Two economists at the Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania, while investigating how round numbers influence goals, examined the behavior of major league hitters from 1975 to 2008 who entered what became their final plate appearance of the season with a batting average of .299 or .300 (in at least 200 at-bats).

They found that the 127 hitters at .299 or .300 batted a whopping .463 in that final at-bat, demonstrating a motivation to succeed well beyond normal (and in what was usually an otherwise meaningless game).

Most deliciously, not one of the 61 hitters who entered at .299 drew a walk — which would have fired those ugly 9s into permanence because batting average considers bases on balls neither hit nor at-bat.

– Alan Schwarz, N.Y. Times.

OK. I have little doubt that guys who enter their final at-bats of the season hitting .299 take aggressive approaches at the plate. That part of this study passes the smell test for sure.

Beyond that, though, it seems like there’s some small-sample size issues and extrapolation here. I should probably defer to the Wharton School economists, mind you, but why would only hitters with at least 200 at-bats on the season be motivated by round numbers? Wouldn’t a rookie with 120 plate appearances want badly to reach .300 too? What happens if they change the at-bats minimum to 100? What if they use players hitting .199, too?

And consider the competition: Shouldn’t it be at least slightly easier for Major League hitters with at least a half season of hitting around .300 — good hitters, in other words — to succeed in their final at-bats of the season, likely often against September call-ups?

It seems like the conclusions here are a bit far-reaching for 127 at-bats, given baseball’s inherent caprices. Remember that Jeff Francoeur started out the season 16-for-35. A lot of strange and random things can happen when you’re swinging aggressively and putting the ball in play.

If Tampa Bay Rays manager Joe Maddon has his way, the Texas Rangers will be hypnotized by a sea of plaid at Tropicana Field for Wednesday’s ALDS Game 1.

After popularizing the “Brayser” (Rays + blazer) earlier this season and having his team wear caps with plaid bills during a game last week, Maddon said he would like to see Rays fans adopting his fashion trend in the stands for the postseason.

– ‘Duk, Big League Stew.

Well that’s awesome. As ‘Duk suggests later in the article, it would be a pretty difficult thing to organize, but a stadium-wide plaid-out would be pretty amazing. Too bad it would probably be way too expensive to just distribute the Braysers in question:

Anyway, you might have noticed some aesthetic changes happening around here if you came to this site in the past 20 minutes or so. I changed the TedQuarters color scheme to celebrate the Rays’ postseason run, and also to celebrate a baseball team using sky blue and yellow in its uniform, something I’ve felt should happen for a long, long time.

(The Rays didn’t take it far enough, incidentally, since they haven’t yet abandoned the dark blue that’s pretty much ubiquitous in baseball uniforms. But I do credit them for being smart enough to play with my initials on their cap. Also Taco Bell’s.)

Anyway, it turns out that while that color scheme is pretty cool for a baseball club it makes for a butt-ugly website, so I’m not sure how long this will last. But this site design makes it really easy to switch up colors and I intended to do so more often when we relaunched, and I figured now, with the Mets in transition and the playoffs starting and everything, you know, why not?

Why the Rays and not the National League’s obvious good guys, the Reds? I think that color red might be a little jarring on a monitor. Plus it looks too much like the Phillies.

It started happening just before the bottom of the sixth inning began.

I caught the pitcher’s final warm-up as I stepped out of my crouch to throw down to second. I cocked my hips, transitioned the ball to my bare hand, and felt my insubordinate fingers lock onto the baseball, refusing to release it at the top of my throwing motion. The ball darted into the all-sand infield just left of the pitcher’s mound, skipping off toward where the shortstop would have been if he weren’t covering second, and rolling to a stop in short left field.

“My bad,” I yelled.

No one ever gets caught stealing at this level; it has happened maybe twice in three years of weekly play. Pitchers aren’t good enough at holding runners on, catchers aren’t good enough at blocking balls in the dirt or throwing to bases, infielders aren’t good enough at receiving throws and tagging runners. There are just way too many variables that could go wrong on the defensive side, and all the baserunner has to do is haul his ass 90 feet.

But a catcher with a strong or accurate arm can at least dissuade the casual basestealers — the fat guys, the hungover crowd, the smokers, and the one fat, smoking, hungover dude.

Last week, I caught 10 innings and my throws were sharp. Not hard, but on target, and good enough to limit only the speedy runners to taking bags when the situation called for it, instead of beckoning every runner to steal every time he reached base.

This week, after the errant warmup throw, the latter happened. This week, they ran wild, taking advantage as, with increased concentration on controlling my hand, my throws grew worse: pop-ups 15 feet to the left of second base, bloopers over the third baseman’s head.

I knew I shouldn’t have caught before I even arrived at the ballfields in Red Hook. The pain in my back and shoulders nagged me for days before, knifing into my neck and radiating down my arms into my hands.

No one here would judge me if, while we divvied up positions before the game, I grumbled something about my back acting up and begged out of catching. But when no one else immediately volunteered, I stepped up, knowing what I do about how much more value a slap-hitting, poor-defending backstop offers to his team than a slap-hitting, poor-defending corner outfielder. Continue reading →