Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Changes
Lovely Fiancée (once Lovely Girlfriend) is now Lovely Wife.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
This guy doesn't know the half of it
A complaint about medical jargon that rails against words like "toxic" and "vegetables"... written by someone who obviously doesn't spend much time around doctors. Spend five minutes with Lovely Fiancée (soon to be Lovely Wife!) and her med school classmates and you'll hear far worse... epistaxis, neoplasm, pneumothorax... that's some jargon for you.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Why aren't there more cricket statistics? Part 5: An attempt at revising batting average
As you might remember, over a year and a half ago I started a series of posts on cricket statistics (here, here, here, and here. Before the series fell dormant, I discussed the problem with batting average. It's question is pretty straightforward, really. What to do with not-outs? I don't know if anyone's ever done the statistical legwork, but I'd be willing to hazard a guess that ending up not-out is largely a function of position in the batting order. So some sort of adjustment needs to be made to accurately capture what's going on with the not-out innings. I suggested a number of possibilities, including adjusting batting average based on a batsman's typical batting position.
Ananth Narayanan of the new Cricinfo It Figures blog has recently offered up another solution. Narayanan's idea is to extend all not-out innings to their expected conclusion. He calculates this based on a batsman's recent form. So if I a batsman has averaged 30 in his last ten innings, assume that he'll add 30 runs to his not-out score and consider that to be his completed innings score.
This is an intriguing solution, since it focuses on the not-out innings, which is where the problem with batting average arises. But there are a number of problems with it. First, is it really safe to assume, as Narayanan does, that since "Kumar Sangakkara ... has scored 984 runs in his last 10 innings at an innings average of 98.4," a 32 not-out in his next innings can be extended by 98 runs to 130? Not all innings are created equal. It might turn out to be the case that, once Sangakkara reaches the 30s, he normally goes on to score 150. The toughest runs to score, of course, are the first ones. Analyzing a player's typical score after reaching a set number of runs seems a far better approach and would incorporate the fact that well-set players can be practically impossible to dislodge.
Another problem arises with the assumption that recent form is the best predictor of future performance. This is the sort of empirical question that baseball sabermetricians excel at answering. Sadly, I completely lack the statistical chops to even take a stab at it. But plenty of research into the "hot hand" in basketball has shown that recent rates of success do no better at predicting future performance than overall rates of past success. In other words, there's no such thing as the hot hand (a recent paper argued that "feeding the hot hand" is still a good idea, since a player who has made several consecutive shots is probably a good player to begin with).
There's no guarantee that batting innings follow the same pattern, of course. But budding cricket statisticians should take note. This is a key question that, as far as I know, hasn't been answered. Does recent performance accurately predict future performance? Or is "underlying talent" (represented by overall past performance) a better predictor?
So while Narayanan is on the right track, he makes a few assumptions that need further examination. The question remains unsolved: what to do with not-outs?
Ananth Narayanan of the new Cricinfo It Figures blog has recently offered up another solution. Narayanan's idea is to extend all not-out innings to their expected conclusion. He calculates this based on a batsman's recent form. So if I a batsman has averaged 30 in his last ten innings, assume that he'll add 30 runs to his not-out score and consider that to be his completed innings score.
This is an intriguing solution, since it focuses on the not-out innings, which is where the problem with batting average arises. But there are a number of problems with it. First, is it really safe to assume, as Narayanan does, that since "Kumar Sangakkara ... has scored 984 runs in his last 10 innings at an innings average of 98.4," a 32 not-out in his next innings can be extended by 98 runs to 130? Not all innings are created equal. It might turn out to be the case that, once Sangakkara reaches the 30s, he normally goes on to score 150. The toughest runs to score, of course, are the first ones. Analyzing a player's typical score after reaching a set number of runs seems a far better approach and would incorporate the fact that well-set players can be practically impossible to dislodge.
Another problem arises with the assumption that recent form is the best predictor of future performance. This is the sort of empirical question that baseball sabermetricians excel at answering. Sadly, I completely lack the statistical chops to even take a stab at it. But plenty of research into the "hot hand" in basketball has shown that recent rates of success do no better at predicting future performance than overall rates of past success. In other words, there's no such thing as the hot hand (a recent paper argued that "feeding the hot hand" is still a good idea, since a player who has made several consecutive shots is probably a good player to begin with).
There's no guarantee that batting innings follow the same pattern, of course. But budding cricket statisticians should take note. This is a key question that, as far as I know, hasn't been answered. Does recent performance accurately predict future performance? Or is "underlying talent" (represented by overall past performance) a better predictor?
So while Narayanan is on the right track, he makes a few assumptions that need further examination. The question remains unsolved: what to do with not-outs?
