Every once in a while, as I’m doing some research for this blog, I’ll come across a baseball statistic that stuns me. What is most surprising, however, is that even after all these years of studying baseball and looking at stats, there are still surprises lurking in the shadows of the ancient statistical tomes.
I’m not suggesting that no one else has ever noticed any of these odd items before, either, but if they are new to me, they might just be new to you, too.
Further, as the title of this blog-post states, statistical oddities may not reveal themselves until a player’s career has long since ended. Conversely, though, some unlikely stats will pop up and demand your attention like an inebriated, embarrassing guest at a dinner party.
This blog-post claims no pretensions that its writer has any real idea of just what a dinner-party actually looks like, so in the name of Frozen Dinners and improvisation, lets eschew any formal organizational structure in this blog-post from here on out, and just indulge our (my) fascination with statistical oddities, free-style, as it were.
To begin with, who do you think were the toughest pitchers to hit (using Hits Given Up per Nine Innings) of all- time?
Did you say Walter Johnson? Well, O.K., he is 33rd on the all-time list having given up 7.47 hits per nine innings in his career. Randy Johnson? You’re getting warmer. He is 22nd on the list.
Remember, we are not talking about WHIP here. Just hits per nine. Yes, of course, you remembered Nolan Ryan. He was the Number #1 toughest pitcher to hit, having given up just 6.55 hits per nine.
Sandy Koufax comes in at Number #2, posting a 6.79 hits per nine ratio. Again, no surprise there.
Number #3 Toughest Pitcher to Hit, Ever? Well, let me save you some time:
Sid Fernandez. Yes, that Sid Fernandez. El Sid. The Mets’ secret weapon in the bullpen against the Red Sox in the ’86 World Series.
Sid Fernandez posted an incredible 6.85 hits per nine innings in his career in 1866 innings. He pitched in parts of 15 different seasons and made exactly 300 starts in his career.
So how many wins did El Sid record out of those 300 starts? Just 114 wins, against 96 losses. In other words, Fernandez ended up with a no-decision in 30% of his career starts, a rather high percentage.
So why didn’t he win more games? Apparently, El Sid just couldn’t get much past the sixth inning. In fact, he completed only 25 games in his entire career! Thus, his bullpen mates ended up swooping down for the win, or they blew the game and took the loss.
Sid Fernandez’s idea of a workout routine was a 6,000 calorie breakfast, followed by long periods of rest and idleness.
Fernandez only reached double-figures in wins in five seasons; his best win totals were 16 (in 1986), 14 (twice) and 12 (twice). That’s it.
Sid Fernandez was, then, one the greatest six- inning pitchers ever. But even though one inning specialists now routinely make it into Cooperstown, (they’re called “Closers”), El Sid will never get in without first paying for a ticket.
Now that’s a strange career.
Almost as strange was the career of a former teammate of Sid Fernandez: David Cone.
At first glance you might not expect Cone to have had a weird career, but let me throw some numbers at you. I’ll do it in the form of a Table so you can more clearly see what I noticed.
The first number represents a season with exactly that number of wins; the second number directly to the right of it represents how many seasons Cone reached that number of wins. So let’s take a look:
20 – 2 (Cone had 2 twenty win seasons)
19 – 0
18 – 0
17 – 0
16 – 1
15 – 0
14 – 3
13 – 1
12 – 2
11 – 1
10 – 0
Cone finished with nearly 200 wins in his career in over 400 starts. His career win-lost percentage was a very nice .606.
But where did all those 194 career wins come from? How does a pitcher have two 20 win seasons, but NO 15, 17, 18, or 19 win seasons, and still have an excellent career?
Cone is the antithesis of Bert Blyleven. Blyleven won nearly 300 games (287) in his career, but his entire career was made up of exactly the kinds of seasons Cone NEVER even had once in his entire career (except for the one lonely 16 win season.) For example, Blyleven produced five 17-win seasons.
