Mathematics After The Fall

Two similar books get quick reviews tonight: Basketball on Paper by Dean Oliver, and The World’s Most Dangerous Places by Robert Young Pelton.

It seems a little strange to put these books together, so why do I? Because they’re both from a new perspective, and that’s what makes them strong. There are lots of books on basketball, like there are lots of travel guides. You can find shelves of each at Borders. Most, frankly, are boring. Why do I need 20 uplifting autobiographies “with” a secondary author? Why are there 10 guides for each American state? It’s pretty much more of the same.

Basketball on Paper does something different. It tries to quantify the game. There had been, and continues to be, other work on the subject. There’s nowhere near as much as baseball with the Sabermetrics community. Mostly, that’s because baseball is easy to analyze. Almost all actions involve one or two people at a time. It’s pitcher versus hitter, then a fielder and a runner. Everything is separate. That’s what makes some people like baseball, while I find it slow. Basketball, on the other hand, involves ten players moving together, where one failure or success routinely changes several other actions. Basketball is tougher. People still try, and a good starting page is at SonicsCentral.

I’m not going to go into much detail, because if you’re a quantitative basketball fan, you should read the book. If you’re not, you likely won’t. Mr. Oliver is given credit for popularizing the concept of possession, offensive rating, and defensive rating, so it’s good to read to get examples. On the downside, the writing is pedestrian, and there are lots of tables. There are so many tables that my eyes would glaze a bit, and I like this stuff. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to read it all at once? The writing brings this grade down to 2 out of 5.

And if you want just a little detail, here are the key things to remember.

1. The Four Factors are, in order of importance, shooting percentage, turnover percentage, offensive rebounding percentage, and free throws.
2. The best shot attempt is an open layup. The second best attempt is an open three-pointer by a good shooter. The third best outcome is to get fouled and get free throws.
3. Interestingly, jump shots have approximately the same success percentage at all distances from about 6 feet to the three point line. Thus, medium to long two pointers are silly shots.
4. The disadvantage of a contested shot is very large. In one record, open shots went in about 61% of the time while contested shots went in less than 40% of the time.

Better writing, yet on another limited subject, grants Mr. Pelton’s book a 3 out of 5. Dangerous Places does something different. It provides a travel guide on countries that don’t have many of those silly travel books. As such, I learned a lot about North Korea, Afghanistan, Liberia, Yemen, and the rest. There’s good history. One small problem is that the book was published in 2003, so some countries – like Zimbabwe and Iraq – are somewhat out of date. On the other hand, South Africa and the United States still have bad spots.

The best part of the book consists of true stories, “In a Dangerous Place”. Some of the tales are just amazing. Even if you’re not a history or geography person, like I am, these are well worth the time. The Russian TV show, the Mali airport, and Albanian smugglers are all memorable. These are not happy stories; it’s no Chicka Chicka Boom Boom. You need to have a dark sense of humor to like things here, like the convenient list of mercenary companies. If you do, like with basketball, there are great rewards from an unusual approach.

A romance of many dimensions, says the subtitle to Flatland. It was written in the 1880s, and is out of copyright, so I’m linking to the Project Gutenburg free version. It’s a short read, much talked about by mathematicians. I am not a mathematician, but I’ve heard enough about it, and there’s even a movie with voices offered by a fellow Democrat for Life named Martin Sheen and fellow nerd lover – though somewhat hotter in a bikini – Kristin Bell.

I did notice that the movie has Ms. Bell voicing a hexagon, which is not in keeping with the book. It would surprise me to waste her on the way women are portrayed by Edwin A. Abbott in the written work; the movie crew didn’t, instead choosing to ignore the gender differences in the text. Since I haven’t seen the movie, I will comment only upon the book. Furthermore, I am not evaluating this book as an introduction to dimension and proportionality, a teaching tool. It’s good for that. Instead, I want to comment on the satire and story.

