Monday, October 31, 2011
Baseball Leadership & Statistics: Why I Read Anything Joe Maddon Recommends
Adult learning, cognition, stats and baseball. How in the world do these things interact?! Post coming soon.
Datacasting Through the Season
A post taking readers through the season, and what changed in the post-season
Baseball & Education
I don't like to call any kid 'at-risk.' – George Steinbrenner, from Tom Verducci’s interview http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2004/writers/tom_verducci/05/04/steinbrenner.qa/index.html#ixzz1cDDPL0qF Retrieved October 29, 2011
Post finished soon--
The View from Atop the 4th Wall
Post coming later than sooner, because this post will be relatively conceptual--
Angie's 2011 Fave Baseball Moments
Only what I personally witnessed, what sticks out in my head.
Every game: The moment the pressbox windows come down, just around the time of the national anthem.
Brian Wilson's first step out of the bullpen onto the field.
Brewers' Craig Counsell's 13-pitch RBI PH (including 7 fouls with 2 outs).
Pete Kozma's major league debut at the plate, an RBI double. And wearing #47, Joe McEwing's old number (my fave player of all time).
Chipper Jones calling the pressbox to ask 'what a guy has to do to buy a hit around here.' (One of Atlanta's PR folks used to work for STL. When the call came in and we passed the message down verbally ('Chipper's on the phone') I thought it was a prank call.)
Cubs wild pitch that won a late season game (the game TLR mentioned on the World Series stage)
Watching Chambers fly during his debut.
Spotting a shift, often caught out of the corner of my eye as I'm writing.
Catching my first triple switch through my binoculars (before it was announced over the loudspeaker).
Watching the ground crew work. Methodical and squirrely. I would've described them that way even without the rally squirrel!
Working a couple of Sunday night ESPN games. (Usually means better food in the media lunchroom, too.)
Late season, noticing a line of red-sweatshirt clad Cardinals along the dugout fence, with almost no one lined up for the opposing team, who had nothing at stake.
Every game: The moment the pressbox windows come down, just around the time of the national anthem.
Brian Wilson's first step out of the bullpen onto the field.
Brewers' Craig Counsell's 13-pitch RBI PH (including 7 fouls with 2 outs).
Pete Kozma's major league debut at the plate, an RBI double. And wearing #47, Joe McEwing's old number (my fave player of all time).
Chipper Jones calling the pressbox to ask 'what a guy has to do to buy a hit around here.' (One of Atlanta's PR folks used to work for STL. When the call came in and we passed the message down verbally ('Chipper's on the phone') I thought it was a prank call.)
Cubs wild pitch that won a late season game (the game TLR mentioned on the World Series stage)
Watching Chambers fly during his debut.
Spotting a shift, often caught out of the corner of my eye as I'm writing.
Catching my first triple switch through my binoculars (before it was announced over the loudspeaker).
Watching the ground crew work. Methodical and squirrely. I would've described them that way even without the rally squirrel!
Working a couple of Sunday night ESPN games. (Usually means better food in the media lunchroom, too.)
Late season, noticing a line of red-sweatshirt clad Cardinals along the dugout fence, with almost no one lined up for the opposing team, who had nothing at stake.
The Art, Science, Skill & Craft of Datacasting Baseball
Datacasting is the process of capturing most game events into a software client, for the purpose of broadcasting the events online while also creating a record of the game. Several of my colleagues in other stats organizations do similar functions for other sports. My boss has said that he cannot overstate how difficult the job really is. Datacasting is an art, science, skill & craft; I'll show you how.
Preparing for the Game
Before the game starts, I get a lineup sheet and game notes from the media handouts and sit in my assigned seat in the front row of the pressbox (opposing team's media on my left, AP/STL on my right, OS just past that). I check the rosters in the software with the lineups on the media sheets, and IM roster changes to my tech support person at MLB.com. I then input lineups for the day, along with umps, the official scorer (OS), weather and wind.
The Game
Just before the game starts, as the team warms up on the field, I check the umps to make sure we have the correct lineup.
During the game, I write down then input every pitch, hit and substitute as they happen. When runners are on base, I look for blocked pitches, as well as the runner going on a pitch (rather than hit). On the handy graphic, I mark the spot on the field where the ball was played.
