Earlier this week, I happened to be watching the White Sox on television, just after Scott Podsednik dropped by the broadcast booth. Hawk Harrelson got going about what a great teammate Podsednik was, and then something about chemistry, and ... well, you might start to guess how I felt about that.
But you might guess wrong.
First, here's what Hawk Harrelson said about Podsednik:
One of the best thing about Pods was, he was just a great teammate with those guys. Besides being a great player, he was a great teammate. That club had a ton of chemistry on it. Outside of maybe the '83 team we had here, that '05 team had the best chemistry.
When I got into the column-writing business way back when, I'm sure I often dismissed, if not intangibles, then the importance attached to them. It seemed to me that a fair number of folks, both within baseball and without, were too quick to attribute the successes and failures of teams to this nebulous chemistry when those twin terrors, Talent and Luck, might be more easily and accurately cited.
Still, with experience comes, if not wisdom, at least humility. The older I've gotten, the easier it's become to admit my shortcomings. And I've come to think my habitual, knee-jerk dismissal of the intangibles long served me poorly.
Which might be why I so eagerly awaited Lonnie Wheeler's new book, Intangiball: The Subtle Things That Win Baseball Games. Wheeler's been writing outstanding books for nearly 30 years. In fact, his first book inspired my second. I figured if anyone could make a convincing case for intangibles and chemistry and all those other ghostly qualities, it would be Wheeler.
Well, he didn't disappoint me. In the whole book, there was literally just one passage that had me SMDH...
Observed in a teammate, toughness rallies resolve. Was there any chance the Dodgers would let the 1988 World Series get away from them after Kirk Gibson limped to the plate and ended game one? Could the Cardinals have been found wanting in 1967 after Bob Gibson pitched to three batters on a broken leg? Could the Red Sox have succumbed to the Yankees in game seven of the 2004 ALCS after Curt Schilling won game six with his sock soaked in blood from a ruptured ankle tendon? Could the St. Louis club have quit on the 2011 season after Albert Pujols returned from a fractured wrist on the seventeenth day.
Maybe those questions are merely rhetorical, but I shall answer them anyway: Yes, yes, and a thousand more yesses.
Of course I can imagine those things turning out differently. Just as I can imagine the Yankees losing Game 7 of the 2001 World Series, despite all that chemistry and momentum on their side. Just as I can imagine the Braves winning just one World Series despite the presence of Greg Maddux and Chipper Jones and Bobby Cox, all of them cited by Wheeler for their high-quality intangibles.
Which I mention only because that passage seems so untethered from the rest of the book. For the most part, Wheeler does not fall prey to rank determinism. Among his gifts is the ability to pluck what's useful from a multitude of sources, including facile works that were written largely to castigate Moneyball and Billy Beane ... while going out of his way to acknowledge the importance and utility of sabermetrics.
Before going any farther, I should probably offer a quick precis of Intangiball: It's a well-sourced, well-researched, well-reported, largely anecdotal treatise on the importance of important qualities that can't be, or haven't yet been, measured.
As such, I believe it's the only book of its kind. But what's most interesting about Wheeler's book, I think, is that he's interested in more than just the anecdotes and testimonials. He's also interested in how to talk about intangibles, which is terribly valuable. Before we can really discuss the existence of intangibles, let alone their importance, we must agree on some of the language, just so we can actually communicate.
"If you're willing ... to peak in unconventional places," Wheeler writes, "and if you don't insist on precise empirical validation for every actuality, you can, in fact, catch glimpses of a player's effect on those around him, crudely approximated in the numbers. The thing is, those numbers don't show up in the columns of the player himself; they show up in those of his teammates. I call them second-level statistics."
Now, you might not care for Wheeler's terminology. But having some terminology for a player's effects on his teammates is useful, no?
Later, he comes up with another one:
Given that we've classified intangibles into two basic types, some of the [performance-enhancing qualities] would be situational in nature -- the little things that improve the circumstances on the field -- and the majority would fall into the category of environmental subtleties, the steady showering of character that raises all the boats in the clubhouse.
Together, the accumulated qualities would constitute a communicable competitiveness that I call teamship. If a word, deed, or example somehow aids the collective cause, it's an act of teamship. If it makes somebody better, it's teamship. If it's what you'd want your teammate to do, its teamship. Teamship is what intangibles amount to.
... and Wheeler even comes up with this nifty list of PEQs:
Toughness
Execution
Accountability
Moxie
Supportiveness
History
Intensity
Passion
Wheeler notes that of course there are dozens of PEQs, but those eight are a pretty good start. He does go on to define all eight, with real-life examples.
Anyway, you get the idea.
The book's also valuable simply as a repository of names, including (but not limited to) Dusty Baker, Scott Rolen, Todd Frazier, Joey Votto, Derek Jeter, Hank Aaron, Eric Hinske, Justin Lehr, Joe Maddon, Chipper Jones, Lance Berkman, Keith Hernandez, Ryan Hanigan, Bronson Arroyo, Jonny Gomes, Joe Morgan, Pete Rose, Johnny Bench and Albert Pujols. OK, and let's mention Derek Jeter and Scott "Chief Big Fist" Rolen again, since each gets his own chapter.
I believe that a player's teamship should be considered when we're evaluating him, whether it's for the Hall of Fame or anything else. You think Scott Rolen's a borderline Hall of Fame candidate? Read this book. You think Pete Rose was a bad guy? Fine, but read this book (or just about anything else that concerns the Big Red Machine or the early-'80s Phillies) and try to argue that he didn't make his teammates better.
As time marches on, we tend to forget "the little things" and "the environmental subtleties," leaving us with only the numbers. And only the most striking of those. But as Bill James -- quoted by Wheeler in the book a few times, by the way -- once wrote, "Everything counts." Or should, anyway. Even things we can't count.
