1.  The Doubles Record

            I wanted to go on record, more forcefully than I did before, in stating that the career record for doubles will be broken within twenty years.

            Why?

            Because everybody tells me that I’m wrong.

            I remember in the 1970s, trying to argue that there would be a flood of pitchers from that generation who won 300 games.   People gave me every reason under the sun why this couldn’t possibly happen—but Carlton, Sutton, Seaver, Gaylord Perry, Nolan Ryan and Phil Niekro all won 300 games, after we had had only two 300-game winners in the previous 50 years. 

            In remember in the 1980s, when Cal Ripken had played in about 350 consecutive games, I wrote a Cal Ripken comment in one year’s Abstract arguing that Lou Gehrig’s “invincible” consecutive-game streak was in fact a vulnerable record that could well be broken.   People gave me 500 reasons why I was wrong.

            I remember when I first went to the Red Sox, Derek Lowe won 21 games with 127 strikeouts my first year there, and I made a chance remark that of course he couldn’t do that again.   Much of sabermetrics is about recognizing sustainable and unsustainable ratios.   That’s an unsustainable ratio.   You can’t win one game for every six strikeouts, consistently; it just can’t be done—but Red Sox fans gave me 40 or 400 reasons why this didn’t apply to Derek Lowe.  

            And, since I observed a couple of weeks ago that Tris Speaker’s career record of 792 doubles has perhaps become vulnerable, y’all have given me about 40 reasons why I’m wrong about this.   It’s stuff like, “right-handed hitters don’t hit many doubles after they’re 30” and “doubles are different than homers and stolen bases because the same people don’t lead the league in doubles every year.”

            Well, OK.   You can believe that if you want to.   I’m telling you, this record is going to be broken.  

            It’s an unsustainable ratio.   History shows that a 15-1 ratio between the league leader and the all-time record is an unsustainable ratio.  You can give me 360 more reasons why that doesn’t apply here, but it won’t stop the record from being broken.

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2.  Doubles as a Percentage of Hits

            After I wrote that, it occurred to me that perhaps we could gain some insight into this subject by looking at the percentage of a player’s hits that were doubles.   In other words, Speaker hit 792 doubles in his career, which is the record.   Is it reasonable to think that this record could be broken by a player getting 2800 hits, let’s say?  Or 2900 hits, or 3000, or 3100?   At what hit level does it become conceivable that a player could break the doubles record?

            How many players are there who could break the doubles record if they sustained their doubles percentage for 3000 hits?  For 3100 hits?  Etc.   Once we know that, then we’re in a better position to estimate what the chances are that the doubles record will be broken.

            This was an eye-opening question, and I will now state that, beyond any question, the doubles record will be broken in the next generation, unless the game goes backward in this respect.. .goes backward in a way that it has been moving forward since the late 1970s.    The percentage of doubles hit (doubles as a percentage of hits) in this generation is totally out of line with all previous generations, in a way that makes it apparent that this is just a different problem than it was ten years ago. 

            OK, let’s start here.   I figured the “doubles percentage” after every season for every player who had played at least 1,000 games in his career.   In other words, after the 1922 season there were 155 active major league players who had played at least 1,000 games.    Among those players, the highest doubles percentage was by Tris Speaker, who had at that time collected 545 doubles among 2,576 career hits, or 21.2%.   The only other player over 20% was Steve O’Neill, who was Speaker’s protégé, sort of, who was at 20.3%, and they were followed by Del Pratt (19.3%), Bobby Veach (18.8%) and Jack Graney (18.3%).  

            Speaker’s doubles percentage went up in his declining years.  In his last year, 1928, he had only 51 hits, but 22 of them were doubles.   His final doubles percentage was 22.5%, which was the high-water mark of his career.   At this time, this was the highest figure on record.  The highest ever, through 1930, were:

            And then more years of the same players.   It is apparent that the numbers for that generation of players were higher than for any previous generation.   When I run charts like this in the future I will list only players at their HIGHEST level, the highest doubles percentage that they ever had at the end of a season, past 1,000 career games played. 

