Death in the Afternoon …

Posted: December 31st, 2007 | Filed under: Media | 53 Comments »

The Pozcars polls are now closed, and totals are being tabulated. I’m hoping to have complete results up on New Year’s Day … or certainly by Jan. 2. Thanks for playing. In the meantime, a little piece of me died on Dec. 31.

* * *

Another afternoon newspaper died Monday, the fourth one I’ve managed to help knock off in my relatively short life on this earth. The Cincinnati Post printed its final edition on the last day of 2007. The huge headline on the front was the iconic “-30-” that newspaper people for more than 100 years have used to denote the end — end of a story, end of a page, end of an era. Even when I was young and using the old Teleram (a sort of early computer that weighed 495 pounds and had a screen roughly the size of a Halloween-sized Snickers bar), we had to put that “-30-” at the end of the story or it would not be transmitted into the system. Of course, there were many ways to keep a story from getting transmitted on the Teleram. If anyone sneezed within the greater metropolitan area, the story would not get transmitted. The Teleram wasn’t exactly a marvel of technology.

ASIDE: I love old newspaper lingo like the -30-, the green eyeshade and all that. You will still hear newspaper editors say something like, “Give me four or five grafs on that,” in which “grafs” mean “paragraphs.” I remember the first time I covered a high school basketball game, the editor asked for seven or eight grafs, and I was so scared I didn’t even ask him what he meant. I spent many hours wondering what kind of graphs he wanted — a diagram, maybe, that followed the points of the game, maybe some sort of bar graph that compared team rebounds, I’m being quite serious here. Later, an editor asked me for a “note” about an upcoming event and so I took out a piece of paper and scribbled “Magic Johnson will appear at a local department store” and handed it to him. Man, I was greener than those eyeshades.

I grew up in an afternoon newspaper house. My father packed his lunch in a brown sack, and he was in the Chevy Nova and off to the factory by 6:30 a.m. every morning. So there was no point in us getting a morning paper. We got the afternoon paper, The Cleveland Press, which was delivered at — well, whenever my delivery route batch was plopped down at the house. I delivered the Press on Warrendale Road pretty much all of my childhood. My brother delivered the Press on Colony. My mother helped us fold the papers. My father would drive me around on the days when the snow was overwhelming, which in Cleveland pretty much covered every day between Oct. 23rd and April 17th. We were a Cleveland Press family.

I loved The Cleveland Press. Loved it. Loved the little lighthouse on the cover. Loved the bold headlines. Loved the way the ink stained my hands. And I hated the Cleveland Plain Dealer, the morning paper. I was 10. I felt so sure, in that kid’s way, that the Press was the real paper, the one read by real people. hard-working people in tiny and neat box houses, one rusty car in the driveway, dinner tables bursting with conversation and grandmas who lived two doors down, who had flowery tins filled with cookies. And the Plain Dealer was the rich person’s paper, read by sour-faced couples sitting at opposite ends of dark cherry tables as long as stretch limos, each of them tapping their spoons daintily at hard-boiled eggs. Yes, that’s how I imagined it.

ASIDE 2: To give you an idea about that absurd imagination .. I was absolutely certain that I could tell the difference between an NFL game on NBC and an NFL game on CBS based entirely on the color. To my eyes, NBC games always had a little bit brighter, more exuberant color, sort of like the after-picture in the Cheer commercials (those Cleveland Browns orange pants never looked more orange!). And CBS games seemed a bit darker, more stark, like Tim Burton’s Batman. Years later, in a moment of weakness. I mentioned this insanity to my great, good friend Chuck Culpepper — the only man I know who can recite, word-for-word, entire Howard Cosell halftime highlight monologues. And Chuck said that he had noticed the same thing, the same color difference (though he recalled CBS being sharper and more in focus, but that’s because he was a Rams fan). So maybe I’m not insane. Or maybe we’re both insane.

In any case, 10 years old, and I had chosen sides. I was an afternoon newspaper man. I honestly believed then — believe now too — that this made me a certain kind of person (a person, perhaps, doomed to being a casualty of technology). When I was in high school, I sold the afternoon Charlotte News door-to-door. I was terrible at it, but I still remember the pitch that Leon– the large and somewhat creepy guy who sounded exactly like Larry the Cable Guy and would drive us around — taught us, the part about how, “There’s no better feeling in the world than coming home from a long day of work to a newspaper with the latest news.” I guess this sounded better than, “There’s no better feeling than coming home and finding a newspaper in your yard filled with stuff you already knew.”

My first columnist job, I wrote for both The Augusta Chronicle (the morning paper) and The Augusta Herald (the afternoon paper). The Herald was an old relic on its last legs by then — it seemed to remain in print only because someone forgot to pull the plug. But I had a special feeling for the old fossil. At that time, we were just reprinting everything in the Chronicle for the Herald, but every so often I would write a special column just for the five or six Herald subscribers. I suspected they were still in box houses with one rusty car, or grandmas with cookies in tins. It was a great practice newspaper. You could write anything in the Herald. You could put STATE SECRETS in the Herald. Nobody read it.

They all died, of course. The Press, the News, the Herald, they were all closed down within a couple of years of my working there. So I knew the score when I took a job as columnist of The Cincinnati Post, one of the last big-city afternoon papers in America. It was like signing on to write disco songs in 1983. And yet … it was one of about three or four big decisions that have marked my life. The Post was still feisty when I signed on. When I arrived they had an ad campaign about me — supposedly I was on the side of a bus, but I never saw it. The campaign was basically, “He grew up in Cleveland, but he’s still OK.” I’m not kidding. That was the campaign. Circulation, you will note, did not skyrocket.

But we were one helluva sports section. I mean that in every way that “helluva” can be used. The talent has scattered now — Jeff writes Red Sox in Boston, John writes baseball for SI.com, Todd writes fabulous stories in Columbus, the smaller Todd writes Cowboys in Dallas, Skinny and Gambo (last I heard) did one of the most popular talk shows in Cincinnati, Bill writes Bearcats for the Crosstown Enquirer, Janet’s working nights at the Detroit News, Mark runs a slew of smaller newspapers in the most scenic part of Florida.

And it was beautiful. Have you ever had that feeling that you were living in a sitcom? Well, you probably have. But have you ever been in a situation where EVERYBODY IN THE ROOM felt like they were living in a sitcom. That was the Post. The star of the show was Bear, who could be pretty easily identified by the fact that he was wearing a baseball cap that said “BEAR” on it and he tended to refer to himself as “Bear.” He often referred to the wife as “Mrs. Bear.” He was one of the sweetest souls I’ve ever known. He also would sometimes start talking in some sort of mock Japanese for no apparent reason.

“Hello?” I said in that groggy voice that you have when it’s 7 a.m., and you were fast asleep, and the phone rings.

“Joe,” the voice said on the other line. “Bear thought you wrote one helluva column today.”

“Thanks Bear.”

“Hong cha, Yah, Okaboo.”

“OK, see you in the office.’

Mark, the sports editor who shaped me more than anyone, would be sitting in his small office and fretting about how to keep the paper from dying before 3 p.m. I love that guy. The great thing about Mark was that you always knew within 2.8 seconds of calling what he felt about the story you sent in. When I wrote something decent, I would call and say, “Hi Mark,” and he would say “HEYYYYYY, Joe, how ARE you?” And when I wrote something crap, I would call and he would say, “Oh, hi.” Sometimes, the “Oh hi,” was actually because someone else wrote something crap — he thought my story was fine — and I’m embarrassed to say that I felt better when that happened.

Not that Mark was some sort of tyrant — no, quite the opposite. Greatest guy in the world. You never wanted to disappoint him. He worked so hard to make the sports section good, to beat the morning Cincinnati Enquirer, to keep us vibrant and, mostly, alive. He cared so much about fighting the good fight, even though the war had long been lost. He kept us going. We woke up most days and felt like we had the better sports section. The days we didn’t feel that way were cold and dark.

Skinny and Gambo used to do a radio show in the office long before they had a radio show. They were beautiful — they could argue about anything. I mean ANYTHING. “Sarge (they always called each other Sarge), you know the Utah Jazz jerseys are brutal. I mean, seriously, get a real color.” “Sarge, they’re not that bad.” “Are you serious? They’re the worst. They look like they got mixed in with some colors in the wash, Sarge. I mean they’re BAD.” Every day, it was like that. Should jockeys wear silk? Who was the best spitter on Reds? Was it really worth it to win the lottery? Every day.

Every so often, I would get a note from Nick Clooney — George’s Dad — who also wrote a local column for the Post. Nick had to be the single nicest human being on the planet. I remember once he wrote me a letter saying, “Never forget that it’s supposed to be fun.” I never have forgotten that. More, though, I remember the time I ripped the fans for not showing up for Game 1 of the 1995 NLCS. In retrospect, it was a silly column to write, but I was 28 then and I felt it deeply and I don’t regret writing it. You could say people didn’t take too kindly to some Cleveland clown telling Cincinnati fans how they should act after a players strike. I got ripped pretty good for a little while … and then Nick Clooney wrote a column saying that he’d lived in Cincinnati all his life, and I was right, and settle down. And I never heard another word about it again.

Mostly, it was a daily grind. We’d bicker. Fight. Bitch. Moan. Drink together. Often at the same time. We all knew we were on a sinking ship — the water was already up to our knees. We complained to each other. We talked about getting out. We tried for big scores — tried to be noticed. It wasn’t much use. Every so often we’d break a big story, but it wouldn’t make any waves until the Enquirer reported it the next day. Every so often, we’d take a hard stand, but it wouldn’t shake the town until the Enquirer took the same stand (or the opposite stand) later. We’d stay in the locker room later, work harder, craft more, but it often felt like we were tracing words in the sand with a stick. Few seemed to notice — and fewer all the time.

Of course, it didn’t matter much to me. I was doing what I loved doing at a place I felt fiercely loyal to with co-workers who were friends. The only real trouble was that every day, we were taking on a more water. Sinking a little deeper. I knew it wouldn’t last forever. I knew I would have to jump at some point. We all knew.

It’s pretty obvious why afternoon papers have died. America has changed. News cycles have changed (or disappeared — we’re all on 24-hour cycles now). News is old by the afternoon. People’s lifestyles are different — they generally do not come home at 4 p.m. from long days at work, get their slippers out and read the newspaper before dinner the way my father would (my Dad didn’t have slippers; I just threw that in). I get it. The afternoon paper was already dead before the Internet exploded — it’s like they were hit by a meteor and then hit again by an ice age. The Post had to die.

