It’s been a long time coming, but after nearly a month, the end of voting for the BPP All-Time Dream Project is less than two days out. The polls close Tuesday at 9 p.m. PST, and for anyone who hasn’t done so already, it’s not too late to pick a nine-player lineup. As I write these words mid-day Monday, votes are still coming in thanks to an SF Chronicle blog post today from one of my mentors, Peter Hartlaub.

I’ve also been emailing in recent weeks with longtime Sports Illustrated writer and editor Robert Creamer, who gave a memorable interview here in January. I’d hoped to get some words from Creamer for the final results post of my dream project on April 15, and while he declined for personal reasons, he got me thinking about something else: alternate lineups. In our emails back and forth, I gave Creamer a peak at the vote leaders, and without giving too much away, he noted some lack of racial diversity among the picks. Creamer had an idea for me yesterday, writing:

how about adding an all white vs an all black team?  or something    could be stimulating.    go a litle nutty — how about an all righthanded white team against an all lefthanded black team.  kind of nutty but baseball is supposed to be fun.

I agree, wholeheartedly. One of the overarching things I try to do here is strive to keep things fun and celebrate the best of baseball. I see it as a good use for a blog, and while I don’t hesitate to write about less-positive subject matter when necessary, I prefer to keep the focus here positive when I can.

In this spirit, here are a few alternate dream lineups. Please feel free to add more in the comments section.

The all-California native or raised team

• P – Randy Johnson
• C – Gary Carter
• 1B – Eddie Murray
• 2B – Joe Morgan
• 3B – Evan Longoria
• SS – Troy Tulowitzki
• RF – Frank Robinson
• CF – Joe DiMaggio
• LF – Ted Williams

The all-5’9″ or below team

• P – Bobby Shantz
• C – Roy Campanella
• 1B – Matty Alou
• 2B – David Eckstein
• 3B – Mel Ott
• SS – Phil Rizzuto
• RF – Yogi Berra
• CF – Bob Caruthers
• LF – Tim Raines
• PH – Eddie Gaedel

The all Negro League players who never appeared in the majors team

• P – John Donaldson
• C – Josh Gibson
• 1B – Buck Leonard
• 2B – Frank Grant
• 3B – Judy Johnson
• SS – Willie Wells
• RF – John Beckwith
• CF – Oscar Charleston
• LF – Turkey Stearnes

The all-other-sports team

• P – Bob Gibson or Fergie Jenkins, who played for the Harlem Globetrotters or Tom Glavine, who was drafted by the Los Angeles Kings of the NHL in 1984
• C – Joe Mauer, named a USA Today high school football player of the year in 2000
• 1B – Todd Helton, who quarterbacked at Tennessee before Peyton Manning
• 2B – Jackie Robinson, a track and football standout at UCLA
• 3B – Drew Henson, who seemingly had the talent to be a star NFL quarterback or a cornerstone for the Yankees but fell short in both capacities
• SS – Dick Groat, who played in the NBA before helping the Pirates win the 1960 World Series
• RF – Dave Winfield, drafted in four sports
• CF – Willie Mays, an accomplished punter and quarterback in high school football; he also averaged 17 points a game in high school basketball
• LF – Bo Jackson

Our friends over at Seamheads.com had a great post about some of history’s most famous baseball voices. Included were Ernie Harwell, Red Barber, Mel Allen, Bob Prince and Vin Scully. I’ve heard them all. None held a candle to Phil Rizzuto who for 40 years did the New York Yankees’ color commentary.

For 15 of those years, I lived in New York and Rizzuto along with his numerous partners (Jerry Coleman, Frank Messer and Bill White) were my constant summer companions.

Rizzuto was a childhood hero for many reasons, most obviously because of his Italian heritage. The “Scooter,” as Rizzuto was universally known, was also Joe Di Maggio’s roommate. Di Maggio was another favorite…at least until I learned about the darker side of his character.

Years after I left New York for Seattle, I was traveling to Boston. Coincidentally, the Yankees were playing the Red Sox. As I checked into my small, out of the way hotel Rizzuto was walking through the lobby. I approached him, extended my hand which he shook firmly. I told Rizzuto that I had spent countless nights listening to him broadcast Yankee games and that his accounts gave me more pleasure than I could express. Luckily, I remembered his wife Cora’s name so I was able to ask after her, too.

Rizzuto could have brushed me off after I had spoken my piece. Instead he engaged me in a long conversation about baseball in general and the Mariners specifically. And Rizzuto asked me questions about my family, my occupation and whether I was going to the game that night.

Although I had other plans, Rizzuto pulled out two tickets and gave them to me. And somehow it didn’t seem right not to use them. Compliments of the Scooter, I went.

