We're back ...

OK, you knew I wouldn't be able to hold out forever. The blog is back at www.joeposnanski.com. Yeah, I gave up. I started my own Web site. Look, everybody's doing it. In fact, I tried to get the Web address posnanski.com ... and it was taken. I mean, seriously, when you can't get the domain "posnanski.com," you know there are too many Internet sites out there.

Anyway, we're back with a new format, but I suspect the same brutally long and incomprehensible blogs with plenty of repeated words and misspellings for you. Click on the typewriter there on the bottom (how about that photo, huh? If I weighed about 50 pounds less and had hair ... I could have been Bogart). For a bonus, my wife Margo will be doing a Mom's blog -- click on the drink for that one. I'm not sure if she's posted any blogs yet, but I suspect she will very soon and they will be superior in quality to mine, but significantly shorter. Word for word, nobody will top me word for word.

Thanks for reading. Oh yeah, one more time, for old time's sake, you might want to buy the book.

One more time, for old time's sake ...

Well, I couldn't leave it like THAT. I mean, I could not just end this thing with that list of Top 100 offensive seasons since 1960, especially since I hated the list. So I worked at it, and came up with a new formula, one that offers results that are much, much more in line with my own thinking. I would explain how I did it, but, like usual, I don't really know. I did find that my old formula double- and triple-counted some things, which explained why it was so weighted toward players from 1995-2006. Also I didn't take in account defense and some other stuff. Anyway, this formula uses many of the same elements, and while I doubt this formula is any more mathematically sound, it better reflects my own feelings about baseball.

Before we get there, I want to thank everyone for their support and for buying The Soul of Baseball. And for old-time's sake, let me offer one more huge, meandering, monster blog.

* * *

Tim Raines. One of the sad parts of giving up the blog, at least for a while, is that I just got my very own Win Shares spreadsheet that allows me to search through the win shares number and … man I could do a lot of blogging with this thing. It’s like a new toy. I love Win Shares. I understand that there are supposed to be various technical problems with them, but i've often proven that technical difficulties don't phase me -- like Bugs Bunny, I never studied law (or statistics). So I can just enjoy the simplicity of it all. The Win Shares system takes much of what Bill James believes about baseball and puts that into a simple number. And since I idolize and admire Bill, that’s more than good enough for me.

Anyway, I was doing some Win Shares research for my Top 100 list, and I found that, with only five exceptions, the Top 75 players in career Win Shares are either in the Hall of Fame or are going to the Hall.

The five exceptions are:

No. 14: Pete Rose. Well, we all know that story.

No. 47: Tony Mullane. A 19th Century pitcher who won 30 games five years in a row. He could pitch both right-handed and left-handed. It was a very different game when Mullane pitched, but it does seem like historians have overlooked him.

No. 52: Rafael Palmeiro. Well, things might loosen up on the steroid stranglehold, but for now it appears that Palmeiro will be on the outside looking in despite his 3,000 hits and 569 homers.

No. 54: Bill Dahlen played from 1891-1911, and he wasone of the first brilliant defensive shortstops in baseball history. He was also, for the time, a power hitter (he finished among the leaders in homers five times), an aggressive base runner (he stole more than 500 bases) and a Moneyball man (he walked more than 1,000 times in his career).

No. 57: Tim Raines.

And finally we get to the point. Raines will be up for Hall of Fame election this year, and it seems clear that that voters do not see him like this -- as one of the 75 best players in baseball history. There are some fairly obvious reasons for this, including these:

-- Raines doesn't have those counting numbers we voters love -- No 3,000 hits, no 500 homers.
-- Raines did not achieve many of the honors we normally associate with all-time greats. He did win a batting title, but he never came particularly close to winning an MVP award (he could have won in 1985, '86 or '87 -- you could argue he was the best player in the NL all three of those seasons -- but he did not receive even one first place vote). He was only chosen to seven All-Star Games, which would be a low total for a Hall of Famer.
-- He was a prominent part of baseball's cocaine scandal of the early 1980s.

Beyond that, though, there was somthing just obsessively underrated about the guy. I remember hearing a touching story once about someone trying to convince Raines that he was a better player than his old teammate Andre Dawson. Now you may agree with this sentiment or disagree with it, but Raines himself wouldn't even hear of it. He thought Dawson was a superstar. And he viewed himself as a good little player rather than as the second-best player in the National League during the 1980s, which is what he was (I think, behind Schmidt). That's how other people viewed him as well.

Raines has his numbers arguments -- he's fifth all-time in stolen bases, but more than that he may be the greatest base stealer who ever lived. He was successful 84.6 percent of the time. Among the Top 50 base stealers (and since they've been keeping caught stealing statistics) that's the best percentage ever. He's also in the Top 50 in runs, runs created (well, 51st in runs created), times on base, walks. He finished in the Top 5 in on-base percentage six times.

But I think his Hall of Fame case is more nuanced: Raines really was a dominant player for several years. He was probably not just the best player in the NL but the the best player in all of baseball from 1983-87 -- those five years he hit .318 with a .406 OBP, he averaged 34 doubles, 114 runs scored, 71 stolen bases every year (and he was successful a stunning 88 percent of the time). He even added 11 homers and 61 RBIs per year out of the leadoff spot. He had more Win Shares over those five years than anyone else in the game. Many people may not have realized at the time -- heck RAINES may not have realized it at the time -- but we were watching greatness.

I honestly don't know what kind of support Raines will get from the voters. We as voters tend to cling to certain things. A few years ago, Dennis Eckersley breezed into the Hall in his first season though it sure seemed like he had a very nuanced Hall of Fame case (pretty good starter for a while, then lousy starter, then dominant reliever for the better part of six years, then pretty average reliever). He went in quick because voters got it into their heads that he had:

1. Won a Cy Young Award with a brilliant relief season.
2. Won 20 games one year as a starter
3. Won almost 200 games and saved 390.

And so he went in. I'm not saying Eckersley doesn't belong in the Hall of Fame; I'm saying that I was surprised he went in so easily. So perhaps enough voters have latched on to Tim Raines who was (in my opinion, at least):

1. The best player in baseball for a five-year period.
2. The best base stealer ever.
3. A guy with more career Win Shares than, among others, Joe DiMaggio, Roberto Clemente, Tom Seaver and WAY MORE than Dennis Eckersley.

* * *

Here are my 10 favorite Ben Folds songs:

1. Landed
2. Philosophy
3. Smoke
4. Fred Jones. Pt. 2
5. Jesusland
6. Uncle Walter
7. Underground
8. The Luckiest
9. Rockin' The Suburbs
10. Alice Childress

* * *

ESPN asked me to pick a face of the Royals franchise for their series which, coincidentally, is called "Face of the Franchise." I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that I spent hours in my room thinking about the question -- I'm not going to lie because the guy who asked me to do this is a reader of this blog and he knows better -- but I did spend a few minutes thinking about it. The rules were that it had to be a CURRENT face of the franchise, and it's very clear that the Royals are in transition. Throughout this decade -- for good and bad -- the face of the franchise has been Mike Sweeney. But this figures to be his last season.

So my first thought was Dayton Moore. I saw that is who my friend Rob Neyer picked. It's a good choice. But I passed on Moore because I think as this team progresses (assuming this team does progress as I think it will), Dayton figures to step more and more into the background. He doesn't want to be up front leading the parade, that's just not his personality.

Then I thought about Alex Gordon, who I think will be an All-Star third baseman. I get the sense people think this has been a disappointing rookie season for Gordon, especially because he was, I think, the almost unanimous preseason choice to be rookie of the year. What happened, though, is he got off to an absolutely abysmal start; I mean he was awful at the plate and in the field. Gordon has a laid back personality -- it's difficult to tell what he's thinking. This is both good and bad -- it's good because he was hitting .161 on May 12, and he was undoubtedly thinking "AARRGH! OH MY GOD! I SUCK! HELP!" So we didn't need to know that. At the same time, he looked so laid back that many fans and outsiders wondered if Gordon was AWARE that he was hitting .161.

"You suck!" a few yelled, you know, as a gentle reminder.

He was plenty aware. He pulled himself together. Since June 8, he's hitting .302 with 17 doubles, 3 triples, 8 homers and a .502 slugging percentage in 235 at-bats. This is the Rookie of the Year performance everybody expected from him. He could still afford to walk a bit more, and power will come, but he's 23 and he figures to make multiple All-Star games and become an icon in Kansas City.

That said: I didn't pick him as face of the franchise. I also didn't pick Joakim Soria, who I hope will not get overlooked in the Rookie of the Year voting. Soria may not deserve to WIN the award because he hasn't been in a position to put up big counting stats -- wins, saves, what have you. But he's pitching about as well as anyody in the game. His magic date is May 20 -- since then he has allowed 3 runs. That gives him an 0.86 ERA. The league is hitting .123 against him over that time.

(A brilliant reader suggested that they should play Van Morrison's "Gloria" so fans can shout "S-O-RRRRRRR-I, S-O-R-I-A" when Joakim comes into the game. Naturally, I love this idea. Some have also suggested playing Laura Branigan's Gloria; I don't like that as much).

I also didn't pick Brian Bannister, who I hope will not get overlooked in the Rookie of the Year voting. I know a lot of people love Matsuzaka for the award, and he has been very good. But look at the numbers:

Matsuzaka: 13-9, 3.79 ERA, 164 IP, 151 hits, 164 strikeouts, 17 HR, .245 batting average against, 119 ERA+.
Bannister: 9-7, 3.31 ERA, 127 IP, 113 hits, 63 strikeouts, 9 HR, .236 batting average against, 142 ERA+.

Not bad, eh? I love watching Bannister pitch -- the guy has an idea out there. LIke I say, though, I didn't pick him either.

Enough suspense: I picked Billy Butler. I don't really know if he's the face of the franchise or not, but there's just something great about this guy. First of all, he can really, really hit. One scout friend of mine compared him to a young Manny Ramirez, which isn't bad. But also, he's just got this lovable, Gilligan quality about him. There are plenty of other possibilities -- I didn't even mention Zack Greinke or Mark Teahen or Gil Meche -- but I'm just predicting here and now that Butler will be the guy.

* * *

OK, time for the new "100 Best Seasons EVER since 1960." I like this formula lot better -- I've incorporated a little bit of defense in there (not much, but a little bit) and tried to take out some of the double counting I was doing before. I really like this list:

1. Barry Bonds, 2001
2. Barry Bonds, 1993
3. Barry Bonds, 2002
4. Mickey Mantle, 1961
5. Barry Bonds, 2004

As you can see, Barry still has four of the Top five spots (he had the Top four spots in the Best Seasons v1.0). But what I like about this version is that it gives him full marks for his absolutely amazing 1993 season. That was small-head Barry, and his later numbers seem so much more impressive. But in 1993, Bonds hit .336 with 48 homers and 123 RBIs. He walked 126 times so his on-base percentage was a very nice .458. He stole 29 bases. He won a Gold Glove. He slugged .677 which was the highest slugginng percentage in baseball since Mantle in 1961 (and you see Mantle's season there at No. 4).

It's very interesting -- if you believe the story, it seems that in 1998, after dominating the game in an unnoticed way for more than a decade, Bonds decided to get noticed. He saw the way America fawned over McGwire, Sosa and the home run, and so he bulked up by whatever means and became this massive, hitting terminator who so thoroughly tilted the game that soon managers raised the white flag. Forget his home runs, Bonds' biggest number in the record books may be 120 -- his 120 intentional walks in 2004 -- living proof that Bonds simply became too good to play professional baseball.