And it did die, Monday, with a farewell edition and that -30- that signifies goodbye. The Post died fighting. The good people there made sure of that. The Post never had a problem finding good people. And it’s a funny thing … I knew the Cincinnati Post would die the day I got hired there. I knew it would die when I left. I knew it would die every time I thought about it — which was surprisingly often over the last 11 years. I knew it as deeply and certainly as I know my social security number. The Post was a goner. And yet, it did die, and it’s still a shock. That’s the kid in me, I guess. I always wanted afternoons to last forever.

-30- indeed.

The Hall of Something or Other …

Posted: December 31st, 2007 | Filed under: Baseball | 34 Comments »

One of our themes all during the holiday season has been to ponder what the Hall of Fame is all about. The Hall is something different to everybody, I think. Some want a big, inclusive Hall of Fame. Some want a small one with only the true Mount Olympic baseball players. Most, I suspect, want something in between. Lines are drawn.

There are those, as described here, who believe it really is a Hall of FAME — and as such, it should be open only to those who had that certain aura, that is, men who truly felt like Hall of Famers to us. This, I think, is really the most passionate case for Jim Rice and Jack Morris and Dale Murphy and others like them. People who grew up in their era, as I did, mark the time by those players. And even if their careers flamed out prematurely, even if they did not quite put up the career numbers we associate with Hall of Famers — even if they were overrated in the first place, it doesn’t really matter. They’re like art. Know a Hall of Famer when I see one.

* * *

Morris tangent: I have noticed, based on a couple of comments and emails about the Jack Morris post, that a couple of people decided to jump on the concept of Win Shares as a way to judge Jack Morris, and may have missed my point. I was only using Win Shares because it’s an easy and convenient way to rank people (and because I like it). But if you would prefer more conventional statistics, that’s OK too. Here’s ERA:

1980: Morris finished 71st in baseball (4.18)
1981: Morris finished 30th in ERA (3.05)
1982: Morris finished 63rd in ERA (4.06)
1983: Morris finished 25th in ERA (3.25)
1984: Morris finished 44th in ERA (3.60)
1985: Morris finished 26th in ERA (3.33)
1986: Morris finished 19th in ERA (3.32)
1987: Morris finished 13th in ERA (3.38)
1988: Morris finished 67th in ERA (3.94)
1989: Morris finished 75th in ERA (4.86)

You like that better? Admittedly, this also includes NL pitchers, who have the obvious advantage of not facing DHs, but he never finished better than fifth in his own league, and don’t you think that when you’re arguing that someone was the best pitcher of the 1980s, it would help your case if finished in the top dozen in baseball in ERA just once?

Maybe you prefer WHIP (Walks + hits per nine innings). That’s not too complicated. By year he finished: 54th, 23rd, 46th, 8th (yay!), 40th, 32nd, 16th, 14th, 62nd and a delightful 72nd to finish it off.

For the entire decade (minimum 1,000 innings), Morris was 43rd in ERA, 33rd in WHIP, 18th in winning percentage, 30th in ERA+, and he allowed by far the most runs (in part because he pitched by far the most innings, but also because he gave up a whole lot of runs).

You don’t need Win Shares. You can break it down a lot of different ways — Jack Morris was never the best pitcher in baseball. He was never second best, never third, never fifth best, probably never 10th best, often not in the Top 25. He is a creature of circumstance. He had a rubber arm, a high-scoring team and a reputation.

As for the person wondering how Nolan Ryan’s Win Shares stack up — Jack Morris’ career high in Win Shares is 21. Ryan had four seasons at least that good. Ryan had 334 Win Shares for his career. Jack Morris had 225. Not close.

* * *

Sorry … after an exchange of punts we move to action later in the third quarter. We were talking the Hall of Fame and how people view it. There are those who are married to career numbers, who believe the true mark of a Hall of Famer is the tangible — 3000 hits, 500 home runs, 300 wins, .300 lifetime batting average, 3,000 strikeouts, whatever. These sorts of numbers demand that a player not only be great, but STAY great, or at least stay good, at least stay. When you break down these big numbers, you can see their magnitude — 3,000 hits is 150 hits every year for 20 years, and 500 homers is 30 homers every year for almost 17 years, and 300 victories represents fifteen 20-win seasons.

Every time I think about those numbers like that, it staggers my mind that players reach those plateaus. But, they can only be reached through longevity. Look: A baseball player tends to have his peak years between, what, 27 and 33 or so. Most players begin a fairly rapid decline once they get to 33 or 34 (unless, you know, they have a stringent workout routine like Roger Clemens).

Since the deadball era … the record for wins by a 33-year-old belongs to Bob Feller with 239.
The record for strikeouts by a 33-year-old is Nolan Ryan with 3,109. Nobody else has 3,000.
The record for home runs by a 33-year-old is Jimmie Foxx’s 519 (A-Rod will pass him) and only 17 men even had 400 by that time.
The record for hits by a 33-year-old is Ty Cobb’s 2,856. Only six have even reached 2,500.

What’s the point? Unless you are a freak of nature, to become a “statistical” Hall of Famer, you have to pile up some numbers after your peak ends. At 33, Dale Murphy had more homers than Ted Williams, Eddie Murray, Willie Stargell, Stan Musial, Yaz, Dave Winfield and Gary Sheffield. But all of those are guys ended up with more homers than he did — in some cases a lot more — and it’s because they were all good old hitters.

Or, at least, they all stuck around. Eddie Murray is a good example. He was a truly great player until he was 34, which is longer than usual. Then he played seven more years. In a couple of those years, he was pretty darned good — in 1995, for instance, he hit .323/.375/.516 for that terrific Cleveland Indians team. But more often than not in those later years, he was pretty average and at times he was a downright liability. In 1996, for instance, as a DH for two teams, he got 566 at-bats and put up a brutal 87 OPS+. Remember 100 is league average.

But — good, bad or indifferent — Murray smacked 125 home runs after his 34-year-old season. That’s why he got to 500. He wasn’t always good, but he kept on churning, and he kept on piling up the numbers. Dale Murphy, meanwhile, was pretty well through at 31. He hit only 20 home runs after his 34-year-old season, and that’s why he didn’t even get to 400 homers (though, somewhat sadly, he went to Colorado at the end to try and do it).

I don’t want to make this about Murphy and Murray. I’m just trying to point out the obvious — that these Hall of Fame standards are often achieved by mediocre old players who are no longer anything close to Hall of Fame caliber. Bruce Sutter finished with a nice, even 300 saves, which is probably why he got into the Hall of Fame (while few even stopped to consider his equal, Dan Quisenberry). But Sutter picked up 40 of those saves when he was absolutely finished in Atlanta — his ERAs those three years were 4.48, 4.34 and 4.76. If his name wasn’t Bruce Sutter (with a contract to match) he never would have been the closer in the first place (though in those days with Atlanta, you never never know). Clearly those three years were not a reason anyone would vote for Bruce Sutter as a Hall of Famer. … And yet, in many ways, those three years WERE the reason, in my opinion, that Sutter was elected. Because without those three years, he would have had 260 saves (Quiz had 244) and I don’t think that would have been enough.

All of this leads to a discovery I made while fooling around on Baseball Reference. i was sorting the greatest hitters in baseball history through age 33. I was doing it using OPS+ — you know, just to see who were the best hitters through the primes of their careers. There on top were the expected names. Ruth. Williams. Gehrig. Cobb. Hornsby. Mantle. Musial. Shoeless Joe. Frank Thomas (he really was some kind of amazing young hitter). Jimmie Foxx. Barry Bonds. Tris Speaker. Willie Mays. Willie McCovey.

And then, a name emerged … a surprising name. A non-Hall of Famer. He was 15th all-time. He was ahead of Frank Robinson. Ahead of Hank Aaron. Ahead of Joe DiMaggio. He was ahead of Schmidt, Reggie and A-Rod. FIFTEENTH all time. We’re talking about a legendary hitter.

So, here’s the question for you: You take a guy who at age 33 has appeared in seven All-Star games at two positions. He’s won the Rookie of the Year (one of the greatest rookie seasons in baseball history). He was a runaway winner for an MVP award. He’s led his league in on-base percentage twice, in slugging percentage three times, in runs once, in RBIs once, in home runs twice, in triples once, in extra base hits three times, and in OPS four times. Now, it’s true, he fell off quickly at 33 and retired at 35 and did not pad his numbers with those hang-on seasons. He also was a troubled character who made more than his share of enemies and was not often viewed as a winning influence. Or ever.

Still, through his prime, he was one of the greatest hitters and most dominating offensive forces the game has ever known. The guy had a 159 OPS+. That’s for a CAREER. This year’s Hall of Fame ballot guys — Jim Rice, Dale Murphy, Andre Dawson, Tim Raines, Alan Trammell — these guys never had a 159 OPS+ for a SINGLE SEASON (Dave Parker did have one season with a 166 OPS+). With a bat in his hands — through his prime years — he was better than almost anyone you can name, in the stratosphere with the all-time greats.

The question: Is there room in your Hall of Fame for Dick Allen?

Best pitcher of the 1980s …

Posted: December 29th, 2007 | Filed under: Baseball | 46 Comments »

I’m not going to lie to you here — I hate the Jack Morris Hall of Fame campaign. Hate it. Despise it. Loathe it. And it isn’t just because there are a few people who will put Jack Morris on their ballots but leave off Bert Blyleven, which is so obviously and clearly wrong that it makes my teeth hurt. I know the other day I tried my best to climb into the minds of one of these voters, and I tried to put some logic behind it, but honestly, I failed miserably. To me, this Blyleven or Morris question seems easier than one of those sample questions you would get on those aptitude tests in the third grade.

Hmm, so you’re telling me that Blyleven has 33 more wins, 32 more shutouts, 1,223 more strikeouts, 68 fewer walks, an ERA that more than a half run better, an ERA+ that’s 13 points better, a better overall postseason record and five or six individual seasons that were better than Jack Morris’ best season … wow, can I have a few more minutes to think about this? Wait, Blyleven had a lot more losses too, so that, oh, he played for worse teams, yeah, that might have had something do with that, um, hold on, I need to sharpen my No. 2 pencil and think about this …

No, that’s not the reason I hate the campaign. And it’s not because I hate Jack Morris — I don’t. I kind of liked the guy in that “he’d stick the ball in your butt to get you out” sort of way. Plus he had a cool stache.