Saturday, November 17, 2007
A brief update
It turns out that, unlike the last time around, graduate school and blogging are not compatible. At least they haven't been this semester. Some of that has been the commute, but it's also that I've just been overwhelmed by reading and writing. In an entirely good way.
I probably won't blog at all in the next month since there's still plenty of work to be done. But I should have more free time in the spring, since I should only be down in Providence two days a week. So I'll be giving blogging on a regular basis yet another try.
I probably won't blog at all in the next month since there's still plenty of work to be done. But I should have more free time in the spring, since I should only be down in Providence two days a week. So I'll be giving blogging on a regular basis yet another try.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Fighting with the Frogs, Part 1
The British Expeditionary Force’s arrival in northern France on 14 August 1914 marked a striking development in the history of Anglo-French relations. While military co-operation between Britain and France was not wholly unprecedented, never before had the two countries fought side-by-side in a conflict of this scale. For most of their respective histories, Britain and France had viewed their neighbour across the English Channel as rivals at best and outright enemies at worst. Just sixteen years before the outbreak of the First World War the two countries had been on the verge of warfare over an obscure African outpost. Anti-French sentiment had pervaded British society for centuries. Though the Entente Cordiale of 1904 had improved Anglo-French relations, the military alliance that developed as a result of the war represented a noteworthy departure from the historical relationship between Britain and France.
For most of the second millennium, Britain and France had seen each other as enemies. The Hundred Years’ War had been a vital stage in the development of English identity. Its battles continued to be remembered in the early years of the twentieth century. In the numerous conflicts between Britain and France in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, France served as an 'Other' against which the British defined a new sense of nationhood. The Crimean War found the two old enemies fighting alongside each other, but even then, at least apocryphally, ‘the British had to be reminded […] not to refer to the French as the enemy’. According to Robert Vansittart, born in 1881, ‘the Victorian England in which I was brought up was almost entirely anti-French’. As historian P.M.H. Bell has written, ‘The antagonism between the two countries had been long and bitter’ and ‘The roots of dislike and distrust of France ran deep, nourished by centuries of warfare and an insular suspicion of foreigners, of whom the French were the nearest’.
It should come as no surprise, then, that the British of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries consistently portrayed the French in negative terms. In his study of how Victorian political thinkers perceived France, historian Georgios Varouxakis compiled a damning list of characteristics. The French were:
The French penchant for revolution frightened Victorian commentators, both Whig and Tory, who looked to stable government, not popular uprising, as the means to achieve progress.
In addition to this general distaste for the French, there were widespread British fears of war with France. Numerous novelists played to these fears. William Laird Clowe’s The Great Naval War of 1887 (1887), Louis Tracy’s The Final War (1893), William Le Queux’s England’s Peril (1899), and Max Pemberton’s Pro Patria (1901) all depicted war between Britain and France. These fictional accounts of war were not without factual basis. Numerous crises found Britain and France near war. A French move against Siam, a virtual British protectorate, in 1893 caused some in Britain to expect war. In 1898, a dispute over Fashoda, a small, mud-brick fort on the Upper Nile, led the two nations to the brink of war. Just a year later, French pro-Boer sentiment and the possibility of Franco-Russo-German intervention on behalf of the Boers further strained Anglo-French relations. In short, the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries found Britain and France mutually hostile. In hindsight, the various crises that disrupted Anglo-French relations seem minor and insignificant. Yet the fact that they were met with such grave concern and incited such negative feelings suggests that the British were predisposed to think poorly of the French; diplomatic conflicts merely triggered the expression of latent anti-French feeling.
The Entente Cordiale of 1904 represented a pivotal change in the nature of Anglo-French relations. Just six years after the two nations had been on the edge of war over Fashoda, Britain and France signed an agreement that laid the foundation for their future alliance during the First World War and a century of co-operation between the two. Historians should be wary, however, of investing the Entente with an undue significance. Though the recent centenary commemorations of the agreement suggest that the Entente Cordiale solidified a friendship between the British and the French that would last a century, the realities of the agreement itself cast doubt on the agreement’s role in developing an amicable relationship between the long-time rivals. Bell has described the Entente as ‘a mixed bag of bargains over territory in Africa and Asia and regulations about fishing for bait off Newfoundland’, hardly the stuff of an agreement between valued friends. Reactions to the Entente Cordiale further reveal that the agreement was not the manifestation of any great love between Britain and France. Paul Cambon, the French ambassador to Britain, wrote to French foreign minister Théophile Delcassé that ‘Your task is done and you may pride yourself on having carried to a successful conclusion an enterprise considered impossible’, impossible, no doubt, due to the continuing distaste that characterized cultural relations between Britain and France. The Manchester Guardian made this aversion explicit. ‘The growing friendship between England and France is the most hopeful sign that has appeared in international politics for many a long year, but we deceive ourselves if we pretend that it has its roots in popular sentiment in either country’. Fifty years after the signing of the Entente, Harold Nicolson noted the unlikely circumstances in which it developed. The ‘Entente, in its early stages, was a frail and delicate plant, not rooted in the soil of public sympathy either in France or England, but nursed in a cold greenhouse by M. Cambon, Lord Lansdowne, and his successor, Sir Edward Grey’. As was widely recognized at the time of its signing, the Entente Cordiale was a diplomatic agreement devoted to resolving outstanding colonial disputes, nothing more. The significance later attributed to the treaty by the British was a phenomenon distinct from the treaty itself. Only Britain’s entry into the war in 1914 following Germany’s invasion of Belgium ensured that the diplomatic agreement of 1904 would develop into a military alliance.