But while he forever changed the perception of himself -- for good and bad -- he also made too many people forget just how good he was before the armor, the muscles and BALCO. His 1993 season is one of the best in baseball history.

6. Sammy Sosa, 2001
7. Norm Cash, 1961
8. Carl Yastrzemski, 1967
9. Frank Robinson, 1966
10. Mark McGwire, 1998

I won't lie ... part of my quest as I redid my original formula was to figure out why Yaz's 1967 ranked so low (it ranked 36th in the original). I don't know that I ever really figured it out, but I adjusted things and Yaz moved up the charts. I adjusted it a bit more and Yaz moved higher. Finally I got to the formula the way I wanted, and Yaz was at No. 8, which I think is a good place for him to be. I think his season was certainly more significant and better than either Sosa's 2001 or Cash in 1961, but I can live with this. There, right behind it, is Frank Robinson's Triple Crown season of 1966.

A quick few words about Norm Cash's amazing season: You generally know he hit .361 with 41 homers, 132 RBIs and 124 walks. I mean, that's an all-time season if there ever was one. A lot of people call that a fluke season, and to some degree it was. But Cash was an outstanding player who never really got his due because baseball was so Triple Crown conscious. After 1961, Cash never hit better than .283 and he never again hit 40 homers or drove in 100 runs. BUT he had a career OPS+ of 139, which is better than a lot of Hall of Famers, and he did hit 30+ homers four more times, and he played in a time when runs were mostly hard to come by.

11. Albert Pujols, 2003
12. Willie Mays, 1965
13. Barry Bonds, 1992
14. Joe Morgan, 1975
15. Hank Aaron, 1963

So which Joe Morgan was better?

The 1975 Joe Morgan: .327/.466/.508, 17 homers, 94 RBIs, 107 runs, 132 walks, 67 steals, 169 OPS+
The 1976 Joe Morgan: .320/.444/.576, 27 homers, 111 RBIs, 113 runs, 114 walks, 60 steals, 187 OPS+.

My gut feeling would have been to say 1976 because of the OPS+ difference and the better counting stats. That might still be the right answer ... but it might not. In 1976, Morgan had 3 more doubles and 10 more homers, plus the added RBIs and runs. But in 1975, Morgan got on base 32 more times (12 more hits, 18 more walks, two more hit-by-pitches) and stole seven more bases (while being caught just once more). I don't have the math capacity to figure this out. It seems to me to be awfully close. It may come down to the whole OPS argument -- how good a statistic is OPS? It's better than batting average, sure, but you run into some serious mathematical problems when you just add on-base percentage and slugging percentage, just a couple being:

-- Everybody tends to agree that on-base percentage is more telling than slugging percentage.
-- Slugging percentage usually takes up a larger percentage of OPS because slugging percentages are almost always higher than on-base percentages.

So in Morgan's case, his 68-point slugging difference in 1976 dramatically tilts his OPS (and gives him that huge OPS+ lead). And it also tends to down plays Morgan's 22 point OBP advantage in 1975. I'm babbling now. They were both great seasons. My formula finds that 1975 was better.

16. Willie Mays, 1962
17. Frank Robinson, 1962
18. Reggie Jackson, 1969
19. Barry Bonds, 1996
20. Barry Bonds, 2003

Reggie finished FIFTH in the MVP voting in 1969, and I'm still not exactly sure how that's possible. Well, actually, I am sure. I just spit on OPS a minute ago, but I should repeat that it's a very good thing that OPS has been accepted into the larger arena because it is still SO much better than just using batting average and basic counting stats that had been the core of baseball analysis for so many years. Harmon Killebrew won the MVP award in 1969, and you could certainly argue looking back that he had the best season (he did lead the league on on-base percentage) but that's probably not why he won. He probably won because he had 140 RBIs. If that same race happened today, writers might use OPS, OPS+ and slugging, and they would see that Reggie led in all three (then again they might not, the writers did vote for Justin Morneau last year -- ugh).

21. Will Clark, 1989
22. Jeff Bagwell, 1996
23. Willie McCovey, 1969
24. Joe Torre, 1971
25. Dick Allen, 1972

I was surprised to see Clark's season up here so high -- it wasn't in the Top 200 in my original list. But I think this proves again how flawed my original list was. In 1989, Clark hit .333/.407/.546 with 38 doubles, 9 triples, 23 homers in a lousy hitters' home park. The season belongs, I think

Joe Torre's season also wasn't on my original list, which does tell me something. Everyone here knows I love the advanced statistics, even though I don't understand half of them. I love playing with the numbers, and I harp all the time on the problems with batting average and RBIs, and I want to understand the context of everything. That said: I don't think I want to get so far away from it that I cannot appreciate a guy hitting .363 with 24 homers and 137 RBIs.

26. Rickey Henderson, 1990
27. Mike Piazza, 1997
28. Jose Canseco, 1988
29. Robin Yount, 1982
30. Ken Caminiti, 1996

All hail Jose Canseco's 1988 season -- .307/.391/.569, 42 homers, 124 RBIs, 120 runs, 40 stolen bases. I sure had a lot of Jose Canseco rookie cards back then. The Donruss ones especially.

31. Frank Thomas, 1997
32. Barry Bonds, 1990
33. Jason Giambi, 2001
34. Albert Belle, 1998
35. Dick Allen, 1964

One thing I like about this list is that it isn't so geared toward the huge power hitters of the post-strike era. I'm not sure that this list reflects reality better -- Giambi's 2001, for instance, may deserve to be a lot higher.

36. Joe Morgan, 1973
37. Willie Mays, 1964
38. Kevin Mitchell, 1989
39. Jason Giambi, 2000
40. Willie Mays, 1963

Hmm, my list puts Joe Morgan's 1973 season (.290/.406/.493, 26 homers, 82 RBIs, 116 runs, 67 steals) above his great 1976 season. I'm not sure I agree with that one. But it does tell you just what a dominant player he was in the mid-1970s.

41. Carl Yastrzemski, 1968
42. Albert Pujols, 2006
43. Joe Morgan, 1976
44. Mike Schmidt, 1974
45. Tony Gwynn, 1997

There's Mike Schmidt. One of the real problems of my other list was there wasn't a single Mike Schmidt season in the Top 100. That's just wrong. I'm surprised it's his 1974 season that ranks as his best (.282/.395/.546, 36 homers, 116 RBIs, 23 steals) but it was certainly an outstanding season. I wish George Brett's 1985 would have ranked higher, but hey, I didn't say the formula is perfect.

46. Rickey Henderson, 1985
47. Bobby Murcer, 1971
48. Hank Aaron, 1969
49. Albert Pujols, 2004
50. Joe Morgan, 1972

My biggest surprise was that Bobby Murcer made the list. It isn't that I have anything against Murcer, I just never thought of him having one of the best 50 seasons of the last 50 or so years. He hit .331/.427/.523 with 25 homers, 94 RBIs, 94 runs in a lousy hitting environment. Baseball Prospectus translates his stats to .352/.442/.621 with 32 homers, 107 RBIs 106 runs.

51. Rod Carew, 1977
52. Willie Mays, 1960
53. George Brett, 1985
54. Dave Parker, 1978
55. Mike Schmidt, 1980

There's Brett in '85. And there's Dave Parker's terrific 1978 season. You know, I've made this point before, but if Parker had not fallen off the cliff from 1981-84, he's probably in the Hall of Fame. Those four years (three and a half because of the '81 strike) he hit .275 with 43 homers and 185 RBIs in 440 games. These, of course, were the drug years for Parker.

The next two years in CIncinnati, he hit .292 with 65 homers and 241 RBIs in 322 games.

When you consider than Parker finished 288 hits shy of 3,000, 61 homers shy of 400 and 95 hits shy of a lifetime .300 average -- well, what could have been.

56. Ron Santo, 1964
57. Harmon Killebrew, 1967
58. Ryne Sandberg, 1984
59. Alex Rodriguez, 2000
60. Howard Johnson, 1989

Santo! Good to see him on this list, and he was terrific in 1964 (.313 average, 33 doubles, 13 triples, 30 homers, 114 RBIs, 164 OPS+). You know, we sometimes have discussions with Royals manager Buddy Bell about whether Santo should be in the Hall of Fame. Buddy says yes. I say yes. But the Star's excellent Royals writer and my friend Bob Dutton says no. In fact, he says quite emphatically: "Buddy ... YOU were a better player than Ron Santo." To which Buddy blushes.

Is it true? Was Bell better than Santo?

Santo: .277/.362/.464, 342 homers, 1331 RBIs, 1134 runs, 125 OPS+, 324 win shares, five Gold Gloves.
Bell: .279/.341/.406, 201 homers, 1106 RBIs, 1151 runs, 108 OPS+, 301 wins shares, six Gold Gloves.

No, by the stats, it seems Santo was better (even if Buddy was a better fielder). We should also take a look at home/road splits since Santo played in a brilliant hitters' park; Bell not so much.

Home
Santo: .296/.383/.522, 216 homers, 743 RBIs, 659 runs.
Bell: .285/.350/.411, 99 homers, 567 RBIs, 591 runs.

Well, that's a big difference. And on the road?

Santo: .257/.342/.406, 126 homers, 588 RBIs, 479 runs.
Bell: .274/.331/.401, 102 homers, 539 RBIs, 560 runs.

Hmm. I don't think you can say that Buddy Bell was better than Santo. But I'll say that's closer than I would have thought.

61. Alex Rodriguez, 2001
62. Jeff Bagwell, 1999
63. Craig Biggio, 1997
64. Frank Howard, 1968
65. Johnny Bench, 1972

Johnny Bench's 1972 should be higher because of his defense, I think.

66. Luis Gonzalez, 2001
67. Eddie Mathews, 1960
68. John Olerud, 1993
69. George Brett, 1980
70. Jeff Kent, 2000

George Brett's 1980 would have been higher except he only played in 117 games that season. My favorite line from that year came from umpire Steve Palermo who said Brett was so hot he could get down two strikes to God and still get a hit. I love quotes that add one extra layer of absurdity -- it's one thing to say Brett could get a hit off of God. But Steve had to add the two strikes part. It's like a few years ago, I was with a coach who saw Mike Sweeney taking ground balls, and he said: "You know, Mike Sweeney would rather face Nolan Ryan in a phone booth at midnight than have to field a tough ground ball." I liked the "at midnight" addition.

71. Carl Yastrzemski, 1970
72. Ken Griffey Jr., 1997
73. Barry Bonds, 1991
74. Roberto Alomar, 2001
75. Roger Maris, 1961

This remains one of my favorite baseball facts: Roger Maris was not intentionally walked one time in 1961.

76. Pete Rose, 1969
77. Larry Walker, 1997
78. Mike Schmidt, 1982
79. Carlos Delgado, 2000
80. Barry Bonds, 1997

Rose hit .348 with 33 doubles, 11 triples, 16 homers, 120 runs scored and he also on a Gold Glove.

81. Willie Stargell, 1973
82. Jim Rice, 1978
83. Gary Sheffield, 1996
84. Willie Mays, 1966
85. Rico Petrocelli, 1969

And there you go Jim Rice fans: There's his 1978 season. Please consider it my final gift to you. And how about Rico Petrocelli? He hit .297/.403/.589 with 40 homers.