            OK, let me focus your attention on that number:  .225.   Speaker had a hell of a lot of hits in his career—3,514.  Lot of hits.   He had a huge number of hits, AND he had the highest doubles percentage (among his hits) of any player in history.   That combination put him in a position that would prove unassailable through the next 80 years.

            This, however, was not apparent for the first few years.  Speaker’s doubles percentages were an all-time record through 1930, but several players sailed past him in the 1930s.   Through 1940, the all-time leaders were:

            And, of course, many other years of the same players, but I’m leaving those out.   Through 1940 it appeared that Speaker was being pushed down this list so rapidly that he would soon disappear from it, and thus that someone could break his doubles record without getting real close to 3,514 career hits.

            During World War II, however, doubles totals dropped off—and never really recovered.  In 1950 this list was essentially the same as it had been in 1940:

            Lou Boudreau broke onto the list in 1947, but then in 1948, when he had his MVP year, hit “only” 34 doubles, so that his percentage went down.  His percentage went down for the rest of his career, so that the post-1947 figure was his high-water mark.

            And there the list sat, for thirty years.   NO ONE broke onto the list in the 1950s or the 1960s.    The list in 1977 was exactly the same as it had been in 1947.  The player who finally ended that was Hal McRae, who hit 54 doubles in 1977.   He hadn’t played 1,000 career games at that time, but he appeared on the list when he went over 1,000 games in 1978, and then his number went up in 1979 and up again in 1980.  By 1980 this was the list:

McRae was an outstanding hitter who, had he not had a very serious leg injury at the start of his career, very probably might have hit 750+ doubles.   Pete Rose had a huge number of hits, but his doubles percentage was just 17.5.   If McRae had had as many hits as Pete Rose, his doubles total would have been 985.   In 1988 McRae was bumped out of the third spot by, improbably enough, Rance Mulliniks:

            And also Fred Lynn made the list for a minute.   Mulliniks was a left-handed hitter, originally a shortstop but not really quick enough to play shortstop, who settled into a role as a platoon third baseman.   He never played against lefties, and he pulled the ball right down the first base line a lot, almost like a left-handed Kevin Millar or Gary Sheffield; Millar and Sheffield rip the ball right down the third-base line all the time.  

            Anyway, the list was beginning to move; Tris Speaker was now down to the 10^th position in doubles percentage, although some of those ahead of him dropped below him before their careers ended.   In the 1990s Speaker was pushed farther down the line by an improbable array of players, most of whom you probably never thought of as hitting a lot of doubles:

            Greenberg held on to the number one spot, where he had been since he passed 1,000 career games in 1940, but Speaker dropped from tenth to twentieth on this list in ten years, due to the unexpected incursions of players like Tim Teufel and Sid Bream.    Many of these men were not great hitters and were no threat to any record, but Albert Belle, Edgar Martinez and Larry Walker were formidable hitters.  Had any of these men stayed healthy long enough, he could have made a run at 800 doubles.   All of them, however, had injury-plagued careers. 

            Greenberg was finally knocked out of the top spot by an unlikely hero:  John Valentin.   Valentin crossed 1,000 games played in his last season, 2002, and with a higher doubles percentage than Greenberg.   Since 2000, the incursion has become a full-fledged invasion.   The current list is:

            Not only is Speaker being rapidly pushed away from the top of the list, but Hank Greenberg, who ten years ago was the record-holder, may be pushed out of the top ten within the next year or two.   Speaker has been surpassed in recent seasons not only by these eight players, but also by many, many more—Todd Helton, Jason Varitek, Jose Vidro, Michael Barrett, Ron Belliard, John Vander Wal,  Geoff Jenkins, Kevin Millar, Bobby Abreu, Gerald Williams, Kevin Young, Jorge Posada, Frank Catalanotto, Lance Berkman, Deivi Cruz, and others.   Remember the Alex Gonzalezes of a few years ago, the two shortstops that were so hard to keep straight unless one of them was local?   Speaker’s doubles percentage was surpassed not only by one of them, but by both of them.  

