The Big Average

Sixth in the BJIP series — Bill James Inspired Posts

Yes, it has been a little while since we have created a new and mathematically unsound baseball statistic. It’s a talent. I’ve never been much at math. My greatest mathematical skill has always been a knack for punching numbers into a calculator in such a way that when you turn it upside down it will spell something vaguely profane like “hELL” or bizarre and pointless like “shELLoiL” Oh yeah, that will keep them entertained for hours, you know, if they happen to be 10-year-old boys. In Cleveland. In 1977.

Anyway, I don’t care, I’ve created this new MUS (Mathematically Unsound Statistic), one I call the big average. I know that the illustrious Tom Boswell came up with something called Total Average — but that is different because Tom is significantly smarter than I am and his statistic makes some sense. This one doesn’t. But I’ve already done the spreadsheet so I must as well write about it.

The idea: I wanted to come up with an average, a single average, that would incorporate lots of stuff, sort of a leftovers-stew of numbers. The big thing here, though, is I did not want it to be park-adjusted, or era adjusted, or team adjusted. In other words, I didn’t want this stat to be fair or neutral. I just want to create a single number that, without considering time or place, gives you an idea about who put up the best offensive numbers in baseball history.

So here are the three averages I used:

1. Batting average. Simple, Flawed. Hits / at-bats.
2. Secondary average. Bill James invention. (Total bases - hits) + walks + (stolen bases - caught stealing) / at-bats. This is supposed to incorporate most of the key stats not included in batting average.
3. Runs average. Another Bill James invention. Runs + RBIs / at-bats.

That’s it. I just average those three numbers. So, for example, Bill Buckner had a .289 career batting average, which isn’t bad. But he had a .186 secondary average, which is brutal. And he had a .243 runs average, which is pretty sucky too. So his big average is .239, which is pretty awful. I figured the big average for the top 400 players since 1900 (by runs created), and Buckner ranked 389th. He is, however, ahead of Red Schoendienst, Lloyd Waner, Nellie Fox, Lus Aparicio and Rabbit Marranville, who are all in the Hall of Fame. Of course, none of them are really in for their bats (except for Waner, who the big average recommends be thrown out of Cooperstown immediately).

Since 1900, only seven players have put up a big average higher than .400.

1. Babe Ruth, ,491 (yikes)
2. Ted Williams, .457
3. Barry Bonds, .449
4. Lou Gehrig, .439
5. Jimmie Foxx, .416
6. Hank Greenberg, .409
7. Mark McGwire, .407

Pretty head company there for McGwire, who hit .263 for his career, but had a spectacular .540 secondary average and .417 runs average, which is really, really good.

OK, now you know how it works, now you know how flimsy it is, I’m going to list off the big average for all the hitters on the Hall of Fame ballot this year and a couple of others for fun. Keep in mind that a .300 big average, like a .300 batting average, is good. Those .400 big average guys are freaks of nature.

You Pozcars voters … pay attention.

– Brady Anderson (.301 big average): Hey, a .300 big average for one of only two players in baseball history to hit 50 home runs in a season and also steal 50 bases in a season. You can probably guess the other. The big average here, I think, does give you a better sense of Anderson’s career than his puny .256 batting average. He wasn’t good for very long (he didn’t get his first full-season until he was 28) but he walked and stole bases and then bulked up (wink-wink-nudge-nudge-say-no-more) and hit with some power too.

– Harold Baines (.290 big average). Yep, that’s about right. His averages are about as consistent as the man. Baines hit .289, his secondary average was .286 and his runs average was .295. Good, solid, not quite Hall of Fame player.

– Dave Concepcion (.234 big average). He was a brilliant defensive shortstop and an important part of the Big Red Machine. That’s his Hall of Fame case. He wasn’t a good hitter. But his big average is better than Aparicio and Nellie Fox and Rabbit Marranville, other middle infielders who are in the Hall for their glovework.

Is glovework one word? And shouldn’t it be?

– Andre Dawson (.291 big average). Here’s a comparison that interests me — Dawson’s big average is virtually the same as Wade Boggs. And yet I could not imagine two more different players.

Boggs: .328 batting average, .271 secondary average, .275 runs average.
Dawson: .279 batting average, .294 secondary average, .299 runs average.

I don’t know what this means — it’s important here not to make judgments based on a goofy statistic like this. But I will say that Dawson’s secondary and run average seem to confirm that he was productive for a guy who did not get on base enough.

– Shawon Dunston (.241 big average). Here are three things I’ve heard about Dunston

1. Shawon Dunston’s photo has appeared in American newspapers more than Ronald Reagan. This sounds dubious, but could it be true? It’s possible. Newspapers were always looking to run some sort of baseball photograph during the summer months. Well the Cubs generally played day games, so those photos would come in first (and would have the best light). And photographers generally take one kind of baseball shot — that same cliche shot of a shortstop jumping over a baserunner as he tries to turn the double play. Shawon Dunston was that Cubs shortstop. And that meant appearing in LOTS of papers.

2. I have a friend who is a huge Cardinals fan, which means she hates the Cubs with every fiber of her being. I think Shawon Dunston was her favorite ever Cubs player. She says that when it came to screwing up, you could almost always count on Shawon to throw a ball away, hit into a bad double play, strike out on a terrible pitch with a runner on third and the infield back. Guy had a great arm, though.

3. Number of times Shawon Dunston naturally walked twice in a game (that is, not including games where he got cheappie intentional walks): 10.

Number of times Shawon Dunston walked three times in a game: 0.

– Travis Fryman (.281 big average). Pretty solid player whose batting average (.274) and secondary average (.273) are about the same.

– David Justice (.339 big average). His career did not last long — he only got 5,600 or so at-bats — but Justice was, for much of his career, a very, very good hitter. He had a fabulous secondary average of .391, which tells you that he walked and hit for power. He had a runs average of .346, which tells you that he scored and drove in runs. He only had one healthy season in his prime (ages 27-31) and he hit 40 homers that year and finished third in the MVP voting.?
– Chuck Knoblauch (.290 big average). Another short career — he retired at 34 and was pretty well done two or three years earlier. Played at a Hall of Fame level for about seven or eight years, and his 1996 season is one of the great and underrated seasons in recent memory (he had an amazing big average that year of .371 — he hit .341, walked 98 times, scored 140 runs, stole 45 bases, banged 13 triples and 14 homers. Huge, huge season). He aged fast in New York however, as some do, and he went bonkers on the throw to first, then he came to Kansas City where some idiot columnist wrote that his rough attitude and grit might actually help the club. Hey, I was young. Or younger, anyway. I apologize again.

– Don Mattingly (.286 big average). I loved Mattingly. Loved him. He’s one of my all-time favorite players. He was, as Bill wrote, 100% ballplayer, 0% bullshit. I used to try to copy his swing. But, dammit Don, couldn’t you have walked a LITTLE more? Hit a FEW more home runs? Dammit Don! I don’t even want to show these numbers but …

Don Mattingly (.286 big average): .307/.358/.471, 2153 hits, 222 homers, 1099 RBIs, 1007 runs, 127 OPS+.
Keith Hernandez (.298 big average): .298/.384/.436, 2282 hits, 162 homers, 1071 RBIs, 1124 runs, 128 OPS+.

They both won an MVP award. They both won one batting title. Mattingly led the league in RBIs once; Hernandez led the league in runs twice. Mattingly finished Top 10 in the MVP voting four times. So did Hernandez. And so on. And while Mattingly was an outstanding defensive first baseman, Hernandez was a groundbreaking one, maybe the best defensive first baseman ever to play the game. Hernandez never got more than 52 Hall of Fame votes. Meanwhile Mattingly has several lobbying groups who email me three times a week. Guys, I wanna be with ya. I really, really want to be with ya. I love ya Donnie Baseball. I think Hernandez is probably the better Hall candidate.

– Mark McGwire (.407 big average): One of the great offensive monsters in baseball history, even with that .263 average (a .540 secondary average will help a lot … that’s fourth all-time behind Bonds, Ruth, Williams).

I’m trying to decide if the Mitchell Report helps McGwire, hurts him, or has no effect. I can’t decide. You know, I’ve been getting surveys from writer friends asking me if I plan to vote for Bonds or Clemens in the Hall of Fame. I haven’t answered yet — I don’t think I want to commit to anything right now. Stuff’s flying around fast and furious on all this drug stuff, and I’d really love to give it a chance to settle. Shoot, tomorrow we might find out that Clemens was using hypnosis to render batters helpless or make them think they were chickens, and then I’d have to consider that info too.

