It seems that I will have some very exciting news to share soon, but for now, I will keep you in suspense.
Today, I wish to bore you by writing about sabermetrics and how they could be applied to the great northern game of hockey. What do you mean that only 20% of the best teams actually play in Canada? What percentage of all NHL players in history were born in the Southern hemisphere? What percentage received their hockey training down there? It's a Northern game.
Sabermetrics, is the term coined by any advances to the statistical research in baseball, as made by the group named SABR (The Society for American Baseball Research.) As stated in their home page, "Our mission is to foster the study of baseball past and present, and to provide an outlet for educational, historical and research information about the game."
While one may not always agree with the results, I feel that the process is even more important and should be watched by other avenues to further their understandings of their own industries. There should always be room to question the perceived norms of any industry and to try to understand more about what you do and why you are doing it.
Sticking with the baseball beginnings of this segment, last summer I was planning with a very close friend to attend a baseball game. A few days before the game, I was visiting him and his wife and he mentioned how excited he was to be going to the game with me, as I understand baseball better than most and he could learn more about the game by my side. I was touched, but decided to qualify his own knowledge before setting out. Basically, I told him that baseball knowledge can be given three distinct levels of understanding. The first, most basic level of understanding would be the casual spectator who knows what an RBI is and how that measurement is counted. The second level of understanding, and probably the median for most fans of the game, is in knowing who is leading the league in RBIs at any given moment. The third, higher level of baseball understanding comes with the knowledge that the RBI is essentially a meaningless statistic.
With that in mind, let's move on to hockey. Over the last few years, living in Israel, I have been almost completely isolated from the game I grew up with. Short of knowing which teams won the Stanley Cups, I was clueless.
I have always felt that hockey statistics had done a poor job of measuring what was happening in the game and were not able to tell the story as neatly as a baseball box score did. Of course, as most of my baseball research has occurred in the time I was away from hockey, my thoughts were never crystallized. The only measurement I could pinpoint that was wrong and had a method for correcting was team efficiency with the power play (it works on the defensive side as well.)
Generally speaking, under the scoring and penalty minute keeping of a hockey game, would be the power play efficiency ratio. In the form of a fraction. The team may have gone 1/5 on the power play. This means that they were a man (or more) up five times (for an unspecified period of time) and they scored a goal in one of those occasions. What does that tell me? Next to nothing. Lets say that in a given game, two teams (for our purposes, the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Montreal Canadiens) both were 1/5 on the power play. Does that mean that they were even with the advantage? Not nearly.
The majority of penalties are for a duration of 2 minutes of game time. Some penalties are of the 5 minute variety, but in most cases, they are given out for fighting and to one member of each team, thereby negating any potential advantage. So if each team was 1/5 on the power play, that would mean that they each scored one goal in the space of up to ten minutes. Knowing that the penalized player can return to the ice when a goal is scored, the power play is shorter when the advantaged team succeeds. Therefore, a successful power play is a shorter power play.
Sometimes, such as when the team with the advantage loses one of their own players to penalty, the power play is negated. This shorter power play is not successful, but it still counts. Why not simply count a team's power play efficiency by how many goals they sored for the amount of time they had the advantage, instead of how many times (regardless of how long each time was)? I believe that this would give us a much better idea of which teams were better on the power play and which teams killed penalties better - and by how much.
To this end, in the upcoming season, I will track a number of teams, game by game for power play and penalty killing efficiency to see how they stack up to the standard measurements. I'll keep you posted.
Until then,
I remain,
Ryan
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
Shiva, AKA: Mi Ohev Otakh Yoter MiMeni
Shiva is a word derived from the Hebrew words Sheva (meaning seven) and LaShevet (the infinitive of the verb to sit.
It is the word given to the period that the immediate family of the deceased must spend in mourning.
Some aspects of the formal mourning include wearing a torn garment, symbolizing the rending of lives; Sitting in an uncomfortable seat, so as not to forget the connection between physical and spiritual pain; Hearty eating amongst family and friends as life must indeed go on.
The door of the home should remain open for the constant stream of well-wishers, there to help the mourner(s) accept the event.
The mourning period lasts for seven days following the funeral.
I won't go into the details regarding traditional prayers, as I understand those even less than I do the other symbols of mourning. By nature, I am not an overly spiritual person. At least, not in the religious sense.
Shiva is being held in my parents' home this week, following the passing of Rachel Gruber, nee Neugebauer, nee Yucha, who passed away last Saturday (August 18, 2007) in Israel, succumbing to a lengthy battle with breast cancer.