86. Joe Morgan, 1974
87. Albert Pujols, 2005
88. Jeff Bagwell, 1994
89. Barry Larkin, 1996
90. Barry Bonds, 2000

I was a columnist in Cincinnati when Barry Larkin won the MVP award in 1995, and I remember thinking it wasn't a great choice. I thought Larkin was a terrific player, and I did think that he was a a steadying force for that team, but I guess I've always been a bit skeptical about people giving too much credit for leadership or what have you. And Larkin's basic stats in 1995, while good, were not what I had in mind when I thought of MVPs (.319, 15, 66, 98 runs scored). Looking back, it seems that Maddux could have been the MVP that year -- he did go 19-2 with a 1.63 ERA. I regrettably remember pushing Dante Bichette.

Anyway, the point is that in 1996, Larkin DID put up some serious MVP numbers: He hit .298/.410/.567 with 33 homers, 36 steals, 32 doubles, 117 runs scored. He won a Gold Glove. He was just as much of a leader (though, of course, the Reds weren't as good a team). And he finished 12th in the MVP voting.

One other thing about Larkin: He is the first guy that I watched live, day-in, day-out who always seemed to give you a good at-bat. With Larkin, you never worried about him coming up against a pitcher with control problems and popping up on the first pitch. He rarely struck out and never (as far as I can remember) struck out on a terrible pitch. He always seemed aware of the situation and what the team needed -- he just had a heightened awareness of the game. I'm not comparing the skills of the two players, but I think these are the same things people say now about Derek Jeter.

91. Barry Bonds, 1995
92. Mickey Mantle, 1962
93. Will Clark, 1988
94. Alan Trammell, 1987
95. George Foster, 1977

I'll ask the question one more time: If Trammell wins that 1987 MVP award that he so richly deserved, would voters consider him a more viable Hall of Fame candidate? ... Do you remember when George Foster hit those 52 homers in 1977? Having grown up in that environment where 30 homers was a monster year, that number almost seemed impossible.

Top 10 home run seasons of my baseball childhood (1973 to 1985):
1. George Foster, 1977, 52
2. Mike Schmidt, 1980, 48
3. Dave Kingman, 1979, 48
4. Jim Rice, 1978, 46
5. Mike Schmidt, 1979, 45
(tie) Gorman Thomas, 1979, 45
7. Willie Stargell, 1973, 44
8. Tony Armas, 1984, 43
9. Davey Johnson, 1973, 43
10. Darrell Evans, 1973, 41
(tie) Reggie Jackson, 1980, 41
(tie) Ben Oglivie, 1980, 41
(tie) Jeff Burroughs, 1977, 41

These were the larger than life people when I was growing up. Three of them -- Schmidt, Stargell and Reggie -- are in the Hall. Rice may go soon. The others didn't have Hall of Fame careers (maybe Evans did, but no voter thinks so) but they are still the monsters of my childhood.

96. Cal Ripken, 1984
97. Jim Thome, 2002
98. Jimmy Wynn, 1969
99. Tim Raines, 1985
100. Fred Lynn, 1979

We end with five personal favorite players. Thanks so much for reading this far (assuming you did) and thanks for reading the blog. I'll check back in from time to time, and, of course, I'm sure I'll be back promoting assuming I ever write that next book.

The 100 Best Seasons EVER*

*According to this ridiculous system I invented.**
** Oh yeah, not really ever. Only since 1960.

OK, let me say this right up front: This system is badly flawed. I'm telling you now that I don't like it, and I don't agree with many of its conclusions. And so any comments you may make ripping this system, I probably agree with them. However, I worked too hard on all this to just throw it away. OK, that's not actually true ... I didn't work that hard on it. But I did come up with the 100 greatest offensive seasons since 1960 using a spreadsheet, and that's quite a mathematical accomplishment for me. Obviously I'm going to put it on the blog.

The formula I used takes into account the following seven categories:

RCAA: Runs Created Above Average, a Lee Sinins invention which shows how many, er, runs were created above average, I guess.
OPS: On base plus slugging percentage.
OPS+: Baseball Reference's brilliant tool putting OPS into historical and ballpark context.
EQA: Baseball Prospectus' Equivalent Average which measures total offensive output per out -- I don't really understand it. This is because the Baseball Prospectus people are a lot smarter than I am.
WARP3: Another BP invention -- Wins Above Replacement Player. And this ... well, if you care, please go to their site to find out what this does.
Fantasy: To take Winnie Cooper to the playground and ... oh, wait, are we still on the air? I love Winnie Cooper. You know Danica McKellar has a new book coming out called "Math Doesn't Suck," which has an Amazon number about 3,033,489,483,485 places higher than The Soul of Baseball. People, I love Winnie Cooper too. But it's a MATH book.
Sorry. Fantasy is just a fantasy stats compilation -- homers, batting average, RBIs, stolen bases, runs scored.
Secondary Average: A personal favorite stat.

Using all seven of those categories equally (I think -- I wonder if Danica would come over and help me with this), I came up with this formula, and it spit out these as the 100 greatest seasons since 1960 (in order). You will notice one stat that I did NOT use in my formula is Win Shares. This is because I want to compare the results of my formula to Win Shares. As you will see ... it didn't do so good. And as you will also see, I prefer Win Shares. I also use Baseball Prospecuts' Translated Stats a few times; as I understand it, this is an attempt to translate stats into a 1990s context.

So here are the best seasons, the year and in parenthesis what their Win Shares number is for that season. And, of course, comments. I have an announcement about this blog too, but you have to read down to get to it. Nothing is easy here, friends.

1. Barry Bonds, 2004 (48)
2 Barry Bonds, 2001 (54)
3. Barry Bonds, 2002 (49)
4. Barry Bonds, 2003 (39)

Well, OK, that's a bit over the top don't you think? Bonds has the FOUR best seasons since 1960? And don't worry, there is plenty more Bonds coming up. The system scores Bonds 2004 season (.362, 45, 101 with a .609 on-base percentage) as the best season of the last 47 years, with his 73-homer season coming second, his .370, 46, 110 season coming third and his rather blah .341, 41, 90, 231 OPS+ season fourth.

You know, when you look at these ludicrous numbers -- and you realize that baseball teams essentially gave up against him, they just started walking him intentionally again and again -- it does make the steroids issue seem just a little bit superficial. I mean, what, the other guys didn't have steroids too? This guy towered over the game in a way unlike anyone in baseball history, including Babe Ruth.

5. Mark McGwire, 1998 (41)
6. Sammy Sosa, 2001 (42)

Well, the top six seasons all seem to have have strong steroid connections. You know, I was thinking about McGwire in 1998, and in some ways I wonder if he isn't the biggest loser in steroidgate. While everyone focuses their anger directly at Bonds with perhaps a little left over for Bud Selig, McGwire's amazing season has sort of just faded away. I don't get the sense most people are angry at McGwire so much as they want to forget that the "the year the home run saved baseball" season ever happened, sort of the way we might feel about Godfather III or that whole misguided Lucky Town-Human Touch thing. You almost wonder if, when recounting baseball history, people might just skip over 1998, like it was the Dallas dream season or the 13th floor at a hotel.

It's too bad too, because McGwire was a whole show -- he was the opening act (with his mammoth pregame batting practice routine), he was the main event (he was hitting monstrous homers practically every night), he was doing encores (those rather entertainingly awkward, "I'm not comfortable with being America's hero" press conferences). I've often said that Barry Bonds is the best player I've ever seen, and that's true, but I've never been around a baseball phenomenon that quite matched the McGwire summer of 1998.

Sosa's 1998 season is not in the Top 100, which surprised me. He won the MVP award that year over McGwire, though pretty much every statistical analysis I've found shows that McGwire's year wasn't just better ... it was a lot better.

7. Barry Bonds, 1993 (47)
8. Mickey Mantle, 1961 (48)
9. Norm Cash, 1961 (42)

You know, if you had told fans in 1961 that players had started taking performance enhancing drugs -- they probably would have believed you. Look at the crazy seasons. Roger Maris, of course, hit 61 homers. Norm Cash had a world-class season, one of the great season in baseball history, and never came close to matching that again. Mantle had a monster season. Rocky Colavito hit 45 homers. Jim Gentile had by far his best season. Vada Pinson hit .343. Cha Cha Cepeda drove in 142 RBIs. Roberto Clemente, after a relatively slow progression, hit .351 with (to that point) a career high 23 homers. Wally Moon hit .328. George Altman hit 27 homers. JImmy Piersall, who had never hit .300 (and never would again in a full season) hit .322. And so on. And so on.

Now for all I know, players WERE using some sort of performance enhancing drugs -- heck that theme goes back to the ancient Olympics, where naked runners took all sorts of herbs that were supposed to help their athletic performance. But I think it's probably more likely in 1961 that the effects of expansion and other more subtle things allowed some players to have big seasons. It doesn't take a large swing in baseball to create a big effect. So while, I do believe that PEDs and heavy weight lifting did play a role in the recent offensive explosion, I think we're missing the big picture if we don't remember that the smaller strike zone, home run parks, better bats and various other things play their role as well.

10. Barry Bonds, 1992 (41)
11. Barry Bonds, 1996 (39)

One more effect of the big-headed Barry ... nobody seems to remember just how Willie Mays good Bonds was when he was skinny.

12. Jason Giambi, 2001 (38)
13. Frank Thomas, 1994 (25)
14. Jason Giambi, 2000 (38)
15. Jeff Bagwell, 1994 (30)
16. Larry Walker, 1997 (32)
17. Mark McGwire, 1996 (29)
18. Barry Bonds, 2000 (32)

Wow, there was an awful lot of offense between 1994-2000, wasn't there? My system may be skewed that way, though I tried to go with some historically neutral stats. Oh well. You might also want to pay a little extra attention to the two strike seasons -- Bagwell and Thomas. For a little fun, here are Baseball prospectus' translated stats on those seasons:

Bagwell: .369/.463/.812, 40 doubles, 65 homers, 162 RBIs, 146 runs.
Thomas: .377/.510/.803 30 doubles, 61 homers, 135 RBIs, 140 runs.

19. Joe Morgan, 1976 (37)
20. Rickey Henderson, 1990 (39)
21. Willie McCovey, 1969 (39)
22. Joe Morgan, 1975 (44)
23. Gary Sheffield, 1996 (34)
24. Carlos Delgado, 2000 (36)
25. Albert Pujols, 2003 (41)
26. Luis Gonzalez, 2001 (37)
27. Barry Bonds, 1998 (34)
28. Jim Thome, 2002 (33)
29. Barry Bonds, 1997 (36)
30. Albert Pujols, 2006

This might not be the best place to put this, but I think I will be taking a hiatus from this blog. There's a rather large book project that I am in the early stages of researching -- a project that I probably should not yet unveil because, well, who knows, it may not work out ... I'll give you all the details if it becomes official. I'm excited about it, I know that, but it will take up a huge amount of my time and so I feel quite certain that this blog will more or less go dark. I'll still check in now and again (I have to finish that defense series). I will tell you that the upcoming book has something to do with one of the players listed above. And I will tell you that this blog has been a blast.

31. Jeff Bagwell, 1999 (37)
32. Edgar Martinez, 1995 (32)
33. John Olerud, 1993 (37)
34. Derrek Lee, 2005 (33)
35. Mark McGwire, 1999 (30)
36. Carl Yastrzemski, 1967 (42)

One of the disappointments for me, whenever I do one of these big statistical spreadsheets, is that I can never get the numbers to add up to how I feel. To me, Yaz's 1967 is one of the five greatest seasons in baseball history, not just the last 47 years. He won the Triple Crown, he carries his team down the stretch like no one, perhaps, ever, and there was immense pressure on him as Boston's favorite son. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that Yaz's season was better than McGwire had in '99 or Lee had in '05 or Olerud had in '93 or Martinez had in '95 -- taking nothing away from those guys. You could keep going all the way up too; for me, Yaz's season should be up at the top with Bonds. Clearly, Bill did a much better job with Win Shares than I did with this system. Of course, Bill took about 10 years to come up with Win Shares while I did mine in an afternoon. Anyway, let me reiterate again that this list not only doesn't represent my own personal opinion, it strongly clashes with my own personal opinion.

