Mad Dog 20-20

Posted: December 14th, 2007 | Filed under: Baseball | 25 Comments »

Fourth in BJIP Series: Bill James’ Inspired Posts

This is a hard one for me to explain, but as you get older, you tend to lose the years. I don’t mean you forget stuff — of course that’s true. But I sort of mean the opposite here. I mean, you look around one day and realize that not everyone in the room remembers all the stuff you remember. And sometimes that realization will blindside you like Shawne Merriman.

The first time this ever happened to me, I was probably 28 years old, I was eating in a restaurant in Cincinnati, and I was reading James Baldwin’s “The Evidence of Things Not Seen” about the Atlanta child murders (1979-1981). I love reading in restaurants. I have absolutely no idea where that came from, but one of my favorite things to do is get a book, go to a restaurant by myself, read and eat.

Anyway, the waitress came over, and she asked me what I was reading, which normally would irritate me, because I like to be left alone when I’m reading in a restaurant. But she was cute, and I was single, and I told her that it was about the Atlanta Child Murders, and she said, “What were those?”

I was absolutely stunned. The Atlanta Child Murders were a huge part of my childhood, huge, I mean they had parents scared, and they had kids in class bravely joking, and it was in the news constantly. So I said, “Well, yeah, it was in Atlanta and these children kept disappearing …” and she asked, “When was this?” I told her they started in 1979.

And she said: “Oh, well that explains it. I was 3.”

And man, that was a jolt — not like in the movies when you have Billy Crystal doing double takes because his date doesn’t remember the day JFK was assassinated. No, it was more the first realization that I was getting older, and the world was getting younger, and that there really would be a time in my life (sooner rather than later) when waitresses and other people would not remember when Rocky came out, when Andy Gibb was cool, when electric football was the very edge of gaming technology. It was a, “Wow, time is really passing by moment.” At 28. And That was a long time ago.

All of this is a way of saying that, as I close in rapidly on 41, I still tend to lose sight of the fact that some of the major players of my childhood are, in fact, lost to memory. I pose this trivia question …

Since World War II began, can you name the two right-handed hitters who have won the most batting titles?

Now, if I ask this of someone my age or older, this isn’t even a trivia question. It’s too easy. It’s like the crossword puzzle in TV Guide (Seven letter word, first name of Comedy Channel host ——- Colbert. Hint: Also name of ——- Douglas, of the famed Lincoln-Douglas debates. Also RATT singer ——- Pearcy. It’s like Steven only with a different middle consonant. Actually consonants, plural. Come on. You can do it). Point is, the two players were huge stars. One was Roberto Clemente. I’m hoping you got that one.

The other was Bill Madlock.

I hope you got that one too, but I realize that if you are 30 or younger, you probably have no connection to Bill Madlock, no memory of him, no real sense that this guy:

– Won more batting titles than Pete Rose.
– More than George Brett too.
– More than Yaz too.
– More than Joe DiMaggio, Hank Aaron, Frank Robinson, Willie Mays, Ichiro Suzuki, Edgar Martinez, Babe Ruth or Barry Bonds.
– He won more batting titles than than Al Kaline, Albert Pujols and Billy Williams combined.
– He won more than Don Mattingly, Kirby Puckett and Tim Raines combined.
– The guy won four freaking batting titles. FOUR OF THEM.
– FOUR! Did I mention that he won four batting titles?

There’s a great line from Citizen Kane that probably fits here — the line goes, “Well, it’s no trick to make a lot of money, when all you want to do is make a lot of money.” I suspect nobody in baseball history wanted to win batting titles more than Bill Madlock. It’s all he wanted to do. He wanted to win batting titles so much that he would become despised for it by other players and joked about in the press boxes (they would have pools, according to Bill James, to pick the exact date that Madlocks hamstring would flare up).

Now, before we go too far, let me say the guy had a career. Madlock hit .305 for his career and got 2,000 hits, and he wasn’t one dimensional either. His career 123 OPS+ is quite solid. He walked more than he struck out. He had a more than respectable .442 slugging — better than Carew, almost the same as Boggs. He hit as many as 19 homers in a season, stole as many as 32 bases, he hit .375 in his one World Series appearance and he even played a respectable third base for a while (after a rough start).

And when he retired, he did so to no fanfare, no retired jersey ceremonies, no “Remember Mad Dog” days. He got a miserable 19 votes his one year on the Hall of Fame ballot, though his numbers are startlingly similar to Hall of Famer George Kell:

Madlock: 305/.365/.442, 2008 hits, 348 2B, 34 3B, 163 HR, 860 RBI, 920 runs, 174 SB, 123 OPS+, 4 batting titles.
Kell: .306/.367/414, 2054 hits, 385 2B, 50 3B, 78 HR, 870 RBIs, 881 runs, 51 SB, 111 OPS+, 1 batting title.