            Simply stated, Tris Speaker’s doubles percentage is no longer a high figure.   I don’t know if he’s in the top 50 anymore.   If he is, he won’t be for long.

            Doubles totals go up; they can go down.   Nothing is inevitable before it imminent, and Speaker’s doubles total being broken is not imminent.

            At the start of this bit, I posed the question, “could this record be broken by someone getting 2800 hits in his career?”   The answer to that is still “No”.   In order to get 792 doubles with 2800 career hits, you would need a doubles percentage of 28.3.  That’s still well ahead of the record, currently 26.0.   This is the chart:

            Albert Pujols’ doubles percentage is 22.3.   At that rate he would need 3,550 career hits, which is a lot of hits, but not necessarily an impossible number for somebody like Albert.  

            What is more likely, though, is that somebody will break the doubles record with 3200 to 3300 hits.   There aren’t a lot of players who get 3200 or 3300 hits.  It will require a great player to break the record, and at this point, we can’t foresee who that will be.  David Ortiz didn’t get started soon enough. 

            Still, there are so many players now who hit doubles on 23 or 24% of their hits that the record is simply not what it was a few years ago.   792 doubles now is like 720 fifteen years ago.   If doubles totals stay where they are, Speaker’s record has to be broken. 

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            The lowest doubles percentage of all time, incidentally, was Roy Thomas through 1906.  Through 1906 Thomas had played 1,115 games and had 1,240 major league hits, of which only 63 were doubles, or 5.1%.   Other than Thomas the champion “non-doubles” hitter of all time was Maury Wills, followed by Willie Keeler, Patsy Donovan, Al Bridwell and John McGraw.  

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            To choose to enjoy life is not laziness.

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3.  Starter Strikeouts, Reliever Walks

Can you please provide the Mean and Standard Deviations for the following stats for both Starters and Relievers?

K/BB

K/9

BB/9

If you could provide these stats for both Major League and Minor League populations I would be PSYCHED.

thanks

            OK. . .first of all, who is eligible to be included in the data?    If you include guys who pitched one inning or two innings, you’re going to have data all over the map, so I decided to include only pitchers who

            a)  pitched 40 or more innings, or

            b) appeared in at least 30 games. 

            The pitcher must meet one standard or the other to be included.    The next question is, how do you decide whether someone is a starter or a reliever?

            You didn’t say, so I decided that anyone with more than 30% of his appearances as starts was a starter, and anyone at 30% or less was a reliever. 

            Then we’ve got seven stats for each group, which are:

            1)  The strikeouts per inning of the group, based on the aggregate totals,

            2)  The walks per inning of the group, based on the aggregate totals,

            3)  The strikeouts per inning, based on the average of the individual rates,

            4)  The walks per inning, based on the average of the individual rates,

            5)  The standard deviation of the individual strikeout rates for qualifying pitchers,

            6)  The standard deviation of the individual walk rates for qualifying pitchers, and

            7)  The strikeout/walk ratio, which I based on “3” and “4”. . .although one could also make a strikeout/walk ratio based on “1” and “2”, which would be just as valid.