37. Alex Rodriguez, 2000 (37)
38. Alex Rodriguez, 2005 (34)
39. Manny Ramirez, 1999 (35)
40. Reggie Jackson, 1969 (41)
41. George Brett, 1980 (36)

My original book idea before The Soul of Baseball was to do a book on Brett's 1980 season. It's fair to say that the excitement in the New York publishing world for that idea was, well, let's call it "muted." I'm still fascinated by that season, though, not only because Brett came REALLY close to hitting .400 (even into the last week he had a semi-realistic chance), but because I think something changed with that chase. Yes, the media hounded Maris, and they hounded Aaron, but Brett's chase had a whole new element. That was the year ESPN came into being. It was still a start-up then, but it definitely changed the landscape. Also, sports talk radio was building up. I would say that was one of the first times when the media not only covered a sporting event but actually affected the outcome of an event -- that is, I think had the media intensity been lighter, Brett might have hit .400. It's just an opinion, though. Anyway, George was really good that year. That season should be much higher on the list, even though he was injured much of the year.

42. Frank Robinson, 1966 (41)
43. Mickey Mantle, 1962 (33)
44. Todd Helton, 2000 (29)
45. Jeff Bagwell, 1996 (41)
46. Albert Belle, 1995 (30)

Robinson's year was the Triple Crown year. Helton had the amazing numbers (.372, 42, 147) but he's the first on the list to have fewer than 30 win shares in a full season. Belle had that amazing 1995 seasons with 50 homers and 50 doubles, though he lost the MVP award to Mo Vaughn. Belle did not have the most Win Shares that season -- Barry Bonds, Greg Maddux and Barry Larkin all had more in the National League, Edgar Martinez more in the AL -- but Win Shares confirms that Mo Vaughn was a lousy choice (Mo had just 24 Win Shares that season).

47. Jeff Bagwell, 1997 (32)
48. Chipper Jones, 1999 (32)
49. Brian Giles, 2002 (31)

Boy, this system sure loves Jeff Bagwell. What is this -- his fourth season on the list? How about Brian Giles? That was one heck of a season -- .450 OBP, .622 SLG, 38 homers, 173 OPS+.

50. Frank Robinson, 1962 (41)
51. Hank Aaron, 1963 (41)
52. Willie McCovey, 1970 (33)

Here are McCovey's home run numbers from 1963 to 1970: 44, 18, 39, 36, 31, 36, 45, 39.
Here are BP's translated home run numbers for same years: 58, 24, 49, 47, 43, 55, 57, 49.

53. Frank Thomas, 1995 (28)
54. Albert Belle, 1994 (24)
55. Rickey Henderson, 1985 (38)
56. Willie Mays, 1965 (43)
57. Kevin Mitchell, 1989 (38)

More BP translated stats: Willie Mays in 1965 hits 64 translated home runs. He also hits 64 the year before.

That Kevin Mitchell 1989 season is one of the great fluke years ever, isn't it? He had never hit more than 22 homers, and in '88 he had a .319 OBP. Then, blammo, in '89 he banged 47 homers in a terrible hitting ballpark (he hit 25 of them on the road) and had a 192 OPS+. Fluke, right?

No. I'll tell you what: I had the pleasure of covering Kevin a few years later in Cincinnati (and it was a pleasure -- the guy was a writer's dream). He was absolutely amazing -- every bit as good as he was in '89. Better even. In 95 games in 1994, he hit .326 with 30 homers and an absurd .681 slugging percentage. He was a hitting machine. In his three years in Cincinnati (that included 225 games interrupted by injury), he hit .332 with 55 homers, 167 RBIs, a .414 OBP and a .631 SLG.

58. Frank Thomas, 1997 (39)
59. Alex Rodriguez, 2001 (37)
60. Mike Piazza, 1997 (39)
61. Ryan Howard, 2006
62. Todd Helton, 2003 (34)
63. Frank Thomas, 1996 (28)

Wow, lots of Frank Thomas too. I wish the system would have put Piazza's season higher. I saw Piazza play last night against the Royals -- he looks so strange in that Oakland uniform. And then the AFLAC trivial question was: Can you name the five players who hit 500 home runs and played for the A's. I got Reggie Jackson and Mark McGwire immediately. Frank Thomas came after a few seconds thought. I then went back to the Philly A's and came up with Jimmie Foxx. So I had four. But for the life of me, I could not come up with the fifth.

And then the answer came up: Willie McCovey. And this was one of those rare trivia questions where my initial reaction wasn't, "Oh, I should have gotten that!" Instead it was "WHAT? Willie McCovey played for Oakland?"

He did. Eleven games. And that got me thinking (as did watching Piazza in that Oakland unform) to come up with the all-time "Boy they don't look right in that uniform" team:

1B: Willie McCovey, Oakland (11 games, 1976).
2B: Ryne Sandberg, Philadelphia (13 games, 1981).
SS: Mark Belanger, Los Angeles (54 games, 1982)
3B: Graig Nettles, Atlanta (112 games, 1987)
LF: Rickey Hendeson, Anaheim (32 games, 1997 -- you can take your pick with Rickey .. he played with like 394 teams, but I REALLY don't remember the Angels time).
CF: Willie Mays, New York Mets (135 games, 1972-73 -- the most famous "He looks all wrong" player-uniform combo ever).
RF: Dwight Evans, Baltimore (101 games, 1991).
C: Gary Carter, San Francisco (92 games, 1990 -- unless you think he looked worse in a Dodgers uni the next year).
DH: Harmon Killebrew, Kansas City (106 games, 1975)
P: Steve Carlton, Cleveland (14 starts, 1987 -- also played for the White Sox, Giants and Twins).
P: Tom Seaver, Boston (16 starts, 1986 -- I forgot about this too).

64. Dick Allen, 1972 (40)
65. Carl Yastrzemski, 1970 (36)
66. Albert Pujols, 2004 (37)
67. Jim Gentile, 1961 (32)
68. George Brett, 1985 (37)

I still think Brett should have won the MVP award in 1985. That was the year Don Mattingly won, even though:

1. Brett had a better average, a much higher on-base percentage, a better slugging percentage and scored more runs. True Mattingly did have more doubles, homers and RBIs -- but this was in large part because he got more than 100 more at-bats than Brett (Mattingly didn't walk much) and played on a much, much, much, much, much, much better offensive team. You can't put the word "much" in there enough. That Yankees team led the league runs. Mattingly had Rickey Henderson, Dave Winfield, Ken Griffey, Willie Randolph, Don Baylor in his lineup. That Royals team finished 13th in runs scored and had Frank White hitting in the cleanup spot during the World Series.

2. Nobody pitched to Brett. He set an American League record with 31 intentional walks -- and why not? Do you know how many Royals on that team had 400-at bats and an OPS+ better than 100? Two. One was George Brett. The other was Steve Balboni, who hit .243.

3. Both players won a Gold Glove, but Brett won it at an obviously more important defensive position.

4. The Royals actually WON the division, while the Yankees did not. True, the Yankees won more games that season, but as George C. Scott said in The Hustler: "This isn't football. You don't count yardage. At the end of the game you count your money, and at the end of the game you count your money. That's how you find out whose best. The only way."

People in the Midwest like to rage a bit about New York media bias. I don't buy it. Yes, there was a Mattingly love affair going on -- still is. And why not? He was a pure ballplayer, I loved him too. But I don't think think Mattingly beat Brett because of New York bias. While there is no doubt in my mind that Brett was more valuable than Mattingly, the guy who really got screwed that year was ... New York's Rickey Henderson. He had more Win Shares than both guys.

69. Barry Bonds, 1990 (37)
70. Albert Belle, 1998 (37)
71. Jim Edmonds, 2004 (33)
72. Harmon Killebrew, 1969 (34)
73. Barry Bonds, 1995 (36)

It's amazing, but Belle may have had his best season -- it IS is highest Win Shares season -- with the White Sox in 1998. That was the year hit .328 with 49 homers and 152 RBIs. He also finished a staggering EIGHTH in the MVP voting. You know, it's amazing, everybody knows that the MVP voting is very much affected by RBIs. And yet, since 1950, there have been six seasons where a player has had more than 150 RBIs. On two of those players won MVPs.

-- Manny Ramirez, 1999, 165 RBIs (finished tied for third with Robbie Alomar, behind Pedro and winner Pudge v.2.0).
-- Sammy Sosa, 2001, 160 RBIs (finished second behind Barry Bonds, who had a pretty good year).
-- Sammy Sosa, 1998, 158 RBIs (Won the MVP).
-- Juan Gonzalez, 1998, 157 RBIs (Won the MVP)
-- Tommy Davis, 1962, 153 RBIs (finished third behind Willie Mays and teammate Maury Wills, who had the 104 steals)
-- Albert Belle, 1998, 152 RBIs (finished eighth, but to be fair, Gonzo won that year for his even more impressive RBI total)

74. Todd Helton, 2001 (26)
75. Todd Helton, 2004 (30)
76. Manny Ramirez, 2000 (28)
77. Alex Rodriguez, 1996 (34)
78. Wade Boggs, 1987 (32)
79. Frank Thomas, 1991 (34)
80. Albert Pujols, 2005 (34)

I should say right here that Jim Rice's 1978 season -- the reason I decided to do this crazy thing in the first place -- scored 36 Win Shares, so according to Bill's system it woul rank higher than most of the seasons around here. Bill also has Rice's 78 season ranked higher than Rocky Colavito's 1961 season (36-33), which was my original comparison:

Baseball Prospectus translates the two seasons like so:

Rice, 78: .300, 63, 141. With 26 doubles, 11 triples, 125 runs, 57 walks, 158 strikeouts, a .362 OBP and a .666 SLG.
Colavito, 61: .283, 48, 128. With 32 doubles, 2 triples, 117 runs, 97 walks, 89 strikeouts, a .389 OBP and a .601 SLG.

Rice seems to have a decent sized ege here, especially with homers and slugging. In Rocky's defense, BP does not view 1961 as his best year. They like 1958 a lot better.

Colavito, 58: .307, 52, 123. With 34 doubles, 2 triples, 90 runs, 84 walks, 117 strikeouts, a .406 OBP and a .686 SLG.

81. Travis Hafner, 2006
82. Ken Griffey Jr., 1997 (36)
83. Willie Mays, 1964 (38)
84. Barry Bonds, 1994 (25)
85. Frank Thomas, 1993 (32)
86. Ken Griffey Jr., 1993 (29)

It's good to see Griffey's name on the list. It's really incredible -- nobody was bigger than Griffey for most of the 1990s. And then, blammo, it was over, and nobody really thought much about him. It's hard to come up with a similar case -- someone that big (I mean we're talking about, perhaps the biggest name in sports) suddenly just becoming another guy. I guess something similar may have happened to Penny Hardaway. He was big too. Remember Lil' Penny?

In case you are counting, this is the 11th Bonds season in the Top 100. It's also the sixth Frank Thomas season on here. That's a whole lotta Frank Thomas.

