I’ve been thinking about Moneyball again. Actually, it’s fair to say that I think about Moneyball a good bit. I’m an avid baseball fan, and I have a particular interest in sabermetrics, which is a term coined by Bill James that refers to the statistical, empirical analysis of baseball. Michael Lewis’s Moneyball brought sabermetrics into the public spotlight — and thus created a 3-way intersection of factions: (1) The sabermetricians (and those who find value in sabermetric analysis) like Bill James or Billy Beane (GM of Oakland, and subject of Moneyball), (2) the traditionalists like baseball writer Murray Chass, who felt that sabermetrics could not measure heart or desire or grit, and that emphasizing statistics interferes with fan enjoyment, and (3) the remaining undecided baseball fans, who were not sure what to make of all this.

As quickly as sabermetrics gained popularity, the backlash grew in lockstep. Most of the traditionalists weren’t so extreme as to abandon all statistics, but often claimed that the only statistics needed were the traditionally established categories like batting average, runs, wins, and so on. Every opportunity was taken to mock the sabermetric movement as a bunch of nerds with calculators. In one famous instance, Hall of Famer Joe Morgan claimed in a broadcast that Billy Beane wrote Moneyball and that he (Morgan) did not need to bother reading the book to know that it was wrong.

It’s not surprising, then, that the Oakland Athletics became the poster-child (poster-children?) for the sabermetric movement. Critics were happy to point out that, while the Athletics did win (or finish near the top) of the AL West division for several years, the Moneyball strategy didn’t “work” in the postseason. And when Oakland did finally slip out of contention over the last few years, it was hailed as the death-knell for Moneyball, final proof that the traditionalists were right.

The debate raged on, however, as the sabermetricians insisted that the “Moneyball plan” wasn’t tied to the particular strategies employed by Billy Beane (signing undervalued hitters who could get on base and hit for power, even if they didn’t have a gaudy batting average), but rather in trying to identify market inefficiencies in whatever form they currently take. In Oakland’s case, it involved finding those hitters who could get on base, but after a few years other teams began to realize the value of those hitters, and the advantage disappeared. As the rest of the league fought over the patient power hitters, a new market inefficiency emerged: defense. Fielding ability has always been one of the most difficult skills to capture in statistics, and so as sabermetricians began looking for the best way to evaluate defensive ability, they realized that too often the best defenders were undervalued by teams. The traditionalists were undeterred, however, as they took this new sabermetric shift in priorities as a tacit admission that the “pitching and defense/play the game the right way/bunt ’em over, hit ’em in” traditions were, after all, correct.

The war for the soul of baseball has continued and expanded — every aspect of game is subject to intense scrutiny by the sabermetric community for the stated purpose of greater understanding, while the traditionalists cry that their sport is being deconstructed and destroyed in the process, all the beauty and grace lost in the wash of numbers.

Why rehash all this recent history? Because it finally looks like the Moneyball movie may be on the way. If Moneyball on the big screen sounds odd to you, you’re not alone. Moneyball doesn’t seem to lend itself to film in the same way that, say, The Blind Side did. The story centers around a front office executive, and there’s no great triumph at the end, no World Series victory (or even appearance). Perhaps the difficulty of adaptation partially explains why the production went through three writers (Stan Chervin, Steven Zaillian, and finally Aaron Sorkin) and three directors (David Frankel, Steven Soderbergh, and now Bennett Miller). There is cause for optimism, though, with Sorkin, fresh off his Academy Award-winning screenplay for The Social Network, and Miller, who last directed the 2005 film Capote.

