Author: Graham Womack

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The most underrated player of each decade: Early 20th century

1900-09: George Davis

Anytime someone says there can’t be any worthy Hall of Fame candidates remaining after several decades of voting, point them to George Davis. The Veterans Committee more or less exists to honor players like Davis, notable in their time but forgotten by baseball history. The committee gave Davis a plaque in 1998 after Bill James devoted a chapter to him in Whatever Happened to the Hall of Fame?

Davis was winding down his career by the early 20th century with younger stars like Honus Wagner and Christy Mathewson garnering more attention. Nonetheless, Davis finished strong. His 41.8 WAR for the decade, spanning his 11th to 20th seasons, ranked sixth-best among position players then. He may have been the best bat on the Hitless Wonder 1906 Chicago White Sox. He also saved 91 defensive runs, fourth-best for the decade, while playing every infield position between two teams.

Honorable mention: Iron Man Joe McGinnity, who deserved many more years in the majors than he got

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10329v1910-19: Art Fletcher

Fletcher ranks as a historical curiosity, one of a small number of players who got votes in several early Hall of Fame elections but never built momentum toward enshrinement. If Gold Gloves had existed in the 1910s, Art Fletcher’s Hall candidacy may have received more support.

In a decade where slipshod defense was the norm, Fletcher’s 133 defensive runs saved and 25.1 defensive Wins Above Replacement were by far best in baseball. The longtime New York Giants shortstop led the National League in dWAR four times and was second twice more. He provided with the bat as well, hitting .277 with a 102 OPS+ for the decade and helping the Giants win four pennants.

Honorable mention: George McBride, another Deadball Era defensive great no casual fan has heard of

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rogershornsby-featured1920-29: Rogers Hornsby

Ty Cobb was famously resentful of Babe Ruth obscuring his star. Hornsby has better cause for grievance. While the Georgia Peach was fading by the 1920s, the Rajah totaled 93.1 WAR, second-best in a decade for a modern position player. The only problem for Hornsby was that Ruth was even better in the 1920s with 102.3 WAR.

To be clear, no one’s ever done what Ruth did in those years, out-homering entire teams and forever transforming baseball while becoming the sport’s first marketing star. Even in the absence of Ruth, Hornsby wouldn’t have changed the game. He wasn’t that kind of player or man. He just would have been in a class completely his own.

As it stands, Hornsby’s accolades as the second-best player of the 1920s mesmerize. His stats for the decade are a sea of black ink on Baseball-Reference.com: seven batting titles, two Triple Crowns, and National League highs for OPS+ nine of ten seasons. Hornsby hit .382 for the 1920s (.390, if his pedestrian 1926 season is omitted) and famously batted .402 from 1921 through 1925. Somehow, his abrasive personality led to him playing for four teams through the course of the decade.

Honorable mention: Urban Shocker, who might be in the Hall of Fame if his career and life hadn’t ended at 37 due to a congenital heart condition

Coming tomorrow: The 1930s, ’40s and ’50s.

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Five memorable pitching appearances by position players

Adam Dunn’s stint as a relief pitcher on Tuesday night got me thinking. The Chicago White Sox slugger, who pitched the last inning of a 16-0 loss to the Texas Rangers, is far from the first position player called to the mound.

Here are five memorable appearances:

1. Babe Ruth, October 1, 1933: As is lore, the Bambino debuted as an ace pitcher for the Boston Red Sox, becoming a full-time outfielder in mid-1918. (Ruth, of course, was a fine hitter from the beginning, amassing 5.6 WAR and a 150 OPS+ in 407 plate appearances in his first four seasons.) As a promotional stunt, Ruth pitched five more times, winning all five games after joining the New York Yankees in 1920. His final start, which came up in conversation with John Thorn at SABR last week, came on the last day of the 1933 season. Ruth pitched a complete game victory in front of 25,000 at Yankee Stadium and provided the deciding run on a solo homer over Boston. Something worth at least a tangential note? The game only took an hour and 38 minutes.