87. Rod Carew, 1977 (37)
88. Willie Stargell, 1973 (36)
89. Willie Mays, 1962 (41)
90. Jason Giambi, 2002 (34)

That Rod Carew 1977 season really stands out in my mind because I was 10, and as I have mentioned on here before, I believe that's the magical baseball age, that time after realization but before cynicism. I didn't think it was even possible to get Rod Carew out, and it's pretty obvious to see why. He hit .388 that year. But against Cleveland when I would have been paying attention, he hit an even .400. And even more to the point, the games that are clearest in my mind are those late night games in Calfornia. Those are the game I tried to listen to with my pen radio under my pillow. In those games, Carew went 11 for 22 with three homers and five doubles.

Baseball Reference really is the greatest thing to ever happen, isn't it?

91. Jim Thome, 1996 (26)
92. Ken Caminiti, 1996 (38)
93. Fred Lynn, 1979 (34)
94. Jose Canseco, 1988 (39)
95. Gary Sheffield, 2003 (35)
96. Joe Morgan, 1974 (37)
97. Jack Clark, 1987 (33)
98. Gary Sheffield, 2000 (31)
99. David Ortiz, 2006
100. Frank Thomas, 1992 (32)

Sure, why not finish it off with another Frank Thomas season?

Rock and Rice

I really didn’t mean for the following to come out like this. Really. Some of you people already think I hate Jim Rice, and I really don’t. Rice was one of the overpowering presences of my childhood. Of course, this alone does not mean all that much in historic terms – other overpowering presences of my childhood include Mark Fidrych, John Montefusco, John Mayberry, Bucky Dent, Charlie Spikes and Joe Rudi.

But the problem whenever you talk about something like the Hall of Fame is that emotions fray, and people lose all perspective. When someone says, “I don’t think Jim Rice is quite a Hall of Famer,” well, to a Jim Rice fan that sounds like, “I think Jim Rice sucks.” Then they bring up statistics to prove that you are an idiot, and you bring up counter statistics to show that, no, actually, they are the idiotic ones. This escalates until we find that everybody hates everybody, and we’re in a quagmire in Iraq, and Michael Vick kills dogs (allegedly) and Brad breaks up with Jen, all because I think Jim Rice is not a Hall of Fame player. It’s too much pressure for one man.

Sigh. Anyway, I was going to move on from this Rice craziness, but somewhere in all the comments I found an interesting one that compared Rice to Rocky Colavito. I’m a huge Rocky Colavito fan, of course, because he was nice to me at a ballgame once (he was an Indians coach then), and also because that same day I saw him stand at home plate and throw a baseball over the center field wall, which is still one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.

I realized then that I had never really delved into the career of Rocky Colavito. I mean, I knew the basics. Good player. Power hitter. Great arm. Traded for Harvey Kuehn. Came to Kansas City for a year (that was the year A’s owner Charley Finley decided that in order to win his team had to lead the league in homers). Returned to Cleveland. Was pretty well finished at 33.

But I had never looked harder. Now I did. And I came up with two things. One, I must admit, is directly related to a different comment I saw, a comment that suggested that because Jim Rice led the American League in some 12 categories over a 12-year period (1975-86), he should automatically be a Hall of Famer. These statistics would include: Games played, at-bats, runs, hits, homers, RBIs, slugging percentage, total bases, extra base hits, go-ahead RBIs, multi-hit games and outfield assists.

OK, so how about this? From 1957-1966 – I realize this is the more conventional 10-year period, but still – Rocky Colavito led the American League in: Games played, times reached base, home runs, RBIs, total bases, extra base hits, outfield assists and outfield double plays. I don’t know how to look up multi-hit games or go-ahead RBIs or whatever else. But here’s the thing: There were, I believe, better players in the American League at that time than in Rice’s time. For instance, Colavito was second in runs and in runs created to Mickey Mantle. There was no Mickey Mantle from 1975-86. Colavito was second in outfield putouts to Al Kaline. He was second in plate appearances to Luis Aparicio.

This is not to downplay what Rice accomplished. This is to upplay (a new word!) what Colavito did. And he did it without Fenway Park. Look: Both men had careers that tailed off shockingly, and because of that their counting stats do not blow you away (especially Colavito’s). But now Jim Rice seems to be on the brink of the Hall of Fame because of 12 years … maybe we should take another look at the Rock for his 10.

Then there’s the second thing, and if you are a huge Jim Rice fan and angry at me already, you might want to stop reading right now. Really. Just stop. I didn’t mean for it to come out this way, but I wanted to see if Rocky Colavito’s best year (1961) was better than Jim Rice’s best year (1978).

Here are the basic numbers:

Colavito (1961): .290/.402/.580, 45 homers, 140 RBIs, 129 runs, 30 doubles, 2 triples, 157 OPS+.
(Note: This is probably not Colavito’s best year – in 1958 he went .303/.405/.620 and had an OPS+ of 181. But it was a shorter season and he missed some games, so 1961 has better counting numbers and is probably a more comparable year).

Rice: (1978) .315/.370/.600, 46 homers, 139 RBIs, 121 runs, 25 doubles, 15 triples(!), 158 OPS+.

The seasons are very similar. And each had their advantages. Colavito’s year was an expansion season and so there were many huge offensive years – that was, of course, Maris’ 61 homer year, Norm Cash’s monster year, Jim Gentile’s monster year, etc. Rice’s year came in a pretty low-scoring run environment.

On the other hand, Colavito played in a home Detroit ballpark that did nothing for him. Look at his rather staggering home/road splits in 1961:

Home: .257/.373/.500, 18 homers, 62 RBIs.
Road: .320/.429/.653 27 homers, 78 RBIs.

And of course, Rice’s home/road splits from his great season are quite famous:

Home: .361/.416/.690, 28 homers, 78 RBIs.
Road: .269/.325/.512, 18 homers, 64 RBIs.

So, now what? Well, here’s what I tried to do: I came up with a formula. I took several of the more advanced statistics available. I took runs created above average, sprinkled in some wins above replacement player, added a touch of equivalent average, secondary average, OPS+ and on-base percentage and finally incorporated in your basic fantasy stats (average, home runs, RBIs, stolen bases). And then I came up with a super score to determine how good the season was.

I found my answer. And then I thought: Hey, this is kind of fun, why don’t I try to come up with the top 100 seasons since, say, 1960.

Here are the two rather surprising results (at least according to the formula I used):

1. Colavito’s season scores better. Not a lot better, but maybe 5 percent better.
2. Neither season ranked in the Top 100 since 1960.

I found this second one hard to believe. I mean, yes, it’s true, I don’t see Rice as quite a Hall of Famer. But I’ve always thought him a fearsome hitter, and I always thought of 1978 as a truly great season, even taking into account the Fenway Factor. I’m not saying I’m right – I’m sure my formula is absurdly flawed. Still, it wasn’t close. Colavito’s season ranked 148th; Rice’s season ranked 182nd. Strange.

Tell you what: Next blog, I’ll list the Top 100 seasons, with a few comments.

Editor's note: To respond to one more Jim Rice comment: My personal opinion is that I don’t think Jim Rice’s fire or lack thereof has much, if anything, to do with the way Hall of Fame voters deal with him. I do know that one friend (not a voter) often talks about how once he was reading a profile of Rice in a game program. The interviewer asked Rice to name his favorite day in baseball. He responded: “Every other Monday,” or something like that, referring to payday. I think that little story reflects the impression Rice left on a lot of people – including teammates. But again, I don’t think that’s what is keeping him out of the Hall so far. If he had 450 homers, I bet he’d be in. Plus, I think he will get in quite soon, maybe as soon as this year.

Bloggy Friday: More fun with Rice ...

I have to say that it has been fun watching the comments section blow up over Jim Rice -- not to mention what's happening over at Baseball Primer. It has inspired me to work on a project that I don't know if I will get done today ... but it has been a little while since I've tried one those mass absurd statistical analysis. I'm putting one together now. Hold on.

In the meantime, brilliant reader Anonymous -- boy, you post a lot of comments, Anon -- offers this challenge:

Perhaps one of the anti-Rice contingent would like to swat this factoid out of the way:

Among ballplayers with at least 382 homers and a .298 career batting average, everyone other than Rice is in the Hall or expected to make it when they are eligible.

First off, this is probably not true -- Larry Walker qualifies even under these rather restrictive standards, and I suspect he won't go to the Hall of Fame. Second, I would not consider myself part of the anti-Rice contingent so much as someone who believes he was a great player who falls just shy of the Hall of Fame standards I have set.

However, I am not here to swat away this factoid so much as add a few more.

-- Among players with at least 1,400 strikeouts and fewer than 700 walks, everyone other than Rice is not in the Hall of Fame.
-- Among players who have grounded into more than 300 double plays and hit fewer than 450 homers, everyone other than Rice is not in the Hall of Fame.
-- Among non-Gold Glove winners who never played on a World Series Champ and had fewer than 2,500 hits, fewer than 400 homers and less than a .300 average, everyone other than Rice is not in the Hall of Fame.
-- Among those players with fewer than 60 stolen bases, fewer than 80 intentional walks who also led the league in outs twice, everyone other than Rice is not in the Hall of Fame.

See, it's fun! Try it for yourself.

Bloggy Friday: Great Scott!

People around baseball don't always have very nice things to say about Superagent Scott Boras. But nobody should doubt that he does his job very well. He doesn't win every fight, but he wins most of them; he gets his players a lot more money than they might have gotten otherwise. And when you come right down to it, that's a pretty good description of an agent's job.

I bring this up because there seems to be some sort of feeling that Boras "caved in" when it came to Royals draft pick Mike Moustakas. This is because Boras only got Mike a $4 million signing bonus. This just shows you the sheer genius of Boras. He wins even when people think he loses.

When the Royals drafted Mike Moustakas, they were strongly led to believe by the family that he would sign for slot money. That's $3.15 million for the No. 2 pick in the country. At the time, you have to remember, Moustakas was not necessarily viewed as the second-best player in the country. Many people liked high school pitcher Rick Porcello more. Many people like Georgia Tech catcher Matt Wieters more. Some people liked high school hitter Josh Vitters more. There were others too. People generally viewed this draft like the end verse of the original Gilligan's Island theme song -- "David Price and the rest." Moustakas was one of the rest. Sure, he was certainly well-liked by scouts, but nobody was comparing him to Alex Rodriguez. Well, not until after the draft anyway.

Point is, Moustakas' family had every right to be thrilled by what was happening. Suddenly Mike was the No. 2 pick in the country and he was going to get more than $3 million, this was way more than they had expected. Mike wanted to play ball, and this looked to be an easy deal and a whole lot of money.

This is where Scott Boras comes in. Scott does not settle. It doesn't make him likeable -- to management or to fans -- but from what I can tell, he doesn't care about that. He cares about getting his player the most money. And so for two months, he did not even talk to the Royals. He didn't even call to turn down the slot money offer, he made it seem like an offer of $3.15 million was beneath contempt. Scott understood the thing that all tough agents understand. Time was on his side.

After a while, the tension started to deepen. Scott Boras likes tension. At first, everybody around baseball believed that Moustakas would eventually sign. But after a while, doubt creeped in. Scott Boras likes doubt. He floated this whole thing about Moustakas being the best high school infielder since A-Rod, and that was quoted in lots of places. Sure, it was generally quoted in the ironic "Here's Boras being Boras" context, but that doesn't matter -- Moustakas-A-Rod. The two names became somehow linked in the mind.

Then people started PREDICTING that Moustakas would not sign. Now it was more than doubt. Now it was apparent that the Royals had to do something or lose the No. 2 pick in the draft. A couple of days before the draft, Boras' lieutenant said that Moustakas' would not sign for less than $7 million. Another brilliant tactic -- the impossibly high demand. Boras knew he wasn't getting $7 million for the kid -- but that wasn't the point. The point was panic. Scott Boras LOVES panic.