I’ll confess that I wanted to ask him for his autograph but, you know, I was in my mid-30s. And after my visit with Rizzuto, I felt more like a friend than a fan.

White had a great story about what it was like to share the booth with Rizzuto. Once, hoping to clarify a complicated scoring decision, White looked over Rizzuto’s shoulder. In the Scooter’s score book was this notation: “W.W.” A confused White asked his partner what “W.W.” meant. Rizzuto replied: “Wasn’t watching.”

Phil himself told my favorite Rizzuto story at his Hall of Fame induction. Talking about his early career in the Class D Southern League, Rizzuto served grits at his hotel breakfast. Rizzuto, who grew up in Brooklyn, had never seen grits. Not wanting to eat them but also not wanting to leave them on his plate, Rizzuto said: “I put them in my pocket and walked out.” Phil got a huge laugh.

For more Rizzuto humor, read O Holy Cow! The Selected Verse of Phil Rizzuto.

A while back, I created an alternate Hall of Fame called the Hall of wWAR. wWAR, or weighted wins above replacement, is a modification to the WAR statistic found at Baseball-Reference. It was adjusted, or weighted, for several factors like peak performance, playoff heroics, and season schedule length. It reduced every player in history to just one number—a purely objective value of how good their Hall of Fame case is. It wasn’t perfect, but it was fun.

I then dumped everyone out of the Hall of Fame and re-populated it just by wWAR. It was an interesting experiment, to say the least—63 players ended up getting booted (like Jim Rice, Catfish Hunter, and Rick Ferrell) while 63 were added (like Jeff Bagwell, Deacon White, and Dick Allen).

Since the Hall of wWAR is simply an ordered list of players, it makes it easy to sort and apply different cutoffs to make alternate Halls. For example, a while back on BPP I posted what a Small Hall would look like, according to wWAR. Today, I’ve got something a little different.

Our friends Sky Kalkman and Marc Normandin are heading up an eBook project called The Hall of Very Good (you should go pre-order now!). They promise to cover “the careers of baseball’s under-celebrated stars, from Ken Boyer to Rondell White.”

As I wait for the eBook, I thought I’d take a look at what a Hall of Very Good might look like, according to wWAR. There are currently 209 people voted into the Hall of Fame as MLB players. I decided our Hall of Very Good (by wWAR) should be the same size. So, I took the top 209 players, by wWAR, outside of the Hall of Fame.

I then excluded three members of the Hall of wWAR who are banned from the Hall of Fame—Pete Rose, Shoeless Joe Jackson, and Eddie Cicotte. I also excluded three Hall of Famers who were inducted for roles other than as a player—Al Spalding (who is the absolute best “player” outside of the Hall of Fame, by wWAR), John McGraw (also a member of the Hall of wWAR), and Candy Cummings (not in the Hall of wWAR, but at the Hall of Very Good level).

So, here is the Hall of Very Good, According to wWAR:
* denotes a member of the Hall of wWAR

Catcher:

1. Ted Simmons (98.3)*
2. Joe Torre (91.9)*
3. Thurman Munson (90.1)*
4. Gene Tenace (84.9)*
5. Charlie Bennett (82.5)*
6. Bill Freehan (80.5)*
7. Darrell Porter (71.5)
8. Wally Schang (70.1)
9. Jack Clements (59.2)

Personally, I believe Ted Simmons and Joe Torre absolutely belong in the Hall of Fame. Thurman Munson, to me, is right behind them. Tenace, Bennett, and Freehan aren’t quite as obvious, but each was supremely underrated. I would say that Tenace certainly had Hall of Fame talent. Had his teams realized exactly how valuable his skills were while he played, he would have played a lot more. That would have given him the plate appearances (he had only 5527) to be a no-doubt Hall of Famer. Gene Tenace, more than any of the other catchers, was screwed.

Darrell Porter, on the other hand, probably perfectly represents the Hall of Very Good. A good way of explaining how underrated Porter was is by pointing out he retired after hitting .265 and .238 in his final two seasons as a part timer. His OBPs, however, were .360 and .387—giving him OPS+ marks of 138 and 115.

Clearly, Porter had more to offer, but his skills weren’t valued in his day. He was a .247 hitter, but had a 113 OPS+ and was worth 40.6 WAR. His 1979 season was worth 8.4 WAR, showing he was capable of greatness. Like Tenace, given more of a chance (his 6570 plate appearances is relatively low) he might have produced Hall of Fame-level value.