It was with this history of antagonism, hardly grounds for optimism or admiration, that Britain and France joined forces in August 1914. Still, evidence from July 1914 reveals that some in Britain had accepted and embraced the Entente Cordiale, with two banquets devoted to singing its praises in a span of two weeks. A willingness to deride France remained, however, with the British press taking considerable delight in pointing out French failings and faults observed in the Caillaux trial. Just before the war the British public had ambivalent views of France: praise in light of the Entente Cordiale and criticism whenever the opportunity presented itself. Beneath the veneer of pro-French sentiment there remained a current of Francophobia.
Once the war began, negative portrayals of France practically vanished and the British press eagerly embraced their new ally. These positive depictions of France developed without obvious pressure from the government and reflect a genuine change in British attitudes towards France. Along with later changes in British perceptions of France, the terms in which the French were described and understood, however, suggest that the improved wartime image of France was more a result of the circumstances of war than any deep-seated admiration for the French people.
For most of the second millennium, Britain and France had seen each other as enemies. The Hundred Years’ War had been a vital stage in the development of English identity. Its battles continued to be remembered in the early years of the twentieth century. In the numerous conflicts between Britain and France in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, France served as an 'Other' against which the British defined a new sense of nationhood. The Crimean War found the two old enemies fighting alongside each other, but even then, at least apocryphally, ‘the British had to be reminded […] not to refer to the French as the enemy’. According to Robert Vansittart, born in 1881, ‘the Victorian England in which I was brought up was almost entirely anti-French’. As historian P.M.H. Bell has written, ‘The antagonism between the two countries had been long and bitter’ and ‘The roots of dislike and distrust of France ran deep, nourished by centuries of warfare and an insular suspicion of foreigners, of whom the French were the nearest’.
It should come as no surprise, then, that the British of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries consistently portrayed the French in negative terms. In his study of how Victorian political thinkers perceived France, historian Georgios Varouxakis compiled a damning list of characteristics. The French were:
warlike; volatile; easily excitable; easily susceptible to being seduced by leaders promising them glory abroad; vindictive and envious vis-à-vis the English; unfair and impervious to considerations of justice; not respectful of international treaties, law and conventions; overambitious; inordinately vain, touchy and other such unpleasant things.
The French penchant for revolution frightened Victorian commentators, both Whig and Tory, who looked to stable government, not popular uprising, as the means to achieve progress.
In addition to this general distaste for the French, there were widespread British fears of war with France. Numerous novelists played to these fears. William Laird Clowe’s The Great Naval War of 1887 (1887), Louis Tracy’s The Final War (1893), William Le Queux’s England’s Peril (1899), and Max Pemberton’s Pro Patria (1901) all depicted war between Britain and France. These fictional accounts of war were not without factual basis. Numerous crises found Britain and France near war. A French move against Siam, a virtual British protectorate, in 1893 caused some in Britain to expect war. In 1898, a dispute over Fashoda, a small, mud-brick fort on the Upper Nile, led the two nations to the brink of war. Just a year later, French pro-Boer sentiment and the possibility of Franco-Russo-German intervention on behalf of the Boers further strained Anglo-French relations. In short, the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries found Britain and France mutually hostile. In hindsight, the various crises that disrupted Anglo-French relations seem minor and insignificant. Yet the fact that they were met with such grave concern and incited such negative feelings suggests that the British were predisposed to think poorly of the French; diplomatic conflicts merely triggered the expression of latent anti-French feeling.