The day of the draft deadline, Boras left a message with our own Star reporter Sam Mellinger -- "I talked to the family; I think Mike is going back to school." Well, there it was, the final salvo, a cherry on top of the panic sundae. Sam called me and we talked about it. We appreciated that could be a last-day tactic. But what can you do? When Scott Boras tells you the kid's going back to school, that's news. Up it went on the Internet. The Royals suddenly looked like big losers.

That's about the time when Royals GM Dayton Moore went back to ownership and they moved the offer up to $4 million. That was a high as Moore was going to go -- that's what Alex Gordon got two years before, and Gordon was a much more advanced prospect coming out of college than Moustakas is coming out of high school. The Royals then waited and waited, and 10 minutes before the deadline Boras called and said that against his recommendation, the family had decided to accept the offer. This is another brilliant Boras trait. He's always happy and ready to make himself the bad guy.

And this is how, with a little manipulation, a few unreturned calls, and a bad-ass reputation, Scott Boras got Mike Moustakas 850,000 more dollars than anyone had any right to expect. That's not a bad two month's work. And people think he lost, which I would guess just makes it all the sweeter.

Rice, Rice Baby ...

There’s a spirited debate going on here in the comments about the Hall of Fame merits of Jim Rice. The debate is spearheaded by brilliant reader and Rice lobbyist Paul White. I have received numerous thoughtful and thought-provoking emails through the years from Paul on the subject of Jim Rice – and, in fact, I was one of those “morons” who took points away from Rice because of his penchant for the double play. Paul straightened me out pretty good on that one.

For the record: Paul has not changed my mind on Rice – I still do not see him as a Hall of Famer – but he has softened my views.

That’s not the point of this blog, though. I’m always fascinated by the logic of arguments. In a way, this is what I do as a columnist: Try to break down the logic of arguments. Paul makes many good arguments about Rice, but in one place he does something that brushes me wrong, something that I see people do all the time. It is even something I caught Bill James doing in an email once -- and he actually conceded the point. I bring this up because I NEVER win arguments with Bill. I never really even try to win arguments with him; it’s like having LeBron James as a neighbor and playing him one-on-one basketball in the driveway. The point isn’t to win. The point is to enjoy the losing.

ANYWAY, back to Rice. Here is one of Paul’s basic arguments for Rice: There are 18 left fielders in the Hall of Fame right now (the Hall Web site actually lists 20, but they have Dave Winfield as a left fielder and also a couple of other players who may not qualify in your mind as left fielders). And Rice’s statistics rank quite favorably with the median of those in the Hall. Paul offers these statistics – these are Baseball Prospectus’ translated stats, and not actual stats – for the median Hall of Fame and for Rice.

AVG: HOF, .299; Rice, .293
OBP: HOF, .370; Rice, .354
SLG: HOF, .531; Rice, .545
OPS: HOF, .900; Rice, .899
HR: HOF, 480; Rice, 494
RBI: HOF, 1505; Rice, 1471

Rice, as you can see, ranks right there with the big boys. Of course, I very seriously doubt most BBWAA voters are using Baseball Prospectus’ Translated Stats, but for the sake of this blog, let’s concede the point: Let’s say Rice is at least comparable to the median standard set for left fielders in the Hall of Fame.

Paul then makes the bad jump, in my opinion. He believes that writers are doing him a disservice. The standards have been set, and Rice has met these standards and perhaps surpassed them. He’s as good or better than half the left fielders in the Hall and thus the writers should vote him in. This, as I understand it, is the argument.

Other people have pointed out one obvious flaw: That there are numerous outfielders out there who were better than Rice and are not in the Hall of Fame, including his old teammate Dwight Evans. I would agree wholeheartedly (although I have a pretty passionate email from Paul on the subject of Evans vs. Rice – Paul’s good, folks). But this is not my point either.

My point is this: There is more than one way to get into the Baseball Hall of Fame. Over time, yes, it has all blended into one building, which is great. But of those 20 left fielders – let’s use all 20 for counting purposes – nine were inducted by the veteran’s committee. One, Monte Irvin, was inducted by the Negro Leagues Committee. That means half of the Hall of Famers were, in fact, not voted in by the Baseball Writers Association of America.

I’m not saying that these men are in any way less worthy of the Hall of Fame because the writers ignored them. I believe both of those committees have righted some wrongs and put in some great players that we writers flat missed. It's a shame, for instance, that it took a special committee to put in Monte Irvin, who merits mention as one of the greatest players who ever lived, but spent his best years in the Negro Leagues and fighting for our country in World War II.

No, I’m not suggesting the writers' Hall of Famers are somehow superior or more worthy. I’m saying it isn’t logical to hold up the writers to standards which they had absolutely nothing to do with. The fact that Kiki Cuyler or Chick Hafey or Goose Goslin are in the Hall of Fame has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not the writers should vote in Jim Rice. These guys were not writers’s choices. They were veteran’s choices. In fact, I would argue that because the voters very specifically DID NOT vote in Goose Goslin, any argument comparing his numbers with Rice’s (Paul points out that they are similar) is entirely backward. Goslin’s numbers weren’t good enough for the writers. So what’s the point?

There are 10 left fielders who were voted in by the writers (I will keep in Winfield and Stargell if only because they are Rice contemporaries). The 10 left fielders voted in by the writers are Brock, Kiner, Medwick, Musial, Simmons, Stargell, Billy Williams, Ted Williams, Winfield and Yaz.

Comparing the median numbers of these 10 with Rice doesn’t look quite as good:

AVG: HOF, .292; Rice, .298.
OBP: HOF, .371; Rice, .354.
SLG: HOF, .517, Rice, .502
OPS: HOF, .888, Rice, .854
HR: HOF 439; Rice, 382
OPS+: HOF 133, Rice 129.

And if you want to go with Baseball Prospectus’ translated stats – which are OUT there by the way; they translate Stan Musial to get 730 career homers – it doesn’t get much better for Rice.

AVG: HOF .299; Rice, .293
OBP: HOF, .369; Rice, .354
SLG: HOF, 560, Rice, .545
OPS: HOF, .919, Rice, .899
HR: HOF 575, Rice, 494

And if you just want to neutralize their stats on Baseball Reference, the gap in slugging percentage closes, but everything else is about the same:

AVG: HOF, 298; Rice, .298
OBP: .HOF, 370; Rice, .351
SLG: HOF, .500; Rice, .500
OPS: HOF, .869; Rice, .851
HR: HOF 453; Rice 390

To further the point, all 10 of the writers-choice left fielders were ranked way above Rice in the Bill James Historical Abstract (Winfield was ranked as a right fielder, but he still ranked much higher). That's only one opinion (though it's a pretty good one), but I simply don’t think Rice was better than any of those 10. Maybe you could argue against Brock, though they were very different kinds of players. Maybe you want to get into the Billy Williams vs. Jim Rice debate. In any case, it seems to me quite clear that using the writer’s 10 left fielders as the standard, Rice does not cut it.

Now, let me also say this. I think the writers WILL vote Jim Rice into the Hall of Fame. Momentum is pushing him to Cooperstown. We writers as a group are of that age, we feel that certain nostalgia for the time period, and Rice in memory was a fearsome hitter. The steroids thing has helped him too … how many columns or articles have you read already that gush how Rice hit homers when men were men, when strike zones were real, when bats were made of balsa wood and whatever? I’m not even saying that Rice going into the Hall of Fame is a bad thing … I mean, no, I’m not voting for him, but Rice was a terrific player and a fearsome hitter. He would not be anywhere near the worst player in the Hall – he wouldn’t even be on the “20 man throw-them-out” ballot that I want to create. Which I suppose is Paul’s main point.

But I’m saying the exact opposite of Paul’s argument is true. If we as writers use our own standards set through the years, we absolutely would not vote for Jim Rice.

I love this ...

We were trying to talk the other day about decency and sportsmanship (we might have chosen a better example than Michael Moore, but hey, we take our blog inspiration where it comes), and a brilliant reader named Jeff left this comment, which I thought deserved full attention.

I'm around your age, when I was a kid, I was a good baseball player in a small town that took baseball seriously. I was the sort of kid who always made the all star team, but rarely got to actually play in the all star games (now that I think about it, sort of like the Royals representative).

Well, when I was 10, I made the all star team again, and the coach was the only really good coach in the league. He apparently took a shine to my particular brand of tiny person hustle and defense, so I got to start at 2b and bat 8th or 9th. This coach was a good human being by all accounts...the sort of coach who didn't put up with bullying and offered many words of encouragement, I still admire him. But one game, I was at bat (nervous as all hell) with runners on in a tight game, and a pitch came right at me...I fell/jumped/ducked/evaded. The umpire said "take your base" but I turned to him and said "the ball didn't hit me." The umpire ruled it was a ball and I had to step back into the box (I ended up walking).

Later, after the game, the coach sat me down and lectured me about how wrong I was to tell the umpire the ball didn't hit me. I spoke to my parents about this, and my mother praised my honesty. My dad looked a bit dubious, but stood by my mother.

I'm a 35 year old lawyer now, and I still think about this incident often. I'm proud of what I did, and I'm proud that my parents supported me. There isn't any championship worth winning if you have to avoid your own reflection in the morning.

I asked a good friend about this ... he has a son just entering that Little League age. He's likely to coach his son's teams forever, so I asked him what he thought about this. He immediately said: "The kid's right." I think so too, but I suspect a large minority -- perhaps even a majority -- of youth coaches would have at least felt like the coach in this story. It is so bred in us as to get every edge. Then I asked my friend if he thought that he might someday feel the way the coach felt.

He said -- and I believe this is the most honest answer imaginable -- "I hope not."

Left field: Carl Crawford

Editor's note: We are reporting live from Kauffman Stadium, where Mark Teahen just hit hit first homer in 250 at-bats. We have David Foster Wallace-inspired footnotes again on the bottom of this entry.

Imagine for a moment that they gave out infield Gold Gloves. You may not believe it, but this was actually a verse in the original version of John Lennon’s “Imagine.” No, really, I saw it at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.*

Point is imagine that they did not break out infielders by position – first base, second base, shortstop, third base (you know, just in case you forgot the names of infield positions) – and instead just gave out four Gold Gloves to the four best defensive infielders in each league.

That’s stupid, of course. I’m sure you’ve already picked up the point, but I need to keep going through this charade. What would happen if they gave out four “infield” Gold Gloves? Well, I imagine that no first baseman would ever again win a Gold Glove. Keith Hernandez may have won 11 Gold Gloves and he may be considered by many as the best defensive first baseman ever. But I say he wins zippo if they’re just giving out infield Gold Gloves. You really think he would win over the second-best defensive shortstop in the NL (say, Dave Concepcion)? Not a chance.

No, I think that if they had an “infield” gold glove, they would probably go to two or three shortstops every year. A third baseman or two might win. A few second basemen would sneak in there now and again. And because first basemen would never win a Gold Glove, that defensive position would be viewed with less and less respect until everybody believed that you could win, more or less, with a rock playing first base (or, if a rock is not available, Travis Hafner).

Of course, you being a brilliant reader, you’ve already made the leap to the outfield where they DON’T separate outfielders by position but instead give out the Gold Gloves to what the voters perceive to be the three best outfielders. Because of this:

1. Last year, five of the six outfield Gold Gloves were given to center fielders, and the other one was given to Ichiro Suzuki, who now plays center field.