2. Matty Alou, August 26, 1965: Alou struck out future Pittsburgh Pirates teammate Willie Stargell twice while pitching two scoreless innings of an 8-0 loss for the San Francisco Giants. “I just threw him slow curve, slow curve,” Alou was quoted as saying in his SABR bio. “And I know I would get him out again if I faced him.” Ever one of the under-appreciated players of his era, Alou of course never pitched again.

3. Jose Oquendo, May 14, 1988: Position players of the recent era generally pitch when the bullpen is exhausted, either in blowouts or extra inning games. Oquendo fared decently in the latter scenario, though he took the loss for his efforts. (On a side note, it’s exceedingly rare for modern position players to earn a decision, making Chris Davis’s victory for the Baltimore Orioles in 2012 all the more special.) Oquendo, a longtime Cardinals infielder, went to the mound in the 16th inning of a five-hour and 40-minute marathon against the Atlanta Braves, after seven St. Louis pitchers had come and gone. Oquendo pitched the final four innings and threw 65 pitches, perhaps the most ever by a position player. He allowed four hits, two runs and six walks, his high point perhaps coming when he struck out Ken Griffey Sr.

4. Manny Alexander, April 19, 1996: It’s common for position players to have control problems pitching. Jose Canseco threw 12 strikes and 21 balls in his infamous relief appearance for Texas in 1993. Alexander makes Canseco look like Greg Maddux. Baltimore manager Davey Johnson summoned his utility man in the eighth inning with Texas leading 17-7. Entering with the bases loaded, Alexander walked in three straight runs then allowed a sacrifice fly. After walking the next batter, he allowed a grand slam. The score now 26-7, Alexander got the next batter to ground out and the inning mercifully ended. Alexander finished the game, and his pitching career, with a 67.50 ERA. He hadn’t asked to pitch. “I hate this,” he told the Baltimore Sun afterward.

5. Wade Boggs, August 10, 1999: Like a lot of aging position players, from Jimmie Foxx and Ben Chapman during World War II to his contemporaries Dave Concepcion, Gary Gaetti, and Mark Grace, Boggs took his turn on the hill. And like Chapman, Foxx and Gaetti, Boggs pitched for two teams, appearing first for the Yankees in 1997. Two years later, the future Hall of Famer closed out Tampa’s 17-1 loss to Baltimore by allowing three hits and a run over 1.1 innings. Boggs’ control wasn’t bad, 13 strikes in 21 pitches. The 41-year-old even struck out Delino DeShields looking.

Honorable mention: Former Atlanta Braves All Star Jeff Francoeur, currently extending his run as a perennial sabermetric punchline by pitching for the Triple-A El Paso Chihuahuas.

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My first SABR convention: What took so long?

SABR logoI joined the Society for American Baseball Research in 2010, and for the next few years, I faced the same annual disappointment.

Each year, I’d hear of the national SABR convention months in advance, with the understanding I probably wouldn’t be able to afford the trip or justify going if I somehow came up with the money.

A SABR convention costs about $1,000 to attend between registration, airfare and lodging, and as a freelance writer who gets rent paid as a delivery driver, it’s rare I have an extra grand. When I do, other matters often need my attention. Don’t get me wrong, I love SABR and baseball history and getting together with others to obsess over it. Attending a SABR convention has just heretofore been a luxury beyond my reach.

This year was different, though. I’ve had better luck than expected selling freelance pieces, and after checks started arriving, I decided to finally splurge on a SABR convention. While the expense seemed risky, I didn’t want to pass another year at home reading about the convention on Twitter and wondering why I couldn’t have just, I don’t know, panhandled for the necessary funds or sold a kidney. So I bit the bullet and bought a plane ticket to Houston this past week. I’m so glad I did.