Pitches aren’t just balls and strikes, but call, swing, swing (block), bunt, foul, foul tip, foul bunt, missed bunt attempt, ball, blocked ball, intentional ball, pitchout.
Most of you know that each fielder has a number (pitcher 1 catcher 2 1B 3 etc etc).
Each play has a code. If it’s a single grounder to the center fielder, it’s S8/G. If it’s a grounder out to the shortstop, it’s 63/G (SS to 1B). A popout 6/P, a flyout is only the outfield 8/F. A sacrifice bunt is 31/SAC/BG.1-2 (batter thrown out on a bunt grounder to the first baseman to pitcher covering first; runner at first goes to second (1-2)). A groundout double play is 64(1)3/GDP (SS to 2B (runner from 1st) to 1B/ Groundout Double Play). Saw a lot of those this year!
Sometimes the OS determines a play (error or hit, play or no play (e.g., if a foul ball was catchable or not), so I wait while the OS reviews the play. The game continues (pitches, hits, etc), so I write while waiting for the answer, then input & catch up.
Post-Game
After the game is over, I input attendance and game time, and make edits as my MLB support person requests. Every pressbox has its own process for reviewing box scores; in St. Louis, my box score is printed for the OS to check, and I make changes if necessary. An overnight file is made from my file and submitted to various sports bureaus. (I’m a bit fuzzy on those details, if it’s my file or the OS sheet etc). Yahoo is a client of MLB.com; here is a game I did for them http://sports.yahoo.com/mlb/boxscore?gid=310518124.
After reading this, you can imagine that I’d really appreciate a great pitcher’s duel, straight up substitutions, with an umpire that calls strikes and tips to his side rather than in front of his body!
Datacasting as an Art
Wikipedia: Generally, art is made with the intention of stimulating thoughts and emotions....The word art can describe several things: a study of creative skill, a process of using the creative skill, a product of the creative skill, or the audience's experience with the creative skill.
I suppose the game itself is the actual art here, but I believe that my datacasting could well be described as art since it requires skill and exists (in my role with MLB) to satiate the baseball masses' desire to never be apart from their beloved teams (e.g., Red Sox fans).
Datacasting as Science
Wikipedia: In modern use, "science" is a term which more often refers to a way of pursuing knowledge, and not the knowledge itself.
Interestingly, knowledge to a datacaster encompasses several elements: knowledge of the game and knowledge of the software. My buddy Rollie says that the job wouldn't be hard if it weren't for the technology. He's right, I think.
Datacasting as a Skill and a Craft
Historically, there have been arguments about the divide between professions, trades, crafts, etc etc. The definition I use here combines them to some extent:
A craft is a branch of a profession that requires some particular kind of skilled work.
Separately defined:
** A skilled worker has some special skill, knowledge, or (usually acquired) ability in their work ...While most (if not all) jobs require some level of skill, "skilled workers" bring some degree of expertise to the performance of a given job.
** A profession is a vocation founded upon specialized educational training,
** A skilled worker has some special skill, knowledge, or (usually acquired) ability in their work ...While most (if not all) jobs require some level of skill, "skilled workers" bring some degree of expertise to the performance of a given job.
** A profession is a vocation founded upon specialized educational training,
I began training for the season in January, learning codes, and eventually moving on to the software. I was thankful for every hour I had trained, but learned much on the job; we were told that after about 20 games (1 season of work), we'd be comfortable.
I was also warned that just because I'm good at my day job does not mean I'm good at datacasting. I observe classrooms and crunch numbers for a living, so many times I found myself wondering if I was bad at my day job, too.
How Roy Oswalt Became My #3 will provide a more entertaining and emotional examination of my experience. Hint: It involves significant pain, Vicodin and probably stubbornness.
And yes, I know there are better sources than Wikipedia, but for this, it's sufficient. I'm saving the real deep stuff for the discussion of baseball's fourth wall.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
When life planning = Counting them out
In the late innings of Game 6 of the World Series, I mentally re-arranged plans for the next day. As I did, I tried to remember how many times my work and life plans had changed in the last month because the Cards were done. I realized that I'd finally lost count.
