|
|
Post by rizzuto on Feb 11, 2022 0:47:51 GMT -5
My boy Nightengale at it again  :
Amazingly, the probability of a coin flip is never correct in Nightengale’s world. |
|
|
|
Post by domeplease on Feb 11, 2022 14:04:20 GMT -5
OH YEAH--THIS WILL END THE LOCKOUT!!! Tequila you must STOP Laughing = they do NOT know any better!!!
|
|
Tequila THE GREAT PARROT
Guest
|
Post by Tequila THE GREAT PARROT on Feb 11, 2022 18:08:36 GMT -5
OH YEAH--THIS WILL END THE LOCKOUT!!! Tequila you must STOP Laughing = they do NOT know any better!!!
BUT IT ONLY GETS BETTER -- Tequila you will laugh, but Please, Please, Please do NOT laugh so hard that you hurt yourself...
Rob Manfred’s latest tactic to justify the MLB lockout is his most laughable
...Speaking to reporters in an attempt to bolster MLB owners’ cries of economic hardship, Manfred claimed the league hired an investment banker who showed that running a Major League Baseball team just isn’t profitable.
“We actually hired an investment banker, a really good one, actually, to look at that very issue,” Manfred said. “If you look at a purchase price of franchises, the cash that’s put in during the period of ownership, and then what they sold for, historically, the return on those investments is below what you get in the stock market, which looks like the end of the stock market was a lot more risky.”
You’d think a massive study showing a critical public misunderstanding of baseball’s core economic structure is something MLB owners would want to spread far and wide. If this were actually the case, Manfred would be doing a disservice to the owners he works for by keeping it in his back pocket. A fireable offense if there ever was one.
Except Manfred and MLB won’t say anything else about the study. Not what framework was used to determine team values, not what data the analysts had access to and certainly not which bank was responsible for compiling the report.
Per The Athletic’s Evan Drellich (emphasis by FTW):
“A Major League Baseball spokesperson declined to identify the investment bank that produced the study, or other details about the study. The answer Manfred gave was indirect, in that it answered a question of how teams fared relative to the stock market, when the question posed had nothing to do with the stock market but was simply: Are teams good investments? And an attempt to temper the quality of investment in baseball team runs counter to public studies and reporting.
“Pitchbook said that since 2002, all four of the major U.S. sports leagues have performed better than the S&P 500 companies on the stock market. The return on MLB franchises was 669 percent, above the NFL’s 558 percent and exceeded only by the NBA’s 1,057 percent.”
This is, objectively, quite sketchy! And, objectively, quite easy to debunk.
Forbes senior contributor Maury Brown dug into Manfred’s comments even further, and the more you pick them apart the less sense they seem to make:
“The comments would make the likes of Steven Cohen – one of the biggest hedge fund moguls in the world – look like a poor investor. If Manfred is saying he could have invested his money more wisely, and with less risk, why would he do so? There are other investment factors beyond just the purchase and sale. In 2019, just before the pandemic struck, the annual Forbes valuations of the 30 clubs noted how incredibly lucrative owning an MLB franchise is.”
You don’t even have to be an investment banker to see that the price of MLB teams has gone up exponentially over the years.
It’s hard to imagine MLB owners won’t be the ones blinking in negotiation.
|
|
|
|
Post by inger on Feb 11, 2022 22:30:59 GMT -5
My boy Nightengale at it again :
Amazingly, the probability of a coin flip is never correct in Nightengale’s world. Recalling the time a class mate of mine got 13% on his mid term in algebra. The teacher was actually very incompetent, but the test was true false, and there were 50 true and 50 false questions. He could have guessed all false or all true and got a 50%. This horrendous teacher graded on a curve, and 50% earned a B on that exam… |
|
|
|
Post by chiyankee on Feb 11, 2022 22:53:36 GMT -5
MLB just finds new ways to embarrass itself.