I will admit that I was worried about a film adaptation — not only because of the risk of turning a good book into a bad movie, but also because a film would introduce the general public to the sabermetric debate and possibly fan new and higher flames, as well as give the most reactionary traditionalists another opportunity to paint Moneyball, Billy Beane, the Oakland Athletics, and anyone interested in understanding the game through statistical analysis as number-obsessed, joyless nerds who are happier studying a spreadsheet than actually watching a real baseball game. This bothers me because I have yet to come across anyone who actually believes that sabermetrics is the only way to experience baseball. Careful statistical study may reveal (or, at least, suggest) who the most valuable hitter or pitcher might be, but it cannot dictate who your favorite player is, or who you most enjoy watching, any more than the MVP award did in years past. We’ve always measured accomplishments in baseball; sabermetrics is nothing more than an attempt at measuring accomplishments in a more rigorous, logical way, and it does not (or should not) diminish the fans’ enjoyment of the game itself.

My hope is that the Moneyball movie will spark more widespread interest in sabermetrics, and that the story will retain the nuance and balance that the book had. The soul of baseball need not be fought over. There’s room for everyone.

The problem with trying to write and sell a thriller is that you must be careful with what you say so you do not give the plot away.  I will do my best here.

“As I sleep, my mind will erase everything I did today.  I will wake up tomorrow as I did this morning.  Thinking I”m still a child.  Thinking I have a whole lifetime of choice ahead of me…”

This is Christine’s life or some might say lack of a life.  Every night when she goes to sleep her memory is erased and she wakes up not knowing the who, what, when, where and how of her existence.  Her husband, Ben, has to explain that they have been married for over twenty years and there are pictures taped to the bathroom mirror to help her start her day.

Later in the morning, she receives a phone call from a Dr. Nash, who explains he is treating her and to prove it he tells her to read her journal.  The purpose of the journal is for Christine to write everything that happens to her in a day and any memories that she has down.  As this experiment goes on Christine begins to realize that Ben’s story, Dr. Nash’s story and her brief memories of her life are not the same.  Are things being kept from her or is she just inventing stories to make her own life seem complete?

Before I Go to Sleep by S. J. Watson is a fantastic debut that really gives a whole new spin on the ‘amnesiac thriller’.  Dennis Lehane calls it “Memento on crystal meth” and I just have to agree with him.  I will be looking for more page turning thrillers from S. J. Watson in the future.

Arts Heals: How Creativity Cures the Soul by Shaun McNiff, Shambhala Press, 2004.

There are many ways to be creative. Whether you paint, play a musical instrument, arrange a vase of flowers, or put together your own recipe, it seems that all of these activities free the mind from daily troubles or sooth a deeper emotional wound. Shaun McNiff has devoted his life to studying how artistic and creative endeavors heal the soul.

Art Heals is a collection of essays which reflect McNiff’s 30 years of work in the field of art therapy. Covering a broad range of topics from creativity in the work place to stimulating the imagination to a study of shamanism, this is a book to savor, a book to pick up and put down, one to think about as you go about your way.

Some may think that the association of healing and art is New Age. McNiff points out throughout Art Heals that cultures have been using the healing power of the arts since ancient times. It was Socrates who said that “Curing the soul is the first and essential thing.”

It wasn’t the language that impressed me as the most foreign thing about Paris, though knowing a bit of French from school helped with that; for many Americans it is the architecture, its decadence and age. A few years ago, my dad took me and my sisters to Paris. We were there only a few days, but that was enough time for Paris to enchant us. Standing in front of Notre Dame Cathedral I experienced an awe no building in the U.S. could ever hope to inspire.

In David McCullough’s new book, The Greater Journey, he writes about Americans who spent time in Paris from the 1830s to 1900. The tale he weaves is yes, about their experiences in Paris, about what they gained there and were inspired by, and the differences they returned to America to make.

Charles Sumner was inspired by his time at the Sorbonne, studying side by side with blacks, to be a major voice for the abolition of slavery.

Emma Willis, a schoolmistress, was so impressed with the freedom of the young ladies who studied painting at the Louvre, that she went back to revolutionize higher education for women in the States.

William and Henry James came to Paris as young boys, and it shaped their sense of “foreignness” early on, which would figure greatly in Henry’s novels. These stories and many more McCullough weaves together to present a grand history of Paris during the nineteenth century that is from a very different perspective — one that is distinctly American.