Yes, Kell was a better defender, but Madlock played in a tougher hitting era, but Kell was a 10-time All-Star while Madlock was only a three-time All-Star … I’m not wanting to get into this argument (or the argument that Madlock was better than Pie Traynor). Point is Kell’s in the Hall, Madlock was never really considered. Point is, Madlock is more or less forgotten. He’s a guy players grumbled about and fans never appreciated. And I think the fact he’s more or less forgotten is the great irony. All he wanted was batting titles. All he wanted was to be remembered.

* * *

Madlock won his first batting title in 1975, and he won that one running way. He had been traded to the Cubs for Fergie Jenkins, and in his first full year, 1974, he hit .313 with a very solid .816 OPS (very solid for 1975 anyway). He finished third in the rookie of the year voting behind Bake McBride* and Greg Gross (who both had lower OPS — not that anyone knew what the heck an OPS was. Maybe Bill James at the Stokely Van Camp Plant knew). Madlock may have sensed from his rookie of the year finish that nobody was going to hand him fame. He was going to have to go out there and take it.

*John Mayberry tells a great story about Bake McBride as a rookie. It was during spring training and McBride hit a routine ground ball to short, throw to first, and he heard the umpire say, “Safe.” He turned to the ump and said, “Are you crazy?” The ump pointed — McBride was already about 40 feet past them in right field. “He needed a parachute to slow him down then,” Mayberry said. “That guy was so fast I didn’t even HEAR him go by.”

In 1975, Madlock left no doubts. Nobody could vote him off the Batting Title Island. He hit .354 — 23 points better than Ted Simmons. He had a spectacular hot streak during the summer. For 43 games — from June 3rd to July 26 — he hit .401 with 73 hits in 182 at-bats. He finished off that streak with a six-for-six game against the Mets, a game his Cubs lost which may tell you something.

I’m not sure when people began viewing Mad Dog as a selfish player — he’d been suspended in the minors for a fight he started, and in August this year he got thrown out by two different umpires after they called him out on first (nobody took hits away from Mad Dog when there was a batting title on the line). But I’m not sure Mad Dog was fully formed yet. In September that year, in what would become a pattern whenever there was a batting title on the line, he got hurt and missed a lot of time. He was hitting .362 on September 9, and then he was out for two weeks. He did play in four games the last week, but not well — he went two for 18 and saw his average drop to .354. It was enough.

That’s batting championship No. 1.

* * *

In 1976, Mad Dog really comes into focus. That was the year he got into a huge fight after getting hit by a pitch and then nearly fought his own pitching staff because he did not feel like they were protecting him. From what I can gather, Madlock was right — they were not protecting him. They didn’t even like him.

This was a much tougher batting title to win. Cincinnati’s Ken Griffey was having a great year (so were Joe Morgan and Pete Rose — it was party time in Cincinnati in 1976), and so was the stately Garry Maddox.

Madlock, meanwhile, got off to only a so-so start and was wallowing in the .290s in mid-June. But one thing Bill Madlock knew how to do was raise a batting average. In a 60-game stretch, he hit .382 (with an OPS over 1.000 — Mad Dog wasn’t just a little punch/judy guy). So his average was in the mid-to-high .330s then, and he actually got it all the way up to .345 by mid September. He was running away with the title again.

And then — well, everyone was waiting for it this time. Madlock hit a September chill. And on September 23rd — with a four-point lead over Ken Griffey — he “got hurt.” Oh yeah, the next five games, Madlock was on the bench. Unfortunately for him, Griffey got hot. Griffey went 10 for 18 in the five games Madlock missed, and took the batting title lead — .339 to .334.

OK, so, now what? That’s right, suddenly, Bill Madlock felt well again. There was a war going on. At one point — according to Joe Morgan’s book “A Life in Baseball” — he went over Griffey and asked HIM to sit out. The quote: “There’s no disgrace in it. Madlock is trying to win any way he can, and it’s not fair.”

“I’d sit if I could,” Griffey told Morgan. He then explained that manager Sparky Anderson would not let him sit. So Morgan, never shy about expressing his opinions, got Pete Rose, Tony Perez and Johnny Bench and they all went to Sparky’s office. The conversation — recounted in the book — is fascinating (as I do research for my book on the 1975 Reds, this book is by far the best I’ve come across so far):

Rose: “When I won my batting titles, I played every day.”
Morgan: “Madlock doesn’t play every day.”
Bench: “This is a different situation, Pete.”
Perez: (Nod).
Anderson: “You know, for me, it’s a question of the kid standing up and being man.”
Morgan: “Sparky, that’s horseshit. This has nothing to do with manhood. It has to do with Bill Madlock sitting on his ass so he can steal a batting title.”

