A Stanley Cup Finals Interruption: Post-season Hits, PIMs, and Trends

Two-thirds of the 2011 Stanley Cup Finals are in the books, and the series is squared at two games per side. Headed into this series, I was rooting for seven games first, a Vancouver victory second. Headed into this series, having watched perhaps more post-season hockey in 2011 than in any other playoffs of my 16-year history as a fan, it did not occur to me that, four games in, I would have watched a total of 23 percent of the series.

Sad but true. For game one, the wife and I were en route to Casa Old No. 7, and I had to follow the game via tweets, courtesy of NHL, Dave Lozo, Corey Masisak, and Shawn Roarke. This was, as one might imagine, a bit overkill, but Mr. Roarke was the only one who responded to my question regarding who’d be tweeting, and when he did, it was too late. That is, I’d already turned on phone notifications for each of those Twitter accounts, and we were already on the road. If that doesn’t make any sense to you, know that I do not have a smart phone. On purpose. I don’t need to be getting on Facebook, Twitter, or the Internets in general any more than I already am. My phone does, however, have the ability to get online, and it even has a social-media function, but firing it up would inflate our bill, and that’s a conversation with the wife I’d rather not have, so I get tweets as texts from the Twitter accounts I've enabled. This can be both great and miserable.

The other twist to this is that, six months ago, I would’ve been able to -– and in fact did –- operate the road-trip vehicle while reading and crafting tweets, but I could only get away with it while the wife (pregnant at the time) was asleep. Yes, I know one shouldn’t text while driving, and one should certainly not tweet while driving. And yes, I know that doing so with a pregnant lady in the car is ridiculous and selfish, but we’re talking about driving across Kansas at night on a state highway. It’s flat, straight, and filled with towns that force you to slow down as you traverse them. And besides, she was only sleeping for a little bit. And also besides, Five-hour Energy!

Now, we have a baby, and said infant was on the road trip with us, so all bets were off. No texting/tweeting while driving with wife and child on board. I may or may not’ve managed to squeeze in a few at the tail end of the return trip while the wife was in the back seat, so it’s possible that I’m an all-around dirt bag either way you slice it, but the point is this: As we embarked, I asked my wife if she was ready to handle the serious tweet load she would have to read aloud to me. Being the kind lady that she is, she agreed. What was funny was that, being not-all-that familiar with Twitter’s fine intricacies, she was not aware of hash tags, at-symbol implications, or the inherent sarcasm font typically associated with many tweeters. So, for game one, a tweet that might look like this:

cmasisak22 Make that 46 shots for both teams - 26 for #bruins and 20 for #canucks. #math #vanbos

was read: “See Masisak two two. Make that 46 shots for both teams – 26 for pound Bruins and 20 for pound Canucks pound math pound Van Boss.”

And believe me when I say there were between 150-200 tweets -- there was also a Phish show in progress -- that came in for that game, so that was a kick for the both of us.

Anyhow, that was game one, and upon arrival in Durango, I made the request that the TV be available for game two viewing, which it was. Problem was that day drinking prevented me from seeing periods two, three, and the overtime. For game three, we were driving back home, and arrived in time for only the third period. Last night, I had a hockey game that also started at 7 p.m. Central, so I got to the watch party at the bar just in time for period three. So basically, I’ve cobbled together three periods of this series, and that totally blows, but I’ve been able to keep up with what’s been going on, no problem.

In case you haven’t been following my Stanley Cup Playoffs comparison series, allow me to bring you up to speed. At the conclusion of each round, I’ve put together a brief analysis of the round, some predictions for the upcoming round, and a look at some statistics for this current post-season, as well as some numbers from each of the previous 10 seasons. It’s been fascinating to gather the data, and namely, I’ve been interested in how many shots are registering, how many goals are being scored, how many major Penalties in Minutes (PIMs) are occurring, how many overtime periods are being played, whether or not the home team has had an advantage, and how many games per series, on average, take place in the playoffs.

Obviously, this round isn’t over, but two things prompted me to drop in a mid-series interruption. The first was the hit on Nathan Horton from Aaron Rome, and the tempers that flared immediately following it. Regarding the specific incident, I think the suspension is the smallest punishment the league could have levied. Were it me handing out the consequence, I’d make him sit until Horton’s back in the Boston lineup next season, assuming of course, that he will be. Right now, the National Hockey League is dealing with the same issue –- head injuries -– that the National Football League is, and opinions are going to fly, but the bottom line is a little organ called the brain, and the relativity it has to a high-functioning life for the remainder of an athlete’s career, and beyond.

The culture must be changed. No longer can a guy get blown up for cruising through the neutral zone with his head down, which is what Horton was doing, and which is what used to be coached. Finish you check. This is not to say that you can’t drill a dude that has his head down, be he in the neutral zone or elsewhere. It is to say that you may not deliver a blow to an opponent’s melon, and you may not leave your feet, under any circumstance, to hit a guy. Rome was guilty of both, and in my opinion, the lateness of the hit is the least important of those three aspects, but you didn’t come here to read my NHL-rules preachings, did you?

Of course you didn’t. The hit, then, and the post-hit scuffles were the first thing that prompted me. The second was a tweet from Chris Jones (link). It said this:

“There’s a good story to be written on the Myth of the Big Check. Nobody scares anymore. They just get pissed.”

When I read that, I had one of those bizarre comprehension farts where you think you understand what you’re reading, but your brain isn’t convinced so you read it two or three more times before that chunk of inner monologue says, See I knew I knew what it meant.

And he makes a solid point. Back in the day, you had your mix of guys on a given roster. Your scorers, your playmakers, your two-way guys, the anchors of your D, and your enforcers. This isn’t different by significant measures today. Teams still have a collection of personnel similar to that, only the presence of the enforcer, or goon, if you will, has diminished. Don’t misunderstand. Those dudes are still out there, they just have a little bit of face paint on, and coaches are less apt to send their brawler out when they see that their bench-boss counterpart has done the same. That used to happen a lot, and more often than not, hyjinks would ensue. Of course, by “hyjinks,” I mean donnybrooks.

Such a substitution would occur for one of two reasons: 1) The game was out of hand, and the losing squad was going to blacken a few eyes before hitting the showers, or 2) Somebody had blown up a finesse skater, and the favor was to be returned. Either way, it was an act of vengeance, a way to both get in the head of the foe, and actually punch said foe in said head at the same time.

Fighting in hockey embodies divisiveness. It’s been a part of the game for a long time, and the appropriate thing –- if you wanna get P.C. -– to do is to eliminate it. But you can’t, because in a game that fast and that physical, tempers will flare, and let’s face it: Nothing gets Average Joe Hockeyfan more fired up then some good old-fashioned helmet punching. So the undecided-upon solution, in my estimation, has been to keep the fighting in the game, but try to hide it a touch. Make it not so obvious.

But let me back up a second. You, as a coach, would send your enforcer out there, usually as part of your fourth line, also known as your checking line (another term you don’t hear that much anymore), and you want him to clobber the other club’s golden boy, the one that keeps making your goaltender look like a sieve. If successful, Johnny Shot will be a little more tentative the next time he comes into the zone, and, in fact, he might even dish off a pass instead of firing a wrister from the slot. Mission accomplished. You’ve gotten in his head, you’ve scared him -– as Jones said –- and in doing so, you’ve minimized the potential offensive firepower of your opponent.

Not anymore. Instead of scaring, “They just get pissed.”

This, I think, is the trend I’ve been seeing specifically regarding major PIMs in the last 10 post-seasons. Before we get into it, though, it’s important to clarify a couple of points. First, the regular season matters. A lot. Occasional criticism suggests that allowing 16 teams to qualify for the post-season is too many. This is hogwash. As clubs approach the home stretch of regular-season play, point differentials –- the way you qualify for the playoffs -– are often neck-and-neck. Clubs are leapfrogging each other daily -- sometimes multiple times a day -- for that eighth and final conference seed, and so getting a win, be it in regulation or in an overtime contest, is huge. One loss can keep you out of contention, and there are even times in which you see a tiebreak situation occur, such as what was nearly the case with Dallas and Chicago at the end of this regular season. Dallas beats Minnesota to close out their season, and both the Stars and the Blackhawks are sitting at 97 points. Dallas, however, dropped that game to the Wild, and Chicago’s in. It happens.