No, I hate the campaign for the same reason that comedian Gary Gulman hates Pepperidge Farm cookies. “They’re a good cookie, but they’re so full of themselves with their names, they’re so bombastic, they’re like, ‘Oh, this is the Milano, and this is the Bordeaux, and the Geneva, and the Brussels cookie, and I’m like, ‘Wow, what a world traveler, where did I run into you again? Oh, that’s right. Target.’”

That’s how I feel about a few (not all) of the Morris Hall of Fame people. Just be humble. Don’t get in my face with your, “Jack Morris was the greatest pitcher of his era,” garbage. Hey, if you want to say, “Look, here’s a guy who had some longevity, he threw a lot of innings every year, he pitched one fabulous postseason game, and, hey, he did win 254 games in his career,” I could see the argument. I probably wouldn’t vote for him, no but I could see the argument. It’s sort of the Tommy John argument without the surgery or the Jim Kaat argument without the Gold Gloves. Morris has better winning percentages than those two guys, but also a significantly higher ERA and fewer wins.

Kaat, to me, is an especially interesting comp:

Jim Kaat: 283-237, .544 winning percentage, 4,530 IP, 2,461 Ks, 1083 walks, 107 ERA+, 3 20-win seasons, 16 Gold Gloves.

Jack Morris: 254-186, .577 winning percentage, 3,824 IP, 2,478 Ks, 1390 walks, 105 ERA+, 3 20-win seasons, one dominating World Series performance.

Of course, that’s with Kaat and Morris both hanging on at the end. If you cut them both off after their last good years — when Kaat was 36 and Morris 37 — the numbers are even more similar:

Jim Kaat: 235-187, 3,638 IP, 3.30 ERA, 2151 Ks, 873 walks, 177 runs saved against average, Gold Gloves, etc.
Jack Morris: 237-168, 3,530 IP, 3.73 ERA, 2275 Ks, 1258 walks, 115 runs saved against average, big playoff game, etc.

OK, so if you think Kaat has a Hall of Fame case — and I can see that — then Morris does too. Fine. Make that argument.

Trouble is … no. That’s not what many of the Morris people I have heard from say. No, they want to tell me that Morris was a DOMINATING pitcher. He had this AURA. Look how many Opening Days he started (I mean, come on, what does that mean? The guy was such a mean SOB, nobody was going to tell him he WASN’T starting Opening Day). They will tell you how he was the best pitcher for three World Series teams which might be an interesting point except that he was not, in fact, the best pitcher on ANY of those teams. At least by the numbers. I mean, you be the judge:

1984 Detroit Tigers:
Jack Morris went 19-11, 3.60 ERA, 148 Ks, 87 walks, 109 ERA+.
Dan Petry went 18-8, 3.24 ERA, 144 Ks, 66 walks, 121 ERA+.

1991 Minnesota Twins:
Jack Morris went 18-12, 3.43 ERA, 163 Ks, 92 walks, 124 ERA+
Scott Erickson went 20-8, 3.18 ERA, 108 Ks, 71 walks, 134 ERA+
Kevin Tapani went 16-9, 2.99 ERA, 135 Ks, 40 walks, 143 ERA+

1992 Toronto Blue Jays
Jack Morris went 21-6, 4.04 ERA, 132 Ks, 80 walks. 102 ERA+
Juan Guzman went 16-5, 2.64 ERA, 165 Ks, 72 walks, 156 ERA+

The thing is that (some) people want you to FEEL the Morris case, feel it in your gut, remember how he battled, be touched by his competitive spirit, imagine that he had this mystical ability to give up one run when his team scored two but flop around and give up seven runs when his team scored eight. He definitely did the latter of those two. In 1992, when he won 21 games, the Blue Jays scored six-plus runs for him FIFTEEN TIMES. Compare that with Frank Viola, who went 13-12 that same year with a much better ERA in a tougher-hitting ballpark. The Red Sox scored six-plus runs for Viola seven times. Overall, the Blue Jays averaged an absurd 5.56 runs per game for Morris that year; the Red Sox averaged 3.49 runs for Viola.

In his career, teams scored five or more runs per game for him eight times. Yeah, that will help a pitcher look more like a “gamer” — when his team scores lots of runs for him. Do you know how many times Blyleven had a team give him five runs per game? Twice. And how about this: In 1976, Blyleven went 13-16, his teams averaged 2.66 runs per game.

But OK, hey, people will exaggerate for the players they love … I get that. Play up the Opening Days, the 20-win seasons, the victories, I”m OK with that. But there’s one case for Morris that just sets me off. I hear it 25 times every year as the Hall of Fame voting heats up. You already know what I’m going to say. It is this simple sentence:

Jack Morris won more games in the 1980s than any pitcher in baseball.

You know, I believe Dominos sells more pizza than anybody else in New York. I believe Taco Bell sells more tacos than anybody in Texas. I’ve even been told — no idea if it’s true — that Budweiser is the best-selling beer in Germany.

This much is true: Jack Morris won more games than any pitcher in the 1980s. But what does it mean? Was Jack Morris ever, even for one single year, the best pitcher in baseball in the 1980s?

Let’s take a look, shall we?

* * *

1980: Morris was 16-15, 4.18 ERA, 99 ERA+.
Win Share rank: Tied for 37th best pitcher in baseball with 14 wins shares .
Comment: Steve Carlton’s 24-9, 2.34 ERA was a little bit better. … In the American League, Mike Norris (22-9, 2.53 ERA) probably should have won the Cy Young that went to Steve Stone (who did win 25 games). Morris was not in the discussion.

1981: Morris was 14-7 with a 3.05 ERA, 124 ERA+.
Win Share rank: Tied for 6th best pitcher in baseball with 16 Win Shares.
Comment: Shortened season, of course, and Morris was, at least, among the better pitchers. He finished third in the Cy Young voting behind Rollie Fingers (6-3, 1.04 ERA, 28 saves) and Steve McCatty (identical 14-7 record but had 2.33 ERA, and 150 ERA+). Go to the other league, he certainly wasn’t as good as Fernando (13-7, 2.48 ERA, 135 ERA) or Tom Seaver (14-2, 2.54 ERA, 140 ERA+). You also might prefer Steve Carlton (13-4, 2.42 ERA, 150 ERA+) or Nolan Ryan (11-5, 1.69 ERA, 194 ERA+) or even Bert Blyleven (11-7, 2.88 ERA).

1982: Morris was 17-16 with a 4.06 ERA, 100 ERA+.
Win Share rank: Tied for 37th best pitcher in baseball with 14 Win Shares.
Comment: He was about as average as you could be. Steve Carlton (23-11, 3.10 ERA), Joe Niekro (17-12, 2.47 ERA) and Dave Stieb (17-14, 3.25 ERA) were the best starters in baseball, with Steve Rogers and right behind. Dan Quisenberry was dominant and, yet, sadly, this was the year that Pete Vuckovich somehow won the Cy Young Award.

1983: Morris was 20-13, with a 3.34 ERA, 117 ERA+.
Win Share rank: Tied for 9th best pitcher in baseball with 20 Win Shares.
Comment: Morris’ first 20-win season, and he finished third in the AL Cy Young voting behind LaMarr Hoyt (who, just as sadly, won the Cy Young that year) and Dan Quisenberry (who got screwed for the second straight year). Morris’ numbers were clearly inferior to Rich Dotson’s (22-7, 3.23 ERA, 130 ERA+) and Dave Stieb’s as well (17-12, 3.04 ERA, 142 ERA+), and they were pretty similar to Ron Guidry (21-9, 3.56 ERA) and Scott McGregor (18-7, 3.18 ERA).

1984: Morris was 19-11 with a 3.60 ERA, 109 ERA+.
Win Share rank: Tied for 38th best pitcher in baseball with 14 Win Shares.
Comment: OK, we’re five years into the 1980s, and you could argue pretty convincingly that Morris has not had a single year where he would have even been good enough to be in the best FIVE-MAN ROTATION in baseball. Maybe in the strike-shortened year. Maybe. Dave Stieb (16-8, 2.83 ERA, 145 ERA+) was again better, though the Cy went to Morris’ teammate Willie Hernandez (who to me — this won’t surprise you — was not as good as Quisenberry that year). Amazingly, Morris got as many Cy Young votes as Stieb (hey, he had three more wins!). As mentioned, teammate Dan Petry probably had a better year too.

Worth noting: Bert Blyleven for the first time in his career got five runs per game run support. He went 19-7 with a 2.87 ERA.

1985: Morris was 16-11, with a 3.33 ERA, 122 ERA+.
Win Share rank: Tied for 15th best pitcher in baseball with 19 Win Shares.
Comment: This was the year of Dwight Gooden, who had an amazing 33 Win Shares and just was utterly dominant. Morris quietly had a pretty good year, one of his better ones, despite only getting 16 victories. But he was nowhere near the top, and once again a right-handed pitcher named Bert Blyleven (17-16, 3.11 ERA, 134 ERA+) was markedly better, even as his team did not support him. The Cy Young, incidentally, went to 21-year-old Bret Saberhagen (20-6, 2.87 ERA) who threw 10 innings of one-run ball to personally beat one of Morris’ best outings of the year (9 1/3, 2 runs).

1986: Morris was 21-8, 3.27 ERA, 127 ERA+.
Win Share rank: Tied for 8th best pitcher in baseball with 20 Win Shares.
Comment: This may have been Morris’ best season (though he had more win shares in 1987). In the AL he was miles and miles behind Roger Clemens (24-4, 2.48 ERA), and also behind Teddy Higuera 20-11, 2.79 ERA) and Mike Witt (18-10, 2.84 ERA). Throw in relievers like Mark Eichorn (14-6, 1.72 ERA) and Dave Righetti (8 wins, 45 saves, 2.45 ERA) and … we’re not seven years into the decade and Morris hasn’t had one year where he could even make the slightest claim for being the best pitcher in his own league, much less baseball. But wait, his best Win Shares season is coming up …

1987: Morris was 18-11, 3.38 ERA, 126 ERA+.
Win Share rank: Tied for 6th best pitcher in baseball with career high 21 Win Shares.
Comment: Well, here it is — his best Win Shares season. And … was he the best pitcher in baseball? Well, how about we compare him with other starters in the AL:

Was his season better than Roger Clemens (20-9, 2.97 ERA)? No.
Was his season better than Frank Viola (17-10, 2.90 ERA)? No.
How about Jimmy Key (17-8, 2.76 ERA)? No.
Was it better than Bret Saberhagen (18-10, 3.36 ERA, 136 ERA+)? Tough to argue that.

