Baseball: Past and Present

What he did: I’ve been writing this column for two years, and for two years, Matt Cain has been a potential perfect subject. In part, this column has been about taking men whose stats may have suffered due to their career circumstances. I’ve looked at hitters like Jim Wynn and Bob Watson who might have been Hall of Famers had they not played in the Astrodome of the 1960s. Conversely, I’ve looked at Paul Derringer, who went 7-27 in 1933; on the 1968 Dodgers, Derringer’s efforts that season would be good for a 16-13 record with a 2.55 ERA and 1.098 WHIP. I believe so much of baseball success is about being in the right place at the right time, and until last night, Cain was another Wynn, Watson, or Derringer, a man who could’ve used any era and team besides his own.

For anyone who missed it, Cain threw the first perfect game in the Giants’ 130-season history last night, shutting down the Houston Astros 10-0. A legion of baseball writers have already weighed in about Cain’s feat including Grant Brisbee of McCovey Chronicles. Grant wrote:

There are two ways to talk about Matt Cain: the macro and micro. Big picture and small picture. The micro is on a game-to-game basis. Boy, oh boy, Matt Cain sure is good. He looked awesome in that game, and the change-up was a-changin’. Breaking down specific at-bats. Reminding ourselves how lucky we are to have him. Noting that he got cained, or marveling that he somehow mooned the baseball gods and eked out a win.

The macro and big picture, though, isn’t something you can do very often without spoiling it. That’s where you note that Cain was the original guy, the transitional figure. It’s easy to get myopic and forget that the Giants weren’t always a pitching-rich team that struggled to hit. For a while they couldn’t do either. And then there was Matt Cain, showing up in the majors when he was 20, and pitching beyond his years.

Brisbee may have best captured the context for a pitcher who only recently crossed .500 for his career winning percentage despite compiling a 126 ERA+ and 28 WAR. For much of his seven-plus years in the majors, Cain’s been a sobering example of the importance of run support, of how a lack of it can impact a hurler’s win-loss record. The Giants have scored more than 700 runs just one season of Cain’s career, and if the splits below show me anything, he’s suffered for it. Might Cain be an annual threat to win 20 games on a team that regularly gave him four or five runs a game? I think so. Just look at his splits:

Editor’s note: Please welcome Nick Diunte to BPP. Nick is a longtime reader, fellow SABR member, and he runs a New York baseball history page for Examiner.com. We interact often via Twitter. Recently, I tweeted that I thought it would be interesting to look at Negro League veterans who debuted in the majors after age 30 during the first wave of MLB integration. Nick replied that he’s interviewed a number of these men. The following is part of a book that Nick is working on about broader subject.

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Beyond the barriers broken by Jackie Robinson lie the truncated major league careers of Negro League veterans. Past their prime, these baseball lifers persisted well into their late 30’s and early 40’s, playing out their careers before teammates and crowds that never had the opportunity to see them at their peaks. The well-documented exploits of Satchel Paige reaching the majors in his 40s and Sam Jethroe winning Rookie of the Year at 33 are more prominent stories from this group. There were other less-celebrated and now forgotten Negro League vets who took whatever time they could get in the majors, thirty-somethings like Ray Noble, Pat Scantlebury, Quincy Trouppe, Bob Thurman, and Artie Wilson. This is the story of one overlooked fence buster, James “Bus” Clarkson.

Years before his 1952 debut in the majors at 37, Clarkson was a power-hitting shortstop and third baseman in the Negro Leagues. Debuting in 1937, Clarkson terrorized pitching wherever he went, whether it was in the United States or the Caribbean, finishing second to Josh Gibson in home runs in the 1941 Mexican League. Overshadowed by younger prospects coming out of the Negro Leagues, Clarkson headed north to Canada in 1948, where he blasted 31 homers while batting .408 for St. Jean of the Provincial League. Despite his monstrous numbers and Robinson having broken baseball’s color barrier the year prior, Clarkson returned to the Negro Leagues with no offers from major league organizations.

By 1950, Major League Baseball could no longer ignore Clarkson’s talents. He signed with the Boston Braves and was immediately assigned to their AAA team in Milwaukee. Immediately, Clarkson lived up to his reputation as a dangerous hitter, batting .302 while playing third base. Holding down the left side of the infield with Clarkson was a young Johnny Logan, who would later become a fixture in the Braves infield. “He happened to be an outstanding hitter,” Logan said of Clarkson. “When you can hit, you play someplace. He was a tremendous guy. As a young ballplayer, we looked up to him.”