If you think about it, though, the whole thing is getting absurd. We’re arguing about whether one of the 10 greatest hitters and one of the five greatest pitchers in baseball history should go into the Hall of Fame. I mean it is the BASEBALL Hall of Fame. You know, maybe I should open a new Hall of Fame, one I will call the, “I don’t give a damn about anything but baseball” Hall of Fame, and my induction class will be Pete Rose, Joe Jackson, Mark McGwire, Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds. You think there would be more people visiting that museum than the one with Lloyd Waner in it?

Getting back to McGwire: I think we can assume, for Hall of Fame voting purposes, that he used steroids and/or other performance enhancers. That’s why he got so few votes last year. Now, we are getting official word from baseball that steroids were (and are) rampant in the game. Most of assumed this to be true before, but now that baseball is finally and officially admitting it, well, I don’t know what this does for McGwire. On the one hand, it may mean that Hall of Fame voters will not single him out — steroids and performance enhancing drugs were a big part of the baseball landscape — and McGwire towered over that time. On the other hand, it may mean Hall of Fame voters will simply write off that whole time period.

You know, I’m tired of even trying to guess what will happen.

Dale Murphy (.307 big average): It’s a Hall of Fame big average for the Murph, who only hit .263 but had a .347 secondary average and .337 runs average.

Dave Parker (..285 big average): The Cobra didn’t walk and he had those five more or less wasted years in the middle of his career. It’s a shame he can’t get those back. Parker stays on the ballot, but he can’t and won’t get any Hall momentum.

Tim Raines (.318 big average): Sigh. A .318 big average too. So many people just refuse to believe that Tim Raines was a great player. Maybe it’s because the people like me making the case for Raines always seem to point to these newfangled stats like OBP (.385) and secondary average (.372) and runs created (1,636 — 51st all-time, tied with Tony Gwynn).

Maybe the case should just be simpler … stolen bases are a pretty big statistic, right? They’re like on the back of baseball cards, right next to RBIs, right? Raines is the greatest base stealer in baseball history. The greatest. He stole more than 800 bases — only four others have done that. Ty Cobb and Billy Hamilton are too long ago to track. But we know that Lou Brock’s stolen base percentage was 75.3% and Rickey Henderson’s was an excellent 80.8%, Raines is an ungodly 84.7%. He’s the best ever.

Jim Rice (.306 big average): Very similar to Murphy — good, solid big average number for Paul White’s favorite player.

Alan Trammell (.272 big average): I’m a Trammell fan — been voting for him for a while — and his big average doesn’t really help his case. He had a .261 secondary average, which isn’t much. Overall, the big average doesn’t necessarily hurt his case either — his big average is about the same as Robin Yount, who I think is a pretty good comp. They both started out as very young shortstops in Great Lakes cities. Look at their core numbers:

Trammell: .285/.352/.415
Yount: .285/.342/.430

Pretty close. Yount played shortstop until he was 29 and then moved to the outfield. This probably lengthened his career and gave him a chance to put up the career numbers that impress. Yount got almost 3,000 more at-bats than Trammell, and so his counting stats are a lot better than Trammell’s (750 more hits, 400 more runs, 400 more RBIs, etc). Yount also won those two MVPs while Trammell got screwed out of his ’87 MVP.

Trammell, meanwhile, stayed at short, did win four Gold Gloves and was more or less done at 32. Their numbers after age 32, I think, are pretty telling.

Yount .271/.342/411, 735 hits, 398 runs, 140 doubles, 24 triples, 64 homers, 385 RBIs
Trammell: .275/.336/.396, 436 hits, 222 runs, 83 doubles, 5 triples, 33 homers, 193 RBIs.

Neither was especially good after age 32 (Yount did win an MVP at 33 before falling off). But Yount was able to cash in some counting numbers before he was through with Trammell did not. That, I think, is the big difference between them as viewed by Hall of Fame voters.

And a couple of blog favorites:

– Albert Belle (.358 big average). Yep. That’s awfully, awfully good. Ken Griffey Jr. is one side of him. Ty Cobb is on the other. But I will say this, Brian Giles has a .359 big average.

Belle: .295/.369/.564, 1726 hits, 381 homers, 974 runs, 1,239 RBIs, 143 OPS+.
Giles: .293/.404/.516, 1683 hits, 273 homers, 1.022 runs, 1070s RBIs, 139 OPS+

Belle is better. But wow, Giles had himself a nice little career, didn’t he?

– Dwight Evans (.317 big average): He had a .362 secondary average. I think he was a more viable Hall of Fame candidate than most people apparently did. He was only the Hall ballot for three years. Here is one of those judgment calls, I guess. I thought, from an outsider’s view, that Dewey was a better player than Rice. Obviously there were things Rice did better. But over a career Dewey he got on base more, he scored a lot more runs, he was more durable, he was a better fielder, and he even hit more career home runs than Rice.

But that’s not my point here. My point is this: I have yet to meet a Red Sox fan who agrees with me. Every time I even bring up the possibility to a Red Sox fan that Dewey was Rice’s equal, I get shot down. Well, I think Red Sox fans know their team better than I do. To me, that’s their business. I wouldn’t allow someone to tell me as an Indians fan that Toby Harrah was better than Buddy Bell or whatever. So if think Rice utterly dwarfs Dewey, hey, just pass me some clam chowder and I’ll nod.

– Whopper (.013 big average): Come on people. It’s a crappy burger. Flame broiled. You’re kidding, right? Flame broiled to hell. But what about the In and Out? And will some Kansas City people please jump in here and stand up for Winstead’s?

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Swimmer’s Ear

This is a companion piece to the interview my wife did with Olympic Champion Swimmer (and my old friend) Mel Stewart. Definitely check it out. The interview, I mean.

Melvin Stewart and I are about the same age, and we first met each other when we both had big dreams. His dream was to become an Olympic Champion swimmer and, thus, world famous. My dream was to be a sportswriter who could afford an apartment with a minimum number of roaches. These dreams were not precisely the same size, but we both felt them pretty strongly.

The first time we met was also the first swim meet I ever covered. Here’s what I knew about swimming: When someone said “Marco” you had to say “Polo.” Oh yeah, you can imagine some of the incisive questions I asked that day. Stuff like, “So, uh, swimming huh? Like, how fast can you swim? Could you like outswim a crocodile? Or an alligator? Is there a difference?”

Somehow, despite those painful early interviews, we connected. Mel Stewart, probably more than any athlete I’ve covered, could really tell you what it felt like to be a World Class athlete. It’s a rare gift, being able to really explain what it’s like. Funny — the ultimate sportswriting cliche is a reporter rushing to a player after the game-winning home run, touchdown, jump shot, putt, and saying, “How did it feel?” And yet, we almost NEVER get anything out of the question. Never. It’s a stupid question, almost unanswerable.

Scene from “Arthur”
Flower guy (and one of my all-time favorite character actors Lou Jacobi): “How does it feel to have all that money?”
Arthur: “It feels great.”
Flower guy: “Dumb question.”

But Mel loved to try and explain what he felt. We would talk for hours about what it was that drove him, why in the hell he would spend all that time in a pool, staring at the line on the bottom, swimming until his body just ached beyond imagination. He would talk about the goofy stuff he thought about while swimming. He would talk about how he wanted to win for America (I remember that he always wanted a gigantic American flag in his room).

He would talk about what it meant to him to be the best in the world at something — to know that he could walk into a bar anywhere on planet earth and feel 100 percent certain that nobody in there could beat him at the 200-meter butterfly.

“But,” I would say, “chances are nobody in the bar even CARES about the 200-meter butterfly,”

“Yeah,” he would say, “but is there anything that you feel sure you could do better than anyone else in the entire world?”

Over time, Mel and I became friends. I have been working on a long and rambling blog post about a discussion Bill James and I have been having concerning the state of sportswriting in America. Sportswriting here is much more about being impartial and distant than it is in other countries across the world. I don’t know if I’ll ever post this thing — I don’t know if anyone cares — but I think about this quite a lot, think about how American sportswriting is affected because some of our higher ideals are to be “impartial,” which leads to “detached” which leads to “distant” which leads to “really, really far away.”

So, there are rules about getting too close to someone you cover, I guess. We probably broke those rules (though as Mel always said — hey, I’m just a swimmer, who cares anyway?). We were the kind of friends who would talk about all sorts of stuff and ask each other dating advice (generally our dating questions — much like our dreams — were not similar. He would ask me about some fashion model and whether or not they could work things out with their schedules; I would ask him if he thought the photographer at work liked me despite her insistence that she did not. Basically, he was Vince Vaughn and I was like a very poor-man’s Jon Favreau). Every so often the phone would ring, and it would just be Mel wanting to talk. Every so often, I needed a story, so I would call him, and he always provided.