So that makes him about the fifth best pitcher in the American League in 1987. Maybe.

1988: Morris was 15-13, 3.94 ERA, 98 ERA+.
Win Share rank: Tied for 52nd best pitcher in baseball with 12 Win Shares.
Comment: I don’t think you need a comment here.

1989: Morris was 6-14, 4.86 ERA, 79 ERA+.
Win Share rank: Tied for 133rd in baseball with four Win Shares — tied with Melido Perez.
Comment: Morris looked done at this point. But he did have one more very good season in him (1991, he went 18-12 with a 3.43 ERA and, of course, his famous Game 7) and one more OK season (1992, he won 21 games, led the league, but had a 4.04 ERA, which was barely better than league average — he got a lot of run support and had great bullpen help). If you care, he finished tied for ninth in Win Shares in his very good year, and tied for 35th in his OK year.

So there you have it. In 10 seasons of the Jack Morris decade, Jack Morris was never even close to being the best pitcher. He was probably not in the Top 5 in any single season. He threw enough innings and got enough run support to win more games than anyone — 162-119 overall — but among pitchers with 250 or more starts, his 3.66 ERA was worse than Nolan Ryan (3.14), Fernando Valenzuela (3.19), Bob Welch (3.21), Dave Stieb (3.32), Mike Scott (3.42), Jerry Reuss (3.48), Joe Niekro (3.56), Don Sutton (3.53 — yes, Don Sutton), Rick Rhoden (3.65) and, um, what’s this? Yes, it’s Bert Blyleven (3.64) who actually had a whole other decade of the 1970s when he was better.

And if you want to look at some of the pitchers who either came up after the 1980s began or left before they ended …

John Tudor (104-66, 3.13 ERA) was a better pitcher in the 1980s.
John Candelaria (97-69, 3.50 ERA) was a better pitcher in the 1980s
Ron Darling (87-55, 3.38 ERA) was a better pitcher in the 1980s.
Ron Guidry (111-72, 3.66 ERA) was every bit as good.
Steve Carlton (104-84, 3.48 ERA) was way better before his sad multi-team ending.

And players with even fewer starts:

Dwight Gooden (100-39, 2.64 ERA) was WAY better.
Orel Hershiser (98-64, 2.69 ERA) was WAY better
Roger Clemens (95-45, 3.06 ERA), yeah, better.

I want to be clear about this: Jack Morris has his Hall of Fame case. He has a lot of wins. He has Game 7. He has a few intangibles, if you happen to be one of the people who like intangibles. But let’s keep it real, people. Jack Morris was not the best pitcher in the 1980s or anything close.

Groceries …

Posted: December 28th, 2007 | Filed under: Baseball | 30 Comments »

Working on a lot of different things — including the big Pozcars unveiling (we already have more than 200 votes in and counting; get your votes in) — but not sure how/when it will all get posted. In the meantime, here’s a stray thought from the holidays.

* * *

I’ve always wanted to contribute to the “What it is to be a guy” cliche list, maybe because I, as a guy, only moderately fit most of the current cliches. Best I can tell the most common cliches about being a guy are:

1. “Guys never stop to ask for directions.”

Comment: This has to be the single most prominent guy cliche going, other than the “Guys have a problem committing,” that Hollywood has turned into a moving-making industry. I guess there might be some truth in this, I guess. From what I’ve seen in my life, though, women don’t really like stopping and asking for directions either.

The reason is: People are often stupid. And there’s really no point in asking stupid people how to get somewhere when you’re lost. Hey, I include myself in the massive geographical stupidity that’s out there. I can tell you that I’ve probably have people stop their cars and ask me for directions maybe 50 times in my life — I must look like the kind of person who knows how to get places — and I would say the breakdown goes like this:

– Confidently gave them accurate directions: 8%
– Sort of knew how to get there and gave them directions that were probably right: 12%
– Sort of knew how to get there and realized after they had left that I definitely steered them wrong: 18%
– Had no idea how to get there and tried to bluff rather than look stupid: 4%
– Had no idea how to get there and said, “I’m not from here” even though I was: 6%
– Had no idea how to get there because I really wasn’t from there: 38%
– Did not even understand the person who was asking the question: 10%
– Told them that they really didn’t want to go there and instead steered them to someplace I knew: 4%

So, that basically means that in my life, someone asking me directions had about a 20% chance of getting reasonable directions to wherever they were headed. That’s one in five. You’ve got to think just driving around aimlessly you have a better than one-in five chance of happening upon the place you want to go. I see no real advantage in stopping.

Plus, sometimes, you just don’t WANT to know how lost you are. I remember once we were driving from Charlotte to Cleveland as a family, and we came upon a “Welcome to Tennessee” sign, which — as any of you who have made that drive might know — is not a good sign. Tennessee is most definitely not on the AAA ticker to Cleveland. Well, my Dad pulled into the welcome center and asked the woman there, and though I’ve never asked him, I have to believe he was hoping to get one of those, “Oh yeah, you just missed the turn, it happens all the time, it’s only 15 minutes back” type of responses. That was not the response he got however — the response involved sort of suppressed laughter followed by an, “I’m not quite sure how you did that you are WAY off course,” type of response, and who needs that sort of aggravation.

Anyway, I think the whole thing is sort of overblown — people tend to use the “guys don’t ask for directions” cliche to prove that guys are stubborn. Guys are stubborn. But this isn’t a great example. Anyway with GPS systems out there now, it’s time to retire this cliche forever.

2. “Guys love to work on cars.”

Comment: There no doubt is a sort of guy who likes to work on cars. I do not happen to be one of these guys, and I really don’t know too many of those guys either, but I could see the draw. I think this is the point — I think a lot of us mechanically incompetent guys would love to SEE OURSELVES as the kind of people who could work on cars. We can almost visualize ourselves in the driveway, under the car, changing the oil, making adjustments, saying stuff like, “Gotta make a trip to Pep Boys.” Almost.

I know nothing about cars, but I have had enough problems with my own automobiles through the years that I have learned, perhaps, how to sound intelligent about cars. For those of you who know as little about cars as me, I now offer this free, “How to sound reasonably intelligent about cars” primer (if you know a lot about cars, skip this):

– If someone turns the key and it doesn’t start, say, “OK, that’s the battery. Let me see if I have jumper cables in the car (IMPORTANT: Never carry jumper cables, because then you would actually have to try and jump start the car, and you would very likely electrocute yourself or start a fire).

– No matter what the problem, always say: “Yeah, you know what that could be the alternator.” Reason: There’s ALWAYS something screwed up with the alternator. You have a good chance of being right. It’s like whenever you get a trivia question about the Beatles that you don’t know, always guess “George Harrison.”

– If the car’s overheating, always say: “You know, you should turn on the heater, that should cool the engine.” This won’t help but I’ve heard mechanics say this and it sounds car-intelligent.

– Never, ever, ever, ever twist the radiator cap when the car’s hot. It can explode — seen it happen. In fact, never, ever twist the radiator cap, period. In fact, don’t even pop the hood. Who are you Cooter? You have a cell phone, call someone.

– If the car’s making odd sounds, you can say, “Probably needs more power steering fluid” or “Might need new brake pads,” depending on how you happen to be feeling at the moment. Or you can turn up the radio.

Cliche 3: “Guys love tools.”

Comment: I was fairly certain that I was immune to this cliche until an electrician came over and he had one of those screwdrivers that you rotate, you know, like one of those old fashioned drills you see cartoon characters using. And I thought, “I’ve got to get me one of those.” I have absolutely no mechanical ability whatsoever and no particular desire to fix anything. But, I don’t know, it was a cool screwdriver. I could use that. I really need to get one of those. So there might be some truth to this.

Cliche 4: “Guys are afraid to make a commitment.”

Comment: Here’s that Hollywood line again. Think about how many romantic comedies would have never been made if not for this cliche. Answer: Zero.

And I’m sure there’s some truth in this. I’m sure. But, I have to say this: I realize that we all live in our own worlds, and as such are completely unaware of anything outside our circle. For instance, and I believe I’ve mentioned this before, Tim LaHaye has supposedly sold like 65 million books and I do not know a single person who has read one (or at least anyone who has admitted it). So I’m not saying that this is universal. But I am saying that among my own friends and acquaintances, I would say that most guys I know are, if anything, all too willing to commit.

Cliche 5: “Guys don’t listen, and they don’t talk about their feelings.”

Comment: Yeah, I guess.

* * *

So, I really would like to add something to the guy lexicon, but I must admit that I’m not sure if this is Guy Cliche worthy. It’s definitely true for me, and it’s true for friends I’ve checked with, but as already pointed out, we are not necessarily representative of the guy cliche world. Here goes anyway — you can tell me if ‘m wrong:

Cliche nominee: “Guys never want to make an unnecessary trip.”

The other day when we brought home the groceries. There, in the back, were about 75 plastic bags. Yeah, sorry, we didn’t go paper this time, I forgot, please send my apologies to Al. Anyway, there were all these plastic bags, and as ever guy knows, you can carry A LOT of plastic bags at one time, if you set it up right. Honestly, it’s a real ego boost. It’s the one time in your life you can be like a real super hero. You can be like, “Look at me, Lois, I am carrying 60 bags in my left hand.” It’s really quite a powerful thing.

So I stood out there for, I don’t know, 10 minutes, carefully arranging the bags in my left hand. It was quite a procedure. There is absolutely no doubt that if I had just taken a few bags and gone back and forth, I would have been done in half the time (and with a much smaller risk of breaking something). No. I was going to to do it in one trip. Why? I’ll tell you why: Because there’s no better feeling in the world than carrying so many plastic bags that you lose circulation in your fingers and need to clench and unclench your hands for the rest of the day just get the feeling back.

Later that day, I went to get some takeout for the family. I brought it home and there was no doubt that I needed to make two trips. But no, something visceral in me demanded that I do it in one trip. I’m cradling one drink between my arm and chest, holding three other drinks in my right hand like I’m Johnny Bench holding seven baseballs, I’ve got one bag balanced on forearm …

This is also true of taking suitcases out of the trunk of the car.

And when my wife asks me, “Why didn’t you just make two trips?” I could only think, “because guys never want to make an unnecessary trip.”

I hope other guys do this. Because otherwise the answer would have to be, “because I’m an idiot.”