With Logan spending most of the 1951 season in Boston, Clarkson at age 36 took the bulk of the shortstop duties, batting .343 while leading the Brewers to the 1951 Junior World Series championship over the Montreal Royals. Among his teammates was Charlie Gorin, a 22-year-old rookie pitcher fresh from the University of Texas. Speaking with Gorin in 2008, his memories of Clarkson willing his throws across the diamond from shortstop were crystal clear. “I could remember pitching, and when they hit a groundball to Bus, he’d field it and just throw it,” Gorin said. “He didn’t have a burning arm because he was up in age. His arm wasn’t that good, and it would tail off, or go in the dirt. He’d make the throw to George Crowe and he’d say, ‘Do something with it George!’”

While Clarkson proved to be a capable fielder, his superior abilities at the plate afforded him a chance with the Boston Braves in 1952. Batting .385 during the first month of 1952 in Milwaukee, and with Boston faltering in the National League, the Braves made Clarkson a rookie at 37. Clarkson saw action in four of the first six games that he was with Boston. He went 2-for-11 with zero extra base hits and was quickly relegated to pinch-hitting duties for the next month-and-a-half. Clarkson would end his campaign at the end of June with a batting average of .200, with five hits in 25 total at-bats.

Boston teammate Virgil Jester, who also played with Clarkson in Milwaukee, felt that Clarkson wasn’t given a fair shake during his time in the majors. “I thought he was a great, great player,” Jester said. “He was one of the strongest hitters that I ever saw. I don’t think the Braves gave Clarkson a good break to play there.” George Crowe, when interviewed in 2008, echoed Jester’s sentiments, saying that Clarkson had difficulty going from playing full-time his entire career, to coming off the bench every few games. “He didn’t play that much in Boston as I recall, like I didn’t play that much when I was there either,” Crowe said. “It’s hard for a guy that’s used to playing every day that gets in there once every one-to-two weeks.”

It didn’t help that Boston had young Eddie Mathews stationed at third base and also had stock in upstarts Logan and Jack Cusick at shortstop. When Charlie Grimm took the managerial reigns from Tommy Holmes in June, 1952, one of his first moves was to option Clarkson to the minor leagues and recall Logan. Even though Clarkson was recalled a few days after being sent down, he sat the bench for the rest of June except for a few pinch-hitting opportunities along the way. He last played June 22, whereupon Boston sent him back once more to Milwaukee.

Clarkson’s career however didn’t end after the Braves sent him down for the last time. Clarkson signed with the Dallas Eagles of the Texas League in 1953 and terrorized Texas League pitching for the next two years. At 39 in 1954, Clarkson led the league with 42 home runs while batting .324. Ed Mickelson, who was playing with the Shreveport Oilers, remembered a blast by Clarkson. “He hit a line drive at our shortstop at Joe Koppe,” Mickelson said in 2009. “Joe wasn’t very big, he was 5’8” or 5’9”. He went up and jumped for the ball, and I don’t think he put a glove on it; it was only a few inches above his glove. The ball kept rising and went out of the ballpark in left-center field. Still rising, it went out of the field, a line drive out of the park.”

Clarkson carried his tremendous 1954 season into the winter when he played with the Santurce Crabbers in Puerto Rico. His team, which has been dubbed the greatest winter league team ever assembled, featured an outfield of Roberto Clemente, Willie Mays, and the aforementioned Bob Thurman. Clarkson anchored the infield at third base, while Don Zimmer was at short stop, Ron Samford at second base and George Crowe at first base. Valmy Thomas and Harry Chiti held down the catching duties while Ruben Gomez, Sam “Toothpick” Jones and Bill Greason handled the majority of the pitching. They easily captured the Caribbean Series.

Greason spent many years facing Clarkson in the Negro Leagues, as well as in the Texas League and Puerto Rico. He said the majors missed out on an extremely talented ballplayer. “Clarkson would have made it no doubt in the majors if he was younger,” Greason said in 2009. “He could hit and field. He was like Raymond Dandridge. People would have seen something that they don’t see too much now. The fielding, throwing, and hitting in one player like Clarkson and Dandridge. Those guys were tremendous … ‘phenoms’ as we called them.”

Given my choice between watching the College or Major League World Series, I’d pick college without hesitation. Even in the opening rounds, the players are more fundamentally well-schooled in the basics: advancing the runner, hitting the cut off man and laying down a bunt. And, to be frank, if those same players put on a Pirates uniform and passed themselves off as big leaguers, few in PNC Park’s stands could tell the difference. Many of the college pitchers throw over 90 miles per hour and field their positions flawlessly.

The College World Series has a rich tradition dating back to 1947 when Kalamazoo, Michigan hosted the event. Two players from that year’s final that pitted the California Bears against the Yale Bulldogs went on to achieve outstanding success in their professional careers: Jackie Jensen with the New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox and Washington Senators and George Herbert Walker Bush, United States president.

Although Jensen pitched for the Bears, by the time he was named the American League’s Most Valuable Player in 1957, he played outfield. Bush was a slick-fielding, no hit first baseman and a decorated World War II hero. Many of the players including Jensen had military experience.

