It was occurring to me that over the past several years, the Knicks' repeated attempts to "buy" a championship team have failed miserably. The Yankees' attempts to do the same thing have by and large succeeded. Which allows us to weave our Andorian methodology into our analysis of team sports.
Baseball is largely a game of individual statistics. The role of the "and" is less prominent in baseball than it is in basketball or football. Each batter faces off individually against the pitcher. Each fielder individually fields ground or fly balls. Sure, the shortstop has to throw to first base. The catcher suggests how the pitcher should throw. However, there are a finite variety of plays that can be run. It is not necessary that players acclimate to each other to perform well. Baseball is largely a game of individual performances. If the pitcher pitches well, and the hitters and fielders perform at a high level, the team does well. The "or" predominates, and the "and" benefits from a powerful "or". A team of superstars, all in their prime, will thrive. As George Steinbrenner repeatedly proved, championships can be bought.
Basketball is different. The performance of each player is highly dependent upon the actions of his teammates. An offensive talent cannot thrive if his teammates don't get him the ball. While few doubt that Karl Malone would have been an excellent player on most teams, it is unlikely he would have been a great player were it not for a John Stockton repeatedly feeding him when he was open. (And Stockton would have been fairly mediocre were it not for Malone.). I believe we can say that in basketball, to a greater extent than baseball, the "and" predominates. The "or" is certainly not subjugated by the "and". Great teams invariably have at least a couple of great players. But the "or" is largely dependent upon the "and". Great players cannot thrive unless they work well together. And that is why attempts to buy or design great teams have often failed so miserably. The Knicks are a prime example. An idiot named James Dolan disregarded the advice of several people more knowledgable than he was and traded away several budding players to acquire a superstar named Carmelo Anthony. The team already had one superstar, Amare Stoudemire, and he believed that adding a second would create an unbeatable combination. It didn't happen. Carmelo shot and shot and shot, missing more often than he hit. Amare faded. The team sank. Similar examples abound. Lebron James believed that teaming up with another superstar, Dwayne Wade, and a star, Chris Bosch, would guarantee a ring. While no one could deny they did well, they fell well short of his unrealistic expectations. He and Wade could not consistently have 40 point games on the same night. When one was hot, the other took a back seat and sometimes lost interest. In basketball, it seems, the whole if often considerably less than the sum of its parts.
I would submit that the "and" predominates even more in football than it does in basketball. The team moves like a multicelled animal up and down the field. The quarterback can only throw if his blockers are protecting him. No one would ever say that a football team can win without excellent players. However, cohesion is built into the game, and more than any other american sport, a prerequisite for success. The receiver can only catch if the quarterback's throw is relatively on target. The vaunted touchdown, the momentary victory of the "or" that occurs when a player separates himself from the others in the endzone, only occurs when the "and" functions at the highest level. The number of plays that can be sketched for a basketball team is great, (particularly in comparison to that can be drawn up for a baseball team.) The number that can be sketched for a football team is infinite.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Comparison
Of course, our comparison of the relatively rich conscious life of the human and that of the cat may at times appear misleading. In a way, the richness of the "and" and the "or" pervades human consciousness. My room is inundated with the "and" and the "or". It is filled with objects, a queen sized bed, sheets and comforter, a desk, a TV, computers, recording equipment, loose papers, barbels, dressers, a chair, clothes including pants, socks etc. While this may appear almost unbearably rich, in truth, human consciousness, like that of a cat, is largely intentional. I'm drawn to my bed and plop down, exhausted, only semiconsciously aware of the other objects therein.
Perhaps, though, this semiconsciousness is a resource our fellow beasts lack. When it is time to turn my attention from resting to another activity, I may scan the rich array of objects and directing my attention to those that suit my purpose. Perhaps I have already established a set of goals or tasks yesterday, or at the beginning of the week, and relatively little scanning is required. The activity of scanning through possible tasks and choosing those that are important to you, was done in the past.
Perhaps, though, this semiconsciousness is a resource our fellow beasts lack. When it is time to turn my attention from resting to another activity, I may scan the rich array of objects and directing my attention to those that suit my purpose. Perhaps I have already established a set of goals or tasks yesterday, or at the beginning of the week, and relatively little scanning is required. The activity of scanning through possible tasks and choosing those that are important to you, was done in the past.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
The categories/creativity
It is in the nature of the human mind to categorize things. Unlike a cat, we will categorize what is a book, what is a chair, what is a magazine, what is a pencil. We are always at work categorizing. And by categorizing, we are both setting things apart from each other and grouping things together with each other. The "and" and the "or", it would seem, is more deeply entrenched in the human mind than in the brain of our fellow beasts. And through this ability to categorize, we are able to create new forms, new tools, new songs, new paintings, new novels. We combine bits of old forms in new ways, discarding that which does not meet our purpose. And when a new form acquires a certain degree of recognition from society, that form will acquire more form as you will, more definition. Take the personal computer. It may have begun as a construct in the basements of some men we now call geniuses. But the idea of a personal computer certainly had no being 75 or 100 years ago. It was only after it was invented, used and adopted by millions that this form, this invention, this category, truly came into being.