As I write this, I’m two days removed from returning from one of the best baseball experiences of my life. Among the highlights for me:

  • Grabbing dinner the first night of the convention with veteran author and official Major League Baseball historian John Thorn. I’ve corresponded with John a few years because of my writing and have interviewed him several times. I count John as one of my heroes, among the handful of people I know of able to make a living writing about baseball history. He knows it well. I could write a post in itself about what it was like to sit in the hotel restaurant a few hours with John, his son, and another person who works in baseball, slowly making our way through dinner and talking baseball history. The best part? John picked up the check. Welcome to SABR, kid.
  • Meeting many interesting people I’ve known through writing and who, like John, were accessible and welcoming at the convention. These people include: Sean Forman, founder of Baseball-Reference.com; Rob Neyer, who’s written online about baseball more than probably anyone; Mark Simon, researcher and writer for ESPN.com (and a repository of trivia– on the last night of the convention, Mark recited the last out of every World Series since 1950); Joe Dimino, who oversees the Hall of Merit; Sean Lahman, a baseball database pioneer; Matt Mitchell, who I enjoy talking stats with on Twitter; Cecilia Tan, a SABR editor; and Jacob Pomrenke who runs SABR’s website.
  • Meeting new friends such as Anthony Rescan, a college student who attended the conference on a scholarship from SABR. Making quick friends with people like Anthony wasn’t particularly difficult, even if unlike Anthony, the average attendee at a SABR convention is a 60-year-old dude. Everyone ultimately comes to a convention for more or less the same reason, blessed with the same encyclopedic wealth of baseball knowledge that generally otherwise places one far beyond societal norms. For a few glorious days each year, we find each other.
  • Taking in some interesting panels and research presentations on everything from Houston-area baseball history to a college panel that Roger Clemens spoke on after receiving assurances he would be asked no questions related to steroids. I got to interview panelists Bob Watson, Larry Dierker, Jimmy Wynn, and Jose Cruz. Even getting turned down by Clemens offered some entertainment. Clemens brushed me off after his panel saying he needed to get going; a few minutes later, Jacob and I spotted him demonstrating his pitching motion to other convention attendees, doing something that looked like leg kicks.
  • Live tweeting the finals of the SABR trivia contest, a formidable challenge to even the most seasoned of baseball history enthusiasts. Sample question: Name the seven players to win four National League batting titles. For some reason, people beyond the convention were fascinated as I and a few others tweeted out the trivia questions. I may even start doing this on my own regularly.
  • Connecting with multiple book publishers. I’m getting the itch to write a book, and attending the convention may help make this dream a reality.

Like a European vacation, I didn’t do my trip perfectly and I came back with ideas for what I want to do differently next time. Chief among my missteps, I didn’t stay in the convention hotel, opting for cheaper digs two miles away that I returned to late each night via taxi. I also didn’t get to any baseball games while I was in town, and I left the convention a day before it ended to work Sunday, missing a private pregame session for convention attendees at Minute Maid Park on Saturday afternoon.

That said, I have no regrets for how everything played out and am probably sold on attending SABR conventions for the foreseeable future. It was a great investment, probably worth more than what I paid. I’m bummed I have to wait a year to go again.

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An interview with Bob Watson

Here’s another interview from the annual SABR convention in Houston. This one is with Houston Astros great Bob Watson, who I caught up with after a panel a little while ago.

Me: I was interested to talk to you ’cause you were one of the great Astros hitters of the ’60s and ’70s, and one thing that struck me is just you hit so well playing in a ballpark that was so tough to hit in. What do you think was your secret?

Watson: I used a 40-ounce bat, and I didn’t try to pull the ball. I used the turf. I think that playing in the Astrodome actually helped me because it allowed me to hit the ball hard on the ground and not in the air.

What kind of advice did Rusty Staub give you?

See it and then hit it. Rusty, great fastball hitter, and all he just said, ‘Hey, see it and hit it.’

Jose Cruz was telling me yesterday that Rusty advised him not to go for home runs so much, to be more of a contact hitter. Did Rusty say anything similar to you?

Yep, basically, because we didn’t play in a home run ballpark. My 18 home runs a year probably translated to 36 somewhere else. And if I played in this little ballpark here, it would’ve been 45 or 50, because I was a gap hitter, I didn’t pull the ball, and right center here at Minute Maid, what is it, 370 or something? Well it was like 410 in the Astrodome.