Also, all penalties matter. Some are simple infractions. Some occur trying to prevent a big play, or the development of a potential scoring chance, and some are foundations to later fights, and subsequent majors. Majors are a thread past the boiling point, when things get out of hand, and fights break out, and guys are protecting their teammates, and violators are finding themselves tossed from the contest, which is why I find it important to focus on them. Every team gets called for a slash here, a trip there, an interference away from the play, but it’s the major penalties that change the swing of a game, or even a series. So they matter. A lot.

The thing that ties them together, in my estimation, is that, in the post-season, the thought used to be -– at least in my head –- that that shit all gets scaled down when a chance to play for the Cup is on the line. You don’t spear a guy in the post-season, or get yourself ejected courtesy of a game misconduct because you lost your cool and detached a guy’s head from his torso. Too much is at stake. It seems, however, that the game is trending away from that, and that now, all bets are off. You cross-check my linemate, and I’m’a take your D man’s knee out on the next shift. I don’t care if it’s the freaking Conference Finals; you’re going down, bro. It’s as if Billy Joel’s “Goodnight Saigon” is playing in every locker room before every game.

Anyway, the numbers.

I mentioned this in my last playoff post, but it’s worth reiterating: In the previous 10 Stanley Cup Playoffs, through the first three rounds, the average number of major PIMs per post-season is 386. This year, through the Conference Finals, there were 555. For those keeping score at home, that’s an 18 percent increase. When we crunch those numbers at the conclusion of the playoffs, it could be down a few percentage points, but given what Boston and Vancouver have shown us thus far, I kinda doubt it.

So there’s that, and there’s this:

In the previous 10 post-seasons, 44 times out of 862 games (roughly five percent), a series had multiple games with major PIMs in it. In 24 of those occasions (55 percent), a series had consecutive games with major PIMs in it. Of the 44 incidents, 24 took place in the Conference Quarter-Finals; 17 occurred in the Semis; four in the Conference Finals; and three were in direct contention for Lord Stanley. A breakdown of the 24 in the situations with consecutive games with major PIMs looks like this: 16 in the Quarters; four in the Semis; three in the Conference Finals, and one in the Finals.

There are plenty of series that go without a major penalty assessed. But it’s telling that five percent of the time a series had more than one situation in which someone went to the box for more than a double minor. It suggests that players, no matter how much they might say they do, do not have short-term memories. It’s as if they’re thinking, We’ll see each other again before this is over. What’s even more telling is that in more than half of those series, major PIMs were handed out in consecutive games. As if they’re thinking, You’ll get yours the day after tomorrow. In the end, five percent is a small number. It makes sense when you consider the theory of having the hardware on the line.

Now, if you look at this post-season:

Eighty-six games have been played, and on no fewer than 10 occasions has there been a series that had multiple games with major PIMs. That calculates to 11 percent; more than double what we saw in the previous 10 post-seasons. Six times this post-season, consecutive games with major PIMs have been played, or seven percent; also more than double the previous 10 playoffs. The round breakdown shows the multiple-game numbers as six in the CQFs, one in the CSFs, two in conference-final play, and one so far in the Finals. The crunched numbers for consecutive-game majors is four in the CQFs, one in the Conference Finals, and one so far in the Finals.

Without irony is this assessment: Of those 10 times in which a series has had multiple games with major PIMs, four have involved the Boston Bruins, while Vancouver was in on three of them. I’m not here to stand up for either club, regardless of my horse in the race. But for those penning headlines and articles calling the Canucks dirty and claiming their style of play to be of the filthy variety, let the record show that they took off the Nashville series in terms of awarded major PIMs, while Boston has received some in each of their four matchups.

The last order of business is to attempt to assess any possible chronological differences in these penalties, and the best way I saw fit to do so was to look at major PIMs pre-lockout (2004-05) and post. So if you take the previous 10 post-seasons, and add this year’s playoffs (thus far) to it, here’s what you get:

Fifty-four total times the league has seen a series have multiple games with major PIMs in it. Fifteen of those occasions occurred pre-lockout, while 39 happened this side of it. For those without a calculator, 72 percent of the instances took place once the work stoppage ended. On 30 occasions, series have had consecutive games in which major PIMs were assessed. Eight of those were between the 1999-2000 and 2003-04 campaigns; 22 took place beginning with 2005-06 through this current round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, a figure that registers in at 73 percent.

I don’t mean to imply that the lockout had a direct impact on the staggering difference in PIMs there, and I don’t think that you should either. What I think has happened is precisely what Mr. Jones has suggested: The days of the goon getting in your head and intimidating you have passed the game by. You can still have your enforcer, and he can enforce all he wants, but when the plates are cleared and the dishes are done, you better have had eyes in the back of your head, because guys are comin’ for you, and you don’t know who and you don’t know when.

But they’re comin’, they’re comin’ hard, and getting the gate for an infraction portends to stop roughly nobody these days. It’s a rough game out there, and if you mess with one of my boys, you can all but guarantee that the tooth fairy’s comin’ for one of your Chiclets, and she ain’t got no currency to hand you for it neither. It’s as if the league, via on-ice officials, are doing everything in their power to keep the monkey business to a minimum, and guys are depending on deep benches to replace, produce, and in some occasions, continue to retaliate, an effort that appears to be counter-productive to what the officials aim to achieve.

All of this is fine by me. I think the game's better than ever before. This was one way of looking at it. Another is to watch game tape of every game played in each of the past 10 regular and post-seasons and take notes. Trouble is, I don't have the time to do that, and as things stand right now, I'm fresh out of interns.
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The 2011 Stanley Cup Playoffs: Conference Quarter-Finals Recap, Semi-Finals Preview, and a Look at the Last 10 Years of CQF Play

Round one of the National Hockey League’s Stanley Cup Playoffs is in the books, and calling the conference quarter-final round a wild ride would be an understatement. Forty-eight games occurred in this post-season-opening tournament, and thinking back over the past decade of playoff hockey, I cannot recall a more exciting round. It’s entirely possible that the round seemed so intense because the final four series went to a game-seven situation, and two of those needed overtime to decide the outcome, but either way, this was some high-octane hockey.

After the jump we’ll acknowledge the winner of each series, skim over the awfulness that was my pick selection, and we’ll preview the semi-final round. And as an added nugget, we’ll look at snapshots of the previous 10 seasons of NHL Conference Quarter-Final play.

I picked the Phoenix Coyotes to squeak past the Detroit Redwings in seven games, and I couldn’t have been wronger. The third-seeded squad that calls the Joe home made quick work of the six-seed ‘Yotes, and broomed them from the picture in four straight. It was the lone sweep of the quarter-finals, which only makes the loss that much more embarrassing for Dave Tippett and company. Every year I pick the Redwings to get eliminated –- both because I loathe them, and because I think their agedness will be a factor –- earlier than they do, and they continue to show a post-season savvy perhaps unmatched across the league.

Phoenix displayed their disadvantage by only losing by one goal once; Detroit handled them 4-2, 4-3, 4-2, and 6-2, courtesy of six series points from center Pavel Datsyuk, and a solid 2.50 goals-against average, .915 save percentage from goaltender Jimmy Howard.

Sticking with series I predicted incorrectly (Anaheim in seven), it was the Nashville Predators that advanced for the first time in franchise post-season history. Fifth-seeded Nashville upset the four-seed Anaheim Ducks by ending their season in six games. Despite incredible performances from Anaheim goalie Ray Emery, winger Corey Perry, and the ageless forward Teemu Selanne, the Ducks could only squeeze two victories out of the series: a two-goal game-two margin, and a three-tally win in the fourth contest.

We’ll stay in the west, and stay with the theme of bad picks of mine.
The previous two post-seasons have seen a scary-looking San Jose Sharks teams not reach the potential they established in the preceding regular seasons. I imagined their playoff skin to still be prime for a piercing, and anticipated that the Los Angeles Kings (seventh-seed) would be a conference-wide surprise. Their shock, though, was short-lived, and they were sent packing in six games. In sum, Jonathan Quick, as well as he played, cannot carry this L.A. team on his royal back. Furthermore, the Kings went a dull 0-3 in overtime contests against second-seeded San Jose, managing their only two wins in games two (a 4-0 blanking) and five (3-1).

Still west, still wrong, it’s Vancouver-Chicago, where the Canucks came in the one seed, and should’ve (in my estimation) sent the defending champions home in five games. Unfortunately for my pride, it took all seven. If you’re a hockey fan –- and even if you’re not but you tuned in a touch –- you know that this series was the gem of the first round. When Vancouver went up three games to none, I was feeling good about my prediction, stoked that the Blackhawks were all but destined to be one-and-done in their attempt to defend their championship, and flat-out amazed at the style of play exhibited by Alaine Vigneault’s squad.