The Twelve Random Thoughts of Christmas

Posted: December 22nd, 2007 | Filed under: Baseball | 33 Comments »

I just don’t think we get nearly enough hackneyed Christmas-scented writing this time of years. Maybe you would like an amusing modern version of The Night Before Christmas? How about a little essay called “What different athletes should get for Christmas this year?” Ho ho ho. It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

For now, I’ll just give you 12 random thoughts, one for each Christmas day:

RT 1: A Will Clark Story

This comes from former Major League pitcher Dan Smith — a nice guy. He says that Will Clark has total recall. I don’t think I had ever heard this before, but there’s probably a lot about Will Clark I don’t know. For instance — and I’m sure I just forgot this — the Royals actually drafted Clark in 1982 out of high school. They drafted him in the fourth round too, so they obviously expected to sign him. Wow, think how much better the Royals could have been with Will Clark.

Anyway, when Dan was in college, he got a call from Will Clark, asking him to sign with a certain agent. Dan was pretty well blown away by the call.

“If I ever get to the big leagues, I hope you’ll take it easy on me,” Dan said.

“I take it easy on no one,” Clark said.

OK, typical stuff. Six or seven years later, Clark signed with Texas. Smith introduced himself, but never said anything about the call and neither did Clark. They did not say anything else to each other. Then, one day at spring training, Clark lashed a line drive right back at Smith. The ball broke Smith’s arm.

Next day, Smith had a cast on. Clark came up to him.

He said: “Remember what I told you on the phone that day? I take it easy on no one.”

RT 2: A Bill Belichick Story

I told the best Bill Belichick story I’ve ever heard in my column today. That was originally going to be a blog post, but it was determined that it held newspaper appeal. I must admit to not really knowing what should go on the blog, what should go in the newspaper and what should be saved for books. I guess that’s obvious.

RT 3: Steroids and Buck

It’s funny, there have been several million words written in the past couple of weeks about steroids in baseball (and also HGH which is very different — but let’s use “steroids” here to describe the entire set of drugs). People are so hot-headed about the topic, you can’t really talk to anybody. More and more, though, I think back to what Buck O’Neil used to say. He would shock people all the time. They expected him to be outraged about steroids and cheating, and he really was not. He used to say, “The only reason we didn’t use steroids in my time is that we didn’t have them.” He said baseball players — premier athletes in general — look for that edge. It just in the nature of competitive athletes.

Then he said something else: He wondered why people didn’t talk more about the health risks. If steroids really are dangerous enough to be illegal without prescriptions — more dangerous than, say, cigarettes or alcohol or other over the counter legal drugs — then he wished people would talk about THAT rather than talking about how many more home runs you could hit using steroids. He despised the phrase “performance enhancing drugs.” He would have preferred something like “life-threatening drugs.”

Of course, it seems that the long-term health risks for steroids, HGH and other PED’s are not especially clear cut — people argue about the dangers all the time. So maybe that’s why I cannot remember the last steroids story I read that actually detailed the health risks. In any case, with all the hysteria surrounding steroids and baseball now, I really wish some more people could just express some of the common sense that Buck always expressed. Let’s try to remember what this is all about anyway.

Then again, it’s been more than a year since he’s been gone, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought that over that year — how many times I’ve missed Buck’s common sense.

Oh yeah, here’s one more link to the book.

RT 4: Steroids and Pitchers

Saturday, for the fifth time this week, I heard from a baseball insider who told me that there is absolutely no question in his mind that pitchers definitely abused steroids much, much more than hitters throughout the 1990s. I’m beginning to suspect more and more that this is true.

I have this theory — and it’s only a theory, something I’ve been thinking lately — that people cannot work up the same sort of outrage for pitchers who use steroids because it’s much harder to imagine that picture. With hitters, it’s so easy to picture a big-headed slugger swinging a bat like it’s a twig and launching moonshots. That’s something to get angry about. These guys are cheating history! They are trying to supplant Ruth and Mays and Aaron and Mantle with illegal drugs! The shame!

But pitchers using steroids so they can come back from injuries more quickly, so they can throw that third day in a row, so they can add 1 mph to their fastball — I think it’s just tougher to work up the same sort of unhealthy rage about that. I mean, Andy Pettitte using HGH so he can pitch better in his 30s and maybe keep his fastball in the 90 mph range probably won’t get us too worked up.

Plus, when you think about pitchers using steroids, it can take away from the pure anger we have toward the HITTERS using steroids. It clouds the picture.

I asked Bill James if he sees any way to statistically isolate the effect steroids had on the game in the 1990s. I realize that it’s guess-work, but I wish we could make an educated guess and say offensive numbers were inflated by, oh, 8% or 17% or 42% or whatever. He said no, probably not.

Trouble is, I think we might find that steroids and other PEDs had a significantly smaller effect on the game than most of the crusaders would like to believe. It’s like Martin Scorcese says in Quiz Show when talking about the rigged game shows. “Why fix them? Think about it will ya? You could do exactly the same thing by making the questions easier.”

In the 1990s, ballparks got smaller, bats got harder, players started working out intensely (even without steroids), the leagues expanded, the strike zone shrunk, general managers became more determined to find power hitters and were willing, perhaps, to give up other qualities such as defense and batting average. It is very clear that game changed in important ways that had nothing to do with steroids … though that’s not what anyone seems ready to hear now.

And that, in the end, might be why people, generally, are less put out by pitchers using steroids (or, for that matter, linebackers using steroids). It doesn’t fit neatly into the picture in our minds.

RT 5: Skyline Chili

Some people don’t get the Skyline Chili infatuation. I understand that. I was one of those people. The first time I ever tried a Skyline three-way — that would be spaghetti-chili-cheese — I was relatively unimpressed. Thought it was good enough, you know, for something different, but I I couldn’t see much value beyond that. I probably had the same reaction the first time I saw a baseball game.

The second time I had Skyline Chili — there was one right across the street from where I lived in Blue Ash — I thought it was a little better than that. The 45,394th time I had Skyline Chili — when I walked in and everyone knew me by name and they would not even ask me for my order and they would give me the York Peppermint Patties for free (by the way, I never liked York Peppermint Patties. Never. And then I had one after a Skyline dinner — suddenly it tasted like I imagine the chocolate river tastes in Willy Wonka).

I don’t know what they put in Skyline — there’s the rub. Nobody knows. It’s a secret. Some think the special ingredient is chocolate, some think it’s cinnamon, some think it’s all spice — I’m pretty sure is pure cocaine. I have for 11 years now been in my kitchen, mixing ingredients, testing products, it’s like the Manhattan Project at my house. All in an effort to find the secret Skyline recipe. I have failed at every turn. I continue to try. A blizzard has hit Kansas City … and I’m ready to go out into it right now to get a couple of ingredients to give it another try.

I don’t expect many of you to understand this. But there are probably at least a couple of Skyline addicts in the readership here who know what I’m talking about.

RT 6: It’s a Wonderful Life

I remember being a kid and reading that Dale Murphy’s favorite movie was “It’s a Wonderful Life.” I have to admit that up to that point — I was probably 13 or 14 then, I guess — I had never heard of it. I’m not exactly sure how I was able to avoid it all those years; maybe it was on opposite The Wizard of Oz, and we ALWAYS watched The Wizard of Oz. In any case, shortly after that I saw the movie — and from the very first, my favorite character was Mr. Potter.

I can’t explain it really. But someday, I’d like to write a Christmas story from the perspective of Mr. Potter. Anyone buying that?

RT 7: The Barry Bonds Inspiration?

Bugs Bunny in Baseball Bugs: “The Gashouse Gorillas are a bunch of dirty players. I could lick ‘dem with one hand tied behind my back. All by myself. I’d get up there and WHAM a homer! WHAM anodda homer! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!”

RT 8: The Can’t Miss Snowball Trick

With KC been hit with a blizzard, here is a little lesson that every father should teach his child. There is a single snowball fight trick that never fails*. Here’s what you do: You make two snowballs. You throw the first one high in the air. The person who you are throwing the snowball at will, involuntarily, follow that snowball. They can’t help it. Like moth to fire. Elvis to jelly doughnuts. LaRussa to pitching change. They will follow that first snowball and give you one free and clear shot. You only get one shot at this. Don’t miss.

*This will fail if the other person’s father taught him/her the trick earlier. Also, be careful not to watch the first snowball yourself. I’ve seen the CMST backfire on people before.

RT 9: Sweet Lou

The Pozcars do not count write-in votes. However, it’s worth noting a few that have been sent in so far. One sent in by a half dozen of so is Lou Whitaker.

I’m thinking it’s possible that the single most egregious voting inconsistency in recent memory is the induction of Ryne Sandberg to the Hall of Fame while Lou Whitaker was barely even considered (the guy got 15 stinking votes his one season). Any longtime reader here knows that I’m somewhat obsessed by the Bruce Sutter-Dan Quisenberry injustice — I believe they were of equal quality, Quiz may have even been a touch better, and yet Quiz was abruptly dismissed while Sutter was voted in. That bothers me immensely, but I can at least understand the thinking. Sutter had quite a few more saves. It’s a stupid way to judge their quality (Quiz had a better ERA in a higher scoring lead and … well, let’s not start this again). But I can at least understand it.

There are no such obvious stats to separate Whitaker from Sandberg. Their careers are of almost identical length (Whitaker had fewer than 200 more at-bats) and here’s how it looks.

Average: Sandberg by 9 points (.285-.276).
On-Base percentage: Whitaker by 19 points (.363-.344)
Slugging percentage: Sandberg by 26 points (.352-.326)
Homers: Sandberg by 38 (288-242)
Doubles: Whitaker by 17 (420-403)
Stolen bases: Sandberg by 201 (344-143)
Walks: Whitaker by 436 (1197-761)
Runs: Whitaker by 64 (1386-1318)
RBIs: Whitaker by 23 (1084-1061)
OPS+: Whitaker by 2 points (116-114)

Neutralized stat-line
Sandberg: .286/.346/.454
Whitaker: .282/.369/.434

There are other factors, of course. Sandberg won nine gold gloves to Whitaker’s 3 — it seems likely that Sandberg was the better fielder. Sandberg played in twice as man All-Star games. Sandberg won an MVP. Sandberg was the darling of WGN when that really meant something. And Sandberg had four MVP type seasons — 30-plus Win Shares — while Whitaker did not have any. But that does not take away from the fact that Whitaker has more career Win Shares than Sandberg (351-345).