“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t care. Whatever.”
“How about I say that swimming would have better ratings if we would all swim in the nude?”
“Come on, man.”
“I’d do it. I would. I’d have no problem doing that.”
“Come on, I’m not writing that.”
“How about you write that I want to date Summer Sanders. She’s awesome.”
“She is awesome.”
“She’d go out with me. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

Of course, we lived different lives. The guy was always jetting off to exotic sounding places — Oslo or Moscow or Brisbane or whatever. He went off to one of those places and set the world record in the 200-meter butterfly. He then won two gold medals in Barcelona. He was 23 year old, and he did it — he made his dream happen. Around that time, I was writing local cycling features for a paper called “The York Observer.” That would be York County, South Carolina. Then I was writing columns for the Augusta Chronicle. My apartment did have roaches.

So, you could say that at that point in our friendship, he had a slight upper hand. But that didn’t matter. I never bought into the Morrissey song, hating it when our friends become successful and all that. You become friends with someone like Mel Stewart, and you live vicariously through them. I was thrilled for him.

Four years later, I was a columnist in Cincinnati. Mel and I hadn’t talked much the previous couple of years — our lives just took us different ways. But then, it was the 1996 Olympic Trials in Indianapolis. I had not been following swimming much, of course, but I knew Mel’s world record had been broken. I knew some other young American swimmers were emerging. I still expected that he would make the team. I didn’t fully get the concept of time gone by. I was there for the race. Mel finished third. He did not make the team.

And I remember this so clearly — he was in the warm-down pool after the race, and he looked up and saw me. We hadn’t seen each other in a while. He had this odd look and he just sort of shrugged. For once, there really wasn’t anything else to say. We both knew. His swimming career was over. And, oddly, my sportswriting career had only begun. I found myself writing a column about my friend that day. And then I went on to write about other winners.

Mel and I have talked a few times since then, exchanged emails and such. We went to lunch at the Olympics, and I’ve called and written a couple of columns about him — he’s a Hollywood screen writer now. Funny thing. He can really write well too, which sucks for me because I sort of always believed that I could at least do THAT better than him.

Then, the other day my wife calls me over. She says that someone commented on her blog — always a happy event here at the house. I looked and saw the tagline: “Mel the Swimmer.” I can’t even describe how that made me feel. I was happy. Nostalgic. Old friends.

One of the constant themes of this blog is about the oddity and agony of growing old. Mel Stewart is 39 now. That makes me … older.

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Jim Rice, Murphy and the Hawk

Fifth in the BJIP Series — Bill James Inspired Posts

(It’s been a little while since we’ve had a nice rambling, no idea where it’s going post. So here you go. This is the long, long, long post I promised. Eventually it will get into Jim Rice, Dale Murphy and Andre Dawson. We start, though, with an homage of sorts to Terry Cashman)

One played the game quite purely
Another could be surly
The third guy blew his knees out on the turf
When Luke and Laura got married
And Elvis Presley got buried
And kids were learning compassion from their Papa Smurf

We’re talkin’ baseball
Tanana, Lemongello
Talkin’ baseball
The Bird barely said hello
Rice didn’t always like to talk
While Dawson at the end could barely walk.
Hall of Famers?
Jim Rice, Murphy and the Hawk

You know, I coulda been Cole Porter. Or Cole Hamels. Cole somebody.

A little while ago I threw out the question: What is a Hall of Famer? Tony La Russa answered the question this week in an interesting interview with my friend Bernie Miklasz across the state. The talk was about steroids, of course, and La Russa was discussing his time as manager of Tony Montana/Jose Canseco, and between his usual nonsense, he offered what I considered some very solid advice for you young managers out there: “You can’t hire private detectives to follow players around. You’d lose all trust in the clubhouse.”

So there you go, kids — no private detectives. The players might not trust you after catching Sam Spade taking pictures through the hotel window. Now, if you want to publicly rip your third baseman, go ahead. That’s different.

ANYWAY, here’s what La Russa said about the Hall of Fame: “I want to make a point, and I’m not being flippant. But I have no desire to be in the Hall of Fame. I mean no disrespect to the Hall. But it should be for players and really special personalities.”

Now, Bernie wisely and fairly pointed out that La Russa probably will not turn down the induction if the Hall of Fame comes a callin’. But the point is again that we all have our own Hall of Fame standards, and this is La Russa’s: Players and special personalities. You can take this a couple of different ways. He might mean great players (Mays, Mantle, Koufax, Seaver) AND special personalities (Harry Caray, Max Patkin, Buck O’Neil, Casey Stengel). You know, separate categories.

Or he may mean players who ALSO had special personalities, so, like, Babe Ruth and Bill Lee and maybe Leon Wagner would be first class Hall of Famers. Andy Van Slyke? I guess it all depends how you define the “special” in “special personality.” Because I think we all can agree that “special” has become a whole lot less special in modern times. I mean, look, Dr. Phil was a “special guest star” on Oprah. There’s nothing special about that guy. The “very special” episodes on NBC usually mean that someone dies or leaves the show. Not special. And I always thought the “special sauce” in my “two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun” was inappropriately named. It was Thousand Island Dressing, for crying out loud. Big whoop. Special? That stuff was in in your refrigerator. You could carry around plastic packets of the stuff and have it whenever you wanted. It’s ketchup and mayo mixed together. Special sauce, please.

GRUMPY FAST FOOD INTERLUDE: OK, have you seen these reality-based commercials that Burger King is doing where they take the Whopper out of their restaurants and film people’s stunned reactions? I’m not going to lie to you, these really bother me. I admit, this is at least in part because I consider Burger King a 20-miler — meaning I’d only go there if there isn’t another fast-food restaurant within 20 miles. But more, this bothers me as a TV commercial enthusiast because it’s so freaking pointless. Yeah, we get it. People who go into Burger King will probably expect to have the opportunity to buy Whoppers. This has nothing to do with quality. Whoppers may be (and are) horrendous — but they’re ALL YOU’VE GOT.

I once went into a breakfast place in Jacksonville, and I ordered eggs and orange juice and the waitress said, “Oh, sorry, we’re out of orange juice.” Yeah. Out of orange juice. I want you to think about this for a moment.

1. This was a BREAKFAST PLACE — one of those places that closes down at 11:30. It only served breakfast.

2. This breakfast place was in Florida. You know. FLORIDA? Sunshine State?

3. They were out of orange juice.

Was I upset? Sure. They could have filmed me saying to the waitress, “You’re joking, right? You’re at a breakfast place in Florida — I was expecting to have Anita Bryant herself come out here to personally serve me orange juice and lecture me about whatever whacked out thing she’s into now, evils of homosexuality, saving children, whatever. No orange juice? This is a gag, right?”

Of course, I didn’t say any of that or anything else. I never do. I just THOUGHT that. But had I said that, I don’t see how that would have been an endorsement for their orange juice. I think Pizza Hut pizza is ghastly bad. But if I was in the emergency situation of having to order something from Pizza Hut, and I stopped in, and they said, “no, we don’t have pizza today,” well, yeah, I would be mad too. Doesn’t make the pizza or the Whopper any less crappy.

OK, I feel a little better now.

Where was I? Oh yeah, La Russa’s thoughts on the Hall of Fame. His idea is that the Hall should be for players and special personalities. Others think it should only be for the very select — Willie Mays, Babe Ruth, Walter Johnson and that ilk. Others think it should be more or less what it is now, minus or plus a few players. Others think it should be even MORE inclusive. Get Ted Simmons in there.

It seems that about the only thing we can all agree on is that no matter how big a Hall of Fame you imagine, Bowie Kuhn does not belong in it. How about that vote, eh? Bowie Kuhn*. Apparently Arnold Rothstein wasn’t up for the vote.

*Seriously? Bowie Kuhn? The guy who tried to put Satchel Paige into a separate wing of the Hall of Fame? The guy who didn’t even show up when Hank Aaron broke the home run record? The guy who wore short sleeve shirts during the World Series to prove it wasn’t cold? The guy who, according to Steinbrenner, told the Yankees NOT to go to Thurman Munson’s funeral because they might miss the next game? This guy?

More than anything, Kuhn banged heads with union head Marvin Miller for more than a decade and never won once, not even a single time, not even in a game of Parcheesi. I mean, you figure that if they ever played “Paper, Scissor, Stones,” Kuhn was the kind of strategic genius who would ALWAYS be paper. Then the Hall of Fame vote comes around, and it turns out they leave off the singular Miller, who utterly changed the game and helped players earn real rights. But they put in Wile E. Coyote. Amazing.

So, yeah, we keep getting knocked off track. Point is, the Hall of Fame is whatever you want it to be.

Well, there are three guys on this year’s ballot — three outfielders — who have probably given me more trouble than anyone else in my few years as a Hall of Fame voter. They are, as you know based on the early song: Rice, Murphy, Dawson.