Even as she struggled over the years, everyone remembers my grandmother as a woman with an extremely sharp intellect and sense of humour.
Over the last few months, as her energy was dulling rapidly, I mourned.
I remember this past Spring, riding in the back seat of my Aunt's car in Israel, with my grandmother in front, singing along to a new song that caught her fancy.
She especially liked the chorus, that she belted each time it came up. She sang "Mi Ohev Otakh Yoter MiMeni." Who loves you more than I do?
I think most everyone who knew her could have sung that song for her.
She was interred yesterday in the communal cemetery of Kibbutz Shfayim hard by the Mediterranean coast, around 30 minutes drive north of Tel Aviv. She was buried next to her brother, who lost his life over 70 years ago while patrolling the Kibbutz on the lookout for potential trespassers.
"Mi Ohev Otakh Yoter Mimenu?" Who loves you more than we do?
We miss you.
It is the word given to the period that the immediate family of the deceased must spend in mourning.
Some aspects of the formal mourning include wearing a torn garment, symbolizing the rending of lives; Sitting in an uncomfortable seat, so as not to forget the connection between physical and spiritual pain; Hearty eating amongst family and friends as life must indeed go on.
The door of the home should remain open for the constant stream of well-wishers, there to help the mourner(s) accept the event.
The mourning period lasts for seven days following the funeral.
I won't go into the details regarding traditional prayers, as I understand those even less than I do the other symbols of mourning. By nature, I am not an overly spiritual person. At least, not in the religious sense.
Shiva is being held in my parents' home this week, following the passing of Rachel Gruber, nee Neugebauer, nee Yucha, who passed away last Saturday (August 18, 2007) in Israel, succumbing to a lengthy battle with breast cancer.
Even as she struggled over the years, everyone remembers my grandmother as a woman with an extremely sharp intellect and sense of humour.
Over the last few months, as her energy was dulling rapidly, I mourned.
I remember this past Spring, riding in the back seat of my Aunt's car in Israel, with my grandmother in front, singing along to a new song that caught her fancy.
She especially liked the chorus, that she belted each time it came up. She sang "Mi Ohev Otakh Yoter MiMeni." Who loves you more than I do?
I think most everyone who knew her could have sung that song for her.
She was interred yesterday in the communal cemetery of Kibbutz Shfayim hard by the Mediterranean coast, around 30 minutes drive north of Tel Aviv. She was buried next to her brother, who lost his life over 70 years ago while patrolling the Kibbutz on the lookout for potential trespassers.
"Mi Ohev Otakh Yoter Mimenu?" Who loves you more than we do?
We miss you.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
A Quick Question
Late yesterday afternoon, I was walking with Maya in a trail very close
to my parents' house. Very green. Providing a hint at what Toronto
might have looked like 600 years ago.
The trail was remarkably clean once we got more than 100 yards from the road. However, within those 100 yards as an embarrassing abundance of trash. And like most trash, this trash was branded. Brands such as "Tim Horton's" and "McDonald's".
So my question is: What percentage of the world's garbage has been produced by McDonald's?
Follow-up discussion item: Maybe it is time the big brand chains stopped putting
their brand everywhere, if a quick scan of our trash heaps shows more
than a passing resemblance to our shopping malls.
to my parents' house. Very green. Providing a hint at what Toronto
might have looked like 600 years ago.
The trail was remarkably clean once we got more than 100 yards from the road. However, within those 100 yards as an embarrassing abundance of trash. And like most trash, this trash was branded. Brands such as "Tim Horton's" and "McDonald's".
So my question is: What percentage of the world's garbage has been produced by McDonald's?
Follow-up discussion item: Maybe it is time the big brand chains stopped putting
their brand everywhere, if a quick scan of our trash heaps shows more
than a passing resemblance to our shopping malls.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
The Baseball Blog
My recent absence from the blogging sphere has a number of reasons, some of which include baseball.
Those who know me know that I hold the game of baseball to be very dear to me and that, if asked, I will always be able to come up with something of interest and insight into the game and its history.
Many of you, even non-baseball fans, will be aware of the recent historical moment in the game; Barry Bonds breaking the all time home run record. He actually made the front page (a 3/4 page photo) of the Toronto Sun. This was big news.
There are many who are concerned about the implications of such a sacred record being held by a man enshrouded in the clouds of PED suspicion. They say the record is tainted. And if this most hallowed of records is tainted, well, then the whole game, the whole institution of baseball is threatened.
Bullshit.