Do you feel the Astrodome cost you the Hall of Fame?

No, no. I wasn’t a Hall of Famer, and I’ll tell you why. Since baseball started over 100 years ago, 135 I guess, there’s been 18, 19,000 players and there’s only 300 guys in the Hall of Fame. I don’t really think the Astrodome cheated me. I had a very good career. I hit .300, I dunno, seven, eight times, .290 or better another six times, .280. The criteria for Hall of Fame in my opinion: lead the league two or three times in either home runs or RBIs, be an MVP three or four times. I didn’t have that kind of career.

Interesting. What about some of your teammates like Cesar Cedeno or Jimmy Wynn? Do you think those guys might have had [HOF] bids if they’d played elsewhere?

Oh well, probably. I think, very, very honestly, those guys– both of ’em– their off-the-field habits cost them their careers. Everybody knows what Cesar did over in the Dominican. (Editor’s note: Here’s the story.) Jimmy had some other problems off the field. I think if those weren’t there, their careers would’ve been a lot longer and a lot better.

Interesting. One last question. I wanted to ask you, Bill James did a thing years ago where he looked at your stats and compared ’em to High Pockets Kelly who’s in the Hall of Fame–

High Pockets Kelly! [laughing] I’ve gotta look him up.

What he found was you guys had similar batting averages but when you adjusted for era that your numbers were a lot better. Do you make anything of that?

I have never heard of High Pockets. But you know what, again, I had a very good career, and if I was born in this era, yeah, I’d be a millionaire. But I wasn’t. Just like Hank Aaron. He would own the team, he might own the league if he was playing in this era. Sandy Koufax, all those guys, the era you play in is where you play, and I fit in very nicely where I played.

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An interview with Larry Dierker

Here’s another interview from the SABR conference in Houston. I approached longtime Astros ace, manager and broadcaster Larry Dierker after hearing him speak at a luncheon today. We spoke at length about a range of topics including his early success, arm troubles and his thoughts on the rash of Tommy John surgeries in Major League Baseball in recent years.

Me: The first thing that jumped out when I looked at your record was that you won 20 games with a 2.33 ERA in 1969, and I know that was the year the mound was lowered from 15 inches to 10 inches. How did you compensate that year for the mound being lower and do so well?

Dierker: Well, I think what helped me the most is I didn’t even notice.

Oh. Seriously? You don’t notice when the mound’s lower?

Seriously, I don’t. What I noticed, when I’m on any mound, is whether it feels comfortable or not. But my arm position was around three-quarters, and I think the higher, steeper mound is really the mound that gives a tall, straight overhand pitcher like Jim Palmer a better advantage. Randy Johnson, when he was with us, the Phillies for some reason or another– I know it wasn’t legal– they had a high, steep mound just like they used to have in Dodger Stadium, and that was the only game that he didn’t pitch well for us. He was complaining about the mound from the first inning on. But he was kind of low three-quarters with his arm position, and I think he preferred a little bit more gentle slope.

In Wrigley Field, I always thought that the mound was kind of flat, but I pitched pretty well there. I didn’t really realize why it seemed flat until I was managing. When I was managing, I’d be up in the front of the dugout, and I noticed I couldn’t see second base. I had to climb up the stairs to see where second base was. I couldn’t really tell where our infielders were playing in relation to second base because I couldn’t see the bag. What I realized was, it was built in 1916, and they crowned the whole field for drainage. So, if you were standing on the mound, the mound was naturally higher, even if it was flat, than home plate was because the whole field sloped off toward the sideline.

What you notice, the thing that I noticed probably the most in terms of the mound is that in San Francisco, at Candlestick Park, they had a rubberized surface for a warning track. When you warmed up there they had a regular mound with dirt, but home plate was painted with white paint. It wasn’t an actual home plate. The catcher would set up behind home plate, and I felt that the home plate was off-center from where the rubber was. I thought the catcher was sitting too far off to the left. I didn’t know if they did it on purpose, but I said, ‘I’ve got to get this straightened out before I go into the game, because home plate’s not where it’s supposed to be out here.’