First Base:

1. Jeff Bagwell (132.6)*
2. Dick Allen (98.1)*
3. Mark McGwire (91.3)*
4. Keith Hernandez (90.8)*
5. Rafael Palmeiro (89.6)*
6. John Olerud (84.0)*
7. Will Clark (83.3)*
8. Norm Cash (72.1)
9. Fred McGriff (70.8)
10. George Burns (68.7)
11. Dolph Camilli (64.7)
12. Gil Hodges (64.5)
13. Joe Start (59.3)
14. Mark Grace (59.2)
15. Ed Konetchy (58.1)
16. Jack Fournier (57.3)
17. Don Mattingly (57.1)
18. Fred Tenney (56.6)

If I could put any one player in the Hall of Fame, it would be Jeff Bagwell. Simply put, he is the best player not in. Dick Allen, Mark McGwire, and Rafael Palmeiro all clearly had Hall of Fame talent, but other issues have kept them out. McGwire admitted PED use, Palmeiro tested positive, and Allen… well, some people thought Allen was a jerk. Others thought the opposite. The truth is likely somewhere in between.

If you believe in the value of defense—and I do—then you think Keith Hernandez is a Hall of Famer. It is with John Olerid and Will Clark that we approach the borderline.

The pair rates ahead of Norm Cash and Fred McGriff by a good amount, and I tend to agree with that. You could put them all in the Hall and it really wouldn’t be any worse than it is now.

Gil Hodges simply doesn’t rate as a Hall of Famer by wWAR. This, of course, does not include his value as a manager. Don Mattingly also doesn’t stack up. However, if he ever wins a title as a manager, he’ll be able to make a Hodges-like dual-role case with the Vererans Committee.

Second Base:

1. Bobby Grich (99.9)*
2. Lou Whitaker (93.4)*
3. Ross Barnes (80.1)*
4. Willie Randolph (78.2)*
5. Cupid Childs (78.2)*
6. Hardy Richardson (69.2)
7. Fred Dunlap (66.2)
8. Chuck Knoblauch (65.3)
9. Larry Doyle (64.5)
10. Tony Phillips (62.8)
11. Buddy Myer (56.8)
12. Del Pratt (52.3)

Bobby Grich and Lou Whitaker are more deserving than several, if not most, second basemen in the Hall. Ross Barnes is interesting—his career totals are very low because he had a short career and played at a time of very short season lengths. He was the very best hitter in the National Association and was an adept fielder at a premium position. That should probably be good enough for induction.

Willie Randolph and Cupid Childs are much closer to the borderline. Hardy Richardson comes next after a somewhat substantial gap. Tony Phillips makes the Hall of wWAR despite never being selected as an All Star.

Third Base:

1. Sal Bando (93.0)*
2. Deacon White (92.2)*
3. Ken Boyer (87.0)*
4. Buddy Bell (84.2)*
5. Graig Nettles (82.5)*
6. Darrell Evans (78.3)*
7. Stan Hack (76.3)*
8. Robin Ventura (75.2)
9. Ezra Sutton (72.9)
10. Ron Cey (72.9)
11. Bob Elliott (71.3)
12. Ned Williamson (70.9)
13. Heinie Groh (65.6)
14. Lave Cross (60.4)
15. Toby Harrah (59.8)
16. Matt Williams (57.8)
17. Larry Gardner (55.6)
18. Denny Lyons (53.6)
19. Arlie Latham (52.8)

Before Ron Santo was inducted into the Hall of Fame, he was the best third baseman outside of the Hall, by a decent amount. Third base is one of the most poorly represented positions in the Hall of Fame, and several of the third basemen actually in the Hall don’t belong there.

The three that stand out by wWAR are Sal Bando, Deacon White, and Ken Boyer. I’d put all of them in. The next tier—Buddy Bell, Graig Nettles, and Darrell Evans (plus Stan Hack and Robin Ventura) could either be your Hall of Very Good, or also Hall of Famers. I’m split on this group. Ron Cey, I’d say, is a perfect representative of the Hall of Very Good.

Shortstop:

1. Bill Dahlen (113.2)*
2. Jack Glasscock (104.3)*
3. Alan Trammell (99.3)*
4. Jim Fregosi (68.9)
5. Herman Long (61.3)
6. Art Fletcher (60.2)
7. Ed McKean (58.9)
8. Vern Stephens (58.2)
9. Bert Campaneris (56.6)
10. Gil McDougald (53.5)
11. Roger Peckinpaugh (52.5)

Bill Dahlen, Alan Trammell, and Jack Glasscock all deserve to be in the Hall of Fame. After that, there’s a huge gap. Jim Fregosi and Company fit the Hall of Very Good description.

Left Field:

1. Tim Raines (89.8)*
2. Sherry Magee (84.8)*
3. Minnie Minoso (81.1)*
4. Harry Stovey (76.7)*
5. Jimmy Sheckard (73.9)
6. Bob Johnson (72.3)
7. Charlie Keller (72.2)
8. Jose Cruz (70.0)
9. Mike Smith (67.6)
10. Roy White (64.4)
11. Bobby Veach (63.1)
12. George Foster (62.0)
13. Augie Galan (60.9)
14. Albert Belle (58.6)

Tim Raines is the standout here, though Sherry Magee, Minnie Minoso, Harry Stovey, and even Bob Johnson have their ardent supporters.