Typically, you have a solid offensive core with one or two playmakers, an aggressive trio of defensive pairings, and a goaltender that epitomizes the last-line-of-defense mantra that a goaltender is supposed to epitomize. This recipe is, obviously, one you follow if you want to go deep in the post-season, and have a shot at winning it all. Vancouver might as well be the Richard Blais of this year’s playoffs. They do things their own way, and the only thing that can get in the way of their own success is themselves. In doing things their own way, the Canucks swarm –- and I mean swarm -- to every loose puck, they win most of those battles in the corners and along the boards, they create turnovers, and they probably cycle better than any offensive unit in the game right now.

They also have aggressive defensemen who keep the puck in the zone, create turnovers, and literally anchor the offensive units. Vancouver’s biggest problem is Roberto Luongo, and as much as I think Blackhawks fans are smug, and over-deserving, they had every right to be in the face of the Canuck netminder when he gave blowing the series the old college try, and then some. How that man managed to steal Olympic gold from the U.S. is still a mystery to me.

But, everyone knew it would be tough for Chicago to defend as they had to blow up their roster for cap space after last season’s championship, and you have to give that team kudos for fighting to the bitter end. In terms of picks, this was the only series winner I pegged, but I went oh-fer in picking correct number of wins per series in each of the four matchups.

Out east, I looked a little better. I nailed Tampa Bay in six right on the head, and boy was I glad for that franchise. I like Tampa Bay. I like Guy Boucher and his gutsy coaching style, and I think having Stevie Y at the helm of this front office will mean good things for this team. I was impressed by Tampa Bay’s championship in the pre-lockout campaign, and it’s nice for this club to have some success in Florida, where the teams in Miami seem to steal all the pub. Pittsburgh definitely had their work cut out for them not having Evgeni Malkin and Sidney Crosby healthy, but I didn’t feel sorry for the one bit, ‘cause screw the Penguins. I did, however, shed one lone tear for our old pal The Lone Reader, who took in his first NHL playoff game ever in this series. Unfortunately for him, it was the 8-2 drubbing the Lightning dropped on Pittsburgh last Saturday.

Regarding Washington-New York, I was money there again, selecting the Caps to finish the Rangers in five. This was also an easy pick though, because it is a proven fact that the New York Rangers are –- in my hockey-viewing lifetime -– atrocious in the post-season. Not that I care, but if you need to, blame Lindros.

The Philadelphia Flyers took on the familiar Buffalo Sabres, and I was only one game off the mark in predicting this Philly win: They needed seven to disperse Lindy Ruff’s team, and I’d called for the Flyers in six. This Philly team really should’ve handled business sooner than they did, as Buffalo was a bit outmatched. You have to appreciate Ruff’s ability to get his group this prepared for a high-scoring, bruiser club like Philadelphia, and you also have to wonder what Peter Laviolette is doing starting three different goaltenders in a playoff series. But hey -– they advanced.

Boston-Montreal was the fourth Eastern Conference pairing, and it was a doozy. They needed all seven –- just like I said -– contests to eliminate the pesky Habs, but eliminate them they did, also in a game-seven overtime. Some good hockey there.

Playoff leaders through round one:

Philadelphia’s Danny Briere has six goals, his teammate Claude Giroux has tallied eight assists, and fellow Flyer Kimmo Timonen has registered a nice plus-nine in the +/- category. And we might as well make this first grouping and all-Philly affair, as noted goon Daniel Carcillo has amassed 26 penalties in minutes. Between the pipes, it’s the aged Dwayne Roloson manning the Tampa Bay crease with a hefty .949 save percentage, while Michal Neuvirth of Washington has generated an impressive 1.38 goals-against average.

Looking ahead to the semi-finals:

Fifth-seeded Nashville hosts one-seed Vancouver, and that series gets underway at 8 pm Central this evening. Keith Jones made a good point in saying that the Predators are thanking the Blackhawks for softening up the Canucks for them, and Mike Keenan threw in his own two cents suggesting that Vancouver will need better play from the Sedin twins this series. Both are correct in that a) the Canucks will struggle early against Nashville, and b) the play –- points-wise -– of Daniel and Henrik dropped off significantly after game three, but it’s possible that the wilted performances of one R. Luongo made matters significantly worse.

Chicago is a bruiser of a team, and they gave Vancouver fits. Jeremy Roenick suspects that the Predators will be an even tougher challenge for the finesse play of the Canucks to overcome, and he might be right as well, but I’m not sold on it costing them the series.

The pick: Vancouver in six

Two tilts tomorrow night, and they come in the form of the five-seed Lightning and the one-seed Capitals; the third-seed Redwings will do battle with two-seed San Jose.

In that Eastern Conference series, I know that Roloson is 41 years old, but I don’t think it matters. He’s got his game face on, and I think the offensive production Tampa Bay is capable of will significantly inflate that nice G.A.A. Neuvirth has put together. The Caps can be fierce, but let’s be honest: They’re a bit limited in forward production, and the Rangers weren’t a test. You can’t expect Alexander Ovechkin to do everything, and that’s a mistake Washington has been guilty of in the past. Sure, he spread it around a bit in round one, but again: That was against New York.

The pick: Lightning in six

I didn’t think San Jose could get past the Los Angeles Kings, but they proved me wrong. Detroit proved me wrong as well, but I always pick against them. I won’t make that mistake again.

The pick: Detroit in five

On Saturday, a pair of bad-boy clubs will get after it when three-seed Boston travels to two-seed Philly. I like Boston. I always jump on their bandwagon come playoff time. Usually they choke. They turned things around last year, and they’ve got a nice collection of players including Tim Thomas in net, Zdeno Chara leading the D, and David Krejci, Milan Lucic, and Patrice Bergeron as high-quality point producers. Problem is: It won’t be enough for this hungrier-than-ever Flyers squad, who will pounce on every Bruin mistake. I also give them the coaching edge in Laviolette over Claude Julien.

The pick: Flyers in seven

Now, having assessed what’s already happened, and what will happen, I wanted to take a look at a few statistics. I’m not sure what compelled me to collect this data, but I think it was a hunch that told me I’d see more of all things better when I compared this year’s quarter-finals with the quarter-finals of the previous 10 seasons. That turned out to not really be the case at all. What I think gave me the number-crunching itch was that I a) used to think that the playoffs mattered little until it was Conference Finals time, and b) have been able to neutrally invest myself in this year’s and last year’s NHL post-seasons since my Blues have been absent from competition.

Well, technically they were absent in 2008-09 as well, when they laid a Canuck-sized egg and got swept by Vancouver, but let’s not split hairs here.

I went through each quarter-finals series, and found out how many goals were scored, how many shots on goal were generated, how many major penalties were assessed, whether or not home-ice advantage was a factor, how many overtime periods occurred, and the average number of games played per series. (Editor’s Note: Shots on goal are registered shots that would’ve been goals had the goalie not saved them. No, pipes and crossbars don’t count. Major penalties include game misconducts, fighting, spearing, boarding, charging, etc. I left out all the minor infractions. Overtime refers to the number of overtime periods, not games, played. For each of the previous three quarter-finals rounds, come-from-behind-game wins is an available stat.) Why I chose the stats I did is as much a mystery to you as it is to me, but here they are nonetheless:

1999-2000 Conference Quarter-Finals (eventual champion: New Jersey Devils)
Goals: 207
Shots: 2,228
PIMs: 185
Home vs. Visitor: 5/3 in favor of home teams
OTs: 3
Average number of games per series: 5.125

2000-01 CQFs (eventual champion: Colorado Avalanche)
Goals: 212
Shots: 2,428
PIMs: 190
H vs. V: 4/4 tie
OTs: 14
GPS: 5.5

2001-02 CQFs (eventual champion: Detroit Redwings)
Goals: 217
Shots: 2,612
PIMs: 280
H vs. V: 6/2, home
OTs: 6
GPS: 5.875

2002-03 CQFs (eventual champion: New Jersey Devils)
Goals: 228
Shots: 2,745
PIMs: 235
H vs. V: 6/2, home
OTs: 18
GPS: 5.875

2003-04 CQFs (eventual champion: Tampa Bay Lightning)
Goals: 242
Shots: 2,620
PIMs: 50
H vs. V: 6/2, home
OTs: 14
GPS: 5.875