The Entente Cordiale of 1904 represented a pivotal change in the nature of Anglo-French relations. Just six years after the two nations had been on the edge of war over Fashoda, Britain and France signed an agreement that laid the foundation for their future alliance during the First World War and a century of co-operation between the two. Historians should be wary, however, of investing the Entente with an undue significance. Though the recent centenary commemorations of the agreement suggest that the Entente Cordiale solidified a friendship between the British and the French that would last a century, the realities of the agreement itself cast doubt on the agreement’s role in developing an amicable relationship between the long-time rivals. Bell has described the Entente as ‘a mixed bag of bargains over territory in Africa and Asia and regulations about fishing for bait off Newfoundland’, hardly the stuff of an agreement between valued friends. Reactions to the Entente Cordiale further reveal that the agreement was not the manifestation of any great love between Britain and France. Paul Cambon, the French ambassador to Britain, wrote to French foreign minister Théophile Delcassé that ‘Your task is done and you may pride yourself on having carried to a successful conclusion an enterprise considered impossible’, impossible, no doubt, due to the continuing distaste that characterized cultural relations between Britain and France. The Manchester Guardian made this aversion explicit. ‘The growing friendship between England and France is the most hopeful sign that has appeared in international politics for many a long year, but we deceive ourselves if we pretend that it has its roots in popular sentiment in either country’. Fifty years after the signing of the Entente, Harold Nicolson noted the unlikely circumstances in which it developed. The ‘Entente, in its early stages, was a frail and delicate plant, not rooted in the soil of public sympathy either in France or England, but nursed in a cold greenhouse by M. Cambon, Lord Lansdowne, and his successor, Sir Edward Grey’. As was widely recognized at the time of its signing, the Entente Cordiale was a diplomatic agreement devoted to resolving outstanding colonial disputes, nothing more. The significance later attributed to the treaty by the British was a phenomenon distinct from the treaty itself. Only Britain’s entry into the war in 1914 following Germany’s invasion of Belgium ensured that the diplomatic agreement of 1904 would develop into a military alliance.
It was with this history of antagonism, hardly grounds for optimism or admiration, that Britain and France joined forces in August 1914. Still, evidence from July 1914 reveals that some in Britain had accepted and embraced the Entente Cordiale, with two banquets devoted to singing its praises in a span of two weeks. A willingness to deride France remained, however, with the British press taking considerable delight in pointing out French failings and faults observed in the Caillaux trial. Just before the war the British public had ambivalent views of France: praise in light of the Entente Cordiale and criticism whenever the opportunity presented itself. Beneath the veneer of pro-French sentiment there remained a current of Francophobia.
Once the war began, negative portrayals of France practically vanished and the British press eagerly embraced their new ally. These positive depictions of France developed without obvious pressure from the government and reflect a genuine change in British attitudes towards France. Along with later changes in British perceptions of France, the terms in which the French were described and understood, however, suggest that the improved wartime image of France was more a result of the circumstances of war than any deep-seated admiration for the French people.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
On second thought...
It looks as if I might not have as much free time for blogging as I had hoped. I'll probably be commuting down to Providence four days a week. There are obviously worse commutes than Boston-Providence, but for the time being it feels like a big chunk of time.
I will, on the other hand, be reading at least 3 books a week, so I imagine I'll have lots to write about. Hopefully I'll also have the time to do so...
I will, on the other hand, be reading at least 3 books a week, so I imagine I'll have lots to write about. Hopefully I'll also have the time to do so...
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Fighting with the Frogs, Part 0
As promised months ago, I'm finally going to start blogging the interesting bits from my MPhil dissertation. I start my PhD at Brown next week, so, while I'll be busy with reading, I should also have the flexibility to devote 45 minutes to blogging a few times a week.
For now, some background.
Back in 2004-2005 I did an MPhil in modern European history at the University of Cambridge. My dissertation was, rather clumsily, entitled "British attitudes towards France during the early months of the First World War, July-December 1914." I had wanted to call it "Fighting with the Frogs," but the degree committee must have found it a bit flip as they silently amended it.
My initial attraction to representations of France in wartime came, no doubt, from the torrents of Francophobia in America that accompanied the beginning of the war in Iraq. Freedom fries and all that. I was curious to see if the same phenomenon had happened (in reverse) when Britain and France joined forces in the summer of 1914.
My broader interest in how people make use of the past also drew me to the topic. There's a long history of conflict between Britain and France, of course, and I wanted to see exactly what the British did with that past once their old enemies became their new friends.
As you'll see, I discovered plenty of newspaper articles and editorials that helped me answer those questions, and more.
For now, some background.
Back in 2004-2005 I did an MPhil in modern European history at the University of Cambridge. My dissertation was, rather clumsily, entitled "British attitudes towards France during the early months of the First World War, July-December 1914." I had wanted to call it "Fighting with the Frogs," but the degree committee must have found it a bit flip as they silently amended it.