We can now level some criticism at some ancient Platonists, who believed forms were eternal. Certainly the form form for a computer was not eternal. It was born, it came into being and will likely one day become obsolete.
It may be worthwhile in future posts to categorize what, if anything, is eternal. Is something that is eternal somehow divine? An electron may come close to being eternal (though electrons may not have existed before the big bang.). Is an electron divine? It seems absurd.
We can now level some criticism at some ancient Platonists, who believed forms were eternal. Certainly the form form for a computer was not eternal. It was born, it came into being and will likely one day become obsolete.
It may be worthwhile in future posts to categorize what, if anything, is eternal. Is something that is eternal somehow divine? An electron may come close to being eternal (though electrons may not have existed before the big bang.). Is an electron divine? It seems absurd.
The primacy of mind
This last question gives rise to the conclusion that language gives rise to form. As long as there is language, there will be some form. For what could seem to be as form free as formlessness? But as soon as we call it something, we have defined it. We have labeled it, and it is something that is different from other things. Formlessness is different from form.
Thus we can say that this differentiation, the "or", at least in part, has its birth in language. Which is not to say that the "or" is an artificial construct. We have seen how the "or" is present, in very real form, in nature, epistemology, biology, biochemistry, chemistry, physics, society, history, economics et al.
However, to an extent that may never be completely clear, the "or" emanates from the human mind. In the same way that an electron does not occupy a certain position until the observer observes it, and the observer determines that position, form does not exist until the speaker defines it. Does this mean that reality does not exist until it is observed, as some philosophers have argued? Of course not. Electrons exist, regardless of whether they are observed. But the observer plays some role in defining them. Just as an observer plays a role in defining various types of form.
Take a chair. Does my cat understand what a chair is? Does she really see it as anything different from a tree stump or a bed. Does she know it generally has legs, a backrest (in contrast to a stool), and sometimes armrests? I don't think so. The concept of chair has much more meaning to a human than to a cat. To a cat, beds, tree stumps and chairs may all occupy some vague position in the world of potential resting places or potential observation points. But they aren't something a cat will think about or categorize to the point that a human will.
Thus we can say that this differentiation, the "or", at least in part, has its birth in language. Which is not to say that the "or" is an artificial construct. We have seen how the "or" is present, in very real form, in nature, epistemology, biology, biochemistry, chemistry, physics, society, history, economics et al.
However, to an extent that may never be completely clear, the "or" emanates from the human mind. In the same way that an electron does not occupy a certain position until the observer observes it, and the observer determines that position, form does not exist until the speaker defines it. Does this mean that reality does not exist until it is observed, as some philosophers have argued? Of course not. Electrons exist, regardless of whether they are observed. But the observer plays some role in defining them. Just as an observer plays a role in defining various types of form.
Take a chair. Does my cat understand what a chair is? Does she really see it as anything different from a tree stump or a bed. Does she know it generally has legs, a backrest (in contrast to a stool), and sometimes armrests? I don't think so. The concept of chair has much more meaning to a human than to a cat. To a cat, beds, tree stumps and chairs may all occupy some vague position in the world of potential resting places or potential observation points. But they aren't something a cat will think about or categorize to the point that a human will.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Last of 2011
I don't know about you, but for me, the first couple of days on the moon would be O.K. But after a while, I'd get bored.
The world of Generica
A writer or speaker will draw us out of the dull listless world of fuzzy beings, a country I'll call Generica, by combining different generics to create a picture. Take the lyrics to "Penny Lane". "At Penny Lane there is a barber showing photographs. Of every head he's had the pleasure to have known. And all the people that come and go. Stop and say hello." We begin with a generic picture of a barber. For me, that is a vague and fuzzy picture of a man dressed in white, perhaps with white hair and a pair of scissors. But then something is added to that picture. He is showing photographs. What initially comes to mind may be some vague black and white photographs. So no longer do we have just a generic barber. But perhaps a cheerful barber showing people photographs of everyone he has had the pleasure of knowing. And then added to this picture is a picture of vague and fuzzy people stopping and saying hello as he is out showing photographs. Outside? Inside? In any event, we find ourselves moving from the dull listless country of Generica. The world of sameness, of fuzzy generic people and things. And by combining generics, the writer or speaker draws the listener out of this world and into the world of particulars. In the case of "Penny Lane", we see subsequent vignettes of children laughing in pursuit of a banker who is driving in his car without a raincoat, a fireman with an hourglass, and the barber giving a customer a shave while the banker waits for a trim. The fireman then comes rushing in. We are still left with these fuzzy generic pictures; the banker is still a fuzzy banker, as are the fireman and barber. But these fuzzy pictures are being combined in a certain way to draw us out out of the country of Generica.
What would a world composed solely of particulars, with no fuzzy essences, no generics, look like? Would every item one sees be so shockingly different, so particular, as to make the viewer recoil in fear? Or would every object seems so devoid of shape, so devoid of essence as to escape meaning? A barren moon where each rock escapes notice?
What would a world composed solely of particulars, with no fuzzy essences, no generics, look like? Would every item one sees be so shockingly different, so particular, as to make the viewer recoil in fear? Or would every object seems so devoid of shape, so devoid of essence as to escape meaning? A barren moon where each rock escapes notice?
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