2005-06 CQFs (eventual champion: Carolina Hurricanes)
Goals: 259
Shots: 2,653
PIMs: 220
H vs. V: 3/5, visitor
OTs: 15
GPS: 5.5

2006-07 CQFs (eventual champion: Mighty Los Angeles Ducks of Anaheim)
Goals: 216
Shots: 2,576
PIMs: 420
H vs. V: 6/2, visitor
OTs: 11
GPS: 5.375

2007-08 CQFs (eventual champion: Detroit Redwings)
Goals: 256
Shots: 2,929
PIMs: 180
H vs. V: 5/3, home
OTs: 10
GPS: 6

2008-09 CQFs (eventual champion Pittsburgh Penguins)
Goals: 225
Shots: 2,723
PIMs: 405
H vs. V: 6/2, home
OTs: 6
GPS: 5.5
Come-from-behind wins: 13

2009-10 CQFs (eventual champion: Chicago Blackhawks)
Goals: 289
Shots: 3,103
PIMs: 245
H vs. V: 4/4 tie
OTs: 15
GPS: 6.125
CFBWs: 19

2010-11 CQFs
Goals: 287
Shots: 3,056
PIMs: 375
H vs. V: 6/2, home
OTs: 18
GPS: 6.125
CFBWs: 11

So, there’re those numbers. And really, I do know why I chose them. I thought we would see an interesting comparison between the five pre-lockout seasons, and the six since. I imagined that by reducing the size of goaltender pads, containing goalie puck play to the behind-the-net rhombus, and eliminating the two-line pass, that offensive production would be dramatically different, which is what the league wanted since, that’s what the other three major leagues do: The NFL has tailored offensive play to favor the passing game; In baseball, people want power hitting; and in the NBA, if you’re not dunkin’ and droppin’ threes, then you’re a nobody.

We did see goals scored go up and stay up, but not significantly. Shots gradually worked their way up to, and recently crested the 3,000 mark. PIMs have been all over the place. I thought once the Donald Brashears and the Ty Domis were gone from the game, we’d see them taper off, but guys are still getting after each other quite a bit in post-season play. Overtime periods have also been sporadic, but notably high this year and last. We learned that home-ice advantage is a factor: In seven of the 11 seasons examined, teams with the higher seed won. Only twice was there a tie. Number of games per series has sputtered around a bit, but, like shots, they crested a mark (six-plus) last year, and stayed there this year. Come-from-behind wins was an interesting stat to look at for two reasons: 1) The media always discuss come-from-behind series wins, but I wanted to look at it on a game-by-game basis, because 2) Often-times it seems that the club that scores first in a game hangs on to win, and this stat wanted to assess the validity of such a claim.

These numbers also made me think a lot about defense. It seemed that, in the earlier parts of the decade, defense was a massive factor in games and in series. You’d have lower numbers of shots on goal, and thus higher numbers of blocked shots, and even lower-scoring games. And to a degree, we do see that: more shots, more goals, and higher-scoring contests. What I don’t believe is that defensive units are softer, or that the pool of goaltending talent is smaller. I think these are the areas that the post-lockout rule changes have had an impact on, and that it’s better in every way imaginable for the game.
Enough on my own assessment of those numbers, though. There’s something to be said for analyzing your own collected data. There’s also something to be said about this year’s Stanley Cup Conference Quarter-Finals, and that is that it was probably the best opening round of playoff hockey I’ve seen in a long, long time.
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The HoG25: The 25 Best Relief Pitchers of the Last 25 Years, Part II

(Editor's Note: For reasons I still cannot figure out, the image-upload feature is not working at the moment, so we will update when this technical error has been corrected.)


We're back for the sequel to relievers, and if you're just tuning in, there're two important things to catch you up to speed. The first is Old No. 7's reliever dissertation, which I implore you to both read, and filter out the parts in which he's right, or at least pretends to be. The second is part one to this installment, which, I promise, makes for decent reading material when consumed in between aforementioned dissertation, and the post-leap sequel.

In this series, prior to relief pitchers, we've covered NFL quarterbacks, American cinema, baseball hitters, readin' books, starting pitchers, television shows, wide receivers. Join us with a click, for the top 10.

10. Roberto Hernandez

bankmeister: I’d like to say that being only one of 11 guys in Major League Baseball history to appear in 1000 games warrants one’s place on a list like this one. I’d also like to say that I’m hung like a Clydesdale, that you should just take my word for it, but that isn’t gonna sell any papers. This fine Puerto Rican specimen debuted in the Majors as a September call-up in the 1991 season, and he didn’t do much then, but he did enough of something to earn himself a roster spot for the Chicago White Sox the following year, and it was in that season that Roberto Hernandez won seven games, earned a dozen saves, and did so with a 1.65 E.R.A., which, I’d imagine, earned some scout a bonus. He also struck out 68 dudes and surrendered a mere four home runs.

He turned into quite a work horse for the Sox after that, earning himself his first of two All-Star appearances, and leading the league in games finished for three straight seasons. Hernandez turned in pretty solid save numbers for more than half a decade, but then he turned into something else: a bit of a whore.

That’s right. After leaving the Windy City, Roberto Hernandez became a sort of pre-Lima Time Jose Lima, if you will, minus, of course the big-chested wife, and the raging case of Herpes. After his impressive stint on the South Side, Hernandez tossed baseballs for the San Francisco Giants for a minute, then signed with the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, where his career saw a nice resurgence, and then, in 2001, Hernandez was part of a three-team trade. There are many aspects to the trade, but those worth mentioning involve the Kansas City Royals sending Johnny Damon to the Oakland A’s, the Oakland A’s sending Angel Berroa to the Kansas City Royals, and the Rays sending Hernandez to Kansas City. Hernandez would later become a Brave, a Phillie, a Met, a Pirate, a Met, and Indian, and alas, a Dodger.

Ultimately, I, as a Royals fan, should want to murder him for his affiliation with the Berroa-to-K.C. leg of that trade, but for the purposes of this feature, I must mention that he retired with 326 career saves, just under 1000 Ks, and an impressive 7.9 strikeouts-per-nine-innings-pitched ratio. Roberto Hernandez: colossal reliever, major asshole.

9. Tom Henke

Cecil: Tom Henke was an excellent closer. He powered the bullpen for the great Blue Jays teams of the mid-to-late ‘80s (remember them? No one in Canada does, either), striking out nearly 10 batters per 9 innings over the course of his career -- of course, he did that in small chunks, not 9 inning stretches, because he was a relief pitcher and all, so, uh, yeah -- and walked away from the game after a hell of a year with the Cardinals. But I remember him chiefly for his oversized novelty eyewear.

Alright, so, maybe he actually needed them to see, but still. Those things looked like the BCGs that Charlie Sheen’s character in Major League ended up wearing, like the goggles on one of those caricatures of Harry Caray. Was this some sort of bizarre intimidation technique? I’m thinking so. Major league hitters dug in against Henke and thought, fuck, not only does this guy throw pure cheese BUT THOSE GLASSES AAAAAHH. Ol’ Specs Henke* had the battle half won before he ever threw a pitch.

It clearly worked. Dude was a two-time All Star, won the Most Important Award Any Relief Pitcher Can Ever Win, Ever (Rolaids, bitches!) and played an integral role in bringing World Series glory to Toronto: his career postseason ERA is under 2, and he saved a pair of games in the ’92 classic. All, we’re sure, because of those terrifying cheaters.


*This is a nickname I just gave him.

8. John Franco

Cecil: Let’s get to brass tacks, here: John Franco was a hell of a pitcher, and one of the best closers of his generation, but what really stood out about his career was not any particular defining moment of brilliance, but rather the fact that he pitched until he was 89 years old and died on the mound in a night game against the Phillies, upon which sad event his withered, greasy corpse was buried under home plate at the old Shea Stadium (Note: this might be a blatant untruth.)

Before that, though, he was practically the definition of a workhorse, if you conveniently throw out all of the definitions involving actual horses doing physical labor. He played for the Mets for longer than any single human being should, from 1989 to 2004. No prima donna, the son of a New York Sanitation worker (thanks, internet!) wore an orange Sanitation Department t-shirt under his game uniform to honor his blue-collar roots and didn’t fuss when asked to switch to the set-up role he played for the last several years of his career.