In the series opener, Jensen came through with a pinch hit single to drive in Cal’s tying run. Recalled Red Mathews, Yale’s third baseman, Jensen was “… strong and fast and big. I was very impressed with him.” The game wasn’t close for long. The Bears scored 11 runs in the top of the ninth to win easily; Cal 17, Yale 4.

Then as now, the series final had a best two of three format. In the next day’s deciding double header, Jensen started the opener. The “Golden Boy,” as Jensen was known, gave up a run in the first inning but then held Yale in check until the bottom of the fourth. The Elis made a fatal mistake when manager Ethan Allen ordered Cal’s number eight hitter walked to face Jensen. As Bush recalled: “He [Jensen] hit one that’s still rolling out there in Kalamazoo.”

Eventually, Jensen tired and was lifted in the bottom of the fourth with the score tied, 4-4. In the end, the Bears prevailed 8-7. Bears’ relief pitcher Virgil Butler struck out Bush, 0 for 7 in the series, to end the game. As Butler later remembered: “”On the last pitch, I struck out George Bush on a curveball. I got my 15 minutes of glory!”

In 1961, after only 11 mostly outstanding years in professional baseball and his career shortened by his notorious fear of flying, Jensen retired. While Jensen starred on the baseball diamond, his later life was plagued by personal and financial misfortune. He was married to, divorced from, remarried to and again divorced from Zoe Ann Olson, an Olympic diving star.

In 1974, Jensen returned to Berkeley to coach his beloved Bears who he led to more than 100 wins. But in 1982, age 55, Jensen died from his second heart attack in two months.

Bush, on the other hand, is a hale and hearty 88. His political resume includes two terms in the U.S. House of Representatives, stints as the U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations and Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, two terms as Vice President and one as term as President.

As for his College World Series memories Bush disputes his teammates’ criticism that he couldn’t hit. According to Bush, he batted about .250. And, Bush said, “And I think if I were playing today in the bigs, I’d probably get about $8 million bucks a year for that.”

After watching a show Saturday discussing the five best outfield arms in Major League Baseball today, I began thinking about some great past arms. I began watching baseball in the mid 60’s and therefore can only discuss players from that era and those who followed. I’m certain I will leave out some great arms from baseball past and I know that some worthy names will be omitted. It is rare in today’s game that I notice an outfielder who can throw. Most highlight reels are filled with announcers pontificating with amazement over 250-foot throws which most middle infielders could have made. In my baseball day, it seemed that every team had at least one outfielder who no one ran against twice. These are five I remember in no particular order that stopped the running game in its tracks; five who symbolized what a great arm really was all about.

1. Ellis Valentine: Few south of the Canadian border will remember Valentine. Valentine patrolled right field for the Montreal Expos from 1975-1981. I have never seen a player with a stronger arm.  He simply shut down the running game from first to third and from second to home.  Few jogged down to first base after a single to right either. Valentine made a regular habit of turning a single to right into an outfield-to-infield putout for those runners who took a hit or extra base for granted. Then Expo manager Dick Williams quickly touted Valentine as having the best arm he had ever seen and compared the rookie to Roberto Clemente.

2. Jesse Barfield: Another right fielder who player north of the border.  Barfield led the American League in assists three times.  After his third straight season leading the league in assists, the opposition stopped trying to advance. He was especially adept at nullifying the sacrifice fly and turning doubles into singles and triples into doubles.  Barfield threw out an astounding 152 runners in his 12 year career.  Barfield was not only a strong armed outfielder, but an outfielder who was known for the accuracy of his throws. Cutoff men were usually reluctant to get anywhere near his rockets.  Most simply had to duck out of the way.

3. Dave Winfield: I can remember fondly one pre All Star game outfielder throwing competition. The drill involved throwing to second base, then to third base and then to home plate. I can’t remember who else participated in this contest.  I can only remember Winfield throwing to each base on the fly and virtually knocking down those players chosen to receive the baseball. I remember being glad it wasn’t me. Winfield was a pitcher when drafted but upon his promotion to the majors after signing with the San Diego Padres in 1973 but the Padres recognized his bat and wanted that arm in right field.  Winfield never spent a day in the minors.

4. Raul Mondesi: Another right fielder and another right fielder with a cannon for an arm. Originally signed by the Los Angeles Dodgers, Mondesi played for several teams over the course of his somewhat checkered major league career.  Mondesi had his detractors but no one doubted his arm. He was another outfielder in the Ellis Valentine tradition who could turn a routine one or two hop single to right into a footrace and a red alert for any first baseman who was looking elsewhere. He may have been one of those outfielders who necessitated the wearing of batting gloves for infielders.

