary work.)  But Watt rejects the idea that sportswriting as a whole is stagnating. He sees an ongoing paradigm shift, in which the ascendant trend in sportswriting is no longer analytics, but writing by those he calls “intersectionalists”: writers who, while by no means rejecting the statistical analytic approach, put more emphasis on the human side of sports:

The best baseball writing I’ve read this year has been about more than baseball. It’s been about politics, and race, and gender, and sexuality, and money, and power, and how they all come together in this game we love. It’s placed the game in its social context, and used it as a lens to talk about ideas that are bigger than the nuts and bolts of a box score or a daily recap. It’s engaged with difficult questions about how to be a fan when players you love are disappointingly flawed and human, and how to be a human being living in an often unjust world.

Craig Calcaterra, among others, wholly embraced the label, putting up an “Intersectionalist Manifesto.” I share Watt and Calcaterra’s conviction that this is a new and exciting trend in sportswriting. I don’t mean to overstate how new this is (and I don’t think Watt does either); much of the appeal of sites such as Deadspin, as well as the now-defunct Grantland, is on their insightful and clever look into the human side of sports. Even traditional sportswriting has its humanistic giants, like Roger Angell, and its hacks, like Mitch Albom. But it does seem to me that Watt is right that more and more new writers are producing interesting writing along these lines, and despite the death of Grantland I think these discussions will continue to thrive. Humanities-based sportswriting is exactly what I’m trying to do with this blog, of course, and so I’m particularly interested in exploring how this style might have growth potential. That’s what I’ll look at in this post.

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CC Sabathia and the Importance of Punching Your Weight

Back in 2013, I read a blog post by David Brothers that had a big impact on me, and put into words a feeling of discomfort that had been nagging me for a while. You might remember the micro-controversy wherein an Indian-American woman was named Miss America for the first time, and received racist and xenophobic insults as a result, insults which were called out and criticized by online figures large and small. Brothers, though, argued that the well-intentioned act of holding up vile sentiments in order to attack them actually reinforces those vile sentiments, because it transforms the story from being about the actual subject to being about the invective directed at that subject. As he put it in a tweet quoted in the post:

also if I can get really real: spotlighting someone only because racists hate them is privileging the position of the racist, not the person

This principle is one that should guide us more often online. When we feel like expressing our outrage at, say, the antics of Westboro Baptist Church, we should think about who gains from this more, our allies or theirs. Is the game worth the candle, in other words?

This question bedevils sportswriting, particularly online. The emergence of a generally progressive consensus among the current generation of sportswriters has in general been great, not just because it fits my political sensibilities but also because it’s led to the reconsideration of a lot of sporting cliches and sacred cows. However, wherever there’s consensus, there’s a temptation to jump on those who buck it. This can be a problem, even when the consensus is 100% correct, because it elevates bad thinkers and lowers good ones.

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