Also: Saves, lots of them, R-O-L-A-I-D-S, World Series, All Stars, more than 1,000 games pitched, rinse, lather, repeat. If your last name isn’t Fingers, Gossage, Rivera, Sutter or Hoffman, your place on this list is largely irrelevant. Of note, however: I always figured that the dude wore a shark’s tooth necklace and wayyyyy too much Drakkar Noir.

7. Lee Smith

Cecil: First things first: I'm a fan of the Chicago Cubs baseball team. When I was a kid, my two favorite players were Ryne Sandberg and Lee Smith.

It may be hard to justify the fandom (I WAS BORN THERE YOU ASSHOLES AND THEY DIDN'T HAVE MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL IN COLORADO WHEN I WAS A LAD), but it's still there, even if it ebbs and flows these days, what with my thousand mile remove from the epicenter of Cubbery. I like the Rockies fine, and if I hadn't held on to those golden memories of youth and vitality so stubbornly I might count them as #1; but I did, and so I don't. And some of the goldenest of said memories are the ones featuring a glowering, Jheri-curled Lee Smith blowing 98 mph heat past humiliated batters.

I've heard people say that Lee belongs in the Hall--and despite my fandom, my initial reaction to that was always, I dunno, really? But then I looked at the numbers: Smith had 478 saves, good for third all-time (and I believe he was first when he retired), led the league in that category on four occasions, was a seven-time All-Star, finished in the top 5 of Cy Young voting three times and led in games finished thrice. Those are beyond solid--they're Gossage-esque. Certainly beyond any lame-ass Bruce Sutter territory. How'd that fucking guy get in, anyway?

Lee Smith was undoubtedly one of the very few best closers of the last 25 seasons. And yet, somehow, he was still traded for Calvin Schiraldi and Al Nipper. I hate you, Chicago Cubs.

(Editor's Note: It should be mentioned that our dear Cecil was so excited to write about Mr. Smith, that he did so twice.)

When I was a kid, my two favorite players were Ryne Sandberg and Lee Smith.

Given the fact that I've spent the majority of my life far, far away from the epicenter of Cubbery, I occasionally find it hard to justify the fandom to others (I WAS BORN THERE YOU ASSHOLES AND THEY DIDN'T HAVE MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL IN COLORADO WHEN I WAS A LAD). Yet it exists, even if it ebbs and flows these days, what with the Lou Piniella and the Carlos Zambrano and the century of crushing ineptitude. When I find myself growling in the corner over yet another failed campaign, I can always flip the memory dial back to 1987.

1987 was, like pretty much every year in Cubsville, sucky. I'm old now, and can't summon he suck-particulars the way I could have once, but you can go ahead and believe me. I think Don Zimmer was the manager. Or maybe he got fired before season's end? Can't remember. What I do remember: Andre Dawson's MVP season for a last-place team, the usual smooth criminal act at 2nd from Ryno and yet another dominant season for fireballing closer Lee Smith.

Smith was one of those guys that had the glower, the JuJu. And while he's got the stats, to be sure -- he held the all-time Saves record from '93 until 2006, when Trevor Hoffman passed him, led the NL twice and the AL once in that stat and, at the time of his retirement, owned the Major League career record for Games Finished -- the thing that this disillusioned former child recalls most is that ineffable Gossage-esque sense of menace. He stood 6'6", and with those big-ass sideburns and overflowing jheri curl, seemed to have walked through a door from the A's squads of the early '70s. His presence meant finality, a humiliating strikeout and, necessarily, a rare Cubs win. Naturally, he was traded soon after for Al Nipper and Calvin Schiraldi.

It's no accident that his greatest career successes came elsewhere. Pitching for the Cubs will do that to you. The fact that he's made this list at all is reflective of the mental toughness needed to shake off a tenure, particularly one as lengthy as Smith's, spent pitching in the House of Fail. For that yeoman's work we salute you, Mr. Smith. Even though you did give up that homer to Steve Garvey in the '84 NLCS. Asshole.

6. Dan Quisenberry

Cecil: You know what I love? Sidearmers. Submariners. Dudes who, for lack of a better term, get loowwww. Goofy-ass Kent Tekulve, for instance, in his meaty goggles, right arm nearly scraping the mound. Walter Johnson, the Big Train himself, had a little sidearm in him, as did Dennis Eckersley. Shunsuke Watanabe, Japan's "Mr. Sub-Marine," wears gloves to avoid bloodying his knuckles on the dirt. Of 'em all, though, no one ever captured my imagination like Dan Quisenberry.

Quis just looked goofy -- he and Tekulve both went way down south, much more so than most of their fellows, and there's pretty much no way you can make that severe of a pitching motion look pretty -- and always appeared to be diving sideways off the mound. But that unnatural effort, and the bucketsful of grounders that it produced, led to some impressive results.

For the first part of the '80s, Quis was arguably the best reliever in the bigs. He led the AL in saves five out of six years, from '80-'85, with a high of 45 in '83, which was also best in the Majors. He led both circuits in games finished four times, and topped the junior thrice in games pitched. He was durable, he was reliable, and he threw a funky, slow-moving ball that tied hitters into half-hitches.

As a kid in the backyard I used to practice throwing sidearm, far down as I could go, because even a sprat like myself could see the value in such unorthodoxy. Dan Quisenberry rode that funny-looking delivery all the way from the University of La Verne (!?!) to a World Series Championship and 244 career saves; my guess is he didn't really care how silly it looked.

5. Billy Wagner

bankmeister: As we move into the upper echelon of reliever artistry, it’s important to note that I don’t know the first thing about Billy Wagner. That is, I drafted him solely for his numbers, and am learning most everything about him just prior to writing it. That said, he played 14 of his 15 professional seasons in the National League, and debuted the season I pretty much quit paying attention to baseball for most of six years. But he’s due his honors, so here goes:

Wagner was a first-round pick by the Houston Astros, and he actually played for the team that drafted him, so winner-winner, chicken dinner. I like the guy already. Three hundred eighty-five saves? Criminy. That’s impressive. Wagner made six All-Star Games and was twice in the close running for a Cy Young Award. If you pitch in Major League Baseball and do so for 15 years, tally 833 innings of work, log nearly 1100 Ks, and keep your career earned-run average under 2.40, you deserve to be in the Hall-of-Fame discussions. One of the most impressive stats for Wagner, however, is his strikeouts-per-nine-innings pitched. Most dudes are around the high sevens and low eights. Wagner’s career average for this category lands at a swollen 11.8, which is nothing shy of tremendous. Hell, it’s Ken Tremendous. Add to that his home runs-per-nine-innings pitched, which is 0.8, and you’ve got yourself one heck of a pitcher.

After his stint with Houston, Wagner drifted in and out of the Phillies, Mets, and Red Sox organizations before finally winding up with the Atlanta Braves. His numbers are down, and hey – the kid’s been pitching professionally for a decade and-a-half. He’s nearly three years older than me, which is old, I tell ya’. Just ask Old No. 7 about being old; that dude’s like 49. Anyway, of course careers are going to taper, but for a small-framed guy that taught himself to throw South Paw when his natural style was righty, I like the guy. Billy Wagner: Future Cooperstown inductee.

4. Rich "Goose" Gossage

Cecil: There are a ton of historical factors that need to be weighed as part of any argument about the efficacy of closers -- saves didn't exist as an official stat until 1969, to begin with, and the firemen of previous eras were frequently asked to work two and three innings. Comparisons about who was best when are thus difficult and subject to the inclusion of (as you'll soon discover) personal favorites. So, when people tell me that Mariano Rivera is the greatest closer of all time, I only have two words for them: Goose Gossage.

Please don't cite me any of Rivera's stats. I've seen them. I'm no stat-suspicious baseball Luddite, either, so don't go all FJM on me. I have really only one cogent point, here, and even though I've already made it in my first graph, I'm about to do again because I think it's important and I need to take up some real estate in this post: Gossage was the most dominant closer in an era when closers had to do more. Rivera has made an entire career out of getting three -- and often, fewer -- outs. Sure, he's been great at it, but how good would Goose's numbers look if he'd spent his looooong career with that kinda workload?

Yes, yes, that's projection, and we must deal instead with cold, unforgiving reality. Fair enough. Goose's numbers by themselves are good enough to keep him in this argument: he led his league in saves three times (the majors, twice) but more impressively, the guy didn't finish with an ERA over 3 from 1977 through 1985, including a surreal 0.77 in '81. In '77, he struck out 151 batters in 133 innings. He won more games in relief than anyone not named Hoyt Wilhelm -- who, it should be mentioned, is one of the old school dudes who never benefited from the save, so his win totals are pretty high -- and finished his career second in career saves to Rollie Fingers. He recorded the out to clinch a division, league or Series title seven times. Until Rivera broke it, he held the record for most All-Star appearances as a reliever.

