A visit from St. James
December 24, 2007 2 Comments
(With my most sincere apologies to Clement Clark Moore… and for my rather loose use of rhyme.)
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the sport,
Not a player was stirring (‘cept those in the Mitchell Report)
The Red Sox were hung by the chimney with care
Next to their two World Series trophies, now how’d those get there?
The GM’s were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of Johan Santana danced in their heads
And Scott Boras in his kerchief and A-Rod still in his Yankees cap
Had just settled in for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the internet their arose such a clatter
I ran to my computer to see what was the matter
Went to MLB Trade Rumors and The Hardball Times
To greeted there by the most heinous of crimes.
And what to my wandering eyes should appear
But 3 years and 12 million for a lefty reliever.
I sighed at the news that had disturbed my rest,
And mumbled in pain as my head hit my desk.
But then on the roof, another sight came my way
The guys from Baseball Prospectus in a miniature sleigh
With a little old driver, who would school those in the game
I knew in an instant, it must be St. James
More rapid than Ichiro his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name
On OPS, On Leverage, On RZR, On VORP!
On PECOTA, On WPA, and Pythagenport!
To the top of the standings, they shot like a rocket
Yet, took considerably little money out of the owner’s pocket.
To the top of the stadiums, the coursers they flew
With a sleigh full of stats and St. James with them too
And then with a twinkling, I heard o’er my Indians hat
The clicking and clacking of spreadsheets and stats.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. James came with a bound.
A bundle of abstracts he had clutched in his hand,
And he looked like a security guard rather than a baseball man.
His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry…
Wait that’s someone else…
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
(Which may have actually been the sign to steal third)
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his chore,
And filled all the stockings with statistics and more!
Crazy acronyms for BP, and asterisks for Barry*
And to the traditionalists and anti-statheads out there, an explanation of why, really, we swear, we’re not all that scary
For Adam Everett, a glove that’s gold-en
And the absence of Joe Morgan from ESPN
A little understanding of stats and “regression to the mean”
And a little common sense for the salary structure of each team.
And then laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
But I heard him StatSpeak, ere he drove out of sight,
“Sabermetrics to all, and to all a good night!”