I've always believed in the idea of "clutch." Having watched Derek Jeter in New York for almost as long as I've watched baseball, I felt I knew exactly what clutch was: stepping up to the plate knowing you were going to get a hit, willing yourself to battle through the at-bat. Having watched Alex Rodriguez for a number of years as well, I felt I knew exactly what clutch was not: feeling the compression in your chest, thinking about failure and hearing boos in your head. Sure, you could point out that Jeter's postseason OPS is only two points higher than A-Rod's (.846 to .844), but that hasn't mattered. I've seen A-Rod choke a thousand times, but I'll never forget Jeter's extra-inning, game-winning home run in the 2001 World Series. Yup, D.J.'s clutch, A-Rod's not.
Or that's what I always told myself.
I reasoned that some players shy away from big moments for fear of the pressure (A-Rod), while others live for those moments and lock in (Jeter, David Ortiz). Whenever I was questioned about the term "lock in" I always had a quick response; it's just like when a player gets hot.
People who've played fantasy baseball for a few years will remember how Richie Sexson used to be a notorious second-half player. For some reason, once July rolled around, it was just like Richie locked in and started launching bombs. Fellow fantasy nerds will also recall Chris Shelton in 2006, who hit nine homers in the team's first 13 games, then managed only seven the rest of the year. There was no way to explain it other than the fact that he was just locked in -- he was just hot.
But recently, two researchers made a presentation about the "hot hand" phenomenon in the NBA at the 2009 MIT Sloan Sports Analytics Conference. And let's just say the results weren't exactly what I expected.
After studying data from the past six seasons, not only did they find no evidence of the "hot hand," but they found that players who made their last jump shot actually suffered in performance. After making a jumper, players tended to take harder shots, resulting in a 3.5 percent drop in field goal percentage. Even worse, despite taking more difficult looks, they shot more; players who made their last jumper took the next one 9 percent more of the time than players who didn't. If everyone on a team acted this way, the researchers calculated it would cost them 4.5 wins per season -- twice the difference between the No. 1 seed and the No. 6 seed in the Western Conference last year.
OK, so the hot hand isn't a real thing. In fact, the very concept is detrimental to a team's play. But that doesn't mean clutch is nonexistent, does it?
I've always regarded Kobe Bryant as one of the greatest shooters in the NBA. The man doesn't have the physicality of LeBron James, but he's mastered every shot there is. If there's anyone that's clutch, it would be him. In a recent ESPN.com poll, most of the country agreed with me, as over 50 percent said they'd want Kobe taking the last shot as opposed to LeBron or Dwyane Wade.
Unfortunately, after doing some research of my own, my concept of clutch was shattered. Between 2003 and February of this year, including the regular season and playoffs, Kobe has taken 56 attempts at game-winning shots. He's made 14 of them, or 25 percent -- not even up to par with the league average of 29.8 percent. And just for reference, LeBron's at 34 percent and D-Wade's at 27.5. Not exactly awe-inspiring.
So I guess perhaps it's time to give up this notion of clutch. If the hot hand doesn't exist, I don't see how clutch could either -- especially when the supposed "best" are so bad when it counts.
Then again, some guy named Carmelo Anthony has made 48 percent of his game-winners. Maybe there's hope after all...
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