And he did it all pitching three, sometimes four times as long as the guy everyone anoints as the best evs. I call bullshit. You want Greatest, you go Goose.

3. Dennis Eckersley

bankmeister: I am still partially in shock that Old No. 7 is the proud son-in-law of that jersey-tuckin’ s.o.b. Dennis Eckersley, but I guess smaller things’ve surprised me. Eckersley is another one of those dudes that I associate with nationally televised (especially post-season) baseball, coming in out of the bullpen, and taking care of business. Dude never looked pretty, and his work wasn’t shiny, but boy did he, and it, deliver.

Having tried to tap into the well of memory, I’ve come up with two things: The first is that I was confused when, several years into my baseball-viewing life, Dennis Eckersley was suddenly coming out of the bullpen instead of starting games. As Dave Chapelle once never said, I didn’t know dudes could do that. The second thing was that I, for most of the 1980s, simply could not keep track of Dennis Eckersley. When I first saw his greezy self take the hill, he was a Red Sock. And then he seemed to disappear. I mean, I know he was still around; I simply lost him. But then, there he was again, appearing in Major League games, this time in an Oakland uniform. Then he was gone. And then he was a Red Sock again.

Couldn’t keep track. It’s worth mentioning that in those periods, he also logged time with the Cubs and the Cardinals, was originally an Indian, and, in fact, closed his career out in Boston. And some career it was. Though we’re focusing on relief efforts, it’s certainly noteworthy that, as a starter, Old No. 7’s father-in-law earned himself two All-Star-Game appearances, some Cy Young consideration, as well as some MVP chatter. He also won 197 games before making the transition, which, I might add, he was successful at to the tune of 390 career saves, good for sixth all-time if you’re keepin’ score at home.

As a closer, he earned himself four more All-Star appearances, and upped the frequency of Cy Young/MVP conversations, ultimately earning both in 1992. Eckersley struck out 2400 guys in his career, and that’s no small hill of beans. For the purposes of discussions of great pitchers, Dennis Eckersley definitely earned his place in the conversation. He may have demonstrated the strongest balance of starter/closer dominance of anyone in the game. He gets props for going the distance early, and points for closing contests out with fury in the second half of his career. For the purposes of this specific entry, he’s certainly top-three worthy. His stats might not be the prettiest out there, but that’s just fine, ‘cause across the board, I don’t think Dennis Eckersley was ever campaigning for style points.

2. Trevor Hoffman

Old No. 7: Like many, I lament the loss of the bullpen car. When I was a little kid watching NBC’s Game Of The Week, relievers were ferried from the bullpen to the mound in funny little cars shaped like baseballs, ballcaps or mascots. That bit of whimsy is long gone, and we now have to wait interminably while fat closers trudge in.

The upside is that closers now come on to a song, and they try to make it a badass one. At least they did try, until douchebags like Brian Wilson and Ryan Franklin forced us to listen to Nickelback. The best closer song, of course, is heard when Mariano Rivera comes into a game and “Enter Sandman” is played over the PA. It’s ominous, creepy and makes you want your blanky and nightlight.

Trevor Hoffman uses “Hell’s Bells,” which is pretty good. Nothing wrong with getting some AC/DC up in here. But it’s a blatant ripoff of Rivera, which is fitting, since playing second fiddle to Rivera is basically Hoffman’s lot in life.

Hoffman recorded his 600th save in 2010, and will almost certainly retire this offseason with 601, the all-time record. But Rivera has 559, and he’ll eclipse Hoffman in either 2011 or 2012. Anything Hoffman can do, Rivera can do better, which is far from the worst thing you can say about a guy. Shannon Sharpe is the second-best tight end to ever play the game, which means he wasn’t quite as good as Tony Gonzalez but still towers over everyone else at the position. And Hoffman’s career has simply been outrageously successful. Other than 2003, when he missed most of the year following two operations, he saved 30 or more games for the Padres from 1995 through 2008. He did it again for the Brewers in 2009. His last hurrah in Milwaukee was ugly, as he lost his job to John Axford and was given token appearances solely to get to 600. Then again, most great players’ careers do not end gracefully…(cough) Brett Favre.

Hoffman came into professional baseball as an infielder who had a good arm but couldn’t hit. He’s hardly the first guy with a story like this -- Troy Percival, Carlos Marmol and Keith Foulke were converted from catcher, Tim Wakefield was once a prospect at third base, and Rafael Soriano gave it a try in the outfield before sticking as a big league reliever. It seems like many of the converted position players who go on to pitch end up in the bullpen. Some have funky deliveries, weird pitches or a limited repertoire, and exposing them to a lineup only once per game is the best approach.

(Editor's Note: Having brought you from 25 on down to two, I'd guess that you've guessed who gets the one spot.)

1. Mariano Rivera

Old No. 7: I don’t know how else to say it: Mariano Rivera is simply the best relief pitcher of all time. By any measure, he is. If you want to go by bulk saves, he’s second to Trevor Hoffman and will certainly pass him in the next eight to 14 months. If you want to go by post-season success, Rivera is so far ahead of his competition it’s embarrassing to even point it out. He’s won five World Series, one as a setup man and four as a closer. His playoff numbers are disgusting: In 139 innings over 94 innings, he has a 0.71 ERA, 109 strikeouts against 21 walks, and he’s allowed two home runs.

By all of the traditional measures, he is the best. And if you dig on the sabermetrics even a tiny, weensy little bit, Rivera’s dominance is shocking. ERA+ is a terrific stat that encapsulates all aspects of a pitcher’s efficiency and weighs it against his league, historical era, and ballpark. Pedro Martinez has the second-highest in history at 154 (league average is set at 100, everyone over 100 is above average, everyone below is below), as Pedro put up fantastic numbers in hitters’ parks during an overwhelmingly offensive era. A few other Hall of Fame-level arms in the top 20 of ERA+ are Lefty Grove (148), Walter Johnson (147), Roger Clemens (143), Cy Young (138) and Roy Halladay (136).

Mariano Rivera’s ERA+ is 205, which is so much better than any other pitcher to have ever played the game, starter or reliever, that it looks stupid on the printed page.

You may not know or care about ERA+, and you may be skeptical about advanced metrics like it. That’s fine, I once was as well. But just look at the season-by-season destruction that Rivera has delivered to batters, good batters in a good division in a good league, for 15 years. Against baseball’s finest, throwing one pitch, he simply doesn’t allow anyone to make solid contact. He baffles and breaks bats, and he records out after out after out with greater efficiency than anyone who’s ever pitched.

And yet still, there are those who choose to disregard the greatness of Rivera and name someone else as the greatest of all time. Specifically, the two other writers on this blog prefer Goose Gossage. Now I’m not here to disparage these men, they’re my friends and I love them and doing that would make me a major dick. I do question their reasoning here, though, because they’d like you to believe that Goose was better than Rivera because his saves came while pitching multiple innings. Meanwhile Rivera (and every closer in this day and age) starts work only in the ninth, and only with the bases free of hostile combatants.

It’s true that Gossage and Rivera have operated under different working conditions. Closers in Goose’s day were asked to get more than three outs (although Goose had plenty of saves that were three outs or less), and closers today are almost never asked the same, except in the playoffs and must-win games (although Rivera is the modern exception, he notched five saves of more than three outs in 2010 while no other closer had more than one).

To my comrades, this difference in expectations makes Goose tougher and therefore better. I’m not sure if I buy “tougher,” but for the sake of argument I’ll concede it. As he’s reminded us in every single public appearance for the last 20 years, a campaign that finally led to Goose’s enshrinement in Cooperstown, Goose was one tough son-of-a-bitch. Look at the game log from his 1975 season with the White Sox. Goose threw 141 innings, which is double what closers throw today. He’d come in to games in the third and fourth inning and close them out. Of his 26 saves that year, only seven met the modern condition of recording three outs or less, while 12 required seven outs or more. This is truly epic, laudable, and it started the legend of Goose Gossage.

The problem is, for all Goose’s toughness, he simply wasn’t as good a pitcher as Rivera. His ERA was three-quarters of a run higher, his WHIP far higher (1.23 to 1.00), his K/9 rate lower (7.5 to 8.2), his K/BB rate lower as well (2.05 to 3.94). By every measure you can find, every tangible statistic, Rivera is superior.