So, what the heck, we’re going to take a closer look at all three. You need to know this stuff if you’re going to be a Pozcars voter (registration, incidentally, is closed … I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to go through the ridiculous number of emails I already have). First, I’ll give you a quick rundown of each player. Then, we’re going to try and have a little fun with Win Shares. Here we go:

* * *

JIm Rice

Basic stat line: .298/.352/.502, 2,452 hits, 382 homers, 1,249 runs, 1,451 RBIs, 128 OPS+
Neutralized stats: .298/.352/.501, 2,531 hits, 391 homers, 1,268 runs, 1476 RBIs.

Among Hall of Fame Left Fielders: His OPS+ is better than Heinie Manush and Lou Brock, tied with Goose Goslin … Has more career homers (382) than all but Ted Williams, Stargell, Yaz and Billy Williams. Ahead of eight other guys … His on-base percentage, however, is behind everyone except Brock.

Resume fillers: Eight-time All-Star … Won an MVP award in 1978, one of the most statistically dominant seasons of his generation (.315/.370/.600, 46, 139) … Was generally downgraded defensively while he played but there’s evidence he was a better fielder than ever given credit for … Led the league in homers three times and RBIs twice … Finished Top 5 in MVP voting five times. … Had 200+ hits and 39+ homers three years in a row, a record, if people kept such records … And as was pointed out in the comment second, Rice once saved a child’s life after he (the child) was hit with a line drive. Rice rushed into the crowd and carried the boy to the field and a doctor and safety. Rice generally had a reputation for being unpleasant and tough to deal with, not only with the media but fans and teammates. But you’ve got to think saving a young man’s life more than makes up for that. I should try to contact that boy for a blog post/column.

Top comp: Orlando Cepeda (Hall of Famer).

Quick Case for Rice: He was among the most fearsome hitters in baseball in a low-scoring time. … Over a 12-year period — 1975-1986 — Rice led the American League in many categories including homers, slugging, runs, RBIs and, interestingly enough, outfield assists. … Rice is one of those players who truly did tower over the game. When you were watching Jim Rice, you just felt like you were watching a future Hall of Famer. He was fearsome. Numerous players of his time believe he should be in the Hall.

Quick Case Against Rice: Rice did not hit any of the big automatic-entry career numbers — he didn’t get even 400 homers or 2,500 hits and he fell just short of a career .300 average. … His numbers were clearly inflated by Fenway Park. While this is just one part of the story, it is a part. He hit .277/.330/.459 on the road, with 40-plus fewer homers, 100-plus fewer runs, 150-plus fewer RBIs. … He did lead the league in hitting into double plays four years in a row, and while much of this was circumstance, he still did lead the league into hitting in double plays four years in a row. … He was more or less done at 34, which is why his career numbers put him on the Hall of Fame borderline.

* * *

Andre Dawson

Basic stat line: .279/.323/.482, 2,774 hits, 438 homers, 1,373 runs, 1,591 RBIs, 119 OPS+
Neutralized stats: .288/.333/.498, 3,004 hits, 477 homers, 1,506 runs, 1,728 RBIs

Among Hall of Fame Center/Right Fielders: His OPS+ is only better than five right fielders/center fielders, and would place him 25th overall. … He would place 13th among them in hits, right about the mid-point, but only six, Hall of Famers (Aaron, Mays, Reggie, Mickey, Ott and Winfield) have more homers than Dawson. .. His on-base percentage would place him dead last among all Hall of Fame outfielders, not just center and right fielders. It is 20 points lower than Lou Brock, who is currently last among outfielders.

Resume fillers: Eight-time All-Star … Eight-time Gold Glove winner … Won the MVP award in 1987, a controversial choice (not here — we just hated it) but he did bang 49 homers and drive in 137 RBIs that year. … As you can see by his neutralized stats, he played in a very-low run scoring environment. In a neutral, 750-run environment, he’s a drop-dead, no doubt Hall of Famer with more than 3,000 hits, 477 homers and, of course, those eight Gold Gloves. … Considered one of the classiest players in the game. Tim Raines idolized him, as did many other players … Had speed and stole 314 bases in his career (was caught 109 times) … Led league in total bases twice and power/speed numbers three times.

Top comp: Billy Williams (Hall of Famer).

Quick case for Dawson: Unlike either of the other two candidates, his career numbers do have some Hall of Fame bite — he has 400 homers and more than 2,700 hits. That combo has usually been good enough to gain induction. … He was a well-rounded player who stole bases and played good defense in center field and had a fabulous arm. … Ryne Sandberg called him the hardest working player he ever saw. … Look again at those neutralized stats … You can always come up with goofy stats to prove your case, but only three players in baseball history have hit more than 400 homers and stolen more than 300 bases. Those three are Barry Bonds, Willie Mays and Andre Dawson.

Quick case against Dawson: That on-base percentage is unseemly. It’s hard to overlook. It is, according to B-R, nine points lower than the league average over his career. Considering how important OBP is, that is really a problem. For those who like more mainstream numbers, well, the league average over that time period was .265. Could you vote in a .256 lifetime hitter into the Hall of Fame? … Dawson tacked on some of those numbers — 39 of his homers, 360-plus hits, more than 100 of his RBIs — when he was older, a part-time and below average player. He still could not quite achieve the big, automatic entry numbers of 3,000 hits and 500 homers. … Yeah, mostly the problem is that OBP.

* * *

Dale Murphy

Basic stat line: .265/.346/.469, 2111 hits, 398 homers, 1,197 runs, 1,266 RBIs, 121 OPS+
Neutralized stats: .269/.350/.474, 2,209 hits, 413 homers, 1,257 runs, 1,333 RBIs.

Among Hall of Fame center fielders: His OPS+ is better than three players (Richie Ashburn, Max Carey and Lloyd Waner) … He had more hits than three players, which would place him 12th overall (just behind Duke Snider), but home runs, he trails only Willie, Mickey and the Duke. … His on-base percentage (and batting average) would place him dead last among center fielders.

Resume Fillers: Seven-time All Star … Five-time Gold Glove winner … Two-time MVP, back-to-back years, 1982-83. Had almost identical seasons, .281, 36, 109 with 113 runs scored, 23 steals and a Gold Glove the first year, .302, 36, 121 with 131 runs scored, 30 steals and a Gold Glove the second time. Then, the next two years again had very similar numbers (without quite as many steals) and placed Top 10 in the MVP voting. … Winner of the Lou Gehrig Award and the Roberto Clemente. Was viewed as one of the great role models in sports during his prime. … Led the league in homers twice, slugging twice, runs created three times.

Top comp: Joe Carter (not in the Hall of Fame). Duke Snider is second comp.

Quick case for Murphy: Case builds on his prime. He and Roger Maris are, so far, the only only eligible players with two MVP awards who are not in the Hall of Fame (I just saw this on Wikipedia, I haven’t checked this. It doesn’t sound right, but as they say on The Office, “Wikipedia is the greatest thing ever. Anyone can post whatever they want, so you know you’re getting the best information). .. Really was a great player in his best years. From 1982-1987, probably was called the best player in baseball more than anyone else. … Fair or not, the Hall of Fame specifically says a player’s character should be taken into consideration. Dale Murphy probably inspired as many kids to play baseball as anyone in his time. And he may have inspired more young baseball players in the South than anyone before or since. That’s a pure guess, but I did live in Georgia for a few years, and I remember that Murphy was a God there.

Quick case against Murphy: His career numbers do not stand up to the best. He stuck around to get 400 home runs, but could not quite get there. His .265 batting average is low, his on-base percentage, as mentioned, does not stack up (though it’s better than Dawson’s). The problem is that Murphy, like a lot of outfielders (I need to do a post on this), hit age 32 and completely fell out of the picture. He had perhaps his best offensive season at 31 (.295/.417/.580, 44, 105, 115 runs, 16 steals, 157 OPS+) and was an average-to-poor offensive player from the next year on. If he had had one more upturn, like Rice, his case would be more compelling.

* * *

OK, so now I’m going to babble a little bit about Win Shares. You are more than welcome to stop now — this final section is more like my Hall of Fame workbook. I love using Win Shares, not just because they were invented by my friend Bill, but because they simple and to the point and I can use them to really clarify some thoughts in my mind. I don’t know how compelling or interesting any of this is, but I’ll include it here anyway.