I see Jose Cruz’s name here and I think he’s another perfect example of the Hall of Very Good. Some people think Albert Belle was a Hall of Famer, but really he’s on the Hall of Very Good borderline.

Center Field:

1. Jim Wynn (95.1)*
2. George Gore (82.9)*
3. Paul Hines (77.9)*
4. Cesar Cedeno (76.6)*
5. Willie Davis (75.9)
6. Tommy Leach (71.1)
7. Dale Murphy (70.2)
8. Bernie Williams (68.7)
9. Vada Pinson (68.4)
10. Chet Lemon (66.9)
11. Fred Lynn (66.8)
12. Mike Griffin (66.1)
13. Fielder Jones (65.5)
14. George Van Haltren (64.0)
15. Brett Butler (63.2)
16. Jimmy Ryan (61.7)
17. Lenny Dykstra (61.7)
18. Roy Thomas (61.0)
19. Ellis Burks (60.8)
20. Pete Browning (58.8)
21. Amos Otis (56.5)
22. Andy Van Slyke (55.8)
23. Wally Berger (55.5)
24. Devon White (54.4)
25. Ben Chapman (54.0)

What’s interesting is that the Hall of wWAR is very light in center field. But the Hall of Very Good (by wWAR) features an abundance. We see this same phenomenon with pitchers, but I’ll get to that.

Jimmy Wynn is way out in front here, by far. His numbers don’t stand out to the naked eye, but once they are park and era adjusted, he rates well within Hall of Fane territory. I’m honestly not sure any other center fielders deserve induction.

Many players scream “Hall of Very Good” here—Willie Davis, Bernie Williams, Vada Pinson, Fred Lynn, Chet Lemon, Brett Butler, Lenny Dykstra, Ellis Burks, Andy Van Slyke—the list goes on…

Right Field:

1. Larry Walker (98.8)*
2. Reggie Smith (84.8)*
3. Dwight Evans (84.6)*
4. Bobby Bonds (80.6)*
5. Jack Clark (70.8)
6. Mike Tiernan (68.7)
7. Rocky Colavito (67.0)
8. Tony Oliva (63.1)
9. Darryl Strawberry (60.9)
10. Dixie Walker (58.7)
11. Rusty Staub (58.5)
12. Dave Parker (57.5)
13. Roger Maris (55.8)
14. Jose Canseco (55.4)
15. Ken Singleton (54.3)

Once again, we have a player way out in front of the rest (Larry Walker). Like Wynn, his value is greatly affected by park factor and era adjustments. Unlike Wynn, both cut his value, rather than add to it.

Reggie Smith, Dwight Evans, and Bobby Bonds are all close together and certainly would not hurt the Hall of Fame. I prefer Evans over the other two, but that could also be some homerism talking.

Tony Oliva, Dave Parker, and Roger Maris have their supporters, but each perfectly fits into the Hall of Very Good, by wWAR. Other names here like Jack Clark, Rocky Covalito, Darryl Strawberry, Rusty Staub, and Ken Singleton fit well to me, too.

Designated Hitter:

1. Edgar Martinez (100.5)*
2. Brian Downing (65.5)

Brian Downing is a great example of the Hall of Very Good. Edgar Martinez is a great example of a Hall of Famer. If only…

Pitcher:

1. Bob Caruthers (120.8)*
2. Kevin Brown (95.9)*
3. Wes Ferrell (93.2)*
4. Rick Reuschel (91.9)*
5. Charlie Buffinton (88.5)*
6. Tony Mullane (88.4)*
7. David Cone (86.5)*
8. Luis Tiant (86.3)*
9. Silver King (83.0)*
10. Orel Hershiser (82.3)*
11. Dave Stieb (80.3)*
12. Bret Saberhagen (79.7)*
13. Jim McCormick (78.6)*
14. Kevin Appier (76.7)*
15. Wilbur Wood (76.7)*
16. Frank Tanana (76.2)*
17. Billy Pierce (76.1)*
18. Jerry Koosman (75.6)
19. Chuck Finley (75.4)
20. Tommy Bond (75.0)
21. Urban Shocker (74.5)
22. Larry Jackson (74.0)
23. Carl Mays (73.0)
24. Dwight Gooden (72.6)
25. Babe Adams (72.4)
26. Tommy John (72.4)
27. Jack Stivetts (71.6)
28. Tommy Bridges (71.4)
29. Wilbur Cooper (70.3)
30. Mark Langston (68.8)
31. Noodles Hahn (68.6)
32. Dizzy Trout (68.3)
33. Bucky Walters (67.8)
34. George Uhle (67.8)
35. Bobby Mathews (67.4)
36. Dolf Luque (66.9)
37. Mickey Lolich (66.6)
38. Steve Rogers (66.0)
39. Vida Blue (66.0)
40. Nap Rucker (65.5)
41. Ron Guidry (64.5)
42. Frank Viola (64.4)
43. Dave Foutz (64.0)
44. Jimmy Key (63.7)
45. Lon Warneke (63.3)
46. Jack Quinn (63.2)
47. Sam McDowell (62.7)
48. Jim Whitney (62.6)
49. Jesse Tannehill (62.2)
50. Bobo Newsom (61.7)
51. Dennis Martinez (61.5)
52. Fernando Valenzuela (61.2)
53. Jim Kaat (60.5)
54. Dick McBride (60.4)
55. Hippo Vaughn (60.1)
56. Bob Friend (60.1)
57. Jon Matlack (59.0)
58. Jack Powell (58.0)
59. Jim Maloney (57.8)
60. Al Orth (57.7)
61. Harry Brecheen (57.6)
62. Ted Breitenstein (56.9)
63. Claude Osteen (56.8)
64. Schoolboy Rowe (56.7)
65. Curt Simmons (56.1)
66. Mel Harder (56.1)
67. Dutch Leonard, the right-handed one (55.8)
68. Ned Garver (55.4)
69. Guy Hecker (55.2)
70. Doc White (55.0)
71. Eddie Rommel (54.9)
72. Bob Shawkey (54.9)
73. Virgil Trucks (54.8)
74. Nig Cuppy (54.7)
75. Ed Reulbach (54.1)
76. Jack Morris (54.0)
77. Brad Radke (53.7)
78. Tom Candiotti (53.4)
79. Sam Leever (53.1)
80. Murry Dickson (53.1)
81. Claude Passeau (52.7)
82. Camilo Pascual (52.4)

There are a lot of pitchers here.i noted that the Hall of wWAR is short on center fielders, but the Hall of Very Good is bursting with them. Well, the Hall of Very Good is bursting with pitchers. Does this mean the Hall of wWAR is short on them? If so, that’s interesting because the Hall of Fame and Hall of wWAR happen to have the same number of pitchers.

I’ll admit it—the list of pitchers outside of the Hall does not seem nearly as impressive as the list of hitters outside of the Hall. I wonder if it is because:

1. The powers that be have done a fantastic job of electing pitchers, or
2. The bar is much higher for pitchers than hitters.

I plan to look into this further. I really wonder if #2 is the reason. You see how highly a guy like Bert Blyleven ranks and then struggles to get in the Hall. Even Kevin Brown was one-and-done. I don’t think people realize how rare a pitcher like Curt Schilling, Mike Mussina, or Kevin Brown is.

#1 is not the reason. The Hall has plenty of Rube Marquards and Jesse Haineses. Then there’s Jack Morris. Voters and Veterans just seem to be looking for the wrong things.

Bert Blyleven was the first starting pitcher inducted since Nolan Ryan. Really?

The best pitchers not in, to me, correlate with wWAR. Give me Brown from the 20th century and Bob Caruthers from the 19th. Give me Wes Ferrell as the unique oddball, too. Add on his hitting stats and he’s downright Koufaxian. Caruthers, of course, gets a huge boost from his offense, too.

Next comes the group of Reuschel, Cone, Hershiser, Stieb, and Saberhagen. Luis Tiant is mixed in there too, but he has many more supporters (including yours truly) than the others. Why?

I need to do the research, but my hypothesis is that the Cone, Stieb, etc. of other generations eventually were inducted. I don’t see any pitchers in that group having a chance at induction, and that’s probably wrong. Was there really a lack of Hall-level pitchers between Blyleven/Ryan and the group about to hit the ballot?

I’m still not thrilled with how wWAR handles 19th century pitchers, so I’m not banging the drum for Charlie Buffinton, Tony Mullane, Silver King, or Jim McCormick. From that group, though, I lean towards Mullane and McCormick.

The Hall of Very Good features some really good names—Jim Kaat and Tommy John. Wilbur Wood and Frank Tanana. Vida Blue and Sam McDowell. Chuck Finley and Kevin Appier. Ron Guidry and Frank Viola. Fernando Valenzuela and Dennis Martinez.

Brad Radke and Jack Morris.

Gosh, a great book could be made just from these names alone.

Relief Pitcher:

1. John Hiller (57.0)

The Hall of wWAR booted Hoyt Wilhelm, Bruce Sutter, and Rollie Fingers. Thanks to my generous reliever adjustments, Wilhelm and Sutter performed at the Hall of Very Good level. They are joined by the most underrated reliever—and perhaps the most underrated pitcher—in history: John Hiller.