Did you always have that kind of cerebral approach to the game? I’ve heard stories of Ted Williams noticing the first baseline being six inches off.

No, probably not. I mean, in a way, I think we all have to use whatever kind of intellectual capacity we have to our advantage. But a lot of times, I felt like people that tried to be too smart were just outsmarting themselves, because there’s a lot of it that’s instinctive, and there’s a lot of it that you can’t control no matter what your thoughts are doing. Probably more than anything, I tried to stay loose and not concentrate so hard that I would tighten up. For me, it wasn’t as much of a mental thing, although, I mean if you’re pitching, you remember facing a guy before. You remember something that happened or a similar hitter a month before. What one guy remembers, maybe you remember more than another guy. So, I mean, you use your mind, but sometimes I think guys would get too far in that direction.

What do you think was the secret to your success early on in your career?

I think of two things. One was growing up in a supportive family where they were always telling me I was smart and always telling me I was talented, always telling me I could do anything I wanted to do and just building up my confidence. Then, getting there when I was 18 and watching the other pitchers, I knew I threw harder than they did. I could throw strikes. In high school, I didn’t have a slider, but they taught me that the first week I was in Rookie League. As soon as I had a slider, it was just off to the races. I could pitch anywhere once I had that.

* * *

You had a great career as a young pitcher, but then I noticed right about 30, your career ended. What happened exactly?

Back then, they didn’t have an MRI. I hurt my elbow in 1971. I was off to my best start. I might have started the All Star game that year, I was chosen for the game. My elbow had been bothering me in the last start before the All Star game. It was a night game at Candlestick, and it was really hurting, but we got a bunch of runs early, and I was just determined I was going to get my five innings in. By the time I did that, I couldn’t lift my arm the next day. So I went to Detroit but I couldn’t pitch in the game. I was disabled for a few weeks and tried to pitch and couldn’t do it and then was disabled again and pitched a couple times and couldn’t do it. By the end of July, it was all over for the year. I think I went to the All Star game 10 or 11 and two, and I ended up 12-6.

The next year– I think it would’ve been Tommy John, it was kind of an ulnar nerve problem– the next year, about halfway through, my shoulder started bothering me. I got a lot of relief from cortisone shots. It seemed like every time I got a shot, I’d go out and pitch a complete game or a shutout or a real good game. I kind of fell in love with when I had pain, gimme a shot. I didn’t want to miss my start.

So it was sort of a slow decline from the time I was about 26 until 30 when I just couldn’t do it anymore. By that time… I couldn’t throw very hard. I lost any depth on my breaking ball, I didn’t have very good control. The only thing I had was whatever was here. (Editor’s note: I think Dierker pointed to his brain.) I still managed to pitch a few games, including a no-hitter with limited raw stuff.

Interesting. What’s it like transitioning from being a power pitcher to being more of a junkball pitcher? Does that just require a completely different approach?

Well, it does. I think back then, they didn’t try to protect you for one thing. I would’ve never pitched so many innings so young if I was pitching in this era. The first year, they had a 100-pitch limit on me when I was 18. The veteran pitchers were telling me, ‘Don’t let them make you into a seven-inning pitcher’ like that was sacrilege, it was against the pitcher’s code or something. Well, a seven inning pitcher’s just fine right now. I’d have been pitching 100 innings all throughout my career, I probably would’ve pitched another five years.

* * *

What do you make of this rash of Tommy John surgeries that’s been going on in baseball the last couple of years?

I don’t understand anything about the arm trouble that so many pitchers have, whether it’s just chaos theory where it just happened that way. I mean, during my career, there were probably 20-25 starting pitchers that made the Hall of Fame. If you look at the time since my career, you’ve got Maddux and Glavine, Roger should be in there, Nolan. There’s a handful, but probably no more than eight pitchers from 1980 on that are going in the Hall of Fame, maybe some relief pitchers, but [no more than eight] starting pitchers. Back then, it seemed like every time I was pitching, it was Carlton or it was Niekro or it was Marichal or it was Koufax or Drysdale, it was Seaver. You were matched up against these guys all the time, and yet we were pitching 250 innings or more, and I probably was the first one to break down. Most of those guys pitched four or five thousand innings.