2. Since 2000, only four non-center fielders have won Gold Gloves. You know Ichiro was one. Well our AFLAC Trivia question (AFLAC, ask about it at work) is: Can you name the other three?***

3. No left fielder has won a Gold Glove since Darren Erstad in 2000, and no one in the NL since Barry Bonds in 1998 (according to our own brilliant reader Paul White).

Partly because of this, I believe left field defense has become vastly underrated in baseball today. I mean, from a logical standpoint: Is left field defense really THAT much less important than the other two positions? Sure, center fielders have to cover more ground, and right fielders have to make the long throw to third. Still, it isn’t like the ball never goes out to left. And it seems to me that left fielders have their own unique challenges. The ball slices away from them, each park has a different area of foul ground, the walls are of various heights and distances; I remember thinking this last year when Royals center fielder David DeJesus (an above average defensive center fielder in my opinion, even if he isn’t particularly fast) moved to left. He really, really struggled. He didn’t like the spin, he had trouble with the wall, he never looked comfortable.

So it seems to me that left-field defense is much more important than most people believe. BUT because most people believe left field defense is not that important, there are not many good defensive left fielders out there. Managers do need a place where they can put their clunky sluggers. The formula seems to go like this:

-- Clunky sluggers who are immobile but are into the game play first.
-- Clunky sluggers who are slightly faster than immobile and have minds that drift play left.

There are exceptions, and the first is obviously Carl Crawford. He’s so good defensively in left, you wonder why the heck he plays left. This is the only kind of left fielder who can win a Gold Glove – a guy who makes you wonder why he’s in left field.

Before I give the rest of the rankings, I want to introduce a concept called I’ve called RASS – the “Rainman Airplane Scouting System.” I believe is one of the most prominent scouting system used in America today. To explain it, I will use one of my favorites, Emil Brown. It is unanimously assumed in Kansas City – and anywhere else where people might care – that Emil is a brutal left fielder. He has always felt that this a bad rap, and I might even agree, but we have very different reasons.

Emil feels like he’s an athletic guy, he has a strong arm, and he says that people judge him poorly because he tends to go for the spectacular (“I’m a playmaker,” he has said, one of those quotes that can be hard to live down).

I think he might be getting a bad rap too, because of RASS. You might recall that in Rainman’s mind, once an airline crashes, that airline is forever unsafe. It doesn’t matter if the airline lands a billion planes in a row safely after that … the crash trumps all, forever.

So it goes with Emil Brown. Four or five times a year, Brown will make an unforgettably bad play. He will kick a ball. He will drop a pop-up. He will do a tango with a ball bouncing around in the in the corner. And it’s quite impossible to get these humorous plays out of your mind. So it really doesn’t matter if Emil Brown is actually an average fielder (John Dewan’s plus/minus system – which I believe is the most exhaustive defensive system out there – ranks him as the fourth best left-fielder in baseball and says he he makes more players out of his zone than anyone else). You can’t help but view him as horrendous because of those few plays.

The RASS system is especially true of actors (Kevin Costner could win four Oscars in the next four years, and I will never be able to get that hideous accent he had in “Thirteen Days” out of my mind****), football players (one bad interception or missed kick at the wrong time will ruin a player’s reputation forever) and presidential candidates.

The best defensive left fielders so far:
1. Carl Crawford
2. Shannon Stewart*****
3. Geoff Jenkins
4. Eric Byrnes
5. Alfonso Soriano

The worst defensive left fielders so far:
1. Josh Willingham
2. Adam Dunn
3. Manny Ramirez******
4. Pat Burrell
5. Jason Bay

Footnotes:

*They also have a cover of Tolstoy’s “War: What Is It Good For?**”

** I’ve been thinking a lot about books lately – well, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want my next book to be. I have lots of ideas, all of them entirely unmarketable (The Duane Kuiper Story; Chess With Priest; What Bob Barker Meant To Me, etc). So I’ve spent even more time than usual wandering through book stores looking to see what sells, and it has made me realize that pretty much every single sports book that has come out in the last 10 years (maybe even the last 100 years) has promised to be some sort of life-altering thing. This is the year that changed baseball, the homer the changed America, the touchdown that changed our economy, the golf chip that cured cancer, the quarterback who changed the alignment of stars … either that or these books are the last something. The Last Innocent Year. The Last Dynasty. The Last Coach. The Last Hero. The Last Batter to Run out a Ground Ball. Damn, we’re staring at a bleak sports future. All the good stuff is over.

Some of these, incidentally, are outstanding books … I’m really not making fun. I know a little something about how you get pushed toward evocative book titles (The Soul of Baseball, after all, wasn’t my choice). Still it does make me wonder if every last, best, life-altering sports book has already been written. I might be stuck.

*** The other three are Erstad (we gave you that one), Larry Walker and Jermaine Dye. AFLAC. Ask about it at work.
(This is incorrect. As one brilliant reader already pointed out ... Bobby Abreu won a gold glove in 2005 playing right field. So add him in too. I may have missed others too).

**** There is no way Kevin Costner will win those four Oscars. None. I had a huge argument once on a bus at the Olympics in Salt Lake City about which actor was worse, Tom Cruise or Kevin Costner. I had Cruise, but I think it’s one of those Clemente vs. Kaline, Wilt vs. Russell, “If a tree falls in a forest …” philosophical questions that can never be answered. You throw Costner’s inanity in “Robin Hood” out there, and I’ll counter with Tom Cruise’s hideous Irish accent 'n “Far and Away.” Give me Costner’s self-righteous performance in “Dances with Wolves” and I’ve got Cruise’s torturous “Give me an Oscar” work in “Born on the Fourth of July.” In recent years, though, I’ve kind of grown to like the crazy Tom Cruise act, plus I thought he was surprisingly good in Minority Report. I’ve never thought Costner was “surprisingly good.” So I may have had a change of heart.

***** A reader suggests that I may have lost my mind by putting Shannon Stewart so high. I respect the sentiment -- I've never particularly liked Stewart defensively. But his numbers are really good. According to my statistical formula, which accounts for several defensive stats, he's the best left fielder in baseball this year. Scouting reports are generally good except for his arm. So I have him second. But I could be wrong.

****** A reader -- well more than one over time -- would like to have a brief explanation why Manny Ramirez ranks so low defensively. Well, I judge these thing by three things: 1. Statistics; 2. Scouting reports from people I know; 3. My own observations. I tend to put my own observations lower than the other two. So ...

-- Statistics. The John Dewan plus-minus system ranks Manny as slighly below abysmal. At last check, he was -14, which means that he is 14 plays worse than the average Major League left fielder. That is very, very bad. His zone rating of .698 is not only the worst among left fielders -- it is the worst among any everyday player at any position. Now, I'm sure the wall plays a role in all of this, but his statistics spell putrid.

-- Scouting reports. I've actually gotten mixed reports, but only because one of my friends just keeps insisting that Manny is underrated defensively. I trust him a lot, actually, but I have other friends who say Manny is every bit as bad as his reputation or worse.

-- My own observation is that when Manny's interested he can make some really nice defensive plays. But he isn't interested much. I don't see him every day, obviously. But I've seen him make too many bad plays out there to believe it's a fluke. That's why I have him as the third-worst in the game.

Bonds Redux

Editor's note: Well, it's been a little while since I've posted. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to apologize for that, but I will, because I'm a big apologizer. Sorry. I've scribbled a few thoughts on Barry Bonds here, and I'm telling you right up front that these are not really finished thoughts. Yes, you are getting unfinished thoughts, a rough draft of my mind. You can't pay enough for that, eh? You also get a few footnotes and a Polish joke. Now that's a blog. Oh yeah, please buy the book.

Well, that was an interesting three weeks. I went to Detroit to sign books, to Milwaukee to watch Barry Bonds ground out, to San Francisco to hear Bud Selig say he would make a sincere effort to see Bonds break the home run record (he did not – Selig, I mean), to New York to escape Bonds and get chased by a beautiful bartender, to Kansas City to change clothes (and not a moment too soon*), and to River Falls, Wisconsin to try and figure out my old friend Priest Holmes (rolled snake eyes on that one). And now, finally, I return home to Kansas City, where it will hit 100 degrees every day for the next week (it is 11:30 p.m. and 90 degrees outside right now -- and that isn't a dry heat, people).

Ah, the glamorous life of a sportswriter.

I will probably tell you the story of the bartender at some point, but first I figure this is a good time and place to wrap up my feelings about Barry Bonds**. I can’t really say I have a much greater grip on this thing after the chase than I did before but I can tell you this: I have never in my life been on an assignment that created more angry email and phone calls than this one. Sure, I’ve had plenty of individual columns that have sparked much greater rage***, but I’m not talking about the columns themselves. I’m talking about the assignment. People were freaking TICKED at me for going on the Bonds chase in the first place.

It was very strange. At the beginning, the “You need to come home and write about something else” emails and phone calls seemed odd and almost quaint, but they kept coming, more and more of them, and they grew angrier, and after a while I started to think that this wasn’t necessarily the minority opinion of a few crackpots. These people – a substantial number of them – were really mad at me for writing about Barry Bonds. I couldn’t tell if it was because they didn’t want ANYBODY to write about Bonds or if they specifically didn’t want ME to write about Bonds, but in either case it was quite unlike any reaction I’ve ever received on any assignment.****

All of this is a way of saying that by the time Bonds finally started hitting home runs, I was gone, and I was more or less emotionally drained. I was in River Falls when Bonds hit No. 756, and I can’t say I felt anything resembling emotion while watching him round the bases, and then point to the sky while his son tried to hug him. I recall the words Roger Maris said went through his mind when he hit his 61st home run: “It’s over.” Not “Thank God it’s over” or “I can’t believe it’s over” or even “It’s finally over.” No. Just “It’s over.” That’s what I thought too.

Since then, though, I have thought more about it, and while I can’t say that I’ve had any breakthrough of clarity on this whole issue, I guess I can say that I’ve started to look at it all a bit differently. Yes, I suspect Bonds used lots of illegal stuff. I suspect many baseball players did. I suspect the powers of baseball not only allowed it to happen, they tacitly encouraged it. Those homers brought a lot of people out to the ballparks. Whether steroids were a big reason for those homers or a small reason (or even no reason at all), I don’t think anyone in baseball wanted to shake things up.

I guess the way I see it now is this way: This is our time. I don’t like the use of performance enhancing drugs. But I don’t like that before 1947, there were no dark-skinned players in the big leagues. I don’t like that for many years, greenies were popped like PEZ in clubhouses (I was told on this trip that amphetamines are actually rated more dangerous – and are therefore punished harder -- on the government drug list than steroids). I don’t like that players threw the 1919 World Series, and I don’t like that Charlie Comiskey sent those players flat champagne. Hey, I don’t like lots of stuff.

But this is what we have. Players have hit lots of home runs in the last 15 years. And now Barry Bonds is the all-time home run champ. He’s the best baseball player I’ve ever seen. He may not be lovable, he may not be admirable and he may not be clean. But I guess I'm not as bothered by that now. It's easy to forget that the home run record -- as cherished as it has been -- is only a number. People will remember Barry Bonds for more than the record, just as we remember the all-time greats for more than their numbers or achievements. Ted Williams spit at fans. Stan Musial signed autographs until the last kid was happy. Rogers Hornsby was a jackass, Ty Cobb sharpened his spikes and, later, may have killed a man, Bob Gibson pitched baseballs with a fire that bordered on pure hate, Gaylord Perry scuffed and spit on baseballs, Babe Ruth visited sick kids in hospitals and also ran naked through trains while being chased by women with knives. Pete Rose gambled on baseball and got more hits than any man ever. Mickey Mantle was an alcoholic. John McGraw once hit an umpire. Cap Anson, more than any single player, created the color line in baseball. Leo Durocher was suspended for gambling. And so on. And so on. And so on.