What I’m doing here is breaking down the Win Shares for our three outfielders and adding three Hall of Famers for comparison’s sake. The Hall of Famers are Duke Snider, Dave Winfield and Joe DiMaggio. I chose those three to represent three different sorts of Hall of Famers: Snider is the borderline Hall of Famer who had a great peak, Winfield is the guy who lasted a long time (and really put up some big career numbers because he was good after 35) and DiMaggio because he was brilliant over a relatively short career (with three years taken away by World War II)

Anyway, the point here is not to make any conclusive arguments but to throw out some stuff that might be fun to think about:

Career Win Shares (rankings are as of 2006):
– Dave Winfield, 415 (38th all-time — between Molitor and Clemens)
– Joe DiMaggio, 387 (60th all-time — between Seaver and Bagwell)
– Duke Snider, 352, (95th all-time — between Sherry Magee and Max Carey)
– Andre Dawson, 340 (108th all-time — between Fred McGriff and Jimmy Sheckard)
– Dale Murphy, 294 (194th all-time — between Shoeless Joe and Mark Grace)
– Jim Rice, 282 (228th all-time — between Sal Bando and Boog Powell)

If you want to look at only career Win Shares, all three of our guys probably fall short. Snider was, as mentioned, a somewhat borderline candidate — it took him 11 years to get in (and he was on only 17% of the ballots his first time around). This was in part because of the troubles he had, but also because his basic counting numbers are only so-so (his No. 1 comp is Ellis Burks).

Anyway, all three of our outfielders fall below Snider. Dawson comes the closest — maybe you could make his case because of the extra things he brought (the Gold Gloves, the stolen bases, the respect he garnered).

But we’ve already looked at career stuff. Let’s try to stand on the desk (and say “O Captain, My Captain):

Best Single Season by Win Shares
– Joe DiMaggio (1941): 41 win shares
– Duke Snider (1954): 39 win shares
– Jim Rice (1978): 36 win shares
– Dave Winfield (1979): 33 win shares
– Dale Murphy (1984): 33 win shares
– Andre Dawson (1980): 29 win shares

Well, here’s a little bit different look. Now, we’re looking at which player had the very best season. Of course, there’s DiMaggio on top in his 56-game hitting streak year. Snider’s year (.341/.423/.647, 171 OPS+) helped power the Boys of Summer Dodgers — and as you will see, he had three more years just like it.

And here’s Rice’s terrific 1978 season — it certainly makes his case more interesting. Many people are troubled by the longevity Hall of Famers … usually represented by Don Sutton. These are the players who put up Hall of Fame numbers by sticking around forever. This is the knock on Bert Blyleven (though I don’t think that’s at all fair — Blyleven had an excellent prime). So, we’re going to try and break down these guys best years to see who had the best prime. For one year, Rice did.

Winfield and Murphy also had very good seasons — Bill tends to define 30 win shares as an MVP-type season. Dawson never had a 30 Win Shares season which hurts him. To be fair, Dawson was having his best season in 1981 and it was interrupted by the strike ( he had 25 win shares, 157 OPS+ in 103 games).

Best Three Seasons by Win Shares
– Joe DiMaggio (1939, 1941, 1948): 114 total
– Duke Snider (1953, 1954, 1955): 111 total
– Dale Murphy (1982, 1983, 1984): 97 total
– Dave Winfield (1978, 1978,1988): 92 total
– Jim Rice (1978, 1979, 1986): 92 total
– Andre Dawson (1980, 1982, 1983): 83 total

OK, we’re expanding a little bit. Top three seasons. Again, DiMaggio is on top, but you can see how close Snider was to him. Was Duke Snider at his best as good as DiMaggio at his best? I’ll have to ask Bill what he thinks and get back to you.

Meanwhile, Murphy is now ahead of the other two outfielders — ahead of Winfield too. Now, let’s take a look at the three best consecutive years to measure the players in their prime.

Best Consecutive Three Seasons by Win Shares
– Duke Snider (1953-55): 114 total
– Joe DiMaggio (1939-41): 106 total
– Dale Murphy (1982-84): 97 total
– Jim Rice (1977-79): 90 total
– Dave Winfield (1977-79): 85 total
– Andre Dawson (1980-82): 80 total

As you can see, Murphy’s three-year peak is better than the others by quite a bit. This would follow what happens to be my opinion — that at their very best (we’re talking when they were 26, 27, 28 years old), Murphy was the best player of the three. If you would prefer a little longer peak, Murphy looks even better.

Best four Consecutive Seasons, by Win Shares:
– Duke Snider (1953-56): 146 total
– Joe DiMaggio (1939-42): 138 total
– Dale Murphy (1982-85): 128 total
– Dave Winfield (1976-1979): 110 total
– Andre Dawson (1980-83): 108 total
– JIm Rice (1976-1979): 107 total

And …

Best Five Consecutive Seasons, by Win Shares:
– Joe DiMaggio (1937-1941): 175 total
– Duke Snider (1952-56): 171 total
– Dale Murphy (1982-86): 150 total
– Dave Winfield (1976-1980): 132 total
– Andre Dawson (1979-83): 132 total
– Jim Rice (1975-1979): 127 total

And …

Best Six Consecutive Seasons, by Win Shares
– Joe DiMaggio (1937-42): 207 total
– Duke Snider (1952-57): 196 total
– Dale Murphy (1982-87): 179 total
– Andre Dawson (1978-83): 153 total
– Dave Winfield (1975-80): 152 total
– Jim Rice (1975-80): 143 total

Here are some thoughts on this. Snider was absolutely fabulous for a five- or six-year period there. He was never the same player once the team moved to Los Angeles — never got more than 370 at-bats in his final seven seasons. His career counting numbers (like his 2116 hits or 406 homers) aren’t especially impressive, no more impressive than any our three candidates. But his career OPS+ of 140 is very impressive, and he was a dominant players in his prime. It took him a long time to get in, but I think he’s a worthy Hall of Famer.

DiMaggio, of course, was a dominant player whose prime ran right into World War II. You can have a lot of fun trying to figure out what DiMag’s numbers would have been without the war.

Then there’s Murphy. He was, by Win Shares, a dominant player for six seasons. He averaged 30 WS per season, which, as mentioned, is excellent. I have voted for Murphy because I believe that he was a Hall of Fame player for a long enough period of time. But that’s my opinion. I honestly don’t know how long someone has to play at the Hall of Fame level to be a Hall of Famer. I sway on Murphy every year.

Winfield, Dawson and Rice are a bit behind when it comes to a prime. I suppose you could keep going — seven-year prime, eight year, ten year, and eventually you will get to a place where Winfield passes DiMaggio (because he has more career Win Shares). But I’ll keep it here. If you are one of those people who think that a Hall of Famer is not about career numbers but about who was the best player, I think Murphy is the best choice of the three.

Now, let’s look at it another way:

Win Shares at Age 30:
– Duke Snider, 277
– Joe DiMaggio, 232
– Dale Murphy, 211
– Dave Winfield, 208
– Jim Rice, 204
– Andre Dawson, 200

At this point, Murphy was slightly in the lead, though you could argue that all of these guys were on Hall of Fame pace. Put it this way:

- Dawson’s 200 WS at 30 ties him with Hall of Famer Neilie Fox (also Don Mattingly and my guy Buddy Bell).
- Rice’s 204 WS at 30 ties him with Roger Clemens and puts him ahead of Billy Williams
- Murphy’s 211 WS at 30 ties him with a bunch of people including Brooks Robinson, Ernie Banks and Fergie Jenkins (also my guy Rocky Colavito) and puts him one ahead of Willie McCovey.

Win Shares at Age 32:
– Duke Snider, 308
– Joe DiMaggio, 286
– Dave Winfield, 256
– Dale Murphy, 252
– Andre Dawson, 236
– Jim Rice, 232

Now we’re getting a little separation. Murphy is just one behind Brooks Robinson and one ahead of Harmon Killebrew, but the Hall of Famers in that range are getting harder to find. Dawson is two behind Amos Otis (though tied with Paul Molitor — another great old player). Rice is one ahead of Roy White.

And then this:

Win Shares AFTER Age 32:
– Dave Winfield, 159
– Andre Dawson, 104
– Joe DiMaggio, 101
– Jim Rice, 47
– Duke Snider, 44
– Dale Murphy, 42

And now we see the secret for getting into the Hall of Fame — you just have to put up some numbers after your prime is over. Winfield managed to have a second prime and his post-32 numbers are there with Joe Morgan, Nolan Ryan and Tony Gwynn.

Dawson helped himself some in his later years, but perhaps not enough. Dawson as an older player is one WS ahead of Brooks Robinson, and also one ahead of Minnie Minoso, who was a good old player.

Rice, Murphy and Snider simply fell off the map. If Rice or Murphy had managed to have one or two more prime years, they would be in the Hall of Fame. I think Rice will get in anyway. I think Murphy won’t.

* * *

So what does it all mean? Heck if I know. I’m just babbling here. I’ve been going round and round on these three guys for years now. It seems to me Murphy was the best player, Dawson put up the best numbers and Rice had the best single-season. After that, it’s all what you think the Hall of Fame is about.