These guys today are never going to make it that far, and yet, they don’t take on the same workload as we did. They have all these rotator cuff exercises, all this stuff they do in the offseason, and all we did was throw. I don’t understand it. Honestly, I really can’t understand it, unless– and I don’t think this is the case– it’s possible with some of them that they get enamored with the radar gun, and they’re overthrowing. They know they’re going to take ’em out after 100 pitches anyway so they’re not saving anything for when they get in trouble. They’re just going to blow it out from the first inning on. Maybe that’s it.

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An interview with Jimmy Wynn

This post comes special from Houston, where I’m attending the 44th conference of the Society for American Baseball Research. A little while ago, I heard Houston Astros great Jimmy Wynn speak on a panel about the first iteration of the team, the Colt .45s.

Historically, Wynn is an interesting player, part of an underrated class of hitters unlucky enough to play during the 1960s when pitching ruled the game. Wynn hit 291 homers for his career. In a better era, in a more favorable home park than the cavernous Astrodome, he might have hit 100 more bombs. His batting average would’ve been substantially higher than .250 lifetime, as well. His 145 OPS+ from 1965 to 1970 hints at what could’ve been.

I sat with Wynn for a few minutes after the panel. Highlights of our exchange follow below:

Me: One of the reasons I wanted to talk to you is I run an annual project on the 50 best players not in the Hall of Fame. I have my readers, other researchers and fans vote, and you’ve come up at least once or twice in the project where you’ve made the top 50. Do you have any thoughts on your Hall of Fame candidacy?

Wynn: Once or twice? I should’ve been in there about 10 or 12 times… It would be a great honor for me to be in the Hall of Fame. I’m glad that people like yourself and your friends are beginning to realize the things that I did that’s Hall of Fame bound. It just makes me feel great. I’m honored that people think of me that way and think of me as being in the Hall of Fame.

I remember you as one of the great power hitters of the ’60s, and I would think that would be on your Hall of Fame plaque first. Would that be the first thing that you would think would get you in?

I would just hope so. A lot of things probably could help me get in: playing a whole lot of ballgames, playing in the Astrodome for number one, and just being the type of ballplayer that I am. I just love the game.

The Astrodome, was it a difficult park to hit in? I’ve always thought of it as a pitchers park.

It was a pitcher’s park, a defensive park. I assume [that’s] why it was built that way. The Astros at that particular time, the early ’60s and ’70s, didn’t have many home run hitters except myself. There were some other ballparks where when you had home run hitters come in to take batting practice, they always come to me and they ask me, ‘Jimmy, how do you hit a ball out of the ballpark and I can’t do it?’ And I would say, ‘If I knew, I would bottle it and sell it to you.’ It was just one of those things, just a lot of practice and a lot of confidence in yourself.

Were most of your home runs there, were they mostly pull home runs or were you able to go opposite field?

I went the opposite field, left center, center field and left field. I hit a couple in right field, but just I’m strictly a pull hitter.

So 1967, you and Hank Aaron were in the home run race against each other that year, right? What do you remember about that race?

It was one heck of a race. I didn’t think anything of it until Hank called me the last game of the season. He called me and told me, says, ‘Jimmy, I wanted you to be the home run leader because you played in a domed stadium. I played in a ballpark where all I had to do was just get it up in the air and the ball would go. And I’m not playing. You and I will be co-home run leaders.’ I said, ‘I would love that.’ However, the commissioner found out about it and he ordered him to play the last game of the season. I think it was in Atlanta, I’m not sure, but Hank wound up hitting two home runs and beating me by two. (Editor’s note: Wynn may have misremembered some details. Aaron hit his final two home runs of 1967 in the 146th and 157th games.)

Do you think if you’d played in Atlanta that year, you’d have hit more home runs?