You can imagine there were no such moral quandaries in Chicago, where Mad Dog realized he had to get off his ass he he was going to win the title. He came back on Oct. 1 and got one hit. The next day he took the collar in three at-bats. His average was down to .333 — five points behind Griffey. The fight seemed over.

Only it wasn’t — you could never count out Mad Dog. Last day of the season, Griffey started the game on the bench. Madlock was facing Montreal. His first at bat, against Woodie Fryman — with runners on first and second and nobody out — he bunted the ball down the third base-line and beat it out for a single. That made him 1 for 1.

Second at-bat, Madlock reached on an infield single with a man on first base. That made him 2 for 2.

Third at bat, runner on third, Madlock went the other way and hit a single to right. Run scored. That made him 3 for 3.

And now, there was a little bit of panic back in Cincinnati. The Reds sent Griffey in as a pinch-hitter with a man on first base and the Reds up 3-0. Griffey struck out against Frank LaCourte. Now, the difference was percentage points.

Back in Chicago, Madlock came up for the fourth time — and he singled to right field again. That made him 4 for 4, and gave him a .339 batting average. The lead was his. And Madlock’s next time up — well, I know this will shock you, but Rob Sperring came into pinch hit for the Mad Dog. The fight was done.

Griffey came in for one more at-bat and he struck out again — so the final total was:

Bill Madlock: .339
Ken Griffey: .336

Sorry Senior. Nobody beats the Master. And that was batting championship Number 2.

* * *

At lot happened to Bill Madlock between batting titles. He was traded away from Chicago, largely over a salary dispute. His quote: “My bags are packed. If the Cubs don’t think I’m worth it, fine.” He was traded to San Francisco for Bobby Murcer and some change. He lasted in San Francisco for roughly 20 minutes, though during that time he did manage to get into a fight with John Montefusco and get himself tossed out of the game for watching a called strike go by and then handing his bat to the umpire with the helpful suggestion, “Let’s see if you can hit that pitch.”

In 1979, he was traded to the Pirates for Ed Whitson, Al Holland and change, and he became a key figure on the Pirates World Series championship team. The Pirates were 6 1/2 games back when Madlock was traded there, and with the race close all the way to the finish, Madlock hit .435 down the stretch (no batting title on the line now) to help the Pirates beat out a talented Montreal team. And as mentioned, Mad Dog did hit .375 in the World Series victory over Baltimore.

Pittsburgh suited him, it seemed. Sure, he did get himself tossed and fined after shoving a glove in an umpire’s face. And he once had one of his own teammates try to plunk him. And so on. But he quietly did good things for the community (he was the team’s Roberto Clemente Award nominee one year). He made two of his three All Star appearances. And he played some of his best overall baseball.

He still wanted them batting titles, though. In 1981, he got his third and easiest one. The season was only 102 games because of the strike. He was hitting .326 when the strike began, and after a slugging restart, he hit .422 over a four-week stretch to get his average up to .355 on Sept. 5. He of course had his September “injury” — he missed five games there in late September — but he cruised in with a .343 average.

And that was batting championship Number 3.

* * *

The fourth batting title was the toughest of all — and not just because the year before, 1982, he had finished SECOND in the batting race to Al Oliver. I don’t know Bill Madlock, but I have to believe that was the toughest blow. It reminds me of how I felt about Rey Sanchez when he played shortstop for the Royals. Rey was a superb defensive shortstop — best hands West of Ozzie, quick release, most accurate throwing arm I’ve ever seen on a day-to-day basis, guy NEVER made a bad throw.

But Rey was — well, I’ll put it kindly because I loved Rey and watching him play. Rey was not out there to show off. If there was a ball hit four steps to his left, he would not even try to get it. I mean, he wouldn’t even TRY to get it. He wouldn’t move. You NEVER saw Rey dive for a ball. You NEVER saw him go all out for a ball he could not reach. This irritated the hell out of most people — including managers, who value hustle and intensity and buy into the notion that you don’t know what you can do until you try. I buy into those values somewhat too, but probably less than most managers. The way I saw it: Rey pretty much knew what he could get to and what he couldn’t. Maybe a handful of times a year, he might not have tried for a ball that he “might” have reached. Maybe. But maybe not. The guy had a good sense about his abilities.