There are two types of Hall-of-Famers, and two kinds of HOF voters. One group prefers the bright shining stars that flame out fast, but oh, what beauty when they shined. The other group prefers slow-and-steady-wins-the race. Cone is not in The Hall, nor is Blyleven. But they are on polar opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to the kinds of careers a pitcher who could be considered for The Hall might have.
Now, how about a hitter.
Hitters, of course, are mainly supposed to hit. But it’s O.K., even lauded in some circles, if a particular hitter draws an occasional Base-on-Balls, too.
One particular hitter that, occasionally, did draw a walk was former infielder Alfredo Griffin. Griffin played his first full season in the Majors in 1979, winning the A.L. Rookie of the Year award playing for the Blue Jays. He retired in 1993.
Alfredo Griffin just might have been the worst regular, everyday offensive player in the history of baseball.
Now, I know, there have been lots of really bad offensive players throughout baseball history. But this, as they say, you have to see.
Griffin’s highest single-season on-base percentage in his career was .333 in his rookie campaign of 1979 when he drew a career high 40 walks in 689 plate appearances. He never walked as many as forty times in a season again.
But the season that truly boggles my mind was 1984 when in 441 plate appearances, Griffin drew exactly FOUR walks all year.
How is that even possible?
His batting average that season was .241; his on-base percentage was .248. For his entire career, Griffin posted an OBP of .285 in over 7,000 plate appearances.
Folks, we are talking about a guy that played all 162 games in four different seasons, not some part-time late-inning defensive replacement.
Defensively, by the way, he was pretty good, although he managed to win just one Gold Glove award in his entire career. But even fifteen Gold Gloves couldn’t justify those awful non-hitting skills of his.
You want to hear the best part? 1984, the year he drew just four walks, the year he posted an OBP south of .300, was the Only year he made an All-Star team.
Well, did he hit lots of homers? Nope, just 24 in his entire career.
Did he score lots of runs. Nope, he reached 80 runs scored only once, his rookie season.
Did he steal lots of bases? Well, here’s the thing. He did steal 192 bases in his career, but he was also caught stealing 134 times, a poor “success” rate of .588. In fact, in a two year period, 1980-81, he successfully stole a paltry 26 bases in 61 attempts! He did improve later on in his career, but was never truly an asset on the base-paths.
In 1980, he led the A.L. in triples with 15, and in outs made with 532.
In November of 1988, the Dodgers, enamored by Griffin’s .199 batting average and .965 fielding percentage from the ’88 season, signed Griffin as a free-agent for one million dollars.
Ladies and gentleman, am I missing something here?
To sum up, the weirdest thing about Alfredo Griffin isn’t his career numbers, it’s that he ever had a career at all, and a long career at that.
O.K. Let’s follow Griffin up with a player who actually could hit.
Carlton Fisk was one of the best overall catchers in baseball history. Suffering from numerous injuries early in his career, he nevertheless ended up playing in 2,499 games, amassing 9,853 plate appearances.
Most of his career numbers are pretty standard (meaning very good) for a player of his caliber, especially for a catcher.
But one season late in his career when he played for the White Sox stands out. In 1984, when Fisk was already 36 years old, he slugged a reasonable 21 home runs. Now, normally when a player hits over 20 homers and plays more or less every day, their RBI total lands somewhere in the 75-90 range, give or take a few.
Somehow, despite hitting 21 homers, Fisk managed to drive in only 43 runs in just under 400 plate appearances. I am guessing that his RBI total that year has to be one of the lowest ever recorded, perhaps the lowest, for a player who hit at least 20 homers in one season.
I am not casting any aspersions on Fisk’s talent or on his career, but that is one fluky statistic.
Finally, there is the strange case of Storm Davis.
Davis was an extremely young man of 20 when he threw his first pitch for the Orioles in 1982. By the age of 22, Davis had already pitched 525 innings in the Majors; there were no Joba Rules in those days.
By 1989, Davis was a member of a formidable Oakland A’s rotation. In that year, his age-27 season, Davis enjoyed his career-year. Despite tossing just 169 innings, Davis posted a record of 19-7.
It was the worst 19 win season in major league history.