Just a disclaimer here: this data may not quite be complete. The original net I cast for wWAR analysis was all players with 40+ WAR, but 30+ WAR for pitchers and 19th century hitters. So, there is a chance that some 30something WAR hitters with high peaks could sneak in here. If you think of any, please let me know.

And there we have it. I’m really looking forward to Sky and Marc’s book. I look forward to reading about several of these players—and of course, looking for players they include who are not listed here!

During minor league’s heyday from 1920 to 1940, dozens of leagues and hundred of teams played baseball in every corner of the nation. Local kids made up many teams’ rosters. And some players, even talented ones, had little interest in moving up to the Major Leagues.

To many, especially those from rural areas, big city life had no appeal. Others didn’t want to part from their families and sweethearts. Some had to stay close by to help with the farm chores or earn extra cash from their part-time jobs.

For pitcher Joe Pate, it was all of those reasons and one more. Pate couldn’t throw his renown spit ball in the majors, at least not legally.

Pate, relying almost exclusively on his spitter, dominated the Texas League for eleven years.

Starting in 1920 while pitching for the Ft. Worth cats, Pate won 20 or more games three times and thirty games twice. But Pate consistently refused to go to the Philadelphia Athletics, the Cats’ parent team. Despite multiple pleas from Connie Mack, Pate wanted no part of it. Not only did the Texas native prefer to stay near to his ranch and rodeo hobby but the early A’s were a sad lot.

Beginning in 1915 and through 1921, the A’s posted records of 43-109, 36-117, 55-98, 52-76, 36-104, 48-106 and 53-100.

Finally, in 1926 as the revitalized A’s battled for an American League championship, Pate agreed to a promotion.

Pate’s career was short—two years—but possibly one of the most curious in baseball history. In 1926, Pate appeared in 47 games, posted a 9-0 record with six saves and a 2.71 ERA. The left hander helped keep Philadelphia in the pennant race for much of the summer although the A’s ended up in third place behind the New York Yankees and the Cleveland Indians.

The following year, Pate was finished. His record dropped to 0-3 with a 5.20 ERA. Pate returned to Ft. Worth where he pitched well before retiring to become an umpire.

Whether Pate threw the spitter during his successful 1926 season remained unclear. According to Ira Thomas, a catcher, said

“Pate didn’t need a spitter. I doubt if he threw three spitters in a game.”

Thomas and other of Pate’s contemporaries say that Pate’s “out” pitch was the “raw raw,” the term used in the day to describe a knuckleball.

The germ of this project was seeded a long time ago, probably around the time I read Earl Weaver’s book on managerial strategy for the second time. While I was continually struck by his outlining of basic sabermetric principles, I was also struck by his experience (or lake thereof) playing baseball.

In my mind, at that time, poor players and journeymen made the best managers. I couldn’t really remember many greats who also managed (aside from Frank Robinson, Ted Williams and Pete Rose) and those I could remember didn’t strike me as particularly good skippers.

However, I had no idea if this was true. I then stumbled upon a Branch Rickey baseball card and learned that he was also a failed player, yet went on to great success.

So, I first took a very anecdotal glance for Baseball Past and Present at the best managers of the game and their playing careers. I wasn’t satisfied that my analysis really got me anywhere besides some interesting information.

Since then, I’ve combed Baseball Reference and put together a spreadsheet that matches all 674 players who have managed a game in the majors with their playing careers. My first analysis of that data is below and focuses on players who earned at least 50 WAR and became managers for at least a short time. I was hoping to confirm one of my theses: that the majority of great players who became managers did so in baseball’s infancy (largely because of the player-manager and because modern players play longer).

100 WAR Players Turned Managers (PTMs)

Record: 4,763-4,842
Average Number of Years Managed: 6.2
Number of 100 WAR PTMs: 12

Twelve players who earned over 100 Baseball Reference WAR in their playing careers became managers. Of those 12, only Ted Williams and Frank Robinson began their careers after 1927. Mel Ott is the only other 100 WAR player turned manager who started his career after 1915. In fact, eight of the 12 had careers that started in 1907 or before.

In addition, 10 of these 12 players were, at one point in time, a player manager. Only Ted Williams and Walter Johnson saw their playing and managerial careers not overlap.

When looking at their managerial careers, Cy Young and Honus Wagner managed just 11 games combined (they went 4 – 7), Kid Nichols managed 169 games and Eddie Collins only helmed a team for 336 games. The rest managed for at least four seasons, with Frank Robinson (16 years) and Rogers Hornsby (14 years) managing the longest.

