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This essay was originally posted to the Red Sox mailing list on April 30th, 1995. Certain parts of the original that don't stand alone separate from the conversation at the time have been removed.
I'd like to offer some thoughts about the debate that (hopefully) will, if nothing else, explain why the stats camp believes the things it does. This will probably be a fairly long post, so those of you who aren't interested in such discussions should probably hit the 'Delete' key now.
In understanding the stathead point of view, its important to realize that most of us, if not all of us, started off accepting the conventional wisdom as our view of the baseball world. Batting averages were king, clutch hitters were scattered throughout the lineup, and wins were the best way to measure pitching. No stathead I know sprung forth from his computer fully formed, armed with formulae and spreadsheets, and with no background in baseball whatsoever. We all originated from the same place.
What happens at some point in a stathead's life is that certain aspects of the conventional wisdom tend to raise some doubts, or prove insufficient for answering certain questions one has about baseball. It could be the inequity in assigning wins and losses to a favorite pitcher who's bullpen always blows the lead, or who's teammates are anemic with the bat. Or it could be reading an article by someone with a very different viewpoint on ideas you've taken for granted. Something starts the process off, and you begin to wonder if the conventional wisdom is always right.
In order to study some of these questions, you end up turning to the tools of analysis that have served others in different subject areas in their quests for knowledge -- the scientific method, hypothesis testing, statistics, and inference.
The reason these techniques are necessary is that people do not handle this type of reasoning well. The cognitive ability of the human brain inherently suffers from certain shortcomings which leave it vulnerable to various kinds of misperceptions and errors. Some manifestations of these errors include biases in representativeness, availability, and anchoring. These lead to common errors in insensitivity to sample size, misconceptions of chance, the illusion of validity, misconceptions of regression, retrievability of instances, and illusory correlation, just to name a few. All of these phenomena have been studied scientifically, and been well-documented (and I can provide a reference or two to anyone's who interested).
Since people of all kinds are subject to these problems in observation, it should come as no surprise that baseball insiders would suffer from the same problems. This isn't judgemental -- even people who are aware of these kind of biases have to work very hard to overcome them -- we all seemed to be "wired" to use certain heuristics that don't hold up very well under the rigors of logic. But since very few baseball insiders are aware of these biases, and since much of conventional baseball wisdom was developed up to a hundred years ago, even before science had discovered these biases, it's not surprising that "the book" might need some rewriting in certain areas.
The tools of the scientist or statistician attempt to remove or minimize the biases and errors. We don't rely solely on impressions or selective memory, but try to systematically record the events that occur on the field. We don't look at one instance, and draw a conclusion, but rather avoid basing judgements on small sample sizes. We don't accept the words of an expert on face value, but choose to investigate to see if what the experts say actually happens.
Often times, the stathead camp will, in fact, end up agreeing with the conventional wisdom, but its the differences that cause all the fuss. Statheads confirmed what the experts thought about lefty-righty platoon splits, about not batting your best power hitters leadoff, about the relative importance of defense up the middle, and more. But agreeing with what's commonly believed isn't controversial, enlightening, or flashy. Therefore, the focus of the debate over "statistics" takes place when the conclusion of those who've studied the data disagrees with the commonly held beliefs of the baseball establishment.
There's a natural resistance to accepting new kinds of thinking -- most of us (statheads included) are comfortable in the zone of the familiar. In fact, there's a quote in today's SF Examiner on a totally unrelated topic (the Unabomber investigation, and the growing trend of anti-science sentiments) which could easily apply to the baseball statistics debate:
"Scratch most people and you'll get a Luddite. The fear of knowledge is very deep in us. It's closely related to our fear of change..."
-- Anne Eisenberg, Polytechnic University quoted by Keay Davidson
I think statheads (including myself) get somewhat evangelical at times because we've gone through this shift in thinking. We've broken through the wall, and arrived in a frame of mind where we can investigate our own questions, and draw our own conclusion, using tools that we feel are more reliable than human intuition. The fact that we use these tools to answer the appropriate questions leads those who haven't accepted this paradigm shift to think of us as "obsessive."
If I appear obsessive about statistics and sabermetric methods, it's because I think the data are there to answer many of the questions about developing a winning baseball strategy. I'm interested in winning, and therefore I care about the factors that go in to making a winning team. When we look at the characteristics of winning teams, or high-powered offenses, we see certain factors appear over and over again (like OBP and SLG). These factors then become the basis for a theory on how a good ballclub gets built. As years go by, we can compare the results to what the theory would predict, and either discard or refine the theory until, at some point, we end up knowing something we didn't know before.
