The Baseball Theorem of Relativity

In 1915, Albert Einstein formalized and published his general theory of relatively. The theory posits that nearly everything in the universe is relative to its speed and the speed of light. One of the suppositions of the theory is that the faster we travel, the shorter units of length become and the slower the measurement of time becomes. In other words, if we employ some alien technology to whiz about the universe for 10 years at near-light speed, we will return to earth to find 35 years have passed in our absence.

This has actually been proven in various circumstances, where unstable particles that should have died have remained extant because of their speed relative to light. In this same way, baseball teams win their divisions and reach the playoffs and win the World Series despite their burden of imperfections; their seasons remain extant despite their weaknesses.

As the old proverb of relativity goes: When fleeing a ravenous cheetah, do not worry about outrunning the cheetah, focus on outrunning your loved ones.

In the world of baseball, everything is relative to the other teams. In daily watching only one team play, we fans tend to forget this element of baseball; we instead focus on either the stars or -- as the playoffs approach -- the black holes. Pessimist fans, of which I am likely one, tend to think about the sagging offensive production of the shortstop, or the dismal play of the bullpen, or the regrettably unenthusiastic pantomimes of the mascot.

"Trade for a lefty!" we yell at our television set. "Hit the stupid ball," we groan, slapping our already reddened forehead. "That's not how you moonwalk!" we proclaim, hurling a sleeve of popcorn at the roof of the dugout.

But little do we realize that our minute ritual of self-torture is being mimicked all across the nation by likewise fans wearing similar laundry, but with different colors. Sports fans in general struggle at being aware of the plights of other teams -- if this was not the case, we would not offer season previews to remind us: "Oh, that's right, the Royals are pretty terrible. At everything."

Yes, in baseball, we need only outrun either the Red Sox or the Yankees. This delightful situation allows us -- and many other teams in similar situations -- to permit certain positions to fester in mediocrity. Let us examine the rosters of the last four American League champions.

1. the 2009 New York Yankees

 

This offense was nothing at which to sniff. Their team on-base plus slugging (OPS) was a considerable 22% above league average (122 OPS+). In ~6000 PAs, they hit a full Lou Whitaker of home runs: 244 (something which took Lou Whitaker 9000 ~PAs). They ranked first in the league in on-base percentage (OBP), slugging percentage (SLG), and homers. They also were mid-way up the charts in steals, ranking 7th.

What about their pitching and defense?

 

Gaspings! An earned run average (ERA) only 1% above the league?! This preposterous!

Because ERA is not an entirely defensive independent metric, it lumps together the effects of defense and pitcher to present us a more results-based representation of talent. It is useful in examining history -- holistically more so than specifically.

In other words, the Yankees dominated in creating runs, but they were just average in preventing them. That is correct: AVERAGE in a CHAMPION. Interestingly, league average was good enough for 3rd best ERA in the AL. Relativity, my friends. Relativity.

But what about our precious 2008 Rays, who staved off a morbid history and pitiless expectations to surprise the world? How does that near-championship roster appear now?

2. the 2008 Tampa Bay Rays

Fascinatingly average. Our offense that year was focused around: Carlos Pena, Evan Longoria, and pilfering bases -- in which we led the league. Outside of those three components, we were well below league average.

 

Despite the 34 inning Gary Glover Experience, our pitching was excellent, good enough for 16% above average. Not what I would particularly expect from an AL champion, but sufficient to be relatively the greatest.

What about the World Series Champion Boston Red Sox of 2007?

3. the 2007 Boston Red Sox

 

Their OPS was 7% average -- not shocking, but pretty good. Considering that much of that came on the merit of their OBP, which OPS undervalues, that 7% may more closely be 10% in real terms.

 

Wow! That's some sweet pitching and defense! In 2007, the Red Sox led the AL in ERA and was 2nd in OPS -- despite being only 7% above average.

The year before, the Detroit Tigers sold their souls to win somehow won the World Series AL Championship. How does their roster compare?

4. the 2006 Detroit Tigers

 

Laughably below average! Shame on them for giving Neifi Perez 70 PAs! I wonder how many Tigers fans tossed in their lazy-boys, crying to the sky, "Is this what we've come to!?" when they saw Perez's name etched onto a starting lineup? (Trick question. There are no Tigers fans.)

 

Clearly this team survived on the merit of their pitching and defense. They led the AL in ERA, but finish squarely in Average Town with an OPS (7th of 14).

So how does our team compare relative to its league? Is it good enough to make an imprint? Well, with the playoffs nearly in our pocket, I think that question has long been answered. But before we continue our endless Pat Burrell and Lance Cormier groanings, let us remember the lessons of relativity.

5. the 2010 Tampa Bay Rays

 

 

Despite our average offense (1% above average actually) and our slightly above average pitching and defense (10% above), we are second in the league in ERA. Granted, ERA is as predictive of future events as my underwear color predicts the weather -- neither does either -- but ERA does tell us how our results thus far have been. And frankly, being 10% above average -- if it gives us the 2nd best results -- is more than enough to do anything we can desire.

The teams we have just reviewed are teams that neither proved overwhelming nor lackluster. But they proved effective enough relative to their competition. In fact, our flawed playoff system awarded them AL and sometimes MLB championship titles.

Despite their titles, though, each one had either a major, glaring weakness, or an element of relative weakness (the Red Sox gave career Julian "6.00 FIP" Taverez 23 starts?!). In the long run, these weaknesses did not have any ultimate bearing on their season -- these teams had just the appropriate strength relative to their competition to succeed in the most supreme levels.

In that light, it is more clear the we can assert this truth: Championship teams conglomerate the performances of above average as well as average talent. It is not a shame to trot out Jason Bartlett or Lance Cormier. These players are at worst average, which may prove just enough.

Though we may demand and expect perfection from our team, we must understand that no team can attain that. Instead we must examine our team through the context of relativity. And relatively speaking, these Rays are very good.