The point here is not to suggest that Whitaker is better than Sandberg or that the voters got it wrong. It may be, after careful study and observation, that Sandberg DOES belong in the Hall of Fame and Whitaker DOES NOT — it may be that the Hall of Fame line is drawn precisely in that tiny space that separates the two men. My point is, it was never even a consideration. Sandberg got in pretty easily. Whitaker was not even given a second glance.

RT 10: If not.

So I got an email the other day who said that I was “one of the goofiest, if not the goofiest, writers in America.” I appreciate the sentiment though to be honest, the word he used was somewhat more pungent than “goofiest.” Anyway, it gets to a question that has been bugging me forever … How would you define “if not?”

See, in my view, the sentence above can be translated to mean that I am one of the goofiest writers in America and I also may be THE goofiest writer in America. I translate “if not” to be inclusive of both propositions.

However, there are people who read it exactly the opposite way. They believe “if not” excludes the second choice. So reading it that way, the sentence would actually be saying that I am one of the goofiest writers in America but I’m definitely NOT the goofiest writer in America.

I’ve emailed my concerns about “if not” to various writer friends, and they have given me conflicting points of view. So I remain confused. If not baffled.

If that guy who wrote me that email saw THIS post, he probably would not have qualified his statement in the first place.

RT 11: Tina Fey — not a chocolate person

I love Tina Fey. How can you not? But I’m flipping channels, and there she is judging some sort of Iron Chef deal, and she says, “I’m not a chocolate person.”

You know what? I just cannot trust anyone who is not a chocolate person.

RT 12: A Final Brazilian Name Game

Santa Claus — Santildo
Jack Frost — Json
Rudolph (the Red-Nosed) Reindeer — Rudao
Father Time — Fathildo
Frosty (the) Snowman — Snowmisco
Mister Grinch — Mistson
Cindy Lou Who — Whiano

Merry Christmas to all. And to all a good night.

Buy a book! Prove my wife wrong!

Posted: December 22nd, 2007 | Filed under: Baseball | 18 Comments »

So it was my delightful wife who said to me when she saw me counting countless Pozcars ballots … “What exactly are you getting out of this Pozcars thing?”

What a silly question. I am getting so much out of the Pozcars, you know, like, um, well, you know, lots of stuff. I told her that the wife of that guy who invented Google probably asked the same question. And look at him now. A billionaire. A bajillionaire. Google is like taking over the world, it’s bigger than U.S. Steel, bigger than the Mafia in Godfather II, bigger than anything. So there.

“But he — actually there were two of them so they — created a search engine that analyzed the relationship between Web sites and thus provided a more intuitive ranking system which allowed people to more easily find what they are looking for on the vast and intricate Web. You’re counting votes for a meaningless award that you named after yourself. Plus those two guys were still in college when they created Google.”

“Well, yeah, you could look at it that way, but …”

“My question,” she said, “is why didn’t you tell the voters that in order to become a Pozcars voter they simply had to buy your book?”

“Well, because that would, uh, sully the innocence, um, you know, the integrity, er, um …”

OK, so if you haven’t done it, would you buy the book already? They have apparently restocked at Amazon. Makes a great Christmas present for everyone in your family and also for people you don’t know. This will almost certainly be the last book push, at least until the paperback comes out.

Coming up (maybe — you better knock down that Amazon number people): Belichick in Cleveland monster post; The Toy Cannon; Chess with Priest; Pozcars Results.

The Hall of Comps

Posted: December 21st, 2007 | Filed under: Baseball | 20 Comments »

The Hall of Comp Game is fun. It really is. It is amazing how, with a little imagination, research and dishonesty you can make a Hall of Fame case for anybody.

Take my hero Duane Kuiper. Everyone knows I love the Kuip — heck he’s in the tagline on this blog. So you might throw out a challenge: “OK, Joaldo, let’s see you make a Hall of Fame case for Kuiper, a guy who hit one homer in his entire career, had the second worst stolen-base percentage in baseball history (52 steals, 71 caught) and never quite played in an All-Star Game.” You want it? Here it is. Come and get it.

Duane Kuiper hit .271 which is ELEVEN POINTS better than Hall of Famer Bill Mazeroski. I mean that’s ridiculous. That’s not even close. He hit an even more amazing THIRTEEN POINTS better than Rabbit Marranville. These guys are in the Hall of Fame ahead of Kuiper? Who the heck is voting here?

Who is the greatest second baseman of all time? Joe Morgan, right? Come a little closer to the screen. OK, I’ll let you in on something: Duane Kuiper and Joe Morgan had the SAME LIFETIME BATTING AVERAGE. Yep. They both hit .271. And yet, everyone’s going on and on about how good Morgan was.

Or maybe you want to go for the advanced metrics than batting average, you know those really wacky stats like on-base percentage. Well fine. Kuip had a .325 on-base percentage which was way better than Hall of Famers Joe Tinker (.308) or Luis Aparicio (.311). His lifetime OPS was WAY better than Bill McKechnie or Leo Durocher.

Or even more advanced? I may not know what OPS+ means, but the guy had a 228 OPS+ his first year in the big leagues. Hello? That happens to be a higher OPS+ than Babe Ruth’s oh-so-famous 1927 season.

Fielding you say? That’s my man Kuiper’s specialty. Well, who is the best fielder ever, right? Exactly, Brooks Robinson, right? Duane Kuiper’s fielding percentage of .983 kicked the hose out of the Human Vacuum Cleaner, who had only a .971 fielding percentage. It’s laughable. Kuiper’s fielding percentage is better than Ozzie Smith’s (.978). It’s WAY better than Pee Wee Reese (.962) or Phil Ruzzutto (.968). These guys are in the Hall of Fame for their defense and they left Kuiper out? Joke!

He had more hits than Bob Gibson — and all anyone did was brag about Gibby’s hitting — more homers than Lefty Gomez, more RBIs than Branch Rickey, Dizzy Dean and Sandy Koufax put together, more runs scored than Branch Rickey. These are some of the all-time greats, people. Oh, I could keep going. More stolen bases than Cal Ripken, Wade Boggs or (this will blow you away) Ted Williams. That’s right. The great Splendid Splinter!

He grounded into about one-fourth the double plays that Hank Aaron hit into. He struck out almost 700 fewer times than George Brett, who everyone wants to keep calling a “pure hitter.” Duano was feared too — his 27 intentional walks are more than Larry Doby. Basically it’s an absolute joke that my man is not in the Hall.

You know, about one-third of the way through that, I really started getting into this. Duane’s gonna be on the next Pozcars ballot. The injustice must stop somewhere.

Anyway, I think the original point of this post was this: It’s Hall of Fame voting time which means that every day I get several emails from various lobbying groups pushing the case for their player. I’m OK with this, and some of these lobbyists make good points, some make bad points but at least they’re somewhat sane, some make ridiculous points that are at least kind of funny and some need to have their calculators taken away from them because Pythagoras will never have heavenly peace until it is done.

So, here’s what I’ve done for those of you interested in making a Hall of Fame case for your favorite player. I’ve taken some pretty shaky Hall of Famers, one at each position, listed their most appropriate Baseball Reference comp, and named someone else whose statistics absolutely blow theirs away. I hope this might accomplish two things: 1. Give you Bo Diaz, George Hendrick and Kevin Seitzer fans some comps to use in your next argument; 2. Get people to realize that there are some very mediocre choices in the Hall of Fame — it ain’t all Willie Mays and Mickey Mantle.

By the way: Kuiper had more than five times more sacrifice hits than Mantle and a better strikeout-to-walk ratio than Mays. Free Duane Kuiper!

Third Base
Hall of Famer: George Kell (.306/.367/.414, 2054 hits, 78 homers, 111 OPS+, .258 Big Average)
No. 1 Comp: Harvey Kuenn (.303/.357/.408, 2092 hits, 87 homers, 108 OPS+, .246 Big Average)
Not in: Ron Santo (.277/.362/.464, 2254 hits, 342 homers, 125 OPS+, .303 Big Average)

Comment: George Kell is one of the more popular Hall of Fame comps for people trying to make their case. He was a good player, but he wasn’t an especially productive hitter, despite hit .306 lifetime average and his batting title. It seems when you look at it in context that several third basemen — including blog favorite Bill Madlock — were better hitters. Kell was a good fielder, a solid teammate, a respected man, a 10-time All-Star, and he was inducted into the Hall by the veteran’s committee, which is no longer in existence. He also went in in 1983, when the list of third basemen in the Hall of Fame was hardly overwhelming — it was before George Brett, Mike Schmidt, Wade Boggs and the same year as Brooks Robinson.

So making any Kell comparisons now is probably pointless and borderline deceitful. But what’s a little deceit when making Hall of Fame arguments …

As an aside, Ron Santo was clearly and obviously a better player.

Shortstop
Hall of Famer: Joe Tinker (.262/.308/.353, 1687 hits, 336 SBs, 95 OPS+)
No. 1 Comp: Ozzie Guillen (.264/.287/.338, 1764 hits, 169 SBs, 68 OPS+)
Not in: Vern Stephens (.286/.355/.460, 1859 hits, 247 HR, 119 OPS+, .302 Big Average)

Comment: The Guillen comp doesn’t really stand up — check out those OPS+ — but Tinker is obviously a great Hall comp for anyone trying to make a case for their favorite shortstop. This is a good place to point out that Vern Stephens was one heck of a hitter.

Second base
Hall of Famer: Bill Mazeroski (.260/.299/.377, 2016 hits, 138 homers, 84 OPS+, 8 Gold Gloves)
No. 1 Comp: Frank White (.255/.293/.383, 2006 hits, 160 homers, 85 OPS+, 8 Gold Gloves)
Not in: Bob Grich (.266/.371/.424, 1833 hits, 224 homers, 125 OPS+, 4 Gold Gloves, .290 Big Average)

Comment: When Maz got in, it made my friend Frank White feel like maybe people would take another look at his fine career. It’s hard in baseball history to find two players who are more similar in obvious ways. They were two great fielding second baseman — best of their generations — who played big roles on championship teams and put up almost identical offensive numbers over careers that lasted almost exactly the same amount of time.

I mean, sure, people can split hairs and say Maz turned the double play better but Frank ran better but Maz hit the big World Series home run but Frank hit cleanup in the World Series and won the first ALCS MVP but Maz … it seems silly to me. They are just so darned similar, why can’t people just embrace it. Eerily similar. Putting Maz in but not White like putting in Mary Kate but not Ashley.