Which is where Goose’s mythical toughness is inserted into the argument, as an intangible trump card of subjectivity. Rivera’s numbers were created in a vacuum, he couldn’t handle the crucible in which Goose thrived. Goose would have pitched just as well as Rivera throwing one inning at a time, if not better. And Rivera would have wilted if asked to pitch like Goose did. This is the argument.

The problem with this is that it just doesn’t hold up under scrutiny. Look at Goose’s numbers again. As his career went on, he was asked to go more than two innings less and less -- BECAUSE HE WAS FAR LESS EFFECTIVE WHEN HE DID. Tough as he was, Goose still got tired and wore down, and having him throw multiple innings each outing was simply bad for business.

Goose’s last year as a top closer was 1986, when he played for the Padres. He saved 21 games that year, and in only nine did he record three or fewer outs. Same old tough Goose. But what’s telling is that he was not asked to get more than six outs once. His manager knew that doing so hurt the team, and that the less Goose threw the better he was. Goose had proven his toughness, but he was dramatically less effective at the limits of his endurance, as we all are.

Beyond that, saying that modern players can not be compared to their forefathers on the grounds of toughness means that the old-time players can never be topped. Forget the luxury of only pitching the ninth -- that’s nothing compared to air travel in chartered jets, advanced medical science, state-of-the-art stadiums and clubhouses, and how easy it is to score pussy on the road with cell phones, the Internet and Twitter. Of course today’s players have it easier and aren’t as tough, that doesn’t mean a great player today is automatically inferior to a great player from yesteryear. You can indeed compare Albert Pujols to Stan Musial, no matter how soft you think Pujols is in relation to Stan The Man. Aaron, Mays, and Gibson had it made compared to black players in the '20s and '30s (as they were allowed to play in the bigs), we don’t downgrade their greatness due to the comparative ease in which they lived.

And there you have it, boys and girls. The 25 best relief pitchers of the last 25 years. Or so say we anyway. We've got three categories left in this installment. No tellin' when we'll get 'em up, but by Jove, we'll get 'em up.

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The Kansas City Royals HiV LOB, Most of July and August

I made a trip to the renovated Arrowhead Stadium Saturday evening, and it poured, and the Chiefs lost to the flippin' Houston Texans. And that's fine with me because it means baseball season is almost over. I say that with a taste of expectations on the tongue, not for my 2009 football team, but for those I once had for this Royals campaign. In sum, great start, which was really great because the Royals typically play awful baseball in April. But, in early May, they were still in first place in the A.L. Central, and then everything went to complete shit. Portions of the best rotation this club had seen in 15 years ailed and crumbled. The usual injury bug bit off its fair share, and then Dayton Moore, the General Manager who was supposed to be taking KC ball back to the post-season, started making bizarre moves, today's Alex Gordon demotion merely the most recent.

There're two aspects to the move: 1) The Royals need 21 days of Gordon-free service to buy themselves another year before he can become a free agent, and 2) the fact that The Professor is the guy coming up in is place. Regarding part one, the author of this fine blog said today on the SportsTalk Radios that the Royals were "Wal-Marting Gordon," or making a cheap, disgraceful move, that one might expect of a lowest-tier, pathetic ball club. He added that "baseball folks everywhere are laughing at the Royals." Ouch, and ouch. Now, Gordon's once Crown-Vision-high expectations have floated down to Dri-Duck-seat level, and frankly, I wouldn't know what to do with him at this point either. If Moore wants to buy some time, a la his move with Luke Hochevar a few months ago, I'm all for it. It basically implies that the tools for success, the need to "believe in the process," as he frequently says, are all down in the minors, and likely not even Triple-A Omaha. The second part is just simply the fact that the exchange was Gordon for Farnsworth, which is just a damn embarassing headline.

I digressed before I even began. The purpose of the HiV LOB -- Hits vs Left On Base -- was meant to explore how these Royals, back when the expectations were high, could move from wildcard status to legitimate division contender in, say, late August and September of this year. That is, I envisioned stranding fewer base runners to be the key to getting those few missed-out-on wins that would become crucial to the post-season push. A 46-72 record, however, means that stranding base runners doesn't matter; there's a much larger piece missing to this pie of success. We will continue, nonetheless, to, at minimum, post the numbers of the feature, and likely never take on such a grueling, meaningless project, ever again.

Early, Middle, and Late July

7/6 @ DET: 3-4 (W); nine hits, seven left aboard
7/7 @ DET: 5-8 (L); 10 hits, six stranded
7/8 @ DET: 5-8 (L); 10 hits, eight left on
7/9 @ BOS: 8-6 (W); 13 hits, seven unscored
7/10 @ BOS: 0-1 (L); four hits, five stranded
7/11 @ BOS: 9-15 (L); 13 hits, nine left on
7/12 @ BOS: 0-6 (L); three hits, three left
7/17 vs TAM: 8-7 (L); 13 hits, seven stranded
7/18 vs TAM: 4-2 (L); five hits, seven left aboard
7/19 vs TAM: 4-3 (L); 11 hits, 13 left hangin'
7/21 vs LAA: 8-5 (L); nine hits, eight unscored
7/21 vs LAA: 2-10 (L); six hits, seven stranded
7/22 vs LAA: 9-6 (L); 11 hits, seven stranded
7/24 vs TEX: 2-0 (L); five hits, six left on
7/25 vs TEX: 3-6 (W); 11 hits, eight stranded
7/26 vs TEX: 7-2 (L); four hits, six left on
7/27 @ BAL: 5-3 (W); 14 hits, 12 abandoned
7/28 @ BAL: 4-3 (W); 10 hits, seven left on base
7/29 @ BAL: 3-7 (L); nine hits, five stranded
7/30 @ TAM: 3-7 (L); 10 hits, nine unscored
7/31 @ TAM: 0-2 (L); five hits, six left on

Totals for this period: 198 hits, 86 runs scored, 153 runners stranded, which means nothing, since we've not looked at groups this large so far this season.

Early-Mid August

8/1 @ TAM: 1-7 (L); five hits, three stranded
8/2 @ TAM: 4-1 (W); five hits, five left
8/3 @ TAM: 4-10 (L); 10 hits, seven unscored
8/4 vs SEA: 7-6 (L); 11 hits, nine abandoned
8/5 vs SEA: 11-6 (L); 12 hits, 11 runners left
8/6 vs SEA: 2-8 (W); nine hits, four left
8/7 vs OAK: 9-4 (L); 14 hits, 12 stranded
8/8 vs OAK: 5-12 (W); 17 hits, seven left on
8/9 vs OAK: 6-3 (L); nine hits, six abandoned
8/11 @ MIN: 14-6 (W); 18 hits, 11 left on base
8/12 @ MIN: 1-7 (L); four hits, four left
8/13 @ MIN: 5-4 (W); eight hits, five stranded
8/14 @ DET: 0-1 (L); three hits, four abandoned
8/15 @ DET: 3-10 (L); nine hits, six left aboard
8/16 @ DET: 3-2 (W); five hits, eight forgotten
8/17 @ CWS: 7-8 (L); 10 hits, five stranded

Totals for this period: 121 hits, 81 runs scored, 107 runners left on base, which also means nothing as far as this chunk of a month.

On the season, however, are numbers look like this: 998 hits, 500 runs scored, and 930 runners left on base. (Editor's Note: Major League Baseball disagrees with these numbers; they show 1,017 hits for and 477 runs scored by the Royals, which shows two things: 1) I'm terrible at math, but that's nothing new. 2) The point of this season-long examination is slightly worse than I had miscalculated. That is, the official stats show that KC has more hits than I'd tallied, as well as fewer runs scored than my abacus revealed. And in case that doesn't spell it out for you: The Royals score even fewer of their base runners than my numbers intended to accidentally lie about.)

Truth of the matter, however, is that Kansas City is, through last night's game, seven runs ahead of Oakland for plating the fewest in the American League. Their hit total leaves them in dead last, four fewer than second-to-last-place Detroit (?). Then there are walks. I show them with 327 BBs; MLB says 326. Tomato, toe-mah-tow. Guess where that lands them: nine more than last-place Seattle.

There's really nothing more to say about the team or the numbers. I'm just excited to be nearing the home stretch of this torturous feature. Good day.