|
|
|
|
Post by rizzuto on Feb 11, 2022 23:03:24 GMT -5
MLB just finds new ways to embarrass itself. Mandated work for no pay. I can see the line forming now.  |
|
|
|
Post by rizzuto on Feb 12, 2022 2:28:16 GMT -5
Amazingly, the probability of a coin flip is never correct in Nightengale’s world. Recalling the time a class mate of mine got 13% on his mid term in algebra. The teacher was actually very incompetent, but the test was true false, and there were 50 true and 50 false questions. He could have guessed all false or all true and got a 50%. This horrendous teacher graded on a curve, and 50% earned a B on that exam… When I was a junior in college, a professor became vocally peeved with my lack of regular attendance and ridiculed me in front of the entire class during roll call. Precariously perched on the corner of a very sturdy wooden desk, Dr. Spivey was a soft-hewn, elephantine academic who wore three-piece suits and fluffy slippers due to painful gout. Quite respectfully, I replied matter-of-factly that his syllabus stated nothing in regard to "no-shows," and the university had long-standing Board Policy rules of attendance for freshman and sophomores; however, juniors and seniors were exempt from any demerit assigned due to specific expectations for seat-time or lack thereof. This appeared to upset him greatly, and he pontificated about values of academia and the importance of his lectures for at least ten minutes. "No, no, no. You need to attend regularly or drop my class!" I was seated in the first chair of the last row of blue plastic seats near the window, and every single eye was on me. "My apologies, Professor, but dropping this course is not an option, and my work schedule is fixed such that I only attend this class on review days and test days." The professor's head dropped backward on his neck as his face looked skyward or ceiling-ward for credulity, and he let out a sarcastic "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!" my fellow students now either snickering or chuckling. Again, he turned to me with obvious derision and asked, "Do you really expect to pass my class attending one day per week?" To which I replied calmly and respectfully, "I expect to make an A." The entire class now laughed heartily - half at me for my impudence and half at the professor's ever-reddening flapjack of a face. His voice rose loudly, "And, how, pray tell, do you expect to accomplish that?" My reply was measured and as devoid of cockiness as I could muster, "As stated in your syllabus, all exams are constructed objectively; therefore, answers are contained within the test itself. Without any short essay or long form written sections, subjectivity cannot affect my score, either by error or caprice." The professor's face stared at me in bewilderment for several seconds, then lightened and the non plussed expression replaced with what appeared to be a self-congratulatory smirk: "Well, my final exam is not yet prepared, and nothing in the syllabus states that it be confined to any objective format. I'll change the final to all Blue-Book, and we'll see how your grade looks then, and you may just wish you had taken my advice today to drop this class." Growing tired of being singled out, I could no longer contain a smile, "Dr. Spivey, you grade on a double-curve, throwing out the single best score, with the second highest exam becoming the final mark for adjustment. I think you'll find I have yet to miss a single question in this class. If I remain in that position, I will have accrued enough points for an "A" in this course without having to sit for the final exam." A deafening wave of silence washed over the room. Dr. Spivey pushed his prodigious bulk from the wooden corner of his desk, landing on his sore slabs of feet with a visible grimace, "No, no, hell no!" as he grabbed his green plastic grade book beneath the roll sheet and shuffled his fat phalanges from page to page. "What are the last four digits of your college ID." The portly professor gazed at his grade book, using his middle finger to pan left to right and then up and down. His mouth lagged agape and his eyes then fixed on me, as he casually tossed his grade book atop the roll sheet. With perfect manner and comportment, Dr. Spivey stood ram-rod straight: "I'll fix this. All within the rules of my syllabus and in accordance with each and every policy and procedure of this university. Indeed. Test this Friday. All objective in format. Class dismissed." Friday arrived and every seat in the classroom was occupied. I was still in the first seat of the last row. Always the result of arriving just before the start of class. Last, in other words. Dr. Spivey shuffled in, his fluffy slippers never completely off the floor. He handed the exam to two graduate interns, who counted each attendee in each chair chain while simultaneously fingering back each stapled test booklet before handing the representative stack to the first person seated in each row. I slid one from the top to myself and passed the stack behind me. Dr. Spivey looked at the clock on