Point is, though, that once in a blue moon Odom there would be a ball hit 3.7 paces to Sanchez’s left, and he would go for it, come up with it, wheel, make the perfect throw … and the guy would beat the throw. And you could just see how TICKED OFF Rey was. I always suspected he was mostly ticked off at himself for making the pointless effort. And I suspect that’s how Madlock may have felt finishing second in the race. I mean, get that close, you want to get the job done.

So in 1983, Madlock needed to use all of his batting title powers. On August 19, he was hitting .336 and had a nine-point lead over Lonnie Smith going into the final six weeks. Seriously, giving Bill Madlock a nine-point lead, six weeks to go, this is like giving Bill Belichick video of the other coach’s signals. Pack up the cameras, boys, it’s time to go home. Your executive producer has been Don Ohlmeyer …

Only … Mad Dog, uncharacteristically, took his eyes off the ball. The next three weeks or so, he hit .208. On Sept. 9, he was down to .321. He had just a one-point lead over George Hendrick and Jose Cruz Sr (he loved beating those ball-playing Seniors) and a five-point lead over Lonnie. His Pirates had only 22 games left. Something had to give.

And that’s when he pulled off his greatest feat of all. Those last 22 games, Bill Madlock got … 15 at-bats. You betcha. Injuries. Headaches. Only available for pinch-hitting duty. Not available at all. He played in nine of the 22 games, and he only got more than two at-bats in two of those. He coaxed and nursed and blooped his way — he got six hits in those 15 at-bats and put the title away with a nice .323. Only Lonnie Smith — with eight hits in three games in late September — even made a run at him, but Skates also drifted down the stretch. The Master had taught them all one more lesson.

And that was batting championship Number 4.

* * *

It was clear after the last title that the Mad Dog had used up most of his powers. He hit a career-low .253 the next year — he had turned 33 and hit that wall. He did have three more quintessential Mad Dog moments.

1. In 1985, when it was clear that Pittsburgh would trade him, he started making a pitch to go to the Yankees. The story goes that he heard that the Yankees were not too interested, so he decided to take matters into his own hands.

The Mets came to town in August, and Madlock determined that George Steinbrenner would have to be watching. In the three games, he went 7 for 10 with four homers 6 runs and 6 RBIs. That was a really good Mets team too. I’m telling you, the man could flat turn it up when the lights were on.

2. The Pirates did not trade him to the Yankees. Instead, they traded him to the first place Los Angeles Dodgers. Madlock had one last burst in him — he hit .360 down the stretch and then hit .333 in the playoffs.

3. Then after he was released by the Dodgers, he signed on with the Detroit Tigers. They were his sixth team, and they were in a pennant race when he signed on. He hit pretty well for them, really (.279/.351/.460). But his decisive moment was probably when he took out Tony Fernandez on a nasty double-play collision. Fernandez had to come out of the game, and he did not play the rest of the season. Madlock started to get death threats from people in Toronto.

Madlock didn’t care — at least outwardly. He said that’s how he played the game — and it was true that he’d had numerous hard collisions in his career. The Blue Jays won that day and also the next to take a 2 1/2 game lead. But you could argue that Madlock’s slide changed the season. Toronto never won again — the Blue Jays finished the season with seven straight losses, three of those to Detroit. The Tigers won the division by two games.*

*While we’re here, we might as well point out: In the last 10 games of the season, Alan Trammell hit .385 with a homer, 6 runs and three stolen bases. George Bell’s last 10 games, he hit .250 with 0 homers, 2 RBIs. In the Blue Jays dreadful seven-game collapse, he got three hits in 27 at bats, scored 0 runs and drove in 1. Reason 1,938,284 that his MVP choice over Alan Trammell still sucks.

That slide was the last hurrah for Bill Madlock. He only got five at-bats in the playoffs. and he didn’t get a hit, and he struck out three times.Then, even though he actually hit the ball pretty well for Detroit, nobody was interested in signing him for 1988. He was 36 years old, a four-time batting champ and retired by force.

Madlock was, looking back, an interesting character. He was often considered surly and self-centered, sure, and yet he also gave up his body for the team (as shown by his many collisions) and he boosted three teams to division titles after midseason trades. He did not play every day — the most games he ever played in a season was 154 — but he was probably more well-rounded than people remember (he hit double figure home runs 10 times in his career; Rod Carew, the perennial AL batting champ, only did it twice; Wade Boggs also did it twice — he also ). He was unloved while he played, and he kept on hitting.

Madlock has, from what I hear, had some troubles since his retirement. I don’t know the man at all, but I’m guessing it hurts to be, more or less, forgotten. Batting average isn’t everything — for many of us, it’s not much of anything. But the guy won four batting championships. He worked very hard for them. And he also rested a lot for them. It’s confusing. A lot about Bill Madlock was confusing.

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