(Update: Rany Jazayerli, arguably Moore's biggest critic, has weighed in on the Gordon move. And he likes it.)
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The Kansas City Royals HiV LOB, Weeks 12 & 13

When I first began the crunching of the numbers, I anticipated having a thing or two to point to in the moments of the long season that weren't exactly going right. Now, this is Royals baseball, and Kansas City baseball fans know far too well that anything can happen, I just didn't anticipate that most everything would happen. We're but one week away from the mid-point, though, and things are a few losses away from miserable. We'll have a look at the typical stats for this feature after the jump, and because we're into self-loathing, we've even thrown in an extra gem. You know, if you're into that sort of thing. Your hits versus left-ons, a click away.

Week 12

6/23 @ HOU: 2-1 (W); six hits, six left on
6/24 @ HOU: 4-3 (W); 12 hits, 12 stranded
6/25 @ HOU: 4-5 (L); six hits, five left on
6/26 @ PIT: 3-5 (L); seven hits, five left
6/27 @ PIT: 2-6 (L); seven hits, four left
6/28 @ PIT: 3-2 (W); eight hits, five left

Totals for the week: 46 hits, 18 runs scored, 37 base runners stranded.

Not very good. And really, the thing about closing out this four-week period is primarily hitting. It's just not happening enough. Not anywhere near enough. Plopping one double-digit hits game in the mix of a six-game spread in which you have six-eight base hits an evening isn't even going to win you a 'Well, but.' Now, the fact that you took your runs scored, and more than doubled that number with the number of guys left on the base paths is just plain ridiculous. The other factor to consider, since it's the close of the period, is walks.

In the second period of the season, the Royals generated 77 walks. That's 12 fewer than in the first segment, which isn't awful, but it's not good, either. What, then, would you say is awful? The Royals drew 50 walks in this, the third four-week period of the season. Fifty. As you might imagine, their 216 BBs on the season is second-to-last in the American League, a mere cat hair ahead of the Seattle Mariners, who, for the record, have some 35 more hits, and a slight edge in runs, over the Royals. For hit totals in the league, the Royals are also one mark from the bottom, just over Oakland. When it comes to runs scored, they're dead last, looking up at the A's, the Mariners, and, obviously, everyone else.

So, in essence, there isn't much reason to examine the hits versus the stranded runners, because if you're not hitting yourself on base better than anyone, and everyone is better than you at getting aboard via walks, then what's the point of examining your ability to get guys home? You don't have guys to bring home. The few that you do, you're leaving out there, more or less.

Week 13

6/29 vs MIN: 2-4 (W); 12 hits, 12 stranded
6/30 vs MIN: 2-1 (L); eight hits, nine left
7/1 vs MIN: 1-5 (L); 12 hits, nine left
7/2 vs CWS: 1-4 (L); six hits, two left on
7/3 vs CWS: 0-5 (L); six hits, six left on
7/4 vs CWS: 2-4 (W); seven hits, four left
7/5 vs CWS: 3-6 (W); 14 hits, nine left

Totals for the week: 65 hits, 29 runs, 51 left on. The good news (sort of) is that the Royals fell only one game shy of making the two-week run a .500 affair. For the season, however, things still look grim in the standings, and things aren't looking much better in terms of the total numbers that we analyze in this feature. They are, at this point, as so: 679 hits, 333 runs plated, and 670 left aboard. That last figure averages out to 8.375 men left on base per game.

I think I've said it before, but the second two numbers should elevate a bit when the first one does, and week 13 was no exception for KC. It goes without saying that the trifecta of good hitting, good pitching, and good defense will bring you success in baseball. The Royals pitching staff has been inconsistent; when the rotation's decent, the bullpen struggles, and vice versa. Defensively, this team has, at times in 2009, toyed with ineptness. This leaves hitting, which, we've already noted, has been sub-par at best. That means that getting runs home, on the few occasions when you do have base runners, is absolutely crucial.

In conclusion, your (to date) American League left-on-base percentages:

1) Los Anaheim: .6718
2) Tampa Bay : .6869
3) Cleveland : .7003
4) Boston : .7062
5) Detroit : .7069
6) Texas : .7107
7) Baltimore : .7133
8) New York : .7134
9) Oakland : .7172
10) Minnesota : .7191
11) Toronto : .7192
12) KC Royals : .7343
13) White Sox : .7359
14) Seattle : .7496

No surprise there, that the two best small-ball clubs in the Angels and the Rays leave fewer runners on the bags than anyone. The White Sox are a bit of a surprise there, but Kansas City is not. They're only .054 percentage points away from being the league's worst LOB club.
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The Kansas City Royals HiV LOB, Sinister Week Six

When we checked in with the HiV LOB last week, things weren't looking good, and depending on your perspective of the half-glass of water, things could slightly improve, or get ugly quick. While week five wound up a four-win/three-loss week, that barely-above-.500 mark leaves no room for error, and in my estimation, you're actually heading into the next week from a somewhat-negative standpoint when you averaged eight and-a-half left on in the seven-game stretch. Add to that that the week wrapped up with the first season's sweep (courtesy of LAA) and went straight into another one to kick off the following week (a two-game set with OAK). The result? A four-loss/two-win week six. We'll examine a few of the numbers on the other side of that pesky "Read More" link.

Week Six

5/12 @ OAK: 3-12 (L); 10 hits, eight left on
5/13 @ OAK: 2-7 (L); four hits, eight left on
5/14 vs BAL: 5-9 (L); 12 hits, 12 left on
5/15 vs BAL: 1-8 (W); 13 hits, 10 left on
5/16 vs BAL: 2-3 (L); seven hits, 13 left on
5/17 vs BAL: 4-7 (W); nine hits, 17 left on

The sums for the week: 55 hits, 27 runs scored, and a (for consecutive weeks now) season-high 68 base runners stranded. I suppose in some sense, the rise and fall of these numbers go hand in hand. That is, the fewer the hits means the fewer the runs, and thus a higher potential for guys left on base. But it's not a certainty.

Compared with last week, the Royals managed nine fewer hits, a mere four fewer runs, and stranded eight more runners. So pardon the cliche, but something's gotta give. I'm not sure if it's being more aggressive with your speed, or better situational hitting, or a combination of the two, but leaving nearly 70 guys on the line in a six-game week is flat out unacceptable. There's also the oft-chatted-up X-factor of the lineup juggling, which is fascinating, really.

Take the Royals catching platoon for example. John Buck always catches Gil Meche, and Miguel Olivo always catches Zack Greinke. It was announced in the off-season that Olivo would be the starter, and he has been, which basically leaves Buck to catch Greinke, and then the day-game-that-follows-a-night-game duty (Editor's Note: Sometimes referred to in the English language as Sunday.) behind the plate. Now, Olivo was all fired up last year about playing time. Olivo hit .255 with 12 home runs and 41 RsBI in 2008; he slugged .444 and had an on-base percentage of .278. Buck, on the other hand, hit .224 with nine homers and 48 runs driven in; he slugged .365 with an OBP of .304. There are two key differences between the two guys in determining who gets the starting job though, and they are 1) Buck played in 25 more games than Olivo, and 2) Buck had 24 assists to Olivo's 32. So the batting figures either favor Olivo, or are a wash, and Olivo clearly has the better arm at gunning down attempted base thiefs, so you give him the job, and consider Buck as the occasional DH or PH on his nights off.

Catcher or no, you're still left with eight hitting slots to figure out. Do you stay traditional and keep your speed at the top of the order and follow them up with your measty sticks? Or do you mix it up depending on who's hitting well at the moment and who's not? It's all kind of a mind scramble either way, but to get back to the point of this feature, there has to be a way to get these guys producing offensively. There are, as it stands right at this moment, two guys on the roster hitting .300 or better, and one of them is Willie Bloomquist. That'd be the Willie Bloomquist that last year's awful Seattle club let go, the Bloomquist that was supposed to be a fill-in utility guy, the guy that has only 75 at bats on the season. The other guy is Alberto "Baby-Throwing Doubles Machine" Callaspo.

A few hitters are toying with the notion: Mark Teahen's at .279, Billy Butler's at .283, and Jose Guillen sits at .299. The rest of these guys are floating around the middle .200s range, and that's not gonna cut it. For the season, the Royals have 323 hits, they've crossed home 177 times, and hung a solid 298 runners out on the line to dry. The simple answer is more hits and more hits consistently. Easier said than done. The complexity in it is keeping your second baseman's bat nice, warm, and in the lineup everyday, while you try to get everyone not named Alberto Callaspo to simply produce more. And it's gotta change quick because the Royals are nearing the place where their LOB numbers are doubling their runs scored.
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