On Cinema, Sports and Predictability

I think we can all agree that this year's Oscar ceremony was particularly terrible. What we might not agree on is the reason why it was terrible. You may single out James Franco's blank pseudo-stoner visage, or Anne Hathaway's array of cheerleading yodels, or that horribly uncomfortable moment when Spartacus nearly toppled off the stage, or when one of the characters from Strange Brew was hired to mimic the voice of Bob Hope. You may have found the transitions from silent film to the E.T. soundtrack somewhat jarring, and you may have found the daisy chain of celebrity introductions particularly bizarre, and you may have been distracted by the dearth of Charlie Sheen jokes. But we all know the real reason this year's Oscars were so eminently forgettable is because they were so utterly predictable.*

This is the problem with an event like the Oscars: Given the flood of awards shows that come before (and the amount of coverage given to each), the winners seem patently obvious by the time the ceremony arrives. Imagine if there were five National League pitchers with 20 victories apiece, and sportswriters voted for the Cy Young Award every week in September before the final vote at the end of the season; that's essentially what the Oscars have become. They're predictable, and there's nothing worse, in cinema or in sports, than predictability.

This, above all else, is what's riding on the NFL and NBA labor negotiations, from a fan's perspective. Baseball, whether true or not, suffers from a perceived lack of parity--even if the Yankees or Red Sox don't play in the World Series, there is a perception that they are going to, and that spending six months following a small-market team may result in the occasional anomalous playoff run, it is generally a futile pursuit. And so baseball has suffered, and the NFL--despite a growing uncomfortability with the repercussions of violence--remains America's most popular sport, because a socialist collective can win a championship...and the NBA is in a state of flux, especially now, as power increasingly becomes concentrated in a handful of major markets.

Of course, I'm not saying sports will ever be as predictable as the movies. This is why, if I had to choose to eliminate one of the two from my life, I would choose film (though I'd prefer if it didn't come to that). Entertainment value is in the eye of the beholder, but I'd still prefer a world with surprises.

*For what it's worth: I would have voted for Fincher, Jesse Eisenberg, Jennifer Lawrence and Exit Through the Gift Shop.

On Wildcard Weekend (and BCS Monday)

1. I don't think the Jets will defeat the Patriots, and I don't think the Steelers will defeat the Ravens, but I have to admit: About these playoffs, I don't think I would presume anything anymore. A week ago, I actually said that if I had a first-born child, I would immediately bet him/her on New Orleans, which is as good a reason as any to argue against me ever procreating*. I also did not imagine the Jets would defeat the Colts on the road, and especially in circumstances that required Mark Sanchez to actually make a clutch throw. In general, I find professional football an inferior product to the college game, but I think the NFL has accomplished something remarkable in the past few seasons: They've engendered such parity that we really have no idea about anything. This is the closest the NFL has come to approaching the wide-open nature of the NCAA tournament. It might not sustain itself, given the labor disputes and the delicate balancing act required to sustain it, but this hyperviolent lottery is fun while it lasts.

2. My instincts tell me that NFC Championship was played last weekend, and that Green Bay certainly appears to be the best team remaining, by a rather considerable margin. But I'm still not over the fact that the Arizona Cardinals played in a Super Bowl. Parity. Which is a solid concept, until it implodes and the Patriots beat the Seahawks 48-3 and we all hearken back to the good old days when the SB was the most lopsided major sporting event in America.

3. My uncertainty about the NFL carries over to Michael Vick. I could see him putting up three of the greatest quarterbacking years in NFL history over the next five seasons. I could also see him getting lazy, frequenting gentleman's clubs, and quitting at halftime of a game next season in order to (according to his agent) open a dog sanctuary in Virginia.

4. Twenty-five years ago, when the Chicago Bears advanced to the NFC Championship game, the first thing their defensive coordinator did was complain about the Los Angeles Rams' penchant for holding. And then he declared that the Rams' star running back, Eric Dickerson, would fumble three times. He was wrong; Dickerson only fumbled twice. The Bears won 24-0. So in case you're wondering what Rex Ryan is doing this week, he's doing what all children do: He's emulating his father. Which is why you won't hear anyone in the tabloids spending much time on Mark Sanchez's Nuke LaLoosh-like accuracy, or on any of the Jets' other inherent flaws. The more it's about Rex, the less it's about the fact that his team is inherently worse than the Patriots. In the modern age, in an era of endless distractions, I have no idea why coaches don't pull these kinds of stunts more often.

5. I predict Jamaal Charles will lead the NFL in rushing next season. I realize this is not a particularly bold prediction, but I would like to make it before anyone else so I can claim it as my idea. 

6. Oregon 38, Auburn 27. Though in the name of overpriced sportswear, I hope I'm wrong.
  
*I can provide several more reasons, as well as references upon request.

(Photo: NY Daily News)

On "Parity" in Baseball

Darren Everson has an intriguing piece in the Wall Street Journal about how, in an age of quantification and statistical projection, most baseball teams rely on "sleepers" to push them over the top. He bases his theory on this:

Even franchises with a financial edge like Boston and the New York Yankees and Mets are having trouble building dominant teams. In fact, this is shaping up as potentially the greatest stretch of parity in baseball history. In the past three seasons, just one team has reached 100 wins -- last year's Los Angeles Angels. Since the 162-game schedule was universally adopted in 1962, the average is roughly one 100-win team per season.

I will admit this: I have not looked at the baseball standings all season (I try not do so until at least early June; otherwise, it feels as if I am looking at the Top 25 after Week One of the college football season, and Ohio State is ranked No. 1, based on its 73-9 defeat of Southern Toledo). However, I just looked at the standings now, and I do not see anything particularly surprising. Perhaps there are fewer dominant teams, but if this is baseball's idea of parity, I don't find it particularly compelling. Because I imagine it will shake out the same way it always does.

Like most casual (and disillusioned) modern fans of the sport, I believe baseball's reality is largely predestined before the season even begins. For instance, I do not imagine that the Pirates or Royals will be able to win their division, probably ever (and I assume their own fans don't believe it, either, no matter how good a story Zack Greinke might be). I imagine that, of the Yankees and the Mets and the Red Sox, at least two of those franchises will be among the eight to make the playoffs, despite the tabloid-fueled hand-wringing*. I imagine that those three teams will spend the most money chasing after the "sleepers" Everson is referring to in August and September, and therefore, doesn't that mean those teams still have greater odds of succeeding in finding a "sleeper" who can carry them over the top? I imagine that teams like Tampa Bay (2008) will remain statistical anomalies rather than some larger indicator that baseball is finally close achieving true parity through SABRmetrics and number-crunching, and not even a battalion of Nate Silver-esque geniuses can convince me otherwise. I believe that baseball will continue on the path toward becoming a niche sport, two steps above the NHL, until it realizes that a salary cap and revenue-sharing are the only ways to achieve true parity, and to embrace modernity. And I don't believe that one team's pickup of Mark Bellhorn will be enough to tip the balance.

*When was the last time the Yankees got off to a good start, for that matter? I'm sure this has been covered elsewhere, but in in 2008, they started 9-10 and won 89 games; in 2007, they started 9-14 and won 94 games; in 2006, they started 8-8 and won 97 games; in 2005, they started 11-19 and won 95 games. Certainly, you can argue that the Yankees are a crumbling dynasty, that they do not evoke the same fear they have in the past, but you cannot argue that, because they have started the season at 10-10, that they are no longer a relevant factor in the American League East.

(Photo: Associated Press/WSJ)