his desk, then wrote the time on the white board, and under it the exact end time to hand in the exam. Intermittent and clearly audible gasps occurred as each student inspected the test. Dr. Spivey smiled satisfyingly as if he had just flatulated pleasantly without notice. He lifted his freight to the corner of his sturdy oak desk and perched smugly. Seventy-five questions; all true-false. I was not in attendance when the exams were handed back the next Monday. My friend Troy was my next door neighbor in our dorm and a good guy from my hometown. He told me about Dr. Spivey's non-reaction to the announced results from the two graduate assistants. The second highest score was my buddy Troy with a 78. He said Dr. Spivey whispered to one of his interns, "What about...you know?" "Oh, yes sir, his exam was adjusted to a 122. Troy said Spivey sat motionless on the corner of his desk for a minute, and then began a lecture on the next topic. The remainder of the semester, one of the graduate assistants replaced Dr. Spivey, who took a medical leave. I'm sure it had nothing to do with me. Likely just coincidental. He was obviously in poor health and in pain from his body unable to produce enough specific enzymes to break down proteins during digestion. Right? Funny how one Inger post brought all this back from 1985. The next semester, I changed my major (for the eighth and last time) from history to Government/Pre-Law/Political Science. I had to meet with the dean of the department of political science: Dr. Vile. Yes, Dr. Vile was his name. PhD from the University of Virginia. His first letter of business was to try to dissuade me from changing to his department. "You know, this is much different from history or education, and you'll have to learn a foreign language. Half of our students drop this major after taking the first section of Constitutional Law, which I teach both sections of ConLaw as the head of the department. You sure you want the additional rigor?" a huge grin across his sanctimoniously self-absorbed mug, provided by the 23 smug chromosomes from each of his life-long academia-based, ivory-tower parents. "I have already enrolled in Introduction to Political Science and Constitutional Law Year One, so you'll see me at least six times every week next semester. So, I suppose, we both shall see very quickly." "Okay," he said in a high-pitched voice that nearly required a question mark, dripping with skepticism. The self-assured, joker-like smile never leaving his ham-shaped face. ""By the way, there are daily quizzes in ConLaw, so make sure you fix your weekly schedule. They can only be made-up with a physician's note." Dammit.
|
|
|
|
Post by kaybli on Feb 12, 2022 2:42:20 GMT -5
Recalling the time a class mate of mine got 13% on his mid term in algebra. The teacher was actually very incompetent, but the test was true false, and there were 50 true and 50 false questions. He could have guessed all false or all true and got a 50%. This horrendous teacher graded on a curve, and 50% earned a B on that exam… When I was a junior in college, a professor became vocally peeved with my lack of regular attendance and ridiculed me in front of the entire class during roll call. Precariously perched on the corner of a very sturdy wooden desk, Dr. Spivey was a soft-hewn, elephantine academic who wore three-piece suits and fluffy slippers due to painful gout. Quite respectfully, I replied matter-of-factly that his syllabus stated nothing in regard to "no-shows," and the university had long-standing Board Policy rules of attendance for freshman and sophomores; however, juniors and seniors were exempt from any demerit assigned due to specific expectations for seat-time or lack thereof. This appeared to upset him greatly, and he pontificated about values of academia and the importance of his lectures for at least ten minutes. "No, no, no. You need to attend regularly or drop my class!" I was seated in the first chair of the last row of blue plastic seats near the window, and every single eye was on me. "My apologies, Professor, but dropping this course is not an option, and my work schedule is fixed such that I only attend this class on review days and test days." The professor's head dropped backward on his neck as his face looked skyward or ceiling-ward for credulity, and he let out a sarcastic "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!" my fellow students now either snickering or chuckling. Again, he turned to me with obvious derision and asked, "Do you really expect to pass my class attending one day per week?" To which I replied calmly and respectfully, "I expect to make an A." The entire class now laughed heartily - half at me for my impudence and half at the professor's ever-reddening flapjack of a face. His voice rose loudly, "And, how, pray tell, do you expect to accomplish that?" My reply was measured and as devoid of cockiness as I could muster, "As stated in your syllabus, all exams are constructed objectively; therefore, answers are contained within the test itself. Without any short essay or long form