I think if I’d played in a ballpark that was conducive for players like myself to hit home runs, yes. And if I’d have played here in Minute Maid Park, oh my God, there’s no telling how many home runs I would hit here. But playing in the Astrodome, playing in the years that I played, I love it because I played against nothing but Hall of Fame pitchers, outfielders and infielders.

Of the people that you played with on the Astros, who were some of the favorite guys that you played with?

I would say my roommate for seven years, Joe Morgan. Johnny Weekly was my first roommate, he passed away. I would say those two for real, because they helped me along.

Joe Morgan, has he pled your case at all with the Veterans Committee? Do you know if he’s brought you up?

I called him a couple of times and he gave me his word that he would do it, but I don’t know. I’m hoping he will.

If you played today, in a hitters park, how many home runs do you think you’d hit?

Well, I’m 72 now, so I don’t know how many home runs I’d hit… A lot of people said I would probably hit well over 50 home runs if I was playing in Minute Maid Park right now.

Definitely. It’s an honor to get to sit with you. Is there anything more you’d like to say?

Well, thank you very much for the interview and tell your fans that thank you for mentioning my name again for the Hall of Fame and go out and vote for me.

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For the last time: Writers are not inducted into the Hall of Fame

My pet peeve: On the surface, the following is a wonderful tweet, noting the correction of a longtime injustice. I may wind up favoriting this tweet, even though on a different level, it irritates me greatly. That it came from as fine a publication as The New Yorker boggles my mind:

Every year, I see major news organizations making note of writers being inducted into the  Hall of Fame. Sometimes the stories mention the presence of a writers wing.

There’s just one thing…

What really happens: Writers are not inducted into the Hall of Fame. There is not a writers wing at Cooperstown. What exists is a “Scribes & Mikemen” exhibit in the Hall of Fame comprised of writers who win the J.G. Taylor Spink Award and broadcasters who win the Ford C. Frick Award. Angell and longtime Texas Rangers broadcaster Eric Nadel are the latest award winners to be added to the exhibit.

Somehow, the myth of a writers wing at the Hall of Fame gets repeated year-in, year-out. I think it represents the wishful thinking some media members seem to have that they’re comparably as important as the people they write about. I met a writer or two like this in my time covering the San Francisco 49ers. They were kind of unpleasant.

So we’re clear, I love the media exhibit at the Hall of Fame. I’m familiar with maybe half the writers in it, even some of the ones from the early 20th century (such as Charley Dryden, who was a 19th century hobo on the San Francisco docks before becoming a sportswriter.) I’m glad that Roger Angell is finally in the media exhibit. He’s long overdue.

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“For the last time” is a new column here looking to retire baseball myths that seemingly won’t die, no matter how hard reasonable people try. Let us try harder. Please feel free to email suggestions for future columns to thewomack@gmail.com.

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Support this website: Donate

I’ve decided to try something new here, something I’ve never done in more than five years of running this website.

I take a certain amount of pride in offering all content here free of charge and limiting the amount of advertising present. In fact, with the exception of Google Ad Words, I haven’t sold a display ad in at least a year. I prefer it this way and so long as it’s my call, that’s how it will remain.

That said, if you’ve read this site with any regularity and want to support what goes on here, donations are greatly appreciated. It takes time, money, and passion to do this site well. With your donations, I believe I can do more here than I’ve done the past couple of years.

I’ve added a PayPal donation button to the sidebar. Any amount of support is appreciated.

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Why Hall of Fame voting isn’t changing much

It’s one of the most star-packed Hall of Fame induction weekends ever. Tomorrow, three of the greatest players of this era as well as its three finest managers will be inducted. Record crowds, maybe 100,000 people, are expected in Cooperstown. It’s the kind of magical weekend that seemed so far away just a year ago when barely 10,000 people attended Hall of Fame weekend after the Baseball Writers Association of America refused to induct anyone off its ballot.