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Book Update …

An old-fasioned monster post is coming — maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow — and it has more twists than a Greg Louganis platform dive. Greg Louganis? Remember him? Never mind. I did want to let everyone know that if you bought The Soul of Baseball and ordered a bookplate and stationery, it was dropped in the mail on Friday. My hand is killing me. Thank you so much for your support.

By request, I will extend the bookplate offer until the end of the year. You guys have sold out books both at Amazon and at my favorite Independent, Rainy Day Books — and from what I can tell, their reorders won’t come in until after the holidays. But the link above goes to Barnes & Noble, which appears to still have books available. And of course books should be available at your local bookstore (I hope).

If you can find the book and would like a bookplate, I’ll keep the email open. Stationery is limited, but if you specifically ask for a note, I’ll do what I can to accommodate.

Thanks again everybody.

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Barry vs. Roger …

Already more words have been written about The Mitchell Report than there are actually IN the Mitchell Report, which is itself a pretty big hunk of word pie. And millions more words are to come. Words, words, words. I must admit: Not much of it interests me anymore. Everybody has had their say, and everybody is dug into their trenches, and no matter what opinion you may throw out there, someone will lob a grenade at you.

It seems to me steroids in baseball, in surprising ways, has taken on the polarizing charms of other political issues, so that now the issue isn’t about players cheating or the Union standing up for their right to do that or Baseball officials winking and counting money or fans and media cheering and writing paeans to the 500-foot dinger and the 42-year old who could still throw 95. No, now it all has come to represent those controversial things that are large and vast and the cause of wars — morality, the ethics of science, the question of law enforcement, the depth of cheating, the responsibility of people to follow rules and finally, most importantly, how the world is going to hell in a hand basket.

I don’t want to get into any of that. At all. Instead, I want to ask a question, just something that I’ve thought about today. Curious what you might think.

We all understand that there are inconsistencies in the way many of us feel about drug cheating in sports. Most people, I assume, would suspect that a large percentage of players in the NFL use steroids. Few seem to mind. Heck, Shawne Merriman was somehow caught by that Pro Wrestling Referee drug policy they have in the NFL, and he’s playin and, doing Nike commercials, living the high life. Meanwhile, one-time Olympic darling Marion Jones tested positive, and her life has been destroyed. From what I can tell, she’s had her medals stripped, she’s destitute, she’s in trouble with the law, she’s been banned from even showing up at the Olympics, and people are STILL lining up to kick her. Not making a judgment call here … just saying our feelings are not consistent.

The same goes even inside in baseball. The outrage over the use of amphetamines in baseball seems miniscule compared to outrage over steroid use. Again — two sides to the argument. On one side, people can argue that amphetamines are even worse, morally, than steroids. They are Schedule II drugs while most anabolic steroids are Schedule III drugs — this means that the government believes amphetamines have a higher potential for abuse and are more likely to lead to physical dependence (Cocaine is a Schedule II drug). On the other side, people can argue that steroids use is more harmful to the body and has had a much larger effect on the game. I don’t know who is right or wrong. I’m just saying both are illegal. And our feelings are not consistent.

So with so many inconsistencies … here’s what I’m wondering.

What if Roger had been first?

Do you know what I mean? What if Roger Clemens had been the first really big-name athlete to be connected with steroids instead of Barry Bonds (I realize that there were others before Barry, but I would say Barry was the one to really set people off). What if all us wise guy journalists had been showing pictures of Clemens as a young player and then as an older player.

(Am I wrong or has his head gotten bigger? Maybe that third photo is just bigger.)

What if it had been Clemens who had been involved with BALCO? What if he had been the one to get called to the grand jury? What if he had told those half truths and gotten himself in trouble with the law? What if the books had been written about him?

Here’s what I”m asking: Do you think everything would have been different if it had been Clemens who was the first big steroid fish flapping around in the net? I ask very seriously because I think it’s at least possible that it would have been a little bit different. I don’t think people feel the same animosity toward Clemens that they do toward Bonds. I don’t think people would have had the same appetite for a Roger Clemens roasting. I think the whole story might have changed some.

Of course, I’m just throwing out something to talk about here. I honestly don’t know how people might have reacted. But I just have this feeling that Bonds being Bonds created a perfect storm. His play and arrogance angered so many people from so many walks of life. It’s hard to be quite as despised as Bonds was — what do you think his approval rating was? Lower than any U.S. President, I would imagine. And with an easy target, and popular scapegoat, at the center, suddenly everyone got involved — including the U.S. government — and everything just exploded. I don’t know what percentage of baseball players were using some sort of PED. I suspect it was high. Bonds, though, was the face of steroid evil. And it seemed that nobody liked that face. I do wonder if everything might have moved a bit more slowly, with a bit more care if it had been someone more popular like Clemens at the center of it.

And this leads to something else, something a lot of people are asking: Why do people seem to feel differently about Clemens NOW than they do about Bonds? Let’s assume based on the reports that they both used steroids. If so, both used them at the end of great careers, both used them to make a lot more money and leave an even more lasting imprint on the game. There does not seem a lot separating them.

So what’s the difference? Many have quickly made the jump that the difference is race (I have my own strong opinions about this, but for the point I’m trying to make here, I’m keeping those to myself). Some have said that Clemens is just a more likeable person (having met and talked with both, I don’t see this at all). Others say it’s because Clemens is a pitcher and one of the many inconsistencies in America’s feelings about steroids is that it ain’t as bad for pitchers.

There’s probably some truth in every theory. I’d suggest something else. Take a quick look at their numbers:

Roger Clemens was let go by Boston and signed with Blue Jays in 1997, and he pitched on rage that year. He was 34, ticked off, determined to prove himself, and he went 21-7 with a 2.05 ERA. The next year, according to the MR, he started learning some tricks from Jose Canseco, who was apparently the Tony Montana of steroids in baseball — man, everyone learned from this guy. Say hello to my little friend.

Here are the very basic Clemens’ numbers after that.

1998: 20-6, 2.65 ERA, 271 K.
1999: 14-10, 4.60 ERA, 163 K
2000: 13-8, 3.70 ERA, 188 K
2001: 20-3, 3.51 ERA, 213 K
2002: 13-6, 4.35 ERA, 192 K
2003: 17-9, 3.91 ERA, 190 K
2004: 18-4, 2.98 ERA, 218 K
2005: 13-8, 1.87 ERA, 185 K
2006: 7-6, 2.30 ERA, 102 K
2007: 6-6, 4.18 ERA, 68 K.

OK, there are a lot of really good numbers on the board there (PC — Post Canseco — he went 141-66 with 1790 Ks, yeah, not bad for an old guy). But there’s nothing there that defies and insults baseball history. Sure, the 1.87 ERA in 2005, at age 42, is freakish. But all in all, Clemens was basically able to MAINTAIN his greatness. His best year was probably still 1990, when he was 27, or 1986 when he was 23. With Clemens, it’s just like he held off time.

Now, there’s Bonds. The story with him goes like this: After watching the McGwire-Sosa show, he was so sickened (and felt so unappreciated) that he decided he would show everybody what a workout fiend on steroids could REALLY do.

Here are the basic numbers after that:

2000: .306/.440/.688, 49 HR, 106 RBIs, 129 runs, 117 walks, 188 OPS+
2001: .328/.515/.863, 73 HR, 137 RBIs, 129 runs, 177 walks, 259 OPS+
2002: .370/.582/.799, 46 HR, 110 RBIs, 117 runs, 198 walks, 268 OPS+
2003: .341/.529/.749, 45 HR, 90 RBIs, 111 runs, 148 walks, 231 OPS+
2004: .362/.609/.812, 45 HR, 101 RBIs, 129 runs, 232 walks*, 263 OPS+

*Always worth pointing out that an obscene 120 of these walks were intentional.

See the difference? Bonds made the game a mockery. He was so good that managers simply stopped pitching to him. He broke just about every meaningful offensive record — highest on-base percentage, highest slugging percentage, most home runs, most walks, most intentional walks, and the top three OPS+ seasons in baseball history. Bonds wasn’t just cheating — he was mocking history. He’d been absolutely sensational before the power surge, but his four best seasons are probably those last four — ages 36-39.

As Bill James said in an email, Clemens would had to have a 37-2 record with 420 strikeouts to create the same sort of confusion, awe and, eventually, disgust.