Sometimes, Mr. Abbott is funny or sweet. There’s humor in the visit to Point, a zero-dimensional structure who considers It the entire universe. All outside comments must come from Its thoughts. I thought of people who sometimes act almost as self absorbed as Point. I also thought of sweetness in the description of how the people of Lineland mate. “No, no, neighbourhood is needless for the union of hearts.” For them, it’s about hearing, and distance, and matching male voice with females; courtship can take many weeks, too, until the pure harmony of the marriage chorus is achieved.

On the other hand, in Flatland Women are mere lines – well, very thin parallelograms. They receive almost no schooling, must constantly make noise to prevent a figure from hitting them, and are stuck with just emotion. Each house has a special door for women, to avoid potential entry problems. This is not good. On the other hand, they can use their pointy ends to puncture almost any male figure, including their husbands, a strong inducement to fidelity.

That’s the major part of the satire here, the difference between social classes and genders. British society in the 19th century had strict social structure, where advancement could be made slowly, if at all. In Flatland, triangles can only improve their angles at 0.5 degrees per birth. Regular polygons get to advance faster, one side per generation, but still would take hundreds of years to reach the high dimension of “circles”. Even by British standards, that’s slow. The class system is strong; higher class people do not engage in touch recognition, and in most cases should not even be contacted. (It even holds today at the head of state level, as Michelle Obama caused a great deal of discussion about protocol.) To try to reach a higher class, promising children are often sent to special facilities to be broken and reset. The “Circular Neo-Therapeutic Gymnasium” kills nine out of ten, but apparently it’s worth it to the Flatland classes. To Democrats for Life like Mr. Sheen and myself, though, this would be anathema.

Another modern anathema would be the treatment of women, and I’m not surprised that this was removed from the movie. In Mr. Abbott’s book, women are considered to have lower intelligence to match their lower dimension. They are taught about emotions, with different language. This seems in line with the thoughts of the Victorian era, and its outward restraint against emotion. One might even see a little eugenic critique inside Flatland society, though I’m not sure about that.

The problem with the book, from a 2009 perspective, is that the satire doesn’t make sense. It’s no longer our satire. Of course I don’t like lower classes for women; I strongly prefer multidimensional females with curves. Of course I find such a strong caste system unlikeable. It’s easy to say that, now. Unlike other social critiques such as
Looking Backward by Edward Bellamy, this satire has lost its salt, mostly. Thus, as a social critique, Flatland earns a 1 out of 5. The grade as a mathematical teaching tool would be much higher, if you’re looking for that.

Most of the books on this site, and most of the books I read, are rather sad. So is much of what I talk about in this blog. It’s part of my vocation, for one thing. Right now there are books on pandemics, flu and AIDS, waiting to be read. There are also at least two books on the misuse of statistics. Another portion of what I read is about pain in the world. Right now there are books about child soldiers and torture. These make my list because I think that a citizen needs to understand suffering. Though plenty in my life is painful, other parts of the world need explanation.

Not everything I read is sad, though. Science fiction appears from time to time. So do children’s books. In a similar vein, this post summarizes some comic books. The blogroll contains the online comics PhD Comics and xkcd, obviously. In the printed paper, my favorite current works are Get Fuzzy and Frazz. I have all four treasuries of Get Fuzzy, of which The Potpourrific Great Big Bag of Get Fuzzy is the latest. I give this book a 3 out of 5. It’s funny. Bucky Katt is nasty, while Satchel Pooch is sweet, and Rob Wilco as the human tries to keep order. I appreciate the casualness at which dogs and cats can speak; it’s one of the funny parts. Everyone that visits just accepts the anthropomorphism. (And I can use anthropomorphism in my blog, yes! Amazing, it’s even in my spell checker.) I’m not sure if this is true. Dogs in my life are nasty, while some cats at least are nice. Then again, it is a comic book, and they can talk. Things can be different.

I also am a fan of Frazz. I own all three books, of which Frazz 3.1416 is the third. Frazz is set in a Michigan elementary school. Part of its appeal is the pro-education bias. Involved teachers are treated well, while inactivity, major sports, and stupidity get little quarter. Additionally, there’s a really sweet love story with Frazz and Miss Plainwell. I appreciate it a lot, so much so that I’ve previously reviewed the first two books. As before, I suggest this book. It also gets a 3 out of 5.