As a part-time datacaster for MLB.com in the Cards pressbox, I work about 1/3 of home games for a lump sum payment that is only about 25% higher than my hourly wage for my consulting contracts. I arrive 1.5 hours ahead of each game, and stay 1/2 hour afterwards. I pay for parking (only one of three parks that don't provide datacaster parking, and I'm a 5 foot 2 3/4 'tall' female, so I pay for good parking), and drive 2 hours from Columbia, Mo for this opportunity. When I'm being objective, I realize I'm losing cash.
The post-season exacerbates this arrangement, because unlike the regular season, you can't plan when you work. If the Cards lose, no need to work Game 7. If they win, you'd better hope you don't have mid-afternoon work calls planned, even though your education clients are in the thick of their school year. Thankfully, most of my paid work can be done anytime, day or night, weekday or weekend. Better yet, many are rabid baseball fans from around the country.
Thursday September 22 was the first day I truly thought the Cards were done. After a 2.5 hour rain delay (Weather Channel had predicted a 10% chance of rain), the game started around 3 pm, 20 degrees colder than I'd expected (& no coat). The affable NY media next to me had just finished rebooking their flights when the Mets rallied from 4 runs down to take over the Cards and defeat them in a 3.5 hour game. The box exploded when the game tied, with one guy asking "Oh my god, do we rebook now?!" assuming extra innings, but with 2 men still on, I thought, there was no need for him to panic. Sadly I was right, and the feel in the park was as if the air had been let out of a balloon (said my AP neighbor the next weekend).
As the windows finally went up, I concentrated on trying to get warm, looked over at some of my colleagues, the official scorer and a Cards data guy, who looked like I felt: that we'd been hit by a bus. We'd missed subs, box scores were a mess, and my pal the stats guy had actually achieved a sacrilege I didn't know he was capable of: he had stopped following pitches in the midst of the insanity. By the time the game ended, we had been in the park 7 hours, and my MLB support person via IM left abruptly. 15 minutes into checking our box scores, the OS apologized for keeping me so long. I pointed out that another 20 minutes he needed wasn't going to affect the day! He agreed.
I went out for good Italian anyway, before heading home, and pondered how to describe the feeling of loss. I remember the sinking feeling as the lead fell apart, realizing that the Cards were probably done. It's just too hard to have another tough loss when you have to win nearly all of them to make post-season. And I had lost an entire evening of real paid work that I'd counted on; with a weekend of baseball ahead to work, I was a little worried about getting everything done.
So by the time Game 6 had rolled around, I had witnessed a complete turnaround that those around me didn't expect, because those of us who had seen that Sept 22 game felt it was over--and I do mean 'felt.' When I arrived to work Saturday's game, a Cubs afternoon special, the crowd was jazzed up to play their rival, and felt the excitement of possibility. I either thought or said aloud, "These people obviously weren't here on Thursday." Meanwhile the pressbox was missing some of its usual characters; they'd been reassigned to other sports, while those left behind seemed to be going through the motions.
Turns out Cards won on a wild pitch--and it was the game TLR mentioned on the World Series stage; he thanked the fans for believing in them. I think unspoken was that they themselves did not believe at that time. I certainly did not, and labored under the belief that like a lobbyist who's watched the entirety of a legislative session, only those of us who watch regularly could really understand what was possible, unlike those external starry-eyed people who have the luxury of faith or interest who can't fully understand the reality of what we see or experience.
In fact, I had a Florida vacation scheduled for the NLDS (as did one of our 3 official scorers, and likely some reporters). A pressbox colleague had surgery planned that she changed at 1 a.m. from the Milwaukee parking lot, another person had scheduled a different work trip. From what I can tell, none of us who'd watched closely had bet on the Cards.
So, that late inning of Game 6, I had once again started shifting around my real world plans. It wasn't until that last strike when I remembered my educator member's e-mail the day after his Red Sox had lost: "Both Rays and Orioles were down to their last strike, and both won. Not to be trite, but you can't run out the clock in baseball: you gotta get the last out." That's when I realized that perhaps it wasn't over. And obviously, it wasn't.
I wish I had taken the April 2011 advice of a friend, to blog my experiences. I will try to share a variety of subjects and experiences in the next few weeks as I process everything that happened from my narrow point of view.