Barry Bonds is on the front page of a Canadian newspaper. He was not playing a Canadian team (I know the Nationals used to play in Montreal, but that doesn't count), his accomplishment had no local flavour. I suppose he may have hit one or two of his now 757 against a Blue Jay pitcher, but not recently. Was it a slow news day? Possibly. Does this make great copy? Possibly. Is the question boring, dated and inconclusive? Probably. Most definitely. Whatever entered the body of Barry Bonds or other baseball players, professional athletes or private individuals, he did what no one else could do before him. He hit more home runs in his Major League Baseball career than anyone. Ever. For now.
There are those who profess to already waiting eagerly for Alex Rodriguez or Albert Pujols or someone else to break this record in 7, 8, 15 years. I think there is a good chance that will happen.
There are those who claim that Babe Ruth's old record of 714 was tainted for his not having had to compete against black baseball players. As if that was his fault. As if any MLB player before 1948 had to. Still, with that helpful push, no one neared his record until Hank Aaron climbed that mountain in the 70s.
Today, many people praise Aaron (and justifiably so) for managing not only to hit 755 home runs in is marvellous career, but also for his having done so under the ever present threat of the racist fans who could not bear the thought of a black man topping the immortal, the white, Babe Ruth. In continuing to provide round souvenirs for bleacher occupants, Aaron showed remarkable mental fortitude as well as baseball skill.
He may no longer hold the record, but his place cannot be forgotten. Which brings me back to the man of the hour, Barry Bonds. If it isn't ARod, or Pujols, someone will surpass his final tally. Most likely in his lifetime. Those doubters and fear mongers will celebrate the day. I hope that the day will come at least five years after Bonds has already taken his last angry hack at a hanging slider. When his bronzed bust will be on display in Cooperstown, upstate New York. When we can remember what he accomplished with the benefits of hindsight.
I think the less venomous writers out there, remembering how much good copy Bonds provided them, will be able to mark the passing of his total with kind words for the man, who required an enormous amount of internal fortitude to continue hitting home runs in the face of such relentless, tormenting criticism. Through continuous questioning of the validity of his achievements, he continued to achieve.
Mr. Bonds: Congratulations on a job well done.
Back to local matters. Staying with baseball. Several hours before the Bonds blast, I was in attendance at the Toronto brand of baseball played at the sugar container formerly known as the SkyDome. The Jays were beaten soundly by the Yankees, 9-2. There are so many bad things I could say about Toronto Blue Jays baseball right now.
The natural starting point would be the middling level of performance. But I don't care to go in that direction. I prefer to write about the atmosphere.
The SkyDome was built so that the local nine could play even on cold and rainy days. The roof would close and the game could go on. If you have never been to a game with the roof closed, I don;t recommend that you start. If the day is wet, sell your tickets. Or just stay home. Sitting inside, the the top up is unbearable. The only A/C vents are located in the hallways outside of the seating area. In the seats, it is hot, stuffy, and rather smelly. Very hard to concentrate on anything, much less the intricacies of the game.
If that wasn't enough, the brandedness of the dome is staggering. Every square meter of the dome is advertising something. Every announcement was brought to you by.... Every aspect of the game had a prefix that you could find on the TSE. That game was supposed to be about ALS awareness. It turns out that ALS lead us in the 7th inning stretch. I don't know that anyone was actually aware of it, though.
ALS has no logo. What can we do to downplay the corporate hounding of the beautiful game of baseball? My wife claims that this is not the way it is in Wrigley. (A little ironic, no - the connotations of the name itself).
How about one game a year without corporate propaganda? Just one game played with an old-fashioned feel. No announcements that are unrelated to the game itself. No flashing ads. The open sky above you. Oxygen. Hotdog and beer. Baseball.
Until that happens, I will remain,
Ryan
Those who know me know that I hold the game of baseball to be very dear to me and that, if asked, I will always be able to come up with something of interest and insight into the game and its history.
Many of you, even non-baseball fans, will be aware of the recent historical moment in the game; Barry Bonds breaking the all time home run record. He actually made the front page (a 3/4 page photo) of the Toronto Sun. This was big news.
There are many who are concerned about the implications of such a sacred record being held by a man enshrouded in the clouds of PED suspicion. They say the record is tainted. And if this most hallowed of records is tainted, well, then the whole game, the whole institution of baseball is threatened.
Bullshit.