The third comic book continues one of my favorite TV shows, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The idea was to continue the stories, but without the budget. The first five issues were collected in The Long Way Home, which I picked up to take a look. My thoughts are mixed. The stories make sense, the characters still have their character, and I was entertained. I particularly liked the last story, a standalone entitled “The Chain”. But something is missing. It’s the medium, I think. Comic books are more reflective, and lose the immediacy and personality of TV. It’s different wit. When I think of the wit of Buffy the TV series, the comic can’t match that. I’m not a serious comic book guy, and it shows here. Buffy gets a 2 out of 5.

Back in college, 15 years ago (as I remind myself now), the term Generation X was proposed for my generation, those born after the Baby Boomers. The source of the term is a fictional work, Generation X by Douglas Coupland. Mr. Coupland, by the way, is not in this Generation under the commonly accepted definition; he was born in 1961, generally labeled a late Boomer, not in the 1965-1980 range of my peers. Plus, he’s Canadian. That makes his perspective a little different. Like many artists, he seems to not enjoy that popular culture picked up terminology from his book.

Anyway, back in college I found the library’s copy and read the book, a fairly short read. I recalled it as moderately interesting and humorous, with a highly cynical style. In 2008, as part of the Millennial discussions at Bellarmine, I mentioned this book, so I thought I should own a copy and reread it to see how my impressions had changed. Back in February, I wrote on how the Boomers are sacrificing my future through debt. Now, well, the old people are talking about a Trillion dollar deficit this year. Let me write that out: $1,000,000,000,000. Many, many zeroes there are, all put onto the younger generation’s plate. The more I look, well, things aren’t good. It’s tough for me to see myself ever collecting Social Security, for example. Math teachers will always be needed, at least, so I don’t have to learn a full career with my hands. I’m not that good with tools.

But this is not an entry about finance, or how Boomer greed makes us Generation X people cynical; there’s plenty of work on how X isn’t just for slackers. This note is about the book. The book, well, is a set of stories about adults in Palm Springs. They have low-end jobs, and deliberately live small lives. The happy times come from telling uninterrupted stories about Texlahoma, where “the year is permanently 1974, the year after the oil shock and the year starting from which real wages in the U.S. never grew again.” The book, well, has almost no plot. It’s not about the epic; it’s not intended to be. There are no Beren and Luthien. There’s not even a Clarisse. Mr. Coupland doesn’t do uplifting. The one place where he tries, well, it’s very soppy. Totally out of place, it weakens the book. The writing wasn’t great literature to begin with, and it cannot recover. Overall, today in 2009 the book gets a 1 out of 5.

In 1991, when this book was first published, the narrative of my peers was less known, and so this fiction defined the concept. For that I am thankful, and this book would have rated more highly, possibly even a 4. In 1995, when I read this, cultural awareness was growing, and I picked up some things. It was a 2 or 3. Now, it’s less necessary. History changes things, like the perception of Generation X against the boomers, and my perception of the book Generation X.

The Bellarmine men’s basketball team is doing well this year. They have not yet been defeated. More people want to attend the games; tomorrow night’s game is sold out. Last year one could just walk into a half open gym. I don’t mind this. Louisville has a strange obsession with college sports, so Bellarmine’s victories have led to increased newspaper coverage. That’s free advertising. Also, more sold tickets means more money for Bellarmine. Sure, they don’t cost much, but an extra 1,000 tickets at $6 each is $6,000 per game. There was a new sidewalk constructed this week on campus, conveniently on my route from home to office. I think it’s the basketball bucks.

The first week of the spring semester is over, and I’m taking Friday night to handle personal things. Saturday and Sunday will have work. One of those personal things is cleaning, so I’m going to make some short book reviews so I can file away the books from 2008. They’re so last year.