Of course, it is once again not a fair comparison. After the veteran’s committee voted Maz in, they slammed the door behind him — the committee was disbanded immediately (and probably BECAUSE they voted in Maz). So there’s no real Hall of Fame door open for Frank, which is a shame because he was summarily dismissed by the voters and that wasn’t right. Frank was an amazing second baseman who invented a new way to play on turf — nobody played deeper. He would run down foul balls hit two-thirds of the way into the outfield.

Grich was a hell of a lot better hitter than either one of them — and he was an outstanding second baseman himself.

First base
Hall of Famer: George Kelly (.297/.342/.452, 1778 hits, 148 homers, 109 OPS+, .278 Big Average)
No. 1 Comp: Bob Watson (.295/.364/.447, 1826 hits, 184 homers, 129 OPS+, .282 Big Average)
Not in: Will Clark (.303/.384/.497, 2176 hits, 284 homers, 137 OPS+, .323 Big Average)

Comment: Another false B-R comp — Watson was a hell of a lot better hitter than George Kelly. Will Clark inspires the question: How long does someone have to be a “GREAT” player in order to be a Hall of Famer? If someone is a great player, as Clark was, for most of his 15 seasons, but can’t stay healthy long enough to get to the 3000 hit or 400 homer region, does that disqualify him from being in the Hall of Fame. The answer, based on Clark’s 23 Hall of Fame votes, is unequivocally, yes.

But Kirby Puckett is in …

Left Field
Hall of Famer: Lou Brock (.293/.343/.410, 3023 hits, 938 SBs, 109 OPS+, .273 Big Average)
No. 1 Comp: Tim Raines (.294/.385/.425, 2605 hits, 808 SBs, 123 OPS+, .318 Big Average)
Not in: Indian Bob Johnson (.296/.393/.506, 2051 hits, 288 HRs, 138 OPS+, .346 Big Average)

Comment: Here it is again. Bob Johnson put up spectacular numbers — but not for quite long enough.

Raines, as mentioned in numerous places here, was a better player than Brock. Got on base A LOT more. Stole bases more efficiently. Hit with more power. Brock though was trailblazer. Be interesting to see what the voters think on Raines this year.

Center Field
Hall of Famer: Kirby Puckett (.318/.360/.477, 2304 hits, 207 homers, 124 OPS+, .285 Big Average)
No. 1 Comp: Don Mattingly (.307/.358/.471, 2153 hits, 222 homers, 127 OPS+, .286 Big Average)
Not in: Fred Lynn (.283/.360/.484, 1960 hits, 306 homers, 129 OPS+, .311 Big Average)

Comment: So here’s the deal when you vote in Kirby Puckett first ballot … you open the door of comp to every single player who had a good career, got hurt and finished their career prematurely. Right now, this is the BIG Mattingly argument — “Hey, if Puckett’s in, how can you leave out Mattingly — they had almost identical numbers” — but, hey, I would contend that offensively Fred Lynn had better overall numbers than either one of those guys.

No, Lynn doesn’t have quite the number of hits as Puckett, but his on-base percentage is the same, he slugged better, his OPS+ is significantly better and he hit 99 more home runs. Lynn was a brilliant defensive center fielder who had his career cut short, in large part, because he played the game hard (though he was also criticized for not being tough by some). He also won an MVP award and Rookie of the Year, same year, and he hit .611 in that 1982 ALCS.

Where’s the Fred Lynn Hall of Fame lobby?

Right Field
Hall of Famer: Enos Slaughter (.300/.382/.453, 2383 hits, 169 homers, 123 OPS+, .304 Big Average)
No. 1 Comp: Mickey Vernon (.286/.359/.428, 2495 hits, 172 homers, 116 OPS+, .280 Big Average)
Not in: Minnie Minoso (.289/.389/.459, 1963 hits, 186 homers, 205 SBs, .314 Big Average)

Comment: I think Minoso should be in.

Catcher
Hall of Famer: Ray Schalk (.253/.340/.316, 1345 hits, 177 SBs, 83 OPS+)
Catcher Comp: JIm Sundberg (.248/.327/.348, 1493 hits, 95 homers, 89 OPS+)
Not in: Ted Simmons (.285/.348/.437, 2472 hits, 248 homers, 117 OPS+, .273 Big Average)
Not in: Bill Freehan (.262/.340/.412, 1591 hits, 200 homers, 112 OPS+)

Comment: Ray Schalk is a great comparison for any Hall of Fame catcher you would like to use.

Pitcher
Hall of Famer: Catfish Hunter (224-166, 3.26 ERA, 2012 Ks, 954 walks, 104 ERA+)
No. 1 Comp: Luis Tiant (229-172, 3.30 ERA, 2416 Ks, 1104 walks, 114 ERA+)
Not in: Bert Blyleven (287-250, 3.31 ERA, 3701 Ks, 1322 walks, 118 ERA+)
Not gonna get in: Kevin Brown (211-140, 3.28 ERA, 2397 Ks, 901 walks, 127 ERA+)
Nor: David Cone (194-126, 3.46 ERA, 2668 Ks, 1137 walks, 120 ERA+).

Comment: Bill James has a theory about why Hunter got in and Tiant did not — and it did not have to do with Hunter playing on better teams or being well liked or American or whatever. Hunter was eligible BEFORE the historic sweep of 300-game winners and other slam-dunk Hall of Fames — Gaylord Perry, Jim Palmer, Fergie Jenkins, Tom Seaver, Don Sutton, Phil Niekro, Steve Carlton. Once all those guys got in, the STANDARDS of what a Hall of Fame pitcher had to be had changed. Catfish got in just under the bell.

The theory is excellent — I mean, the guy’s Bill James — but another look does seem to show that interest in Tiant seemed to be fading BEFORE those guys started getting in. Tiant’s first year, he got 30.9 percent of the vote, a good first showing. But his second year — when only Perry among those players was on the ballot — he dropped to barely more than 10 percent. Maybe voters were looking ahead and realizing that Tiant would not stack up to the wave of pitchers on the horizon. Hard to say — that sort of Hall of Fame drop is unique. Tiant was, in my opinion, a better pitcher than Catfish.

Stupid things that I like doing …

Posted: December 21st, 2007 | Filed under: Baseball | 11 Comments »

OK, so a friend of mine sent me the address to this site which answers the question, “If you played (soccer) for Brazil, what would your name be?”

Now, I have no idea if this is anything new — I suspect not. I’m always like the last person on earth to find out about cool things on the Internet. Like someone told me you have to go to YouTube and watch this guy play “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” on the the ukulele. Yeah. That’s what I said. Ukulele. So for whatever reason I actually go on there, and it’s the single most freaking amazing thing I’ve seen in my entire life (if you are one of the nine people who has not seen it, you have to stick around to the end. Of course you will anyway because it’s INCREDIBLE). So, I mention this to several friends who say things like, “Oh yeah, that was really cool, uh, back in 2001 when it first went on the Internet.” That’s how it always is with me.

So I’m not suggesting that this Brazilian name thing is new … I suspect it’s very 1998. But it’s new to ME. And I LOVE it. I LOVE Brazilian soccer names. Ronaldo. Ronaldinho. RonaldMcDonaldinho. So yeah, you bet, I spent pretty much all day translating whatever name that came to mind into a Brazilian name (plus I also counted Pozcars votes — the registrar’s office is closed now. I took in everybody who sent emails up to now — you’ll get your invitations by the weekend — and even included you party crashers who boldly sent in ballots. But we can’t take anymore since “we” is actually “me by myself.” I do want to thank a few loyal Pozcar voters who offered to help count. You’ll be sorry for doing that. Anyway, I’ll try to open up the invitation again for the next vote).

Anyway, here are some of those Brazilian soccer names for you folks.

Curt Schilling — Ca (funny, many think this is Curt’s first name right now. Not me, of course. I like Curt. Always have. But man wouldn’t it be great if he would start going by Ca. “Looks like Ca definitely doesn’t have fastball today. I would say Ca will really need to work his slider down in the strike zone).

Barry Bonds — Bildo (Close. So close).

Roger Clemens — Cleminhosa

Michael Vick — Dogkila

Bert Blyleven — Blylevundo

Michael Vick (for real) — Viano

Bill Belichick — Belichisco

Mark Teahen — Mildo

Derek Jeter — Poorfieldo

Jim Rice — Jegra

Derek Jeter (for real) — Derildo

A-Rod — Regra

Manny Ramirez — Mundo

David Ortiz — Davildo

Randy Johnson — Johnsundo Santos

Alyssa Milano — Alyssisco (this only makes me want you to host the Pozcars more Alyssa).

Paul Rudd — Paio (my wife still things he would make the better host. I’m OK with that. Maybe co-hosts. She also has a fun post on the White House dog video … speaking of the most amazingly goofy Internet things).

Duane Kuiper — Kuipimo

Johan Santana — Santanisco

Brandon Webb — Weiro

Bob Costas — Bardo

LeBron James — Traito

Emil Brown — Brauro Pau (oh yeah — someone needs to sign Brauro Pau)

Jose Guillen — Kevin McReynolds

Dave Barry — Felix Bito

Bill James — Jamardo

LeBron James (for real) — Jamiano (how awesome is that)

Steve Garvey — Papasito

(I know I’ve told you the time I was interviewing Pete Rose and he decided to tell a joke. He said: “Did you hear about the Breeder’s Cup this year?” I said no. He said, “Elway rode in it, I bet on it and Garvey won it.” I can’t help but love Pete).

Darryl Strawberry — Daca

Bud Selig — Selinho. I’m not joking. This is really it. Punch it in yourself. The longer I do this, the more this program seems to be reaching and stretching for the truth.

Natalie Portman — Portmaldo Peres. So true.

Hillary Clinton — Clintardo. No comment.

Tony LaRussa — Tao. Oh my God. I’m not kidding. Tony LaRussa’s Brazilian soccer name is Tao. I have to stop on that one.

By the way, from now on you can call me Joaldo

Pozcars Ballot …

Posted: December 19th, 2007 | Filed under: Baseball | 33 Comments »

Well, I can tell you sending out hundreds of Pozcars ballots was fun. No, really, lots of fun. That was a good idea I came up with. Maybe next I can do a blog post where I try to see if it really hurts to bang my head against a the hood of an Altima or, perhaps, a Jetta. Maybe I can bang my head against cars of various makes and models to see what hurts more. Yeah, I’m talking that kind of fun.

But we’ve done it … we’ve sent out the first batch of Pozcars ballots. Well, “we” didn’t do squat — I did it. Sheesh. At one point, my wife said to me: “What exactly are you getting out of this?” To which I said, you know, nothing, because I couldn’t think of anything to say at that particular moment. But you know how sometimes, long after the moment, you think of the perfect thing to say? Well, no, this wasn’t one of those times. I still don’t know what I’m getting out of this.