Here are the ugly peripheral numbers behind that inflated win total:
ERA: 4.36, WHIP: 1.506, Strike-Outs: 91, Walks: 68, K’s / 9 innings: 4.8, Hits / 9 innings: 10.
In short, if Davis had pitched that year for virtually any other baseball team, he would have ended up with a sub-.500 win-lost record.
Of course, the Kansas City Royals, unable to see past Davis’ gaudy win total, signed Davis in the off-season to be the ace of their staff for over a million dollars (still big money in those days.)
The Royals were rewarded with a 7-10 season in 1990.
This is one reason why some small-market teams continue to be unsuccessful. When they do splurge on a free-agent, it’s usually the wrong guy.
Davis’ career was strange because he was actually a pretty good pitcher who pitched terribly one season, still won 19 games, and was rewarded with a large contract as a free agent.
I’m absolutely positive there are many other players who have had strange, unlikely individual seasons and /or careers. If you can think of others and would like to share them, by all means please do. I’m not necessarily talking about One-Year Wonders; I already did a prior blog-post on that topic.
Now, let’s see what kind of strange, unlikely seasons we are in store for in 2010. We know they’ll happen. We just don’t know yet who they’ll happen to.
And once again, thank you for taking the time to read my blog. I appreciate it.
Bill
Posted in
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White Sox
Player Narratives, and the Hall of Fame
Do me a favor. Take a look at these final career numbers, and tell me if you think the player who compiled these numbers is probably in the Hall of Fame or not. Do not try to guess who the player is, because we’ll come back to that later. Please allow the numbers to speak for themselves:
2,460 Games
2,490 Hits
441 Doubles
493 Home Runs (27th)
1,550 RBI (42nd)
1,349 Runs
1,305 Walks
4,458 Total Bases (50th)
1,704 Runs Created (49th)
Triple Slash Line: .284 / .377 / .509
OPS+ 134
1,447 Assists (10th at his position)
1,775 Double Plays Turned (5th at his position)
I’m choosing not to include this player’s WAR because it has become too easy to simply go directly to that one statistic and form one’s judgment based on that stat alone. I will tell you that it is better than some HOF’ers, and not as good as some others.
At this point, you are probably withholding your final judgment based on who the player is. I would probably do the same. But why do we do that? Why does the player’s identity matter so much in our final evaluation as to whether or not he belongs in The Hall? Shouldn’t the numbers speak for themselves?
The truth is, we tend to place a great deal of weight on the player’s particular narrative. Did he play for one team his entire career? Was he beloved by millions, or was he a surly jackass who alienated press and public alike.
Certainly, we want to know, too, in which era the player performed. Were his numbers special for their time, or were they more representative of a good but not necessarily a great player?
What about intangibles such as playoff performance, overcoming significant personal or professional handicaps, being a suspected cheater, or suffering a tragic, career-ending injury at a relatively young age?
What position did he play? Historically, more offense has always been expected from outfielders and first basemen than from middle infielders or catchers.
If I told you the numbers listed above belonged to Duke Snider, (they do not, but they plausibly could have), you, too, would probably choose to enshrine the well-respected slugger from the legendary Boys of Summer. The Brooklyn narrative and the lure of baseball’s so-called Golden Era would be too strong to resist. Mickey, Willie and The Duke, and all that.
Similarly, if I told you those are Willie Stargell’s numbers, (again, they are not), once again, you would allow that those statistics are sufficient to make the case that “Pop” Stargell, the lifelong Pirate and spiritual leader of the 1979 We Are Family championship ball-club, belongs in the Hall of Fame.
On the other hand, if I told you that these numbers belonged to Dick Allen, Jose Canseco, Carlos Delgado, or Joe Carter, for various reasons, you might very well come to an opposite conclusion regarding their HOF-worthiness.
The truth is, when it comes to whom we deem to be HOF-worthy, we love our narratives. We tend to work backwards, I think, and use statistics to rationalize our preconceived prejudices regarding who does or does not belong in The Hall.