            So anyway, in the majors last year these figures were, for starting pitchers:   1—6.49, 2—3.07, 3—6.33, 4—3.23, 5—1.59, 6—0.99, and 7—1.96 to 1.   In other words, the starting pitchers in the major leagues had an aggregate strikeout rate of 6.49 strikeouts per nine innings, but an average of the individual rates of 6.33 (since pitchers who had higher strikeout rates pitched more innings than pitchers who had lower strikeout rates.)  Starting pitchers had an aggregate walk rate of 3.07 per nine innings, but an average of the individual rates of 3.23 (since pitchers who walked more hitters pitched fewer innings than those who pitched fewer innings.)    The standard deviations were 1.59 in strikeouts per nine innings, and 0.99 in walks, and the average strikeout to walk ratio was 1.96 to 1.   Let’s see if I can make that fit in a chart on one line:

            Relievers had higher walk rates and higher strikeout rates.    These are the averages for all minor league pitchers:

            The averages are very different, however, at different levels of competition.   Let’s start at the lowest level, the Developmental Leagues:

            Moving up to the Rookie leagues:

            These are the highest strikeout rates, and the highest strikeout to walk rates, in professional baseball.   The players who do well there move on to Low A ball:

            As we move up the ladder, the strikeout rates will decrease and the strikeout to walk rates will flatten out.    Players who do well in Low A move on to High A:

            At all levels, strikeouts/9 innings and walks/9 innings are higher for relievers than for starters, and at all levels the strikeout/walk ratios are similar.   Double A:

            And AAA:

            This, however, includes the Mexican League as a Triple A league, which it is officially, but not in practice.    So, excluding the Mexican League:

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4.  Willie Mays, Ducks on the Pond

            I thought I would do a little follow-up on the note last week about Willie Mays having a very low total of at bats with Runners in Scoring Position in 1957.   Is it possible, I wondered, that Mays actually could have been last in the league in at bats with Runners in Scoring Position?

            I chased down the numbers for all National League regulars with 400 or more plate appearances in 1957, and. . .yes, believe it or not, Willie Mays was dead last among NL regulars in 1957 in the percentage of his at bats that occurred with Runners in Scoring position.   Mays batted 585 times in 1957, but batted only 79 times with Runners in Scoring Position.   These are the lowest percentages for NL players that year:

            Clemente was a young player then and not any kind of a hitter.   Schoendienst was a good hitter but a leadoff man, and most of these guys couldn’t fall out of a boat and hit water.   It’s basically Willie Mays, Ernie Banks and a bunch of non-hitters.  

            Actually, though, Mays isn’t lowest in the percentage of plate appearances with runners in scoring position.   He’s very low in the percentage of plate appearances with runners in scoring position, but not last, and then he drops to last on the list in at bats because, of course, he was frequently walked when there was a runner in scoring position.   This is the list of the fewest plate appearances:

            Why are Mays’ numbers so low?

            The numbers for the entire Giants’ team are very low.   There are two or three teams in the National League that were inept offensively, and those teams have all of the players who rank at the bottom of the list.   Whitey Lockman, Don Mueller and Daryl Spencer were Mays’ teammates—four of the bottom ten—as were Schoendienst and O’Connell for part of the season.   Schoendienst was the Giants’ second baseman for the first two months; they traded him to the Braves for O’Connell and several other players.  

            The Giants were last in the league in doubles, next-to-last in on-base percentage.   They did lead the league in stolen bases, but a) the team total was only 64, and b) 60% of the team total was Mays himself.   The Giants, who played in a horseshoe-shaped stadium with wide open spaces up the middle and short lines, finished third in the league in home runs, because of Mays and Hank Sauer, but were just very, very poor at manufacturing sustained offense.

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            Who led the league in the percentage of plate appearances with runners in scoring position, then?  You’d never guess.

            Roy McMillan was the #8 hitter for the Cincinnati Reds.   He hit a career-high .272 that year, but led the league in both the percentage of at bats and the percentage of plate appearances with runners in scoring position:

            Why?  Well, the Reds led the league in on base percentage.  Three of the four top players in the league in the percentage of plate appearances with runners in scoring position were on the Reds (McMillan, Post and Ed Bailey.)   This is probably not a coincidence.

            Within the team, there appears to be a good deal of randomness in who gets the most shots.   McMillan batted behind Don Hoak, who did lead the league in doubles, so that explains some of it, although the doubles total was only 39.  