My initial attraction to representations of France in wartime came, no doubt, from the torrents of Francophobia in America that accompanied the beginning of the war in Iraq. Freedom fries and all that. I was curious to see if the same phenomenon had happened (in reverse) when Britain and France joined forces in the summer of 1914.
My broader interest in how people make use of the past also drew me to the topic. There's a long history of conflict between Britain and France, of course, and I wanted to see exactly what the British did with that past once their old enemies became their new friends.
As you'll see, I discovered plenty of newspaper articles and editorials that helped me answer those questions, and more.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Links
I've realized that it's rather inconsiderate of me not to link to any other blogs, especially as plenty of people have continued linking to me even during my long periods of barren inactivity. So here you go... the blogs whose RSS feeds I subscribe to:
Andrew P. Keating
Army Ants
Brotherhood 2.0
Chapati Mystery
Cliopatra
Crooked Timber
Early Modern Notes
Easily Distracted
Fire Joe Morgan
A Historian's Craft
Historianess
Lines Ever More Unclear
Matthew Yglesias
PhDinHistory
Philobiblon
Slacktivist
The Victorian Peeper
I should probably add these links to the front page. But for the time being I like the super-simple design. In the next re-design I'll be sure to add these links to the main page.
Andrew P. Keating
Army Ants
Brotherhood 2.0
Chapati Mystery
Cliopatra
Crooked Timber
Early Modern Notes
Easily Distracted
Fire Joe Morgan
A Historian's Craft
Historianess
Lines Ever More Unclear
Matthew Yglesias
PhDinHistory
Philobiblon
Slacktivist
The Victorian Peeper
I should probably add these links to the front page. But for the time being I like the super-simple design. In the next re-design I'll be sure to add these links to the main page.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Barry Bonds and baseball's drug policy
At a reader's request (hi, Eric!), my thoughts on Barry Bonds and Major League Baseball's drug policy...
First, Barry Bonds. Let's get the obvious out of the way. Bonds almost certainly used steroids between 2000 and 2004. This page documents the change in his appearance throughout his career. You don't go from looking like this (1998) to this (2003) without chemical assistance, especially when you're in your late 30s. It's certainly possible that Bonds muscled up as much as he did through weightlifting and legal supplements. But given everything that's come out in the last few years (including Bonds's leaked grand jury testimony in which he admitted using the clear and the cream, there's little doubt that he used steroids.
That said, Bonds was already one of the best players in baseball history before he started using steroids. Throw out his seasons from 2000 to 2004 and these are his career stats (through August 15, 2007):
2,200 hits, 501 home runs, 1,443 RBIs, 468 stolen bases, 1,674 walks, .287 batting average, .415 on-base percentage, .560 slugging percentage, and .975 on-base-plus-slugging.
These stats would still put him at 23rd in career home runs, 9th in career walks, 25th in career on-base percentage, and 16th in career OPS. In other words, even if we throw out five of his seasons (some of the greatest offensive seasons in history), Bonds still comes out as one of the top 15-20 hitters ever. And that's if you ignore those years completely. Credit Bonds with even mediocre seasons (say, the typical performance of an aging left fielder) and he's easily back up among the top 10 hitters ever. Steroids did not make Barry Bonds great; he was already one of the best players ever.
What to do, then, about the steroids? Some have called for commissioner Bud Selig to append an asterisk to Bonds's career home run total. This would be both unnecessary and unfair. Unnecessary because no one will ever be able to think about Barry Bonds and his records without acknowledging (explicitly or implicitly) that those totals were enhanced by steroids. "Bonds" and "steroids" are so closely linked that literally adding an asterisk to his career statistics would be entirely superfluous.
Second, Bonds broke none of baseball's rules in taking steroids (breaking laws is another matter). Baseball did not prohibit the use of steroids until 2005, at which point Bonds likely stopped using them. Asterisking Bond's home run total would be punishing him for breaking a rule that didn't exist when he broke it. That doesn't fly in a court of law it shouldn't fly in baseball either.
Bonds's place in baseball history is clear. One of the greatest players ever, he will also be remembered forever as the sport's most famous steroid user. He is what he is, and no amount of hand-wringing by sportswriters or asterisking by Bud Selig will change his reputation.
Things would be very different, of course, if Major Leauge Baseball had a sensible steroid policy in place when Bonds started using steroids. It should have been clear in the mid-90s that steroid abuse was taking place in baseball. Both Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa, the sluggers who helped revitalize baseball's popularity in the summer of 1998, are now strongly suspected of using steroids. Back in 1998, McGwire admitted using andro which the NFL and IOC had already banned. People should have been far more suspicious about how muscular players were getting. It's not as if steroid use was a new thing, or that it was difficult to test for steroids. That it took baseball so long to institute a ban on steroids is a disgrace to both Major League Baseball and the players union.