Certainly, there are a handful of players who obviously belong in The Hall, are there not? Lou Gehrig comes to mind. Gehrig slugged 493 home runs, (as many as the player whose stats are listed above.) He died young and tragically, and was a fabled member of the ’27 Yankees.
Mike Schmidt also comes to mind. A dominant player in his era, Schmidt compiled 54 fewer total bases than did the mystery player joining us today.
No one I’ve ever heard of has ever argued that Willie “Stretch” McCovey doesn’t belong in The Hall. A tremendous run producer, McCovey drove in just five more runs in his career than did our soon-to-be revealed player. McCovey topped 30 homers seven times. Our Mystery Player accomplished that feat ten times in his career.
Here’s another example. When I was a kid growing up in the 1970’s, it was clear and obvious to all of the neighborhood boys that Catfish Hunter was a Hall of Famer long before he became eligible, while Bert Blyleven was merely a fine pitcher, but not a particularly interesting one.
For those of us now in our early 50’s, that narrative remains powerful to this day. While more recent stats point to Blyleven being far more valuable than Hunter, all I remember about Blyleven is that he pitched in Minnesota for lots of bad Twins ball clubs. It wasn’t until later that I became aware of his reputation as a great prankster, though I doubt even that information would have been enough to sway my opinion of his worthiness for the Hall of Fame.
I now see that as far as his numbers are concerned, Bert Blyleven does belong in the Hall of Fame. Yet, although I recognize that Hunter’s numbers may ultimately appear to be lacking, his narrative remains superior. He was the mustachioed ace of first the great A’s clubs of the early ’70’s, then the ace of the fine Yankees teams of the later ’70’s. He had a great nickname, was always good for a quote, won at least 20 games five consecutive seasons, and died relatively young at age 53.
Therefore, I have come to the conclusion that there’s room for both pitchers in the Hall of Fame. Sometimes, if we remain open-minded enough, life can be a win-win.
O.K., enough of that. Who is our Mystery Player?
He is none other than Fred “Crime Dog” McGriff.
Fred McGriff was well-respected, and generally well-liked, and his numbers appear to be worthy of HOF induction, but there are a few problems with his narrative.
For one thing, unlike Schmidt, McCovey, Gehrig, Gwynn, Ripkin, Kaline, Clemente and so many other Hall of Famers, it is difficult to associate McGriff with any one team. He started out as an extremely productive Toronto Blue Jay, became a highly productive Padre, then moved on to become a reliably productive Brave. Once he left Atlanta, he moved on to Tampa Bay, where, now in his mid-30’s, he provided solid punch in their batting order.
At age 38, clearly his best years behind him, all he did was slam 30 homers, drive in 103 runs and slug .505 with the Cubs. He hit his 490th home run as a Dodger, then retired as a Devil Ray at age 40 in 2004.
McGriff also had the misfortune to have his best seasons in the first half of his career (pre-1994), when hitting 35 homers per season still meant something. By the time he got the opportunity to play before a national audience on TBS with the Braves, every third player seemed to be enjoying 30 homer seasons. His production began to be viewed by that point as ordinary, the norm of what a first baseman should be producing.
That McGriff finished in the top ten in MVP voting six times, that he reached an OPS+ of at least 140 in ten seasons, and that the first time he went on the Disabled List was in his 18th season at age 39 (talk about an Iron Man) is apparently no match for the overall lack of gripping drama, personal tragedy, or single-uniform predictability that sports fans love.
Fred McGriff has now been on the HOF ballot five years. Last year, he was named on just 11.7% of all votes cast. At this point, it seems unlikely that McGriff will be voted into the HOF anytime soon. You, too, may believe that McGriff just doesn’t quite belong in the Hall of Fame.
But if that’s the way you feel, ask yourself this. Is it the numbers or is it the narrative that prevents you from considering him to be a worthy Hall of Famer?
Tampa Bay Devil Rays first base coach Fred McGriff during a Devil Rays/New York Mets spring training game at Tropicana Field in St. Petersburg, Florida. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)