written sections, subjectivity cannot affect my score, either by error or caprice." The professor's face stared at me in bewilderment for several seconds, then lightened and the non plussed expression replaced with what appeared to be a self-congratulatory smirk: "Well, my final exam is not yet prepared, and nothing in the syllabus states that it be confined to any objective format. I'll change the final to all Blue-Book, and we'll see how your grade looks then, and you may just wish you had taken my advice today to drop this class." Growing tired of being singled out, I could no longer contain a smile, "Dr. Spivey, you grade on a double-curve, throwing out the single best score, with the second highest exam becoming the final mark for adjustment. I think you'll find I have yet to miss a single question in this class. If I remain in that position, I will have accrued enough points for an "A" in this course without having to sit for the final exam." A deafening wave of silence washed over the room. Dr. Spivey pushed his prodigious bulk from the wooden corner of his desk, landing on his sore slabs of feet with a visible grimace, "No, no, hell no!" as he grabbed his green plastic grade book beneath the roll sheet and shuffled his fat phalanges from page to page. "What are the last four digits of your college ID." The portly professor gazed at his grade book, using his middle finger to pan left to right and then up and down. His mouth lagged agape and his eyes then fixed on me, as he casually tossed his grade book atop the roll sheet. With perfect manner and comportment, Dr. Spivey stood ram-rod straight: "I'll fix this. All within the rules of my syllabus and in accordance with each and every policy and procedure of this university. Indeed. Test this Friday. All objective in format. Class dismissed." Friday arrived and every seat in the classroom was occupied. I was still in the first seat of the last row. Always the result of arriving just before the start of class. Last, in other words. Dr. Spivey shuffled in, his fluffy slippers never completely off the floor. He handed the exam to two graduate interns, who counted each attendee in each chair chain while simultaneously fingering back each stapled test booklet before handing the representative stack to the first person seated in each row. I slid one from the top to myself and passed the stack behind me. Dr. Spivey looked at the clock on his desk, then wrote the time on the white board, and under it the exact end time to hand in the exam. Intermittent and clearly audible gasps occurred as each student inspected the test. Dr. Spivey smiled satisfyingly as if he had just flatulated pleasantly without notice. He lifted his freight to the corner of his sturdy oak desk and perched smugly. Seventy-five questions; all true-false. I was not in attendance when the exams were handed back the next Monday. My friend Troy was my next door neighbor in our dorm and a good guy from my hometown. He told me about Dr. Spivey's non-reaction to the announced results from the two graduate assistants. The second highest score was my buddy Troy with a 78. He said Dr. Spivey whispered to one of his interns, "What about...you know?" "Oh, yes sir, his exam was adjusted to a 122. Troy said Spivey sat motionless on the corner of his desk for a minute, and then began a lecture on the next topic. The remainder of the semester, one of the graduate assistants replaced Dr. Spivey, who took a medical leave. I'm sure it had nothing to do with me. Likely just coincidental. He was obviously in poor health and in pain from his body unable to produce enough specific enzymes to break down proteins during digestion. Right? Funny how one Inger post brought all this back from 1985. The next semester, I changed my major (for the eighth and last time) from history to Government/Pre-Law/Political Science. I had to meet with the dean of the department of political science: Dr. Vile. Yes, Dr. Vile was his name. PhD from the University of Virginia. His first letter of business was to try to dissuade me from changing to his department. "You know, this is much different from history or education, and you'll have to learn a foreign language. Half of our students drop this major after taking the first section of Constitutional Law, which I teach both sections of ConLaw as the head of the department. You sure you want the additional rigor?" a huge grin across his sanctimoniously self-absorbed mug, provided by the 23 smug chromosomes from each of his life-long academia-based, ivory-tower parents. "I have already enrolled in Introduction to Political Science and Constitutional Law Year One, so you'll see me at least six times every week next semester. So, I suppose, we both shall see very quickly." "Okay," he said in a high-pitched voice that nearly required a question mark, dripping with skepticism. The self-assured, joker-like smile never leaving his ham-shaped face. ""By the way, there are daily quizzes in ConLaw, so make sure you fix your weekly schedule. They can only be made-up with a physician's note." Dammit.