Even as it currently stands, baseball's drug policy lags far behind those of other sports. Professional cycling has had greater problems with doping than any other sport. Nearly every major cyclist of the past 20 years has been implicated in or accused of doping: Jan Ullrich, Bjarne Riis, Marco Pantani, Lance Armstrong, Richard Virenque, David Millar, Tyler Hamilton, Ivan Basso, Roberto Heras, Erik Zabel (some, like Riis, Millar, and Zabel, have admitted their drug use). Thanks to the widespread nature of doping in cycling, evidence of cheating almost always brings heavy punishment.
- In 2004, Tyler Hamilton, who had recently won the Olympic gold in the time trial, tested positive for the presence of a "foreign blood population." The U.S. Anti-Doping Agnecy suspended him for 2 years.
- In 2005, Roberto Heras, four-time winner of the Vuelta a España, was found to have used EPO. He was suspended for 2 years.
- After police found used syringes in his home, former world time trial champion David Millar admitted to using EPO in 2001 and 2003. British Cycling suspended him for 2 years.
- This spring, 2006 Giro d'Italia winner Ivan Basso admitted "attempted doping" (he had doping products, but maintained that he had not actually doped). The Italian Olympic Committee suspended him for 2 years.
- At this year's Tour de France, the Rabobank team fired its leader and likely race winner Michael Rasmussen when it became apparent that he had lied about his whereabouts earlier this year and missed several doping controls. The Danish cycling team also suspended him from riding in Danish colors.
Professional cyclists are punished when they cheat. All these cases were first offenses. The lesson is clear: dope and you'll be out of the sport for two years. The fact that riders continue to test positive for banned substances shows how ingrained doping is within professional cycling. The resolve of cycling's authorities is admirable: they want a clean sport, and they're entirely willing to kick out the biggest names in the sport to ensure that it stays clean.
The situation in baseball couldn't be more different. Neifi Perez, one of the worst everyday players of the last ten years, has tested positive for stimulants three times this year, and he'll still get to play baseball next season. The penalty for a first positive test is counseling. For his second failed test, he was suspended for 25 games. And for his third positive test, the third time that he had been found to be cheating, he was suspended for just 80 games.
To be fair, the penalties for steroid use are stiffer. One positive steroid test carries a suspension of 50 games. A second positive test will get you suspended for 100 games. Only on testing positive for steroids a third time will you receive a lifetime ban.
These are not the punishments meted out by an organization committed to stamping out drug abuse. A 50-game suspension isn't trivial, but it's not much more than a slap on the wrist. Losing a third of your annual salary doesn't threaten your livelihood when the average player's salary is over $2 million. The punishment is especially lenient given that there seem to be genuine incentives for taking steroids: if you hit more home runs, you'll get a bigger contract (one shudders to think just how bad Neifi Perez could be if he weren't taking drugs).
If Bud Selig Selig really wanted steroids out of baseball, he would have pushed for much more string penalties: at least a season for a first offense, with the possibility of a lifetime ban for a second failed test. Cycling has it right. Fans know that doping is rife in the sport, but they can also derive a small amount of satisfaction with the knowledge that dopers who get caught are severely punished.
All this brings us back to Bonds. One of the big stories accompanying his chase of Hank Aaron's career home run record was whether Bud Selig would choose to be present for Bonds's record-breaking home run. If Bonds did not have the "steroid-abuser" tag hanging around his neck, there's not question that Selig would have been there. But Bonds used steroids, so Selig struggled with the decision to explicitly validate Bonds's steroid-laden achievement.
Selig deserves no sympathy here. If he had pushed for steroid testing 10 years ago, or implemented a steroid policy with bite back in 2005, he might have some credibility when it comes to steroids. But in waiting so long to do anything and then doing so little, Selig ceded whatever moral high ground he might have held.
You can blame Barry Bonds for many things, but breaking the rules isn't one of them. If baseball had gotten its act together 10 years ago, we wouldn't be hearing about this now. Barry Bonds would either have gotten caught (and been punished) or chosen not to use steroids and continue his exemplary career drug-free. Instead, we're left with an all-time great whose true greatness we'll never really know. Bonds is mostly to blame for that, of course, but Major League Baseball gets a major assist.
First, Barry Bonds. Let's get the obvious out of the way. Bonds almost certainly used steroids between 2000 and 2004. This page documents the change in his appearance throughout his career. You don't go from looking like this (1998) to this (2003) without chemical assistance, especially when you're in your late 30s. It's certainly possible that Bonds muscled up as much as he did through weightlifting and legal supplements. But given everything that's come out in the last few years (including Bonds's leaked grand jury testimony in which he admitted using the clear and the cream, there's little doubt that he used steroids.