Tris Speaker rates out as likely the best manager. His .543 winning percentage is the second highest and he is one of two to win a play-off series/pennant/World Series (Hornsby was the other). Walter Johnson and Nap Lajoie have the highest winning percentage of the group at .550, but never reached the post-season. They are followed by Speaker and Ty Cobb (.519), discounting Collins (.521) for lack of experience.

In all, the 100+ WAR players turned managers are slightly below .500, being hurt demonstrably by the longest tenured of the group, Hornsby and Robinson, who combined for 1,988 loses.

 

90 WAR Players Turned Managers

Record: 1,551-1,247
Average Number of Years Managed: 9 (however 21 came from one Manager)
Number of 90-99.9 WAR PTMs: 3

Keeping with the trend, both Cap Anson and George Davis were player-managers who began their careers in baseball’s infancy.

Outside of Anson (.578 winning percentage and five pennants), Mathews and Davis were not particularly adept managers. They managed for three seasons apiece and, combined, went 256-300. That said, adding Anson’s sterling managerial record to the 100 WAR group brings the total 90+ WAR PTMs record to 6,314-6,089. A far cry from the below .500 work of just the 100+ crew.

 

80 WAR Players Turned Managers

 

Record: 172-213
Average Number of Years Managed: 2
Number of 80 WAR PTMs: 2

When we stretch to 80+ PTMs, we add two names: Christy Mathewson and Roger Connor. Both were player-managers who played during the turn of the century and managed quite poorly. Connor only managed for part of one season: his team went 8-37. Mathewson managed for three years and posted a .482 winning percentage. However, that was good enough for the eighth best winning percentage among 80+ WAR PTMs.

Adding Mathewson and Connor to the mix don’t move the needle much: the record of Hall of Fame players turned managers with 80+ WAR is 6,486-6,302.

70 WAR Players Turned Managers

Record: 3,426-3,036
Average Number of Years Managed: 7.8
Number of 70 WAR PTMs: 6

This group adds the first player who started his career after 1960 and became a manager (Pete Rose). Rose, like the five others in this cohort, was a player-manager at one point during their playing career. Another similarity to their higher WAR brethren: four started their careers before 1895 and Frankie Frisch started his career in 1919.

Fred Clarke is the managerial star of this group and the only player, so far, who can challenge Anson for managerial supremacy. His .576 winning percentage spread over 19 seasons resulted in four pennants and one World Series.

That said, the group is pretty evenly split: Clarke, Rose and Frisch had .500+ winning percentages, while the other three (Bill Dahlen, Bob Caruthers and Pud Galvin) had sub .500 winning percentages. Caruthers and Galvin didn’t get any run as managers, going 23-59 combined. As a group, though, the 70 WAR PTMs are nearly 400 games above .500 and raise the stellar players turned manager’s record to 9,912-9,338.

60 WAR Players Turned Managers

Record: 2,873-3,056
Average Number of Years Managed: 5.6
Number of 60 WAR PTMs: 8

Thanks to Alan Trammell, Buddy Bell and Willie Randolph, we have added three more players to the list who started their careers after 1960, were worth at least 60 WAR and became managers. There are now four such players with Frank Robinson (began his career in 1956) just missing the cut. However they are a distinct minority. Of the 31 managers with at least 60 WAR, just seven began their playing careers after 1940. In fact, 13 began their careers before 1900; 20 began their careers before 1920; and 24 players began their careers before 1940.

Of the eight 60 WAR PTMs, just three were player managers and more began their careers after 1970 than before 1900. However, as a whole, this group didn’t make particularly good managers. They combined to go below .500, with only Buddy Bell, Yogi Berra and Joe Cronin having significant managerial careers. Collectively, they have just four pennants and five play-off appearances between them with no World Series victories.

50 WAR Players Turned Managers

Record: 8,215-7,859
Average Number of Years Managed: 4.9
Number of 50 WAR PTMs: 25

Expanding the pool to 50+s adds 25 players turned managers, 17 of whom were player-managers. Oddly, only Tony Perez and Joe Torre started their careers during or after 1960, while eight began their careers before 1900 and 11 began their careers between 1903 and 1932.

Torre stands out in this group, winning as many World Series as the others combined; however he does have just the sixth best winning percentage.

Lou Boudreau really holds the group back. While he managed for 16 seasons, the second most of the group behind Torre, his winning percentage was just .487 and he had only one play-off appearance (of course he did win the World Series).

Carried mostly by Torre, this group has an impressive win total, but an incredibly short average tenure.

Summation

It does appear that great players who became managers skewed mightily toward the early parts of baseball. In fact, 46 of the 56 players with at least 50 WAR who became managers began their careers before 1940. Not surprisingly, as these were some of the best players of their time, a large portion also served as player-managers.

