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Seattle Mariners

Grip on Sports: Cy Young award takes left turn

Felix Hernandez addresses the media after learning he was edged out of the A.L. Cy Young award by Cleveland’s Cory Kluber. Clearly, son Jeremy, 5, takes a lighter approach to the outcome. (Associated Press)

Thursday: Just when you think you have baseball’s postseason award voters figured out, the target moves again.

As that longtime Red Sox fan Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. The hobgoblins took down Felix Hernandez this time. Or was it the little minds? I’m not sure.

Remember way back in the dim past when  Felix Hernandez was the darling of the analytics crowd? When he won a Cy Young Award thanks, in large part, to other stats than the outdated won/loss record? That was what, four years ago? My, times have changed.

Yesterday, Felix was beaten out for his second Cy Young by Cleveland’s  Corey Kluber, whose one notable edge over the Seattle ace was his 18-9 record. Felix was “just” 15-6.

The other statistics, the ones that everyone seemed to cite in 2010, statistics like ERA, WHIP, batting average against, on-base percentage against, you know, the ones pitchers mostly control as opposed to wins and losses? Felix led the American League in those. And he was better than Kluber in walk rate, hit rate and strikeouts-to-walks ratio.

Kluber had a great year. But Felix had a better one.

After all, it seems as if the statistics favor Felix once again. But the voters didn’t. The writers who vote, actually. The players, who give out their own award based, mainly, on how they fared against their peers, gave their award to Felix. But they don’t know crud, right? It’s the numbers that matter. And if the numbers don’t back up your vote, you dig deeper and  find other numbers. You know, ones like how good your team’s defense is, an analytic still argued over by the numbers folks, and how a ballpark affects runs.

We all know Safeco Field is a pitchers’ ballpark. According to the analytics people, it was the hardest ballpark to score in last year. Kluber pitched in a home park that was a little easier to score in, and his statistics are close, so he’s got to be better, right?

Maybe part of the Safeco numbers were built because the M’s offense sucked, anyone think of that?

So let’s ding Felix because no one scores in his home park, another indirect punishment for having to pitch for one of the most offensively inept teams in America – and with a solid pitching staff. This, and other advanced metrics for defense and the like, were cited by voters who gave Kluber 17 first-place votes – Felix had 13 – and 10 more points.

But I think the 18 wins swayed some too, even if they won’t admit it. Of course, no one mentions Kluber received 4.2 runs per game in support of his starts. Felix? He was rewarded with 3.5. But the bottom line is you want your team to win, right?

You want to know what the Indians’ record was in Kluber’s 34 starts? It was 22-12. Nice job. The Mariners’ record in Felix starts? A measly 22-12. Wait, that’s the same. And most other statistics, modern and old-fashioned, favor Hernandez.

I guess that’s why he didn’t win. And no, I don’t get it either.

Tuesday: It’s Veterans Day. Up until four years ago, I would have shared a memory with you about my dad, who was part of the Depression and World War II generation. But he’s no longer with us, and has passed from the folks we honor today into one of the people we honor in May on Memorial Day. I know, Memorial Day is about those who died while serving, but it seems right to remember the people of my dad’s generation too, as so few of them are with us anymore on this day. So I’ll wait.

I’ve always wondered if I had been a few years older and had been ready to volunteer to go to Vietnam, if he would have sat me down and told me about the horrible things he experienced. Not to dissuade me necessarily, but to let me know what was in store for me. And whether I would have listened.

Like a lot of young men, things my dad said went in one ear and out the other (his phrase, not mine) all the time. I always seemed to know better. At least I thought I did.

I wish I had known one thing better back then: to listen. I would have learned a lot more. And I could honor his memory better.