Are there limits to statistics? Of course there are. Stats can't comment on the aethestics of the sport. Stats will never explain why I liked watching the pitching motions of Joe Hesketh or Bob Welch. Or why I desparately wish they'd bring back the bright red caps of 1975-78. Park factors are insufficient to explain the appeal of Fenway Park, or tell why Wrigley's outfield fans throw back opposing homers. The box score won't record the electricity that sizzled in the stands as Roger Clemens gets into the fifth inning without surrendering a hit. The drama and human element are beyond the realm of what stats can or need to look at. And those elements are what separates baseball from a random number generator.
Even within the quantitative realm, stats aren't, and will never be perfect. There are error bars to every calculation (though nearly every stathead is often guilty of omitting them). Stats can talk about averages and expectations and general conclusions. It changes your knowledge and likelihoods, but doesn't mean that the unexpected won't happen from time to time. I'd think you were a fool to send up Jose Lind to pinch hit for Frank Thomas in game 7 of the World Series, and even if he hits a HR, that doesn't mean I'd want you to do it again next time.
There's room to challenge a statistic as to whether its measuring the right thing, or whether its the best measure available for what you want to capture (as has been the case here lately with DA). If you can convince me that what I'm looking at isn't correct, or can show me something demonstrably better, I will gladly discard it. But I do require evidence to do so, and that evidence needs to hold up to the rigors that everything else is subjected to.
Another are where stats are of less help is in scouting. Nothing in any of my stats will tell me whether a pitcher's motion is likely to lead to arm problems, or whether a hitter's stance is too far up in the box. I'm totally ignorant of how to train someone to read the strike zone, or track down a fly ball in the outfield. Coaches and scouts can provide first-hand, experienced commentary on these areas. They may be able to turn a free-swinger into a more disciplined hitter, or help a pitcher learn a curveball. I can measure the results of what the players did, and the relative value of those results to the team, and even project how the player might develop based on other players with a similar profile, but the scouting reports do add information that would otherwise be lost.
There are, contrary to popular belief, baseball insiders whom statheads do have admiration for -- in part because they developed similar insights and conclusions to what the statheads have discovered. In some cases, the experts did so with the help of quantitative methods, and in other cases, their intuition was just a little more refined. Branch Rickey, Earl Weaver, and Davey Johnson are widely admired by the stathead camp, both for the success they built, and the techniques they used to achieve it.
Some of you (most of you?) are probably wondering why I've bothered to write out such a lengthy reply to a seemingly endless debate. I wrote it, in part, because I think many statheads tend to forget how profound a change it was to leave the conventional wisdom behind, and that many traditionalists have little idea why statheads are the way they are. There's a fundamental groundwork that needs to be laid to overcome the inertia associated with the weight of common baseball beliefs before truer understanding can begin. Without that grounding, it looks very much as if statheads choose whatever numbers they want to support preconcieved notions. It becomes a question of motives -- are statheads trying to obscure the issue, or shed light on it? The necessary trust between parties that answers that question doesn't exist, and the frequent disdain expressed for the beliefs of "mediots", owners, GM's, and players destroys the statheads' credibility before we even begin.
The frustration for many statheads is that the education process is never complete -- there's always going to be someone new joining the list, and the same flame wars keep coming up again and again. Unfortunately, this leads some people to develop a short fuse, and attack the first ill-considered comments, which compounds the problem. What's required instead is a leap of faith on both sides that simply says that we're both in it because we love the sport of baseball (in all of its facets), and that we're both trying to reach understanding with different means. Disagreements will exist, but hopefully, a constructive dialogue will lead to insights for both sides.
Does this belong on the Red Sox list? As long as both advocates for both sides keep posting here, it certainly does. What we're arguing about is the basis by which we evaluate Roger Clemens' greatness, or Cooper's fielding, of Whiten's hitting, or whatever. Until we can at least be sure what assumptions the other side is making, we'll just keep talking past each other. My hope is that those of few who've persevered this far into my posting will be able to communicate with the other side just a little bit better.
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Copyright 1997-2001 by Keith Woolner. All included authors retain the copyrights to their original works.