One of those books is Can I Keep My Jersey? by Paul Shirley, a book about basketball. Mr. Shirley is a Kansas farmboy with a lot of smarts. Actually, National Merit smarts. He might have become a good engineer. Instead, because he is over 2 meters tall, he wanted to play basketball. He walked on at Iowa State, paying for college from his academic scholarship. In college, he developed into a good basketball player. Good is an understatement, really; Mr. Shirley is very good. He is likely one of the best 1,000 basketball players in the world. The book relates stories from his life.

I purchased this book as light reading because Mr. Shirley’s columns on espn had been humorous and enlightening. Parts of the longer text continue that trend. The problem, though, is too much cynicism. There’s a point where self deprecating humor just becomes sad, and this book speeds right through it. I don’t get it. He turns down places to play, with decent salaries – way more than Bellarmine’s ticket revenue. He never seems happy. Maybe it’s a fictional act, melodrama for the book. Maybe it’s a sign of physiological depression. In any event I don’t like it. I find it hard to imagine that he would keep taking these jobs, only to complain. It ruins the fun of the book, and leads me to give it only a below average score, 1 out of 5. In the past, I would have looked more sympathetically at the cynicism, rating it more highly. For my life (though not for Mr. Shirley, who took yet another basketball job in Spain this season), it’s good that I’m less jaundiced. That makes me feel better than getting a basketball-funded sidewalk.

I have a large backlog of book reviews from this year. Since my completed book shelf is now full, I’ve decided to quickly type them instead of clearing another shelf. There’s nothing like a bad solution to a problem.

Anyway, over Thanksgiving break I was traveling a bit, which called for lighter reading than normal. I chose the latest John Grisham legal thriller in Mass Market Paperback, The Appeal. The story begins with the verdict of a trial, where a clearly guilty corporation is actually convicted of dumping toxic chemicals and causing cancer. By a preponderance of the evidence. Not even unanimously, 10-2. Still, this leads to an appeal to the Mississippi Supreme Court, in this world a relatively pro-business organization. The problem is that it’s not friendly enough to the Corporation. The head of the losing corporation embarks on a campaign to replace a relatively liberal judge with an unknown conservative, a good family man. He will oppose trial lawyers and protect Kapitalism. It shouldn’t surprise you that the Corporation plays lots of dirty tricks throughout, including in the campaign.

While there are some twists and turns, and I appreciate the audacity of the ending, the characters are rarely fully developed. It reads more like a movie script than a thorough character study. I suspect the movie will be good. As a book, though, it’s just average, and earns a 2 out of 5.

The disheartening thing, though, is that this scenario is very close to non-fiction. I would not be surprised if a Corporation has conducted such a campaign, to ensure the free flow of Kapitalism. For some reason, the entities can do that. As stated previously, I am of the firm belief that corporations do not have the rights reserved to people in the US Constitution. In the Corporate Personhood Debate, I stand with those that make a difference between a legal person and a flesh-and-blood person. Here’s my argument. As a human, in the United States I receive rights and have responsibilities; my punishment for violations can include fines, prison, and (in most states) death. Because a mechanism exists to enforce responsibilities, with severe punishments, I can be trusted with substantial rights and privileges.

Corporations, on the other hand, cannot be imprisoned. At least theoretically, they can be killed by revoking their charter, but this happens even less than killing a person. Besides, in America Corporations are chartered by each state; a Corporation can just transfer all its assets to another Corporation in another state before death. Combine that with the ability to bribe legislators and judges (excuse me, “campaign contributions”), and all the states will never kill a Corporation. Because the government has fewer ways to enforce the responsibilities of the Corporation, I hold that these legal entities are entitled to fewer rights.

Unfortunately, the opposite is now true. A book review is not the place to get into a long discussion on this; maybe I’ll do it later. For now, I’ll just promote the small movement with a smart idea: get Pennsylvania townships to pass local ordinances that state what I consider logical fact. “Corporations shall not be considered to be ‘persons’ protected by the Constitution of the United States.” I’m proud of people in my childhood state for this, yet it’s not enough. Until the big shift occurs, stories like The Appeal will be far too close to real life.