Barry Bonds is on the front page of a Canadian newspaper. He was not playing a Canadian team (I know the Nationals used to play in Montreal, but that doesn't count), his accomplishment had no local flavour. I suppose he may have hit one or two of his now 757 against a Blue Jay pitcher, but not recently. Was it a slow news day? Possibly. Does this make great copy? Possibly. Is the question boring, dated and inconclusive? Probably. Most definitely. Whatever entered the body of Barry Bonds or other baseball players, professional athletes or private individuals, he did what no one else could do before him. He hit more home runs in his Major League Baseball career than anyone. Ever. For now.
There are those who profess to already waiting eagerly for Alex Rodriguez or Albert Pujols or someone else to break this record in 7, 8, 15 years. I think there is a good chance that will happen.
There are those who claim that Babe Ruth's old record of 714 was tainted for his not having had to compete against black baseball players. As if that was his fault. As if any MLB player before 1948 had to. Still, with that helpful push, no one neared his record until Hank Aaron climbed that mountain in the 70s.
Today, many people praise Aaron (and justifiably so) for managing not only to hit 755 home runs in is marvellous career, but also for his having done so under the ever present threat of the racist fans who could not bear the thought of a black man topping the immortal, the white, Babe Ruth. In continuing to provide round souvenirs for bleacher occupants, Aaron showed remarkable mental fortitude as well as baseball skill.
He may no longer hold the record, but his place cannot be forgotten. Which brings me back to the man of the hour, Barry Bonds. If it isn't ARod, or Pujols, someone will surpass his final tally. Most likely in his lifetime. Those doubters and fear mongers will celebrate the day. I hope that the day will come at least five years after Bonds has already taken his last angry hack at a hanging slider. When his bronzed bust will be on display in Cooperstown, upstate New York. When we can remember what he accomplished with the benefits of hindsight.
I think the less venomous writers out there, remembering how much good copy Bonds provided them, will be able to mark the passing of his total with kind words for the man, who required an enormous amount of internal fortitude to continue hitting home runs in the face of such relentless, tormenting criticism. Through continuous questioning of the validity of his achievements, he continued to achieve.
Mr. Bonds: Congratulations on a job well done.
Back to local matters. Staying with baseball. Several hours before the Bonds blast, I was in attendance at the Toronto brand of baseball played at the sugar container formerly known as the SkyDome. The Jays were beaten soundly by the Yankees, 9-2. There are so many bad things I could say about Toronto Blue Jays baseball right now.
The natural starting point would be the middling level of performance. But I don't care to go in that direction. I prefer to write about the atmosphere.
The SkyDome was built so that the local nine could play even on cold and rainy days. The roof would close and the game could go on. If you have never been to a game with the roof closed, I don;t recommend that you start. If the day is wet, sell your tickets. Or just stay home. Sitting inside, the the top up is unbearable. The only A/C vents are located in the hallways outside of the seating area. In the seats, it is hot, stuffy, and rather smelly. Very hard to concentrate on anything, much less the intricacies of the game.
If that wasn't enough, the brandedness of the dome is staggering. Every square meter of the dome is advertising something. Every announcement was brought to you by.... Every aspect of the game had a prefix that you could find on the TSE. That game was supposed to be about ALS awareness. It turns out that ALS lead us in the 7th inning stretch. I don't know that anyone was actually aware of it, though.
ALS has no logo. What can we do to downplay the corporate hounding of the beautiful game of baseball? My wife claims that this is not the way it is in Wrigley. (A little ironic, no - the connotations of the name itself).
How about one game a year without corporate propaganda? Just one game played with an old-fashioned feel. No announcements that are unrelated to the game itself. No flashing ads. The open sky above you. Oxygen. Hotdog and beer. Baseball.
Until that happens, I will remain,
Ryan
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Courage
Early this morning (not as early as they said they were aiming for, but that's besides the point), my parents set off on a drive from Toronto, Ontario to Newark, New Jersey. A drive of 10, 11 hours? A long drive.
Once there, they will probably say hello to some relatives (time willing) and then my mother will be checking in to the Newark airport. She will board an El Al airplane bound for Tel Aviv and my father will find a place to stay for the night before driving back to Toronto tomorrow morning.
Lots of driving will be put in by my father merely to drive his wife to an airport where she coul save a few hundred dollars on a flight. Commendable, but this blog isn't about him.
It isn't about my mother either, who, a few days ago, realized that she must move her trip to her homeland up by a few weeks. She had a flight booked that would depart from Toronto towards the end of August. She may yet take advantage of this flight, but her primary reason may not be of any consequence by that time.
