I went to my 10-year high school reunion on Saturday. I didn’t plan on going, but at the last minute I realized I had nothing better to do, nothing to be bitter about, and no reasonable justification for turning down an open bar.

I’m glad I did; it was a good time. And it got me thinking, which I appreciate.

A few of my former classmates — Mets fans all — know my current occupation. The rest were surprised to learn that I’m not in politics, which seems laughable to me today, but decidedly wouldn’t to someone who hasn’t spoken to me in 10 years.

I went to college in Washington, D.C. because I was certain I had a future in government. I used to half-jokingly (but not nearly jokingly enough) say I wanted to be the President, mostly because I spent my teenage years seized by a pathetically vain desire to impact the world in some lasting way, a compulsion that could probably be better explained by a decent psychologist.

Then I went to college and met the people who would actually go into politics, and realized they were in it for more than vanity and the promise of free food. And I learned that, for every strong opinion I was certain I was right about, there was someone at least as smart as me who felt exactly the opposite way.

And the difference between me and them, in many cases, was that their confidence made me more skeptical about my views, while my confidence only seemed to make them more certain of their own.

That turned me off to the whole thing, and pretty quickly. How could I be so confident about things so many people — people I liked, and people whose company I enjoyed — were sure were wrong?

So I ultimately majored in English and music and bailed on plans to go to law school after graduation. I taught for a while, then went to grad school, then stumbled into an editing job, and now, here I am.

I mention that history on this ostensibly sports-based blog because of a good article I read on FullCountPitch.com detailing the mythical battle between sabermetricians and scouts.

As Gary Armida points out, the split in the way we evaluate baseball players exists mostly in the media, as every Major League organization weighs both the statistical evidence of past production and the observed indicators of future production.

That’s not to say, of course, that every team weighs the two equally, or that every team uses the same measurements and scouting techniques.

It is to say, though, that those too dogmatic on either side of the perceived divide are foolish. The best writers and the best fans, of course, know this. The worst participate in the kind of baiting and closed-mindedness that made me grow to hate politics.

This space, and all of my baseball writing, hinges mostly on stats, because they are something I can grasp. Numerical measurements are, by their very nature, perfect for simple comparisons.

And I focus on dime-store economic principles, because they’re often just extensions of common sense, and I strive to maintain that in most of my decisions (though I often fail).

But I recognize, of course, that there is a whole lot of merit to what scouts say. There is probably a reason why Yusmeiro Petit has yet to live up to his Minor League numbers in the Majors and why Jose Reyes has far exceeded his.

I don’t write about the scout’s perspective often because I am not a scout, and though I have some familiarity with the basics of baseball mechanics, I do not feel confident enough to opine about them without a professional level of understanding.

Instead, I temper nearly everything I write with buts and maybes and on the other hands, because even though I realize it weakens my writing, I know it is the best way to delay my exposure as an outright fool.

I feel confident that if the Mets sign Bengie Molina to a multi-year deal it will prove to be a mistake and that if they sign Matt Holliday to a multi-year deal it will not, but I am not sure of either.

The only thing I am certain of is uncertainty. There’s a ton of that in baseball — and in politics, for that matter — but not nearly enough of it in the way it is represented.