 , Great story rizz. |
|
|
|
Post by rizzuto on Feb 12, 2022 5:33:12 GMT -5
When I was a junior in college, a professor became vocally peeved with my lack of regular attendance and ridiculed me in front of the entire class during roll call. Precariously perched on the corner of a very sturdy wooden desk, Dr. Spivey was a soft-hewn, elephantine academic who wore three-piece suits and fluffy slippers due to painful gout. Quite respectfully, I replied matter-of-factly that his syllabus stated nothing in regard to "no-shows," and the university had long-standing Board Policy rules of attendance for freshman and sophomores; however, juniors and seniors were exempt from any demerit assigned due to specific expectations for seat-time or lack thereof. This appeared to upset him greatly, and he pontificated about values of academia and the importance of his lectures for at least ten minutes. "No, no, no. You need to attend regularly or drop my class!" I was seated in the first chair of the last row of blue plastic seats near the window, and every single eye was on me. "My apologies, Professor, but dropping this course is not an option, and my work schedule is fixed such that I only attend this class on review days and test days." The professor's head dropped backward on his neck as his face looked skyward or ceiling-ward for credulity, and he let out a sarcastic "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!" my fellow students now either snickering or chuckling. Again, he turned to me with obvious derision and asked, "Do you really expect to pass my class attending one day per week?" To which I replied calmly and respectfully, "I expect to make an A." The entire class now laughed heartily - half at me for my impudence and half at the professor's ever-reddening flapjack of a face. His voice rose loudly, "And, how, pray tell, do you expect to accomplish that?" My reply was measured and as devoid of cockiness as I could muster, "As stated in your syllabus, all exams are constructed objectively; therefore, answers are contained within the test itself. Without any short essay or long form written sections, subjectivity cannot affect my score, either by error or caprice." The professor's face stared at me in bewilderment for several seconds, then lightened and the non plussed expression replaced with what appeared to be a self-congratulatory smirk: "Well, my final exam is not yet prepared, and nothing in the syllabus states that it be confined to any objective format. I'll change the final to all Blue-Book, and we'll see how your grade looks then, and you may just wish you had taken my advice today to drop this class." Growing tired of being singled out, I could no longer contain a smile, "Dr. Spivey, you grade on a double-curve, throwing out the single best score, with the second highest exam becoming the final mark for adjustment. I think you'll find I have yet to miss a single question in this class. If I remain in that position, I will have accrued enough points for an "A" in this course without having to sit for the final exam." A deafening wave of silence washed over the room. Dr. Spivey pushed his prodigious bulk from the wooden corner of his desk, landing on his sore slabs of feet with a visible grimace, "No, no, hell no!" as he grabbed his green plastic grade book beneath the roll sheet and shuffled his fat phalanges from page to page. "What are the last four digits of your college ID." The portly professor gazed at his grade book, using his middle finger to pan left to right and then up and down. His mouth lagged agape and his eyes then fixed on me, as he casually tossed his grade book atop the roll sheet. With perfect manner and comportment, Dr. Spivey stood ram-rod straight: "I'll fix this. All within the rules of my syllabus and in accordance with each and every policy and procedure of this university. Indeed. Test this Friday. All objective in format. Class dismissed." Friday arrived and every seat in the classroom was occupied. I was still in the first seat of the last row. Always the result of arriving just before the start of class. Last, in other words. Dr. Spivey shuffled in, his fluffy