Although I am a fan of all sports, the economics and statistics involved with major league baseball comprise much of the appeal to me.  But I'll alternate watching games as a serious fan of the sport, as a serious fan of the A's, as a wannabe GM more driven by fantasies of glory than allegiance to a particular team or even the game itself, as a not-at-all-serious, half-paying-attention off-duty fan more concerned with socializing, whatever.  162 games affords you ample opportunity to fill all those roles; nine innings over almost three hours affords you opportunity to maybe fill more than one of them during the course of one game, depending on factors such as alcohol consumption.  But seasons like these make me thankful for diversions like stats, because the artistry of Eric Chavez can't compensate for the lack of artistry of the other players.  In terms of your literary allusion, if I intend to read a book for pleasure, but I'm not moved by it, then what will stop me from abandoning it?  I don't think I ever finished a Hemingway novel, reputation or not.  Nothing compelled me to endure what I considered to be vastly overrated work.  Same goes for a baseball game, even an A's game, if the only purpose I'm watching for is the "poetic" purpose.

Then, along came the mid 90s, which brought losses-a-plenty. Lacking any sembelence of a pitching rotation, BB and Sandy Alderson were primarily concerned with acquiring nine guys who could hit their weight (though heavier second baggers, like Scott Spiezio, weren't especially helpful in this regard) and defense went out the window. While Big Mac increased his powerful pace, his foot came to draw Anne Robinson's ire, and, before long, he said, "Goodbye". All that was left to this young fan was the joy of calling balls and strikes - except the same people who found it cute 8 years earlier are prone to raise an eyebrow when a teenager is standing in the aisle, pretending to be the ump. I was also entering an age when Rafael Bournigal began interesting me less than the girls at my school and for a year or to, I began to somewhat lose interest.

The 1999 pennant chase, fantasy baseball, and a need to reconnect with the home I was away from for the first time (at college) brought me back. I had grown smarter over the years and the rudementary analysis offered by ESPN.com and TSN.com failed to really do much for me. One author, however, caught my attention. Over and over again, I couldn't help but think - this Rob Neyer is a sharp guy. The perfect gateway drug, Neyer would mention sites like Baseball Primer and Baseball Propsectus and soon, I was hooked.

Never having been much of a baseball player (my hands and eyes didn't make much of a team) statistical analysis gives me something about the game that I can make my own. While I can tell the difference between most pitches, my eye certainly isn't sharp enough to know if Zito's curve is really breaking tonight - or if some new player has the kind of jaw scouts get excited about.

Stats are great. They don't detract or distract from the artistry of Eric Chavez and his chums. Stats give validation to his greatness. They also draw out the subtle brilliance of the Mark Kotsays of the world and illustrates how Jeter's mystique is based far less on talent than his ability to put on a uniform covered in pinstripes. Stats give meaning to our out of game conversations and give them more depth than if Oaktoon simply said, "the A's suck", to which I responded, "no they don't".

That being said, nothing should distract from the primary message, Go (see the) A's (tonight v the Mets)!

But like many in this thread I grew up loving baseball for its strategies and hustle, little league and the subtle dance of all 9 players backing each other up.

Only in the last few years did I discover there was a whole new world of non-traditional stats. And it has really helped me to appreciate new aspects of the game.

Arguments of range factor and fielder skill helped me appreciate that a graceful relaxed catch by Kotsay might be as beautiful (maybe more) as a spectacular recovery by say, Byrnes.

Pitch count arguments helped me notice that a battling 10 pitch at-bat that ends in an out can be as important as a first-pitch single, especially against a pitcher like Pedro with a sharp decline in performance with innings.  

Win probability, WHIP and OBP debates helped me notice that some of the key moments in games come from little outs saved, like a hard-run infield single or a gutsy walk after being down 0-2.  

I have to admit stats like VORP and Win Shares never did much for me, mainly because I don't quite get the methodology behind them; but I appreciate that Win Shares does try to quantify the contributions of good defense.

But the upshot for me is: some of the game stats help highlight the hidden beauty of the game.

And the interpretations of what is beautiful in baseball are many. And it's because of these different ways the game can appeal to a person is probably why baseball has spanned generation after generation (and will continue to do so).

Seems that in this diary, everyone is right. How can I not recommend this! :)