That said, Bonds was already one of the best players in baseball history before he started using steroids. Throw out his seasons from 2000 to 2004 and these are his career stats (through August 15, 2007):
2,200 hits, 501 home runs, 1,443 RBIs, 468 stolen bases, 1,674 walks, .287 batting average, .415 on-base percentage, .560 slugging percentage, and .975 on-base-plus-slugging.
These stats would still put him at 23rd in career home runs, 9th in career walks, 25th in career on-base percentage, and 16th in career OPS. In other words, even if we throw out five of his seasons (some of the greatest offensive seasons in history), Bonds still comes out as one of the top 15-20 hitters ever. And that's if you ignore those years completely. Credit Bonds with even mediocre seasons (say, the typical performance of an aging left fielder) and he's easily back up among the top 10 hitters ever. Steroids did not make Barry Bonds great; he was already one of the best players ever.
What to do, then, about the steroids? Some have called for commissioner Bud Selig to append an asterisk to Bonds's career home run total. This would be both unnecessary and unfair. Unnecessary because no one will ever be able to think about Barry Bonds and his records without acknowledging (explicitly or implicitly) that those totals were enhanced by steroids. "Bonds" and "steroids" are so closely linked that literally adding an asterisk to his career statistics would be entirely superfluous.
Second, Bonds broke none of baseball's rules in taking steroids (breaking laws is another matter). Baseball did not prohibit the use of steroids until 2005, at which point Bonds likely stopped using them. Asterisking Bond's home run total would be punishing him for breaking a rule that didn't exist when he broke it. That doesn't fly in a court of law it shouldn't fly in baseball either.
Bonds's place in baseball history is clear. One of the greatest players ever, he will also be remembered forever as the sport's most famous steroid user. He is what he is, and no amount of hand-wringing by sportswriters or asterisking by Bud Selig will change his reputation.
Things would be very different, of course, if Major Leauge Baseball had a sensible steroid policy in place when Bonds started using steroids. It should have been clear in the mid-90s that steroid abuse was taking place in baseball. Both Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa, the sluggers who helped revitalize baseball's popularity in the summer of 1998, are now strongly suspected of using steroids. Back in 1998, McGwire admitted using andro which the NFL and IOC had already banned. People should have been far more suspicious about how muscular players were getting. It's not as if steroid use was a new thing, or that it was difficult to test for steroids. That it took baseball so long to institute a ban on steroids is a disgrace to both Major League Baseball and the players union.
Even as it currently stands, baseball's drug policy lags far behind those of other sports. Professional cycling has had greater problems with doping than any other sport. Nearly every major cyclist of the past 20 years has been implicated in or accused of doping: Jan Ullrich, Bjarne Riis, Marco Pantani, Lance Armstrong, Richard Virenque, David Millar, Tyler Hamilton, Ivan Basso, Roberto Heras, Erik Zabel (some, like Riis, Millar, and Zabel, have admitted their drug use). Thanks to the widespread nature of doping in cycling, evidence of cheating almost always brings heavy punishment.
- In 2004, Tyler Hamilton, who had recently won the Olympic gold in the time trial, tested positive for the presence of a "foreign blood population." The U.S. Anti-Doping Agnecy suspended him for 2 years.
- In 2005, Roberto Heras, four-time winner of the Vuelta a España, was found to have used EPO. He was suspended for 2 years.
- After police found used syringes in his home, former world time trial champion David Millar admitted to using EPO in 2001 and 2003. British Cycling suspended him for 2 years.
- This spring, 2006 Giro d'Italia winner Ivan Basso admitted "attempted doping" (he had doping products, but maintained that he had not actually doped). The Italian Olympic Committee suspended him for 2 years.
- At this year's Tour de France, the Rabobank team fired its leader and likely race winner Michael Rasmussen when it became apparent that he had lied about his whereabouts earlier this year and missed several doping controls. The Danish cycling team also suspended him from riding in Danish colors.
Professional cyclists are punished when they cheat. All these cases were first offenses. The lesson is clear: dope and you'll be out of the sport for two years. The fact that riders continue to test positive for banned substances shows how ingrained doping is within professional cycling. The resolve of cycling's authorities is admirable: they want a clean sport, and they're entirely willing to kick out the biggest names in the sport to ensure that it stays clean.
The situation in baseball couldn't be more different. Neifi Perez, one of the worst everyday players of the last ten years, has tested positive for stimulants three times this year, and he'll still get to play baseball next season. The penalty for a first positive test is counseling. For his second failed test, he was suspended for 25 games. And for his third positive test, the third time that he had been found to be cheating, he was suspended for just 80 games.
