That’s Short Attention Span Theater, by the way.
So the highly-anticipated battle for sidewalk dominance between the Wild Turkeys and the Jehovah’s Witnesses fizzled out. Tension was building nicely, with the two groups staring at each other across the intersection. And then the turkeys turned into chickens.
No, not literally. I may be coughing and feverish, but the fever isn’t that high.
The birds dressed their ranks, forming into four files of five birds behind their leader… You know, I’m not even convincing myself here. Actually, the whole flock milled around for a few minutes, then made a sharp right turn into a side street, avoiding conflict entirely.
Just as well. Had the turkeys not backed down, things would have gotten messy. Call it a victory for moral principle (you do know that Jehovah’s Witnesses are conscientious objectors, right?)
Also not happening: despite all the coughs I’ve left under my pillow, the Lung Fairy hasn’t left me a cent. Maybe I should try putting my head under the pillow?
No, the brain reboot hasn’t happened either. You might have guessed.
I did watch some baseball Tuesday. I hadn’t expected it to be educational. Foul balls flying into the seats have been part of the game since its beginning, but with bats–and fragments of shattered bats–finding the seats more often, there’s a good argument for putting up protective netting.
Turns out the Japanese have come up with an approach that satisfies both fans seeking protection and fans who prefer the traditional mode. There’s netting running dugout to dugout, giving protection to fans in the highest risk area. But there are also seats in front of the netting: seats that come with a helmet, a glove, and a warning card describing the risks of sitting in the section.
Try that in the US and half the helmets would be broken and three-quarters of the gloves stolen by the All-Star Break.
In the sections beyond the netting, where there’s typically more time to react to a foul ball, the ushers are equipped with whistles, which they blow when a ball is headed toward their section. Imagine the lawsuits arguing that either the whistle wasn’t blown soon enough, or that the constant whistle blowing ruins fans’ enjoyment of the game.
A shame, really. That’s the kind of compromise I could support.
What I can’t support is the term “extra bases” for a double. I heard that a lot Tuesday. A double isn’t extra bases. At most, it’s extra base. Singular. And even that’s arguable.
Do the math, people. Yeah, right. I did the math for you. Blame any errors on my cough syrup.
According to MLB’s statistics, there were 42,276 hits during the 2016 regular season. 27,539 of those, just over 65%, were singles. So yes, singles were arguably the default hit, and a double would be “extra base”.
But there’s another way to look at it, one just as valid. Throw in the 8,254 doubles, 5,610 home runs, and 873 triples, and we find that the average hit in 2016 was worth a smidge over 1.6 bases. So that double? Yeah.
“Looks like an extra four-tenths of a base for Ortiz.”
Sure, it sounds a little odd. But we’ll get used to it, and it does far less violence to the English language than awarding multiple extra bases to a guy who’s clearly not even going to try to stretch his line drive off the wall into a triple.