These are human beings who play these games – multi-layered, multi-faceted, chaotic, untidy, heroic, cowardly, honest and lying human beings – and our memories of them are not simple or stark; they don’t have to be one-dimensional. For me, it has been a thrill to watch Barry Bonds play ball even if I have my misgivings about him. I recognize him as the home run champ, even as I admire Hank Aaron’s home run achievement more. I even like Bonds in an odd way, but I don’t think it would be any fun going to dinner with him (not that he has invited me). One day in San Francisco, I met three different people, and they defined Bonds alternately as: “Cheater,” “Misunderstood,” and “Asshole.” I’ll bet he’s all three and then some.

He’s also man of our time. In many ways, he’s THE athlete of our confusing time. He’s gifted but angry, arrogant but self-aware, rich but needy, transcendent but unloved, innocent but guilty, charming but cruel, private but hungry for the spotlight. If you somehow land 200 years into the future – and the ozone layer still exists – and you were ask: “How would you describe America of the early 21st Century?” you could do worse than to tell the story of Barry Bonds.

I guess that’s how I see it now. I think when I started on this chase, I worried some about the conflicting emotions that Bonds can inspire. How do you tell such a muddled story? Now I think those conflicting emotions ARE the story. There’s nothing neat or orderly about baseball, and there never really has been. In the end, we have this: Barry Bonds is a big character. I suppose the home run king should be a big character.

Footnotes:

* I can’t help but think here of one of my father’s favorite jokes. It’s about the Polish Army – I guess if you speak Polish (my father; not me) and a have a name like Posnanski, you’re entitled to tell Polish jokes – and it goes like this: Apparently the army had been on a very, very long march. Finally, they reached a resting area, and the commander called everyone together and said, “Good news everyone. Tonight, we will have a change of underwear!” Everyone cheered. And the commander said: “Good. Now Grabowski you change with Krzyzewski. Bielawski you change with Mihalik. … In honor of my heritage, the names chosen for this joke are all members of the National Polish-American Sports Hall of Fame, of which I am a proud voter.

** I want to reiterate that what follows is a babbling mush. I’ve read ahead. It's not too late to turn back.

*** I once wrote a column that inspired very large Cincinnati Bengals’ tight end Tony McGee to threaten me. It was strange too because McGee was quite a good guy, and I liked him, and he had actually studied journalism in college, and I wasn’t trying to rip him, and as far as I could tell he did not read the column in question. It is also true, though, that in the column I wrote that he had real trouble catching the ball, and while I can assure you (and tried to assure him) that the context of the column was different (it was actually intended to be a sympathetic column designed to show how hard Tony worked on his receiving skills), I also cannot deny that the premise involved his inability to catch. Well, hey, he did drop two or three touchdown passes that Sunday..

**** It can wear on you as a writer when you are covering something that you suspect people don’t care about. I felt that way a little bit at the Winter Olympics in Torino last year. Remember those? Of course you don’t. Nobody watched. I felt like I was writing for crickets. Still it’s much worse when you are writing stories that you suspect a percentage of readers are violently opposed to reading.

Third base: Pedro Feliz (really!)

Editor's note: OK, we're back on with our best defensive players series. I'm looking for this year's best defensive players, and I'm using common statistics, the super secret information I have received from John Dewan (author of The Fielding Bible), scouting reports from various people I know around the game and my own observations.


Every single time Pedro Feliz throws the ball to first base, I anticipate that he has overthrown the third baseman. I noticed this on about Day 3 of the Bonds chase. There would be a grounder hit to third, I would be half-heartedly paying attention, Feliz would scoop it up and throw the ball and my mind would immediately go, “Oh man, that’s in the stands.”

And the ball would plunk in the first baseman’s glove, shoulder high. Every time.

The first couple of times this happened, I didn’t think much of it. And then I realized it was a constant – there is something about Feliz’s throwing motion that (to me, anyway) makes it look like the ball slipped out of his hands and it will soar high. I asked a scout friend about this, and he said that he had not noticed that (actually he said: “It’s possible you could use a vacation,”), but HE had noticed that Feliz has a funny way of setting his feet when he throws. He said that Feliz looks a little bit off balance when he as he makes the exchange from glove to throwing hand – he just isn’t very smooth.

I asked a different scout about this theory, and he said he had not noticed that at all. HE thought Feliz was fairly steady at third but he, “lacked range.” “He doesn’t have very good instincts, especially to his right,” this scout said.

I bring up these three conflicting views about Pedro Feliz because statistically there is absolutely and positively no doubt that Feliz is the best defensive third baseman in baseball. None. For you traditionalists, he has the best fielding percentage. For the Bill James lover in all of us, he has the highest fielding range. For those looking for a little bit of a statistical edge, he has the best zone rating. And for those, like me, who love John Dewan’s plus/minus system, Feliz is FAR AND AWAY the best in baseball.

And yet, there is something about the way Feliz plays that keeps most people from believing this. Hell, I have a hard time believing it. As I look through the various scouting reports I have on the guy, the best I’ve found is that he’s “reliable” at third. I’ve found others who think he’s a below average third baseman.

This might get at the core purpose of this defensive series – it’s just plain hard to judge defense by what you see. Bill James has often said that if we didn’t keep trustworthy offensive numbers, we would likely not be able to tell much difference between a .300 hitter and a .275 hitter, a 25 homer guy and a 20 homer guy, a 100 RBI guy and an 80 RBI guy and so on. I think this is true, though I would say there are exceptions here – I do think that, in a very short period of time, we would realize that Jason LaRue can’t hit.

Tangent: This year, in 127 at-bats, LaRue is hitting .157. That would be a 1 followed by a 5 followed by a 7. Now, many people have wondered why LaRue keeps playing on a fairly regular basis, and I don’t have a particularly intelligent answer for this; I do have a theory. I think it may have something to do with the regret the Royals feel for not going into the National League a few years ago when they had a chance. Since they cannot have their pitchers hit, they are doing the next best thing.

Two other points about LaRue:

1. He hit .194 in 191 at-bats last year. So that means that in his last 318 at-bats, LaRue is hitting .179. The last guy to get 300 at-bats in ONE season and hit that badly … the great Rob Deer in 1991. He hit .179 in 448 at-bats. Deer did bang 25 homers (13 more than LaRue) and walk 89 times (50 more than Larue). Before that, you have to go back to 1974.

2. Tony La Russa made big news by hitting his pitcher eighth. So where was the national media when Buddy Bell hit LaRue seventh?

The point is we DO have offensive statistics (and pitching statistics) that people generally trust. And while it’s certainly true that even those statistics don’t tell the whole story, and people do seem to think that A-Rod’s RBIs are somehow less filling than Jeter’s or whatever, nobody disagrees that, say, Albert Pujols can hit.

Well, that’s the kind of defensive year that Pedro Feliz seems to be having. He’s having an Albert Pujols defensive year. He leads the league in pretty much every statistic. But because people generally feel that defensive statistics are misleading, inconclusive, incomplete or flat stupid, I suspect most people do not believe in Pedro Feliz.

* * *

Something about awe and the arms of third basemen: I played third base at Royals fantasy camp, in large part because, well, I’ll tell you the story.

First, though, I am about to brag about an athletic talent I have, and I feel it is important to preface this by saying that I am fully away that I am a fat slob. I’m short, I have no jump shot, I was slow even in high school when I weighed 135 pounds, I have brutal eyesight, I can’t hit a golf ball into the air, I fell off a horse the one time I tried to ride, I can’t really skate, and I have never, to my recollection, won a game of pool when the other guy (or girl) did not scratch on the eight ball. So I cherish the very few athletic skills I was born with. These are two:

1. I have always had a ferocious first serve in tennis. I rarely get it in. But when I do, it’s a monster. It was clocked at 103 mph at one of those “How fast is your serve?” booths they have at tennis matches (trust me, they have them). And I wasn’t using my racket there, and the booth was crowded – I’m pretty sure I could have hit 110.

2. I’m a good fielder.

The second talent was hard earned. I have mentioned, time and again, my hero worship of Duane Kuiper and Buddy Bell – it was their fielding ability that captured me. I would go to our little basement in South Euclid and spend hour after hour after hour throwing the ball against the wall and fielding the grounders that bounced back. I really did make myself a good defender. I once went an entire Little League season at second base without making a single error. Now, to be fair, this is partly because except for the one or two lefties in the league, nobody in our league really hit the ball to second base. Cleveland kids, for whatever reason, were pull-crazy. But the point stands.

Of course when I went to fantasy camp, I had no idea how my childhood fielding skills would stand up. It had been more than 20 years since I had played in a hardball game. That was a lot of pasta ago. I was standing by third base and George Brett was working with some guy in the cage. The guy ripped (well, sort of ripped) a hard grounder to my left. I stepped, lunged, and scooped the ball smoothly. Two things happened* (PG-13 Language approaches):

1. George Brett shouted, “Holy shit!”
2. George Brett shouted: “Holy shit!”

No, that’s not one thing. That’s TWO things. First, George Brett, one of the two greatest third basemen ever, a man who towered over the childhood of everyone my age, the guy who hit the pine tar homer, the guy who won batting titles in three decades, the guy who almost hit .400, the guy who hit three homers in a playoff game, the greatest clutch hitter probably of the last 50 years, the king of Kansas City … GEORGE BRETT was stunned enough by my defensive play to unleash the holy expletive.

And second, well, OK, yeah, it’s just one thing. But I wanted to bask in it for an extra minute.

Anyway, after that people saw me as a third baseman (even though I had always played second base). So I went out there and the first play, someone hit a slow roller down the third base line. I charged, scooped, and threw him out. I’m making that sound a lot smoother than it was for brevity’s sake. Anyway, that got my manager and friend Frank White (eight-time Gold Glover, you know) to whistle in admiration. I’m telling you, just for those two moments alone this camp was worth the 3,500 bucks I paid. True, my kids will have to go to Community College but still …

Now, I wasn’t really bringing all this up to dwell in the few pathetic moments of glory that a 40-year-old man feels playing at a baseball fantasy camp. That just sort of happened naturally. No, I was bringing it up to say that I played third base, and I’m a pretty good fielder, and I can tell you first hand that the throw from third to first is like the drive from Jacksonville to Miami. It’s MUCH longer than you think it is. It is slightly longer than one of the runways at LaGuardia.

I mean I have a reasonable arm (as represented by my tennis serve) and I made that throw for three days (or, more accurately, I’d didn’t come close to making that throw), and now I simply don’t look at third basemen in the same way. One of the constant themes of this blog – and my general feelings about sports – is that we should, in the immortal words of that philosopher John Cougar Mellencamp, “hold on to 16 as long as we can (changes come around real soon make us women and men).” That is, every so often it’s good to notice awesome things. This comes naturally when you’re young. But as you get older, you sometimes need to stop and remember that a lot of really cool stuff that happens in sports, that there is nothing routine about routine plays, that it really is a ridiculously long throw from third to first.

So now I watch the way Adrian Beltre just sort of sidearm flips the ball across the diamond, I see the way Scott Rolen charges a bunt and throws off his right foot, I see the way David Wright dives, gets up, and just HAMMERS his throw over there, and I feel a little bit of that childhood awe.

OK, here are my Top 5 defensive third basemen:
1. Pedro Feliz
2. Scott Rolen
3. Ryan Zimmerman
4. Adrian Beltre
5. David Wright