Sure, there are other factors, but I think this was the big one. Bonds was, I think, one of the 10 best players in baseball history BEFORE 2000. Given illegal substances and an intense drive to separate himself, he became superhuman. It felt cartoonish and wrong even while we were watching it, even before BALCO exploded and the grand jury testimony was leaked and George Mitchell started getting rejection letters on his interview requests. Once all that other stuff happened, yeah, I think lots of people for lots of reasons started asking, “What happened to our National Pastime?” What has followed, I think you can call it the Bonds Crusade. Just my opinion, but I don’t think Clemens (or McGwire or Giambi or any of the other guys) could have ignited it.

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Mad Dog 20-20

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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The Almost Great Matty

Third in the BJIP Series — Bill James Inspired Posts

I never realized how little Matt Williams walked. I’m sure, over the years, I must have heard Williams called a “free swinger.” I’m sure that somewhere I must have looked at his statistics and thought, “yikes, that’s a low OBP.” And yet, when I go back now and look at his lifetime strikeout to walk ratio (1363 Ks, 469 walks, yuck) and lifetime OBP (.317, wow, and he had one full season with a .286 OBP), it’s pretty shocking.

Still, if you can look beyond on-base percentage — which isn’t easy since many will tell you it is the most significant offensive statistic — Matt Williams was a good player. His lifetime .268 average isn’t much, but he hit .300 a couple of times. He won four Gold Gloves as a third baseman, and for a big man who couldn’t run much he had really outstanding range and instincts. He hit for power, of course … his 378 career home runs rank him fourth all-time among third basemen (behind Hall of Famers Mike Schmidt and Eddie Mathews and the underrated Graig Nettles). His .489 slugging percentage ranks him behind Schmidt, Mathews and George Brett, which isn’t bad company.

All of this is nice, though it certainly leaves Williams on the LeMaster side of the Hall of Fame. His career numbers fall Hall of Fame short, and he played most of his career in a big offensive era. It’s pretty plain: A .317 OBP, 1,878 hits, four Gold Gloves, 1218 RBIs and all that make for a nice career, but not a Hall of Fame career.

BUT … here’s the question, inspired by Bill James.

Would Matt Williams be a real Hall of Fame candidate had he broken Roger Maris’ home run record in 1994?

First things first — as Bill points out again, Williams had a real shot to break the record. He had 43 homers in 115 games when the strike broke out (interestingly enough he had those monster homer numbers though he really wasn’t having any better luck just hitting the ball — his batting average was .267, his OBP .319, almost mirroring his career numbers). That put him RIGHT on pace to hit 61 home runs (well, 60.57 home runs if you want to be technical). He obviously would have had to deal with all the media pressure and fan pressure and pitchers who didn’t want to pitch to him and all that. But there are a couple of things that were in his favor:

1. Williams was, often in his career, a good and powerful August and September hitter. The previous September he had hit 11 home runs. The next September he hit .346 with 8 homers. In his career, he hit 134 of his homers in those two months — only May treated him better.

2. He was hot — in his last 30 games he had hit .328 with 13 home runs. You got the feeling he was locked in.

I don’t know if Williams would have broken Maris’ record, and obviously we won’t know. I believe he would have had a real chance (just as Tony Gwynn would have had a real shot to hit .400 and Jeff Bagwell* and Frank Thomas would have had the chance to have immortal seasons — yeah, I’m still bitter).

*Not true on Bagwell. Forgot that he broke his hand.

I’m saying this: Let’s say Williams DID break the record. I’m curious how that might have affected his Hall of Fame candidacy, even if everything else remained the same. You still have all the same issues — you still have a guy with fewer than 2,000 hits, an unimpressive batting average (though it’s the same as Brooks Robinson’s), a downright appalling on-base percentage. But …

– He would still have those four Gold Gloves.
– He would have close to 400 home runs.
– He would have broken Roger Maris’ home run record.

Makes it interesting, no? I guess my point here is to ask: What makes a Hall of Famer? It seems to me that this is what people are arguing most of the time. Yes, on the surface it seems like we might be arguing about, say, Tim Raines or Bert Blyleven or Jack Morris. But I think what we’re really arguing is WHAT MATTERS when considering a player’s greatness.

Tim Raines, for instance, does not have 3,000 hits, and he did not retire with the record for most stolen bases in a season and in a career. To someone who considers these standards impressive and important, Raines will not match up to Hall of Famer Lou Brock, who of course had 3,000 hits and both records.

Now, you could (and I would) argue that Raines was a better player than Brock, a lot better, he had 43 more points in OBP (.385-.343), his slugging percentage was 27 points higher (.425-.398), his OPS+ was a lot better (123-109), and he also drove in more runs, scored almost as many and got on base more despite having almost 1,000 fewer plate appearances.

Further, you could argue that Raines was a better base stealer. Brock had 938 steals — 120 more than Raines — but he was caught 161 times MORE than Raines. That’s not even close. Like I said in another post, you could argue pretty convincingly that Raines was the best base stealer of all time.

But let’s not get too far away from the point. There may be many ways to show that Raines was a better player than Brock, but none of them will change two simple facts:

1. Brock had 3,000 hits; Raines does not.
2. Brock was the all-time stolen base leader when he was inducted. Raines is not.

So, the question here is not really, “Is Tim Raines a Hall of Famer?” The question here is, “What is a Hall of Famer?” If you are focused on a certain kind of analysis, yeah, Raines is a Hall of Famer. If you are caught up with big standards like 3,000 hits and 500 home runs — if you believe the people in those clubs naturally leave a larger mark on the game — then he is not a Hall of Famer. If you believe in the gut and that there should be some sort of aura surrounding great players (not to mention MVP awards), Raines is probably not a Hall of Famer. If you believe that the Hall of Fame should probably include the best pure base stealer and one of the five best leadoff hitters in the game’s history, then Raines probably is a Hall of Famer.

All along, Tim Raines doesn’t change. Only our Hall of Fame standards change.

The Morris-Blyleven Hall of Fame debate might highlight this even more. I personally am so far over on the Blyleven side here that I would need a passport to even visit someone in Jack Morrisland. I cannot even fathom that there is an argument here. I present you the case in numbers:

Wins
Blyleven: 288
Morris: 254

Losses
Blyleven: 250
Morris: 186

ERA
Blyleven: 3.31
Morris: 3.90

Walks
Blyleven: 1322
Morris: 1390
*Blyleven pitched 1,100+ more innings

Strikeouts
Blyleven: 3,701
Morris: 2,478

Shutouts
Blyleven: 60
Morris: 28

Complete games
Blyleven: 242
Morris: 175

WHIP
Blyleven: 1.198
Morris: 1.296

Wild Pitches
Blyleven: 114
Morris: 206

ERA+
Blyleven: 118
Morris: 105

Neutral wins
Blyleven: 313
Morris: 232

Home runs allowed per nine innings
Blyleven: .78
Morris: .92
*Admit it, that one shocked you, didn’t it? Blyleven was the king of the gopher ball — and Morris gave up more dingers per nine.

Postseason stats
Blyleven: 5-1, 2.47 ERA
Morris: 7-4, 3.80 ERA

World Series stats
Blyleven: 2-1, 2.35 ERA
Morris: 4-2, 2.96 ERA

Sigh. I’m too emotional about this. OK, now I have to play the other side and try to make this believable. You can look at all that and clearly see that in every possible statistical way Bert Blyleven was a better pitcher than Jack Morris. BUT … only one of them pitched the 10-inning shutout in Game 7 of the 1991 World Series. I don’t think many people would argue against this: Morris’ Game 7 performance is one of the most famous and spectacular pitching performances in baseball history. True if Lonnie Smith doesn’t get bluff — no, bring it back in, we’re on the pro-Morris side now.

The point is, what is that one brilliant performance worth? It is, after all, the Hall of FAME — and fame can be defined as “the condition of being known or talked about by many people, especially on account of notable achievements.” You can’t get much more notable than a 10-inning shutout in the deciding game of the World Series. So, if you are so inclined as a voter, that one incredible game by Morris could be decisive. Don Larsen was an utter mediocrity as a pitcher — went 81-91 in his career — but he was on the Hall of Fame ballot for 15 years, and he once received 53 votes. Because of one game.

Roger Maris was a good player whose top comps are Bob Allison, Hank Sauer and Jay Buhner — none of them even close to Hall of Fame candidates. But Maris was on the ballot for 15 years, and in his last year he got 184 votes — 43 percent — and even now there is a strong “Vote for Roger” lobbying group out there. Because of one season.

So, someone could say, quite logically I suppose –” I’m not arguing whether Morris or Blyleven was better. I don’t think either of them is worth of the Hall of Fame based on their career numbers. But Morris had a great career, and he had the money game, the singular game, he left the larger imprint on baseball. And that why I’m voting for him.” I don’t agree with this way of thinking. But I’m not sure how you argue against it. I’m not sure you CAN argue against it.