Many Americans have this idea about exceptionalism. America doesn’t have the problems that other places do. We read about Zimbabwe and Darfur and Pakistan, and we often say that those things couldn’t happen here. America’s too good for places where government, the community and state, doesn’t work. Unfortunately, that’s not true. Some of those failings are behind the scenes, like how young women turn to violent, brutal, vicious monologues that barely support them, because nothing else is available. (See the last entry.) Many of the others, the lost communities, are generally in places most Americans never see. That’s why we are amazed by descriptions like those in Sudhir Venkatesh’s Gang Leader for a Day. Over Spring Break, I picked this book up, having heard about it on NPR. I finished it in a day and a half. It’s the first book in the Musings to get the highest rating, 5 out of 5. If you are mature, and at all interested in communities (and I think you should be), this is a vital book. You should read it. I will warn you that the language that Dr. Venkatesh uses is quite brutal. It’s appropriate, because the life is brutal. The book is not for the squeamish. Then again, this blog has never been for the squeamish, either.

I thought for a while before awarding a 5, because that level of importance needs to be rare. It’s like giving A grades; if they’re common they lose value. For a while, I thought I was being generous because I had knowledge of the topology. When I arrived in Chicago in August 2000, some of the Lake Park infrastructure was still visible. When the 47th street entrance to Lake Shore Drive was under construction, I sometimes drove up to 39th street, passing the project on the right. I’ve seen the Robert Taylor Homes, the setting for most of the book, and driven through from time to time. I’ve personally seen the brutalist architecture of large, raw concrete buildings. I’ve seen the unprotected motel-style outside corridors that are completely inappropriate for windy, cold Chicago. I’ve seen mostly boarded up buildings. By 2000, many of the 28 original high-rises had been knocked down, leaving strangely open blocks of territory on State Street. These homes were several blocks from the subway, blocked on the west by the expressway. As even the CHA now states, “By containing a large low-income population on an isolated site, the Robert Taylor Homes property became a national symbol for the errant philosophy of post-war public housing.” They were miserable to view. It’s not hard, retrospectively, to see the problem. Take large numbers of relatively poor people. Choose sites far away from services and public transportation, because those are naturally undervalued. (As has been admitted, the projects didn’t even have the standard Chicago rectangular street grid, to further the isolation. Stack them in ugly buildings – the name brutalist actually comes from the french word for concrete, not how the buildings looked, but it works completely. Fail to maintain the buildings. Remove services and support, like police, banks, and medical services. Watch civil society disappear, and alternative forms of government develop. This means Gangs. After a few years, you get what’s described in this manuscript.

Dr. Venkatesh did the sort of naive idiotic dangerous thing graduate students are warned about. He went to the Lake Park homes to conduct a multiple choice survey. He should have been robbed, beaten, or killed. It happens every so often, even in the better neighborhood of Hyde Park. Instead, the leader J. T. adopts him, for reasons never fully explained. The author gains access, and over time, trust. He documents the world of the failed state, both in academic papers and the book. He worries about ethics and getting too close, even as that closeness furthers his career. (Navel-gazing I’ve never enjoyed reading, and that tradition continues here; these parts can easily be skipped.) In the end, the author gets the top-tier academic job, at Columbia; he has a happy ending. J. T. does pretty well; he gets to retire to the suburbs. The community, on the other hand, gets destroyed, razed with the buildings. The Robert Taylor Homes are like Ben Tre; “it became necessary to destroy the town to save it.”

This might be right; given the errors made in location, construction, and support, I don’t know if the community could ever have survived. It’s an utter embarrassment. You should read about it. As I did, I often cringed. I was also often amazed by J. T.’s skills. He is the best businessman I have ever seen, including the billionaires. With his skills, if he had my childhood, let alone the privilege one of many of my undergraduate compatriots, he would likely have two homes in the Hamptons. Instead, he’s got a stable middle-class life. If I were a business leader, I would read this book then try to hire J. T. After all, you can steal a lot more with a briefcase than a gun, right? If I were anyone else, even with the small flaws I have mentioned, I would read this book. It’s not happy, but it is revealing.