slippers never completely off the floor. He handed the exam to two graduate interns, who counted each attendee in each chair chain while simultaneously fingering back each stapled test booklet before handing the representative stack to the first person seated in each row. I slid one from the top to myself and passed the stack behind me. Dr. Spivey looked at the clock on his desk, then wrote the time on the white board, and under it the exact end time to hand in the exam. Intermittent and clearly audible gasps occurred as each student inspected the test. Dr. Spivey smiled satisfyingly as if he had just flatulated pleasantly without notice. He lifted his freight to the corner of his sturdy oak desk and perched smugly. Seventy-five questions; all true-false. I was not in attendance when the exams were handed back the next Monday. My friend Troy was my next door neighbor in our dorm and a good guy from my hometown. He told me about Dr. Spivey's non-reaction to the announced results from the two graduate assistants. The second highest score was my buddy Troy with a 78. He said Dr. Spivey whispered to one of his interns, "What about...you know?" "Oh, yes sir, his exam was adjusted to a 122. Troy said Spivey sat motionless on the corner of his desk for a minute, and then began a lecture on the next topic. The remainder of the semester, one of the graduate assistants replaced Dr. Spivey, who took a medical leave. I'm sure it had nothing to do with me. Likely just coincidental. He was obviously in poor health and in pain from his body unable to produce enough specific enzymes to break down proteins during digestion. Right? Funny how one Inger post brought all this back from 1985. The next semester, I changed my major (for the eighth and last time) from history to Government/Pre-Law/Political Science. I had to meet with the dean of the department of political science: Dr. Vile. Yes, Dr. Vile was his name. PhD from the University of Virginia. His first letter of business was to try to dissuade me from changing to his department. "You know, this is much different from history or education, and you'll have to learn a foreign language. Half of our students drop this major after taking the first section of Constitutional Law, which I teach both sections of ConLaw as the head of the department. You sure you want the additional rigor?" a huge grin across his sanctimoniously self-absorbed mug, provided by the 23 smug chromosomes from each of his life-long academia-based, ivory-tower parents. "I have already enrolled in Introduction to Political Science and Constitutional Law Year One, so you'll see me at least six times every week next semester. So, I suppose, we both shall see very quickly." "Okay," he said in a high-pitched voice that nearly required a question mark, dripping with skepticism. The self-assured, joker-like smile never leaving his ham-shaped face. ""By the way, there are daily quizzes in ConLaw, so make sure you fix your weekly schedule. They can only be made-up with a physician's note." Dammit.
 , Great story rizz. Self-congratulatory certainly, but true nonetheless. |
|
|
|
Post by inger on Feb 12, 2022 6:29:52 GMT -5
MLB just finds new ways to embarrass itself. Fair enough. Then the billionaire owners shouldn’t get a cut, either… |
|
|
|
Post by domeplease on Feb 12, 2022 12:04:36 GMT -5
Rob Manfred makes it easier for Braves to re-sign Freddie Freeman without worry
|
|
|
|
Post by chiyankee on Feb 12, 2022 16:41:10 GMT -5
Not a surprise that there wasn't a lot of progress.
|
|
|
|
Post by kaybli on Feb 12, 2022 17:01:23 GMT -5
Not a surprise that there wasn't a lot of progress. Well usually what Nightengale says turns out to be the opposite, so this is hopeful.  |
|
|
|
Post by chiyankee on Feb 12, 2022 17:26:55 GMT -5
|
|
|
|
Post by chiyankee on Feb 12, 2022 17:28:22 GMT -5
Not a surprise that there wasn't a lot of progress. Well usually what Nightengale says turns out to be the opposite, so this is hopeful.  I think it's easy for Nightengale to be correct this time. They are going to have to come to an agreement quickly for the season to start on time. |
|
, Great story rizz. 
, Great story rizz. 