I don’t think anyone should wonder where I stand on this question — but what I’m trying to say is that is when I’m yelling for Blyleven or Raines, I’m really yelling, “The way I view the Hall of Fame is the right way.” And those people on the other side of the argument are yelling that, no, their way is the right way. It’s an emotional thing, really. And it’s no wonder that it is so hard to change anyone else’s mind. Everyone out there understands that Blyleven’s numbers place him with the all-time greats. They’re still not voting for him.

All of which brings us back to Matt Williams. If he had broken Maris’ record, then it seems likely he would have gotten all sorts of people to consider him a Hall of Famer JUST BECAUSE OF THAT. Throw in his 400 or so homers, the Gold Gloves, the solid play, the fact that other third basemen in the Hall had lower OPS+ than Williams (among them, George Kell, Freddie Lindstrom, Pie Traynor and Brooks Robinson) … I dunno. He might have gotten in. He certainly would have gotten serious consideration.

Which tells you that that strike REALLY screwed Matt Williams.

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When it Raines …

Second of the BJIP — Bill James Inspired Posts.

Bill has spent a big part of his career trying to find the illusions of context in baseball. For instance, he has spent some time making the sacrilegious claim that Hack Wilson’s seemingly immortal season of 1930 (.356/.454/.723, 56 homers, 191 RBIs, 146 runs) was, in large part, a sign of the times.

It’s funny, Bill is sort of the BASF of baseball ideas. He doesn’t necessarily make the ideas, he makes them clearer. People in baseball have, for a very long time, understood that some stadiums are easier to hit in than others, some batters have more and better opportunities to drive in runs, some pitchers are in better position to win games, some eras are higher scoring than others, etc. These are old ideas. But Bill was more effective than anyone at exploring these ideas, taking the extra steps and bringing them home.

In 1930, Hack Wilson hit .356, yes, but the entire National League that year hit .303 (and the St. Louis Cardinals team hit .314). Wilson actually finished 10th in the league in batting. The league had wound their baseballs tighter and made the stitches smaller. The LEAGUE OPS that year was .808, which is the highest it has ever been.

To give you an idea, the National League OPS in that crazy offensive year of 2000 was .773 - 35 points less.

Wilson hit 56 homers yes, and that did lead the league, but he played in a very good hitters’ park (Wrigley Field). Gabby Hartnett, who hit with moderate power most of his career, hit a career high 37 homers that year in Wrigley. Then again, Wally Berger, in his rookie year, in the much tougher hitting Braves Field, hit 38 homers. Babe Herman hit 35 homers — 14 more than the year before (another huge hitting season in the NL) and double any of his other seasons.

Wilson’s 191 RBIs are, of course, a record, and it still pops out like you’re wearing 3D glasses. But it helps when your ENTIRE TEAM’S on-base percentage is .374 — last year’s Kansas City Royals did not have a single player with 100 at bats who had a .374 on-base percentage. Wilson’s RBI totals were certainly boosted by having Woody English (.335/.430.511) and Kiki Cuyler (.355/.428/.547) hitting in front. Bill ran some numbers and showed that a very good hitter in Wilson’s precise situation could be expected to drive in 190-195 RBIs.

Some people misunderstood — Bill never said that Hack Wilson’s year was ordinary. He thought Wilson was the best offensive player in the NL in 1930 (better for instance than Chuck Klein who hit 386, 40, 170 in the bandbox called the Baker Bowl or Bill Terry who hit .401). He just thought that those obscene numbers were mirages of the time and should be exposed as such.

Yeah, you could say that not everyone agreed. I’ve never asked, but I’m quite sure Bill heard from every member of the Hack Wilson fan club — and you may be surprised how many people are in clubs like that — and he was told quite often how he was disrespecting the great and grand history of the game. Nobody really wants to know that the earth rotates around the sun.

There’s another side, though, to Bill’s search for context. He has, through the years, found numerous players who were unappreciated because of their time and place. Tim Raines may be one of these players — we’ll soon see what the Hall of Fame (and Pozcars) voters think.

Raines played in a very low run-scoring environment. His best years were in the NL was from 1981 to 1990 — ten years, and the league (including pitchers) hit .252 with an on-base percentage of .319.

Raines hit .302 with a .391 on-base percentage during that time. He, of course, was a base-stealing demon — he stole 627 bases in those years and was successful more than 85 percent of the time. His was not a power hitter, of course, but his .439 slugging percentage over those years was quite a bit better than the league average (minus pitchers) of .389 or the SLG of other outfielders (.411.)

He scored 100-plus runs four different times during that stretch (and surely would have once more had it not been for the 1981 strike). And it was hard to score 100 runs then, damned hard in Montreal, where the Expos consistently had trouble scoring runs. Raines was a truly great player in a time unfit for big numbers

He then went to the Chicago White Sox, a couple more mid-range lineups, and he scored 100-plus runs two years in a row. He was an often useful part-time player for the last five or six years of his career — he put up a .395 OBP in 321 at-bats for the legendary 1998 Yanks, for instance. And that was his career.

With Raines, I think, people underestimate his prime. We did not view him as a truly great player at his best. But that was a mistake. He was great. You can look at three brilliant seasons — 1985-87 — when he could have won the MVP. This is where perception crushes reality. He did not get a single first place MVP vote ANY of those years. If he had won the MVP all three of those years (as Bill James believes he should have, for instance), Raines would be a slam-dunk Hall of Famer and viewed in the mainstream as one of the greatest players ever. But the context of the time killed him.

Look at 1985: Raines hit .320, third in the league. His .405 on-base percentage was also third. He was second in runs created, third in OPS+ (despite being a leadoff hitter), second in times on base, he stole 70 bases (and was caught just nine times), etc. He scored 115 runs for a Montreal team that hit .247 and was ninth in the NL in runs scored.

Using Baseball-Reference’s stat converter, Raines’ 1985 numbers in 1930, Wrigley Field, would look like this:

.378/.468/.562, 229 hits, 165 runs in 144 games.

Using Baseball Prospectus’ translated batting states, Raines 1985 numbers look like this:

.347/431/.546, 201 hits, 125 runs, 18 homers, an EQA of .332.

Not bad. Again, many misunderstood. They thought Bill — and the various analysts who have followed him — were trying to CHANGE history. But no, they were just trying to understand it. Put it in perspective. Tim Raines had a great, great 1985 season. But …

Look at 1986. Raines may have been even better. He had pretty much a miraculous season, one of for the ages. He led the league with a .334 batting average, led the league with a .413 on-base percentage, led the league with 130 runs created, led the league in times on base, was second in the league in OPS+, he stole 70 of 79 bases again.

Trouble is, he only scored 91 runs because runs were hard to come by in 1986 and that Expos team could not hit a lick. Hubie Brooks was in the cleanup spot most of the year (Babbling did hit .340/.388/.569 in a half season). The Expos were 10th in the low-scoring NL in runs scored. That lineup was so bad, that Raines — the ultimate leadoff hitter having the ultimate leadoff season — actually hit third for more than half the season.

So, yet again, Tim Raines did not get a single first-place MVP vote. His counting stats did not impress. Mike Schmidt led the league in RBIs. This time, for fun, put the 1987 Raines in Chuck Klein’s Baker Bowl in 1930. B-R converts his stats to: .391/.473/.593 with 21 homers, 85 RBIs, 154 runs scored.

Look at 1987: Raines had almost the same year. He hit .330, had a .429 on-base percentage, he even felt the ’87 home run vibe and knocked out a career high 18. He stole 50 bases and was caught five times. Now, because Tim Wallach and Andres Galarraga had pretty good year, he even had some counting stats. He scored a scary 123 runs in 139 games. For the third straight year, he had the most win shares in the NL.

And you know the rest of the 1987 story — Raines’ friend and mentor Andre Dawson, despite having nowhere near as good a season, banged 49 homers and drove in 137 RBIs and won the MVP award. Raines was happy for the man who had helped him overcome some of his youthful mistakes. Raines always believed in his heart that Dawson was a superior player to him — and no one could ever convince him otherwise. I respect that very much. But I believe Raines was the better player.

Anyway, everyone understands context better now (in large part because of Bill James). People know that hitters will put up bigger number in Coors Field and Fenway Park, and pitchers will look a lot better in San Diego or Los Angeles. People appreciate that the inflated post-strike numbers were just that, inflated numbers, just another phase in baseball history.

Yes, people get it. And yet, I fear too many people won’t get Tim Raines — they won’t see 3,000 hits, they won’t see a career .300 average, they won’t see an MVP award, they won’t see a single, jaw-dropping number like Hack Wilson’s 191 RBIs (though they should see that Raines was, perhaps, the best pure base stealer in baseball history). I hope I’m wrong. Tim Raines was a great player.

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