It seemed after last year’s vote that the process was broken, that the Hall of Fame ballot would remain forever glutted with players from the Steroid Era and that even top stars might not be able to secure first ballot induction. Personally, I’ve wanted drastic changes to the voting process, such as the establishment of a committee to handle Steroid Era candidates and an end to the rule that allows voters to select a maximum of 10 players even in years where more worthy candidates might be on the ballot. Those changes may still occur, but it won’t be anytime soon. Today, the Hall of Fame announced its first changes to voting since 1991: shortening a recently-retired player’s eligibility with the BBWAA from 15 years to 10 and having BBWAA members sign a registration form and code of conduct.

Disaster may be the greatest catalyst for change in life, and in a sense, I wanted that with Hall of Fame voting this year. I wanted the voting results to be such a quagmire that the BBWAA or Cooperstown would be forced to take immediate substantial action. But then, Greg Maddux, Tom Glavine and Frank Thomas were all voted in first ballot, and it became clear that top Hall of Fame candidates could make it through quickly, even with the current voting system. Several more of these inductees will follow in the next few years including Randy Johnson, Pedro Martinez, and Ken Griffey Jr.

Baseball has one of if not the most talked about Halls of Fames in sports. The reason for this is its exclusivity, with roughly 300 members and only 72 living ones after tomorrow. This weekend, the Hall of Fame is looking to preserving this. The announced changes in voting will make it harder for the likes of Tim Raines, Mike Mussina, Edgar Martinez, and other arguably lesser greats to win induction, at least through the BBWAA, since six honorees have needed 11-15 years on the ballot to reach the needed 75 percent of votes. Tomorrow, a few irreproachable candidates will receive their plaques in front of a record crowd. We can expect more of the same in the immediate years to come.

For anyone who likes the Hall of Fame small, reserved for only the best of the best, this weekend is sweet vindication. For people like myself who would like to see Raines, Mussina, and Martinez receive their due now rather than 20 or 30 years on, today offers more of the same frustration of the past few years.

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Players of the decade: Subjective opinion versus WAR

I missed my exit on my way to see my girlfriend yesterday. The reason? I got wrapped up thinking about the best player in each decade of baseball history. Specifically, I was curious how my subjective opinion might compare to the leader from each decade for Wins Above Replacement.

With the help of Baseball-Reference.com’s Play Index, my favorite baseball research tool, I hashed this out for position players. The results are as follows:

Subjective opinion
1871-79: Cap Anson
1880-89: King Kelly
1890-99: Ed Delahanty*
1900-09: Honus Wagner
1910-19: Ty Cobb
1920-29: Babe Ruth
1930-39: Lou Gehrig
1940-49: Stan Musial
1950-59: Willie Mays
1960-69: Hank Aaron
1970-79: Reggie Jackson
1980-89: Rickey Henderson
1990-99: Barry Bonds
2000-09: Albert Pujols
2010-now: Miguel Cabrera
*= I strictly looked at position players for this exercise. Were I to expand it to pitchers, the 1890s are the only decade I might select one for. I think Cy Young may have been the best player in baseball then.

WAR leader
1871-79: Ross Barnes, 26.6 (Anson fifth at 19.2)
1880-89: Cap Anson, 51.9 (Kelly tied for sixth at 35.2)
1890-99: Billy “The one from the 1800s” Hamilton, 53.5 (Delahanty second at 51.8)
1900-09: Wagner, 85.8
1910-19: Cobb, 84.3
1920-29: Ruth, 102.3 (seems unfair not to mention Rogers Hornsby, second at 93.1)
1930-39: Gehrig, 73.1
1940-49: Ted Williams, 65.8 (Musial third at 57.5)
1950-59: Mickey Mantle, 67.5 (Mays third at 58.7)
1960-69: Mays, 84.2 (Aaron second at 80.7)
1970-79: Joe Morgan, 66.9 (Jackson fifth at 51.2)
1980-89: Henderson, 70.8
1990-99: Bonds, 79.9
2000-09: Alex Rodriguez, 77.6 (Pujols second at 73.6; Bonds third at 59.1)
2010-now: Robinson Cano, 33.6 (Cabrera second at 31.5)