5. Roberto Clemente: Had to include the great number 21. Clemente was the master at throwing base runners out trying to go first to third. I can remember many times Clemente digging a ball out of the right field corner with the runner already three or four steps past second going full speed towards third base. Clemente would reach down for the ball, spin and throw a one hopper to third on the corner of the bag.  The runner and third base coach would look in disbelief as the ball arrived as if from out of nowhere and the tag for the out was put down. Clemente made a great play look routine time and time again

These are my favorite outfield arms from a time when a great throwing arm was one of the skills scouts cherished. In today’s game, great throws seem like more of an afterthought.

What he did: I always thought Nolan Ryan got screwed playing nine seasons on the Houston Astros. That’s what I used to think at least, looking at years like 1987 when Ryan led the National League with a 2.76 ERA but finished 8-16. Certainly, those Astros went 76-86 and scored two runs or less in about half of Ryan’s starts with him going 1-13 in those games. But there’s a silver lining from 1987, Ryan’s 2.21 ERA at home. In fact, I doubt he’d have won the ERA title with a different home ballpark. Ryan benefited from good pitchers’ parks much of his career, going 59-44 with a 2.77 ERA in the Astrodome, 85-58 with a 2.36 ERA at Angel Stadium, and 180-190 with a 3.66 ERA elsewhere. And the Astros weren’t that bad while Ryan was in town: They had a record above .500 six of the years he played for them.

The Ryan Express has a reputation as one of the best pitchers in baseball history, though some of his success may have been due to luck — good home ballparks, a .269 opponents’ batting average on balls in play, and the fortune to play in an era that mostly favored pitchers. Take these things away, and Ryan may have faced a longer road to Cooperstown, nothing close to the coronation he received with 98.8 percent of the vote on his first ballot in 1999. Sure, he might still have the 5,000 lifetime strikeouts and seven no-hitters, but I doubt it’d be enough for some Hall voters, at least not his first few times on the ballot. I assume he’d be enshrined at some point, it just might take awhile. Look what happened to Bert Blyleven, who needed 14 ballots for his plaque.

So while Ryan’s combination of legendary power and durability makes him a rare pitcher I have no problem projecting across any number of different eras, finding him a point in baseball history where he could’ve boosted or at least maintained his case for Cooperstown is tricky. Put Ryan in Coors Field in the late 1990s and he’d be the second coming of Mike Hampton, Darryl Kile, or some other hapless free agent ace lured to Colorado. Put Ryan in the Baker Bowl, Fenway Park, or another offensive launching pad in the late 1920s or early ’30s, and I assume his ERA would wind up somewhere near 5.00, win-loss record equally garish. But I can think of at least one place where he might have shined.

Era he might have thrived in: The story of Ryan’s rise to greatness is well-told, detailing how he debuted as a wild young reliever with the New York Mets in 1967 before being traded to the Angels in December 1971 and finding command enough to become an ace (though he led his league in walks eight times.) So there are two options: Find Ryan a similar formative environment; or, place him in a free-swinging era where batters walked far less, where the few Hall of Fame pitchers were either fireballers or on great teams or both. I’m speaking of the 1930s. Playing then, on a ball club like the New York Giants, Ryan may have excelled.

Why: The Giants ballpark, the Polo Grounds was the Astrodome of its era, center field a place where home runs went to die. Pitching there, Ryan could make a more-than competent sidekick to Carl Hubbell, and with the ’30s Giants, he’d have the elite caliber of club he rarely found himself on in 27 seasons, a chance to go the World Series in his prime. And if his power translated to the era, Ryan could bring unprecedented strikeout totals, perhaps breaking the dry spell between 1912 and 1946 where no hurler had 300 K’s. Ryan could be the Bob Feller of the National League.

Could this help Ryan’s legacy? Consider that in 1962, Feller and Jackie Robinson were first-ballot inductees for Cooperstown, the first time any player earned a plaque without multiple tries since 1937. It’s not to say Ryan would’ve automatically been enshrined through acclimation, facing consideration in an era of Hall voting where dozens of future honorees generally got at least one vote. Hubbell needed three tries before he was inducted, Lefty Grove four, Dizzy Dean nine. And Rapid Robert was and maybe still is the greatest teenage player in baseball history and a war hero to boot. I don’t know what kind of comparable PR that Ryan might have generated with voters. Still, I assume he’d have had as good a chance as any to do so.

Any player/Any era is a Thursday feature that looks at how a player might have done in an era besides his own.

Other ’30s pitchers written of in this series: Bob Feller, Lefty Grove, Paul Derringer, Satchel Paige, Wes Ferrell

Anyone who reads here regularly may have noticed that the posting schedule has slowed a bit lately. My apologies. My laptop is currently in the shop, I’ve been dealing with a little BPP burnout, and I’ve been preoccupied writing for other outlets. I should have my computer back sometime this week, and I intend to get back to business here shortly thereafter. I apologize again for my lapse in output and thank everyone for their patience.