As a part-time datacaster for MLB.com in the Cards pressbox, I work about 1/3 of home games for a lump sum payment that is only about 25% higher than my hourly wage for my consulting contracts. I arrive 1.5 hours ahead of each game, and stay 1/2 hour afterwards. I pay for parking (only one of three parks that don't provide datacaster parking, and I'm a 5 foot 2 3/4 'tall' female, so I pay for good parking), and drive 2 hours from Columbia, Mo for this opportunity. When I'm being objective, I realize I'm losing cash.
The post-season exacerbates this arrangement, because unlike the regular season, you can't plan when you work. If the Cards lose, no need to work Game 7. If they win, you'd better hope you don't have mid-afternoon work calls planned, even though your education clients are in the thick of their school year. Thankfully, most of my paid work can be done anytime, day or night, weekday or weekend. Better yet, many are rabid baseball fans from around the country.
Thursday September 22 was the first day I truly thought the Cards were done. After a 2.5 hour rain delay (Weather Channel had predicted a 10% chance of rain), the game started around 3 pm, 20 degrees colder than I'd expected (& no coat). The affable NY media next to me had just finished rebooking their flights when the Mets rallied from 4 runs down to take over the Cards and defeat them in a 3.5 hour game. The box exploded when the game tied, with one guy asking "Oh my god, do we rebook now?!" assuming extra innings, but with 2 men still on, I thought, there was no need for him to panic. Sadly I was right, and the feel in the park was as if the air had been let out of a balloon (said my AP neighbor the next weekend).
As the windows finally went up, I concentrated on trying to get warm, looked over at some of my colleagues, the official scorer and a Cards data guy, who looked like I felt: that we'd been hit by a bus. We'd missed subs, box scores were a mess, and my pal the stats guy had actually achieved a sacrilege I didn't know he was capable of: he had stopped following pitches in the midst of the insanity. By the time the game ended, we had been in the park 7 hours, and my MLB support person via IM left abruptly. 15 minutes into checking our box scores, the OS apologized for keeping me so long. I pointed out that another 20 minutes he needed wasn't going to affect the day! He agreed.
I went out for good Italian anyway, before heading home, and pondered how to describe the feeling of loss. I remember the sinking feeling as the lead fell apart, realizing that the Cards were probably done. It's just too hard to have another tough loss when you have to win nearly all of them to make post-season. And I had lost an entire evening of real paid work that I'd counted on; with a weekend of baseball ahead to work, I was a little worried about getting everything done.
So by the time Game 6 had rolled around, I had witnessed a complete turnaround that those around me didn't expect, because those of us who had seen that Sept 22 game felt it was over--and I do mean 'felt.' When I arrived to work Saturday's game, a Cubs afternoon special, the crowd was jazzed up to play their rival, and felt the excitement of possibility. I either thought or said aloud, "These people obviously weren't here on Thursday." Meanwhile the pressbox was missing some of its usual characters; they'd been reassigned to other sports, while those left behind seemed to be going through the motions.
Turns out Cards won on a wild pitch--and it was the game TLR mentioned on the World Series stage; he thanked the fans for believing in them. I think unspoken was that they themselves did not believe at that time. I certainly did not, and labored under the belief that like a lobbyist who's watched the entirety of a legislative session, only those of us who watch regularly could really understand what was possible, unlike those external starry-eyed people who have the luxury of faith or interest who can't fully understand the reality of what we see or experience.
In fact, I had a Florida vacation scheduled for the NLDS (as did one of our 3 official scorers, and likely some reporters). A pressbox colleague had surgery planned that she changed at 1 a.m. from the Milwaukee parking lot, another person had scheduled a different work trip. From what I can tell, none of us who'd watched closely had bet on the Cards.
So, that late inning of Game 6, I had once again started shifting around my real world plans. It wasn't until that last strike when I remembered my educator member's e-mail the day after his Red Sox had lost: "Both Rays and Orioles were down to their last strike, and both won. Not to be trite, but you can't run out the clock in baseball: you gotta get the last out." That's when I realized that perhaps it wasn't over. And obviously, it wasn't.
I wish I had taken the April 2011 advice of a friend, to blog my experiences. I will try to share a variety of subjects and experiences in the next few weeks as I process everything that happened from my narrow point of view.
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