As I read, I couldn’t help but keep referring to maps of Paris, reminding myself of the experiences I had shared with my dad as Americans in Paris. Some of the places McCullough evokes, like the Palais des Tuileries, no longer exist, destroyed by fire in 1871.

When we walked down the Champs-Élysées to the Tuileries Garden, the open Louvre courtyard, with the imposing glass pyramid at its center, was our view. Some, though, like the Pont des Arts, the first metal bridge in Paris, constructed by Napoleon I in 1802 solely for pedestrians, still stands, though it was reconstructed in 1981. My dad and I walked that bridge from the Louvre to the left bank, gazing at the Île de la Cité and Notre Dame which was just visible upstream.

It is these experiences of Paris, brought to life through the eyes of the American characters McCullough highlights using their letters and journals, that work his magic for him, bringing Paris to life so vividly. This is Paris before it was a moveable feast, and it will appeal to the history lover / traveler (armchair or otherwise) dad in your life. For as Oliver Wendell Holmes was fond of saying, “Good Americans, when they die, go to Paris.”

Beer: A Genuine Collection of Cans Photography & Design by Dan Becker and Lance Wilson (Chronicle Books, 2011)

As a fifth grader in 1975, Josh Russo began his collection of  beer cans. Josh became hooked from his first day of searching. His dad, a traveling businessman, fed this collecting compulsion, picking up various cans in the cities he traveled. Even on vacation, Josh fed his obsession. For his 14th birthday, Josh requested the book Beer Can Collecting. From there his collection and obsession grew. When he got married his understanding wife suggested he build shelves to display his collection. This fun book is full of neat examples representing his efforts, spanning cans over 60 years and 30 countries.

Ballantines Export, packaged for soldiers, was colored to avoid reflecting light so as not to reveal soldier’s location to the enemy at night.

Boston Light Ale features the Boston lighthouse, the first lighthouse in North America.

Buckeye Pilsener features the “Bucky” mascot for Otto bases Buckeye Brewing company. The company was in operation for 130 years.

Budweiser used the bald eagle for the first time in 1872 and remains the Budweiser symbol today.

Gluek’s was founded as the Mississippi Brewery Company in Minneapolis and later changed to Gluek’s Beer. Before refrigeration, Gluek’s was lagered in caves on Nicolette island on the Mississippi river.

Not only is Beer fun as you learn beer trivia, but many old memories are brought back to life.

When James Dickey visited Lemuria, we decided we needed a pit stop as we left the airport. J.D. bought two tall boy 6-packs of Colt 45 for his motel room without a fridge. Two days later when he left Jackson, J.D. had two hot ones left which he drank on the ride to Oxford.

No Taxation without Representation: I love the Falstaff can quote, still holds up today in my opinion. Bring back the can and I’ll get some to ice down!

I grew up watching black & white baseball games on Saturday afternoon. Old Diz and Pee Wee loved their Falstaff and it’s no doubt they sipped a few during the broadcast.

Reading Beer is total fun while you enjoy your beers of choice. I couldn’t help but pop open the one can of beer I had in the fridge.

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My favorite and and only can I have in my collection is from 1979. “We Are Family” world champs. A great token to bring back memories for a life long Pirates fan.

And finally, my last example, Jax Beer. I dedicate this blog to my closest and favorite now gone first cousin Paul. He was my best friend when my dad died. I had just turned 12. He cut up a bit and would take me to roadhouse beer joints, where you rolled down the windows to attach the serving tray, turned on your blinker and ordered beer to drink in the parking lot shadows.

I suspect my first taste of beer came with him at these spots. My memory tells me Jax empties rolled around in the floorboards of his red & white ’56 Mercury. He taught me what beer drinking was all about. My first “sneaky underage beer” was at the old Cherokee Drive-In. In the very same way Paul taught me at 14! I’m pretty sure it was a Falstaff.

Glory to the beer gods for this fun book. If your dad drinks beer, get this book and a 6-pack and sip a few this Sunday afternoon. Share some old times and bright moments with Pop.