In any case, I can tell you we have Pozcars voters from at least 10 different countries, which makes this without any doubt the most universally appreciated fake award ever given out on the Internet. Maybe. I can also tell you that I did try to read your reasons for wanting to be Pozcars voters, and they were funny, but after about 129 of them they start to blend together. One that stands out was the person who wants to be Pozcar voter because, as a convicted felon, he can’t vote for anything else.

What follows is the official letter of invitation sent out to the Pozcar voters along with the first ballot, this one for the Baseball Hall of Fame. If you applied to be a voter and did not get a ballot, I can only think of three possibilities.

1. You were turned down by the unyielding standards of the Pozcar Board of Admittance (yeah, I’m looking right at you Beyonce; we can’t just let anyone in).

2. I somehow overlooked your email. Send me another one at this email.

3. Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam-a-dee spam.

In any case, here is what the invitation looks like, along with the ballot:

* * *

Dear Potential Pozcars Voter,

Hi, my name is Joe Posnanski, and I am cordially inviting you to take part in the voting for a new fake Internet award I like to call “The Pozcars.” There are, best I can figure, only four ways you would be getting this email.

1. You were one of the many people who actually APPLIED to vote for this fake award. What is wrong with you?
2. You are a friend of mine and, thus, subject to my goofy ideas.
3. You were nominated by someone who happened to have your email.
4. You are someone famous who I admire and, as such, do not deserve to have this mass email thrust upon you.

In any case, this will be the last unsolicited email you receive, at least from me. The way to become a Pozcars’ voter is to respond to this email with your Hall of Fame vote (see ballot on bottom of email). The way to forever be rid of any and all Pozcars talk is to not respond. You will be automatically withdrawn.

Many of you have asked: What exactly are the Pozcars? I can answer this way: I have absolutely no idea. It was a bad idea I came up with in the middle of the night after eating Papa John’s Pizza. That stuff will play tricks on your mind, man. But once the idea was set into motion — to create a fake award voted on by a whole lot of cool people — there’s was no stopping it. Apparently.

These are the ground rules:

1. We’ll vote on all sorts of stuff. Most of it will be baseball, but there might be a “Top 10 Springsteen songs” or “Worst sitcom ever” or “Who should be kicked out of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame” vote down the line.

2. Your identity and vote will be kept in complete secret unless you don’t want it to be secret or I just think it’s too good to keep secret.

3. We at the Pozcars have absolutely no problem at all with ethical issues. If someone wants to pay you for your vote, spend that money without guilt. Buy yourself something nice. Maybe something for kids.

4. You are more than welcome to use your status as a fully-registered Pozcars voter on resumes, Facebook, My Space, your imdb site or as a way to get dates. Pozcars Inc. takes no responsibility for you getting shot down, however.

5. Repeat: To become a fully registers Pozcars voter, you must send a return email with your Hall of Fame vote. I will be deleting anyone who does not respond from the registry so that I don’t end up bothering people who didn’t even want to get this email.

6. We’ll make T-shirts at some point, maybe. You like that logo? My wife made it (if you do not like it, and say so publicly, you may have your Pozcars voting rights withdrawn … or I may laugh, it depends how you say it).

Thank you for reading this far and welcome. As our official Pozcars slogan says: “We don’t have a slogan yet.”

All the best,
Joe Posnanski
CEO/President/Creative Director/Janitor of The Pozcars

* * *

OK, now for the ballot. This is (more or less) the same ballot that Baseball Writers Association voters will be voting on this year. The BBWAA asks that voting be based on: “The player’s record, playing ability, integrity, sportsmanship, character and contribution to the team(s) on which the player played.”

Yeah, the BBWAA has integrity, sportsmanship AND character listed in that one paragraph.

Here at the Pozcars, we place no such restrictions on our voters. We’re a restriction-free award. You can vote for whoever you want for whatever reason you want. If you want to vote for those steroid cheats, feel free! In fact, you may notice a couple of people on this ballot who are not allowed on the BBWAA ballot.

The only real rule is that you can only vote up to 10 of these players. No more. You can vote zero, if you like, but you CAN’T VOTE MORE THAN TEN. I mean this enough to put it all capital letters.

The deadline is Dec. 31. Results along with an unnecessarily long post will be on my blog at www.joeposnanski.com/JoeBlog.

Just send your choices (up to 10) back to this address in the following fashion.

Your name
Player 1
Player 2
Player 3
Player 4
Etc.

I think that’s all. Here is the ballot with a comment on each player. The rest of the research is up to you.

– Brady Anderson: One of two players to hit 50 homers in a season and also steal 50 bases in a season.

– Harold Baines: The consummate professional hitter.

– Rod Beck: Had 286 saves; 51 with the Cubs one year.

– Bert Blyleven: Fifth all-time in strikeouts; Chris Berman gets full marks for his Bert “be home” Blyleven nickname.

– Dave Concepcion: Gold-glove shortstop of the Big Red Machine (I hear a great Big Red Machine book is coming in 2009!)

– Andre Dawson: Eight-time Gold Glove winner and one of only three men to hit 400-plus homers and steal 300-plus bases (other two are Willie Mays and Barry Bonds).

– Shawon Dunston: Cubs shortstop with fabulous arm. He also had a fabulous arm

– Chuck Finley: Exactly 200 victories and a fine 115 ERA+ for the big lefty.

– Travis Fryman: Five-time All-Star hit 345 homers and won a Gold Glove as a third baseman.

– Goose Gossage: Nine-time All-Star was utterly dominant from 1975-85.

– Joe Jackson: Shoeless Joe has been played in movies by both Ray Liotta* and D.B. Sweeney.

* Liotta played Jackson as a right-handed batter, which was infuriating since Jackson had, supposedly, one of the sweetest left-handed swings ever, so good that Babe Ruth reportedly copied it. I once asked the late Rod Dedeaux, who was a baseball consultant for the movie, how he could possibly have let that happen. He said, “You should have seen him hit left-handed. Believe me that would have looked worse.”

– Tommy John: Won 288 games and had a surgery named after him.

– David Justice: Twice hit 40 homers in a season; hit 305 homers for his career

– Chuck Knoblauch: Four-time All Star hit .333 and .341 in back-to-back years.

– Don Mattingly: Former MVP and batting champion; Donnie Baseball won nine Gold Gloves.

– Mark McGwire: FIrst man to hit 70 homers in a season; Hit a homer ever 10.6 at-bats, best ratio in baseball history.

– Jack Morris: Won 254 games and pitched 10 shutout innings in Game 7 of 1991 World Series.

– Dale Murphy: Two-time MVP was the face of the Atlanta Braves, and perhaps baseball, for much for the 1980s.

– Robb Nen: He saved 314 games despite retiring when he was 32 years old.

– Dave Parker: The Cobra won an MVP and finished in the Top 5 in the MVP voting four other times.

– Tim Raines: He stole 808 bases, fifth all-time, and was successful an astonishing 84.6% of the time.

– Jim Rice: Eight-time All-Star won the 1978 MVP award and was considered by many to be the most fearsome hitter in baseball.

– Jose Rijo: Won 116 games, led 1990 Reds to World Series and I thought he was an all-time great guy.

– Pete Rose: All-time hit leader.

– Lee Smith: Trevor Hoffman just passed him in saves, so his 478 is second all-time. Still finished more games (802) than any player in baseball history.

– Todd Stottlemyre: Won 138 games and won the Branch Rickey and Lou Gehrig Awards in 2000.

– Alan Trammell: Four-time Gold Glove winner and one of the better hitting shortstops in baseball history. Won the 1984 World Series MVP.

OK, that’s the whole list. Again, if you would like to vote, please just reply to this email with your list, each player on a separate line. You can vote up to 10. The deadline is Dec. 31. If you want to put some comments, feel free to put them at the bottom of your email. Thank you for participating and happy holidays.

Big Average Request

Posted: December 18th, 2007 | Filed under: Baseball | 67 Comments »

We have a request for the all-time Big Average team. Here you go:

1B: Lou Gehrig (.439 BA)
2B: Rogers Hornsby (.369)
SS: Alex Rodriguez (.382)
3B: Chipper Jones (.368)*
*Jim Thome only played 492 games at third, not quite the 500 I needed, but he has a .391 BA.
LF: Ted Williams (.457)
CF: Mickey Mantle (.394)*
*This is assuming you can’t put Barry Bonds (.449) in center.
RF: Babe Ruth (.491)
C: Mickey Cochrane (.339)

2nd team
1B: Hank Greenberg (.409)
2B: Jackie Robinson (.337)
SS: Honus Wagner (.323)
3B: Mike Schmidt (.366)
LF: Barry Bonds (.449)
CF: Joe DiMaggio (.376)
RF: Manny Ramirez (.392)*
*We might move Bonds to right.
C: Mike Piazza (.335)

3rd Team

Burger: Winstead’s, Kansas City, Mo.*
*Never tried Five Guys and so will not and cannot exclude it.

Barbecue: Arthur Bryant’s, Kansas City, Mo.*
*Barely edging out Dreamland in Tuscaloosa.

Cheese Steak: Geno’s, Philadelphia, Pa.*
*You Philly folks will undoubtedly be able to give me five places that are better — and I’ll try them all.

Buffalo Wings: The Anchor Bar, Buffalo, NY

Pizza: John’s Pizza, New York, NY*
*Same offer to New Yorkers as to Philadelphians. You got a better pizza, I’ll try it. Unfortunately, Chicago and St. Louis readers are disqualified from this conversation because there’s only one kind of pizza. New York pizza. That Chicago deep dish and St. Louis cracker thing are not pizza and represent a different category.

Caesar’s Salad: Ruppert’s, New York, NY (defunct)*
*The Caesar at Delmonico’s in New Orleans, La. — they make it right at the table — awesomely good.

Chili: Skyline, Cincinnati, OH

Clam Chowder: Atlantic Fish Co., Boston, MA*
*And the same offer to you Boston folk — I like Atlantic better than Legal, though. No way New Yorkers get in on this. New York Clam Chowder … horrible, sacrilegious, awful.

Roast Duck: Ward’s Inn, Cleveland, OH (defunct)

Mustard: Stadium Mustard, Cleveland, OH*
*I’m open to arguments, but only to a point. No one will be allowed to post an argument to this.