Of the 57 players with 50+ WAR who became managers:

• 21 began their careers before 1900;
• 11 began their careers between 1901-1920;
• 14 began their careers between 1922-1940;
• Four began their careers between 1945-1959; and
• Six began their careers between 1960-1977.

In addition:

• 40 were player-managers
• 12 managed for just one season
• Five managed for two seasons
• 11 managed for three seasons
• 10 managed for five or six seasons; and
• Eighth managed for 14 or more seasons.

This is my favorite baseball photo. My friend Devin is on the left, I’m on the right, and that’s a cutout of Kevin Mitchell behind us. We’re at a game at Candlestick Park for our favorite team, the San Francisco Giants, sometime around the summer of 1990. I must be about seven. There’s a great story behind how this photo came to be.

* * *

I was born in Los Angeles in 1983. My mom’s from Northern California, my natural father’s lived most of his life in London, and when I was a few months old, we moved there. My natural father didn’t treat my mom well, and in September of 1985, she had enough. Telling him one day that she was taking me out to shop for fall clothes, she and I got on a plane instead and returned to California. My memories start a few months later in the living room of my grandparents’ house where we wound up. I remember my mom on the phone with my natural father. I remember wondering why I couldn’t talk to him. I remember the feeling of absence that lingered long after I had new family and friends. It would be 20 years before I saw him again.

Some people bounce from one sick relationship to another. My mom had been 20 when she met my natural father less than a year after dropping out of college to become a stewardess, being swept off her feet by a man at turns charming, manic, and self-destructive. My natural father may be the most enigmatic person I know, and I’ve spent much of my life trying to understand him. It’s one of the reasons I write. But my mom knew enough by her mid-20s to know she needed something different. She got back in college after we returned to California and fell in love with one of her professors, a kind, decent, and steady person. They’ve been married 25 years now.

My mom and dad bought a house on a quiet street in Sacramento a few months before their wedding. I met Devin a year or two later. He was a couple months older than me and lived around the corner with his mom, Nancy and his sister, Kenna. Devin quickly became my best friend, and in my family’s photo albums, we’re climbing trees, visiting amusement parks, and, in one of my favorite pictures, walking around his front yard in a cardboard box. I owe something to Devin and his mom, too.

* * *

When I think about who got me into baseball, I generally credit three people. There’s my grandfather who gave me a 500-page book of baseball history when I was eight which I read over the course of about three months. Then there’s my dad who gave me my first cards when I was three or four and in time, some of the books he’d had growing up. And then there’s Nancy, the tough woman who raised Devin and Kenna as a single parent. Nancy loved the Giants, tuning into their games regularly, and Devin and I followed suit, becoming fans of the World Series contending team San Francisco had at the end of the ’80s and their young stars, Mitchell and Will Clark.

One day at Devin’s house, I noticed a framed picture of him and Clark. It took me aback, and I wanted more information. Oh, Nancy told me, Will just stopped by. She loved to tell me stories like this. Later, I learned there was a cutout display at Candlestick that people could have portraits taken in front of for a fee, $10 or so. I had pins and baseball cards of the All Star first baseman with the black paint smeared under his eyes and the looping, Ted Williams-esque swing. I had a poster on my wall of animated, behemoth versions of Clark and Mark McGwire towering over San Francisco and Oakland for the 1989 World Series, the Battle of the Bay. Now, I had to have the photo as well.

There was one issue: money. It was always tight when I was young in the early years after my mom left my natural father, and while I never lacked for anything I needed, my family often didn’t have 10 extra dollars. I remember going to restaurants and being allowed to order the two cheapest things on the menu. I remember frugal Christmases and birthdays. My mom also was and is an avowed bargain hunter, one of the most savvy people I know at stretching the value of a dollar, and it would be almost antithetical to her to have paid $10 for that picture. But I think the solution that she and Nancy came up with was much better.

***

My mom took the photo atop this page. Candlestick used to allow people to snap their own photos for free from the sides of their displays, and if there’s been one thing I miss with the Giants’ move to a new stadium a decade ago, it’s that such practices are seemingly a distant memory amidst the more upscale culture of AT&T Park. Nancy and my mom both got photos that day, and while I was initially disappointed, since there was no display of Clark and the photo we got of Mitchell, Devin, and myself looked nothing close to real, it’s become one of my favorite childhood photos. Better than any $10 fake photo could, it captures the realities of my youth. Of not having a lot. Of close friendships. Of baseball.

I’m lucky and thankful to have the life that I do, a life filled to this day with family, friendships, and a game that gives me perspective on it all. It’s funny when I think about it. We could have paid $10 that day at Candlestick for an official picture, and I doubt we’d have gotten our money’s worth. I’ve learned that the best things in life, like the photo my mom took, sometimes don’t cost anything.