To be fair, the penalties for steroid use are stiffer. One positive steroid test carries a suspension of 50 games. A second positive test will get you suspended for 100 games. Only on testing positive for steroids a third time will you receive a lifetime ban.
These are not the punishments meted out by an organization committed to stamping out drug abuse. A 50-game suspension isn't trivial, but it's not much more than a slap on the wrist. Losing a third of your annual salary doesn't threaten your livelihood when the average player's salary is over $2 million. The punishment is especially lenient given that there seem to be genuine incentives for taking steroids: if you hit more home runs, you'll get a bigger contract (one shudders to think just how bad Neifi Perez could be if he weren't taking drugs).
If Bud Selig Selig really wanted steroids out of baseball, he would have pushed for much more string penalties: at least a season for a first offense, with the possibility of a lifetime ban for a second failed test. Cycling has it right. Fans know that doping is rife in the sport, but they can also derive a small amount of satisfaction with the knowledge that dopers who get caught are severely punished.
All this brings us back to Bonds. One of the big stories accompanying his chase of Hank Aaron's career home run record was whether Bud Selig would choose to be present for Bonds's record-breaking home run. If Bonds did not have the "steroid-abuser" tag hanging around his neck, there's not question that Selig would have been there. But Bonds used steroids, so Selig struggled with the decision to explicitly validate Bonds's steroid-laden achievement.
Selig deserves no sympathy here. If he had pushed for steroid testing 10 years ago, or implemented a steroid policy with bite back in 2005, he might have some credibility when it comes to steroids. But in waiting so long to do anything and then doing so little, Selig ceded whatever moral high ground he might have held.
You can blame Barry Bonds for many things, but breaking the rules isn't one of them. If baseball had gotten its act together 10 years ago, we wouldn't be hearing about this now. Barry Bonds would either have gotten caught (and been punished) or chosen not to use steroids and continue his exemplary career drug-free. Instead, we're left with an all-time great whose true greatness we'll never really know. Bonds is mostly to blame for that, of course, but Major League Baseball gets a major assist.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Cultivating British identity
(I seem to take 2 months to actually blog about stories I save for blogging, so you'll have to excuse my lack of timeliness.)
In recent months, both Gordon Brown and David Cameron have called for the British state to take greater interest in cultivating British identity, with particular focus on the "United" bit of the "United Kingdom." Brown's take is more compelling, not least because Cameron's use of the United States as a model is rather blunted by his ignorance about what actually resonates with Americans (hint: Americans have neither emotional attachment nor reverence to Mt. Rushmore). But both Brown and Cameron believe that the
government can take positive steps towards increasing a sense of British unity: making British history a central part of the national curriculum, highlighting nationwide holidays like Remembrance Day, and ensuring that immigrants learn English.
These are just the sort of things that the government can do to increase national identity, but I'm skeptical that they would actually work. Identity is complex and multi-faceted, and it strikes me as naive to think that simply injecting more British history into the schools, flying the Union Jack more frequently, and encouraging the use of English will magically make everyone feel more British (to be fair, Cameron points to English as a means of facilitating communication and cooperation between previously disconnected communities within the UK). Too much of life takes place outside of the purview of the state for it to be as easy as that. Family life, television, and local community all have as strong an impact on the development of identity as what is taught in school.
I'll leave it to others (for now) to debate the desirability of a stronger British identity. But it won't be as easy to create as Brown and Cameron seem to think.
In recent months, both Gordon Brown and David Cameron have called for the British state to take greater interest in cultivating British identity, with particular focus on the "United" bit of the "United Kingdom." Brown's take is more compelling, not least because Cameron's use of the United States as a model is rather blunted by his ignorance about what actually resonates with Americans (hint: Americans have neither emotional attachment nor reverence to Mt. Rushmore). But both Brown and Cameron believe that the
government can take positive steps towards increasing a sense of British unity: making British history a central part of the national curriculum, highlighting nationwide holidays like Remembrance Day, and ensuring that immigrants learn English.
These are just the sort of things that the government can do to increase national identity, but I'm skeptical that they would actually work. Identity is complex and multi-faceted, and it strikes me as naive to think that simply injecting more British history into the schools, flying the Union Jack more frequently, and encouraging the use of English will magically make everyone feel more British (to be fair, Cameron points to English as a means of facilitating communication and cooperation between previously disconnected communities within the UK). Too much of life takes place outside of the purview of the state for it to be as easy as that. Family life, television, and local community all have as strong an impact on the development of identity as what is taught in school.
I'll leave it to others (for now) to debate the desirability of a stronger British identity. But it won't be as easy to create as Brown and Cameron seem to think.