This is about my grandmother, my mother's mother. The courage is all hers. So, too, is the fortitude. My savta, my grandmother, Rachel Gruber, nee Neugebauer, nee Yucha was diagnosed with breast cancer around 13 years ago. Breast cancer claimed her grandmother many years before that. Rachel lost a breast then and went on with her life.
TIme passed and she stayed strong for many years. Strong and active. Then Osteoperosis kicked in. Kicked hard. She broke bones with regularity. The bones would not mend properly. Over time she lost the ability to walk, to stand and much use of her arms and hands.
Yet she still remained strong. Her mind was sharp. She was clever and witty.
Less than 9 months ago, I could say that her mind was just as sharp as it was 15 years ago.
Since that time, her intellect has slowed. It could be the natural effect of age. Combined with years of illness. After all this time, I don't think she is letting go willingly.
Now her body is breaking down. We were given a fright two months ago when she would go 24 hours and more without eating. She claimed that she had no appetite. I can't blame her; The cancer had spread to her gums, her stomach, certain internal organs and apparently, her spine.
She fought back then and I was lucky enough to talk to her a few hours before Maya and I boarded our own plane back to Toronto.
Last week, she had a few more prolonged fasts and spent a few days without ever fully waking up. My aunt Sara contacted my mother with the news that Savta would be moving into a hospice shortly as there seems to be nothing left for the medical world to contribute to her.
My mother could not bear the thought of arriving in Tel Aviv in late August without having her mother there. She is now enduring a 10 hour drive, to be immediately followed by a 12 hour flight, so she can say goodbye to her mother.
I hope age has time.
This is for Rachel Gruber, the most courageous woman I know.
Thank you for being my grandmother. I love you.
I won't forget you.
Ryan
Once there, they will probably say hello to some relatives (time willing) and then my mother will be checking in to the Newark airport. She will board an El Al airplane bound for Tel Aviv and my father will find a place to stay for the night before driving back to Toronto tomorrow morning.
Lots of driving will be put in by my father merely to drive his wife to an airport where she coul save a few hundred dollars on a flight. Commendable, but this blog isn't about him.
It isn't about my mother either, who, a few days ago, realized that she must move her trip to her homeland up by a few weeks. She had a flight booked that would depart from Toronto towards the end of August. She may yet take advantage of this flight, but her primary reason may not be of any consequence by that time.
This is about my grandmother, my mother's mother. The courage is all hers. So, too, is the fortitude. My savta, my grandmother, Rachel Gruber, nee Neugebauer, nee Yucha was diagnosed with breast cancer around 13 years ago. Breast cancer claimed her grandmother many years before that. Rachel lost a breast then and went on with her life.
TIme passed and she stayed strong for many years. Strong and active. Then Osteoperosis kicked in. Kicked hard. She broke bones with regularity. The bones would not mend properly. Over time she lost the ability to walk, to stand and much use of her arms and hands.
Yet she still remained strong. Her mind was sharp. She was clever and witty.
Less than 9 months ago, I could say that her mind was just as sharp as it was 15 years ago.
Since that time, her intellect has slowed. It could be the natural effect of age. Combined with years of illness. After all this time, I don't think she is letting go willingly.
Now her body is breaking down. We were given a fright two months ago when she would go 24 hours and more without eating. She claimed that she had no appetite. I can't blame her; The cancer had spread to her gums, her stomach, certain internal organs and apparently, her spine.
She fought back then and I was lucky enough to talk to her a few hours before Maya and I boarded our own plane back to Toronto.
Last week, she had a few more prolonged fasts and spent a few days without ever fully waking up. My aunt Sara contacted my mother with the news that Savta would be moving into a hospice shortly as there seems to be nothing left for the medical world to contribute to her.
My mother could not bear the thought of arriving in Tel Aviv in late August without having her mother there. She is now enduring a 10 hour drive, to be immediately followed by a 12 hour flight, so she can say goodbye to her mother.
I hope age has time.
This is for Rachel Gruber, the most courageous woman I know.
Thank you for being my grandmother. I love you.
I won't forget you.
Ryan
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
And The Winner Is......
No one voted.
Not a single comment in 24 hours.
A statement for the inspiration of apathy.
Or should that be inspired by apathy?
I was never much of a bargainer at the shuk, but tomorrow will test my mettle in bargaining in the professional setting.
Wish me luck.
Not a single comment in 24 hours.
A statement for the inspiration of apathy.
Or should that be inspired by apathy?
I was never much of a bargainer at the shuk, but tomorrow will test my mettle in bargaining in the professional setting.
Wish me luck.
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