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            My son turns 21 today.   Happy birthday, Isaac. 

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5.  Beela Ball

            Here’s another idea for a spectator sport; call me crazy, but I think it would work.   Suppose that you have a court a little smaller than a basketball court.  In the middle is a net, like a volleyball net, but higher in the air—I’m suggesting 12 feet, but I don’t know that that’s workable.   We might have to go to eleven. 

            Over the player’s heads, suspended on poles, is a mesh of very firm wire, about five inches square.  This is called the “roof”.   The roof covers the entire court except that:

            1)  There is a two-foot space at the net—one foot each way—where there is no roof, and

            2)  In the right rear of side of the court there is a “goal”, an area about four feet square where there is no mesh covering.   In this area there is a large clear plastic funnel, so that if the ball lands anywhere in that area, it rolls into the goal.   Probably it would be better, just for the enjoyment of the fans, to have the goal constructed so that it takes several seconds for the ball to roll through the funnel and bounce on the ground.  

            The net is a couple of inches higher than the roof.

            On each side of the net there are four lights—green, yellow, blue and red.   I visualize these lights as 18-inch cubes, just so that they are easy to see, but that’s not crucial.

            There are four players on each team.

            Each player has a “bat” or “baton”, no more than one inch in diameter and varying in length from 10 to 16 inches, whatever the player chooses to use.

            There is a ball, like a soccer ball or volley ball, but a little bit smaller.   Let’s call it a beela ball. 

            The referee throws the beela ball up onto the roof of one team or the other; whichever team has scored the last point has to take the tee shot. 

            The object of the sport is to bat the ball with the baton in such a manner that it flies over the net and goes into the other team’s goal.   This, however, is intended to be so difficult as to be not common, and, when the ball actually goes in the goal, it is nearly an accident.  Most of the points in the game are scored in other ways, having nothing to do with the goal. 

            A game consists of 100 trials—four quarters of 25 trials each. 

            The tee shot is not allowed to go in the goal.   If the tee shot DOES go into the goal, it’s two points for the defending team—a loss of the trial. 

            If any other shot goes into the goal, it’s ten points for the other team—the team that is on the other side of the net.   The offensive team.

            That is intended to be something that might happen two or three times in a game.   The ways that most points are scored are these:

            1)  If a team knocks the ball in such a way that it falls into the “crevice” next to the net—the area where there is no roof—that’s two points for the defending team.  It doesn’t matter which side of the net it lands on; the offensive team’s responsibility it to get the ball over the net and onto the other team’s “roof”.  

            2)  If a team knocks the ball off the mesh so that it hits the floor or would hit the floor but for the intervention of a player catching it or hitting it, that also is two points.

            Those aside, the ball must be returned within four seconds of passing over the net.   One second after the ball goes over the net, the green light goes on.   Two seconds after the ball goes over the net, the yellow light goes on.   Three seconds after the ball goes over the net, the blue light goes on.   Four seconds after the ball goes over the net, the red light goes on.   If the ball isn’t back over the net by the time the red light goes on, that’s a time fault, and that’s one point for the defensive team (and the end of the trial, the same as if the ball had hit the ground.)  The referee pushes a button, a horn sounds, and a point is added to the opposition team.  With modern tracking equipment, it should be very easy to know for certain whether the ball was returned in time or was not.  

            I would imagine that there would be “fouls” or “penalties”.  I am unable to come up with what these would be, but I assume something would come up.   Hitting the net with your baton, or striking the wire mesh (the roof) so hard that it damages the equipment.   People would find some way to try to cheat; therefore, you’d have to add fouls to the game to prevent people from whatever.  Standing on one another’s shoulders.  A foul would be three points.  

            So you can score 10 points on a trial, 3, 2, or 1—ten points if you hit a goal, three points if the other team commits a foul, two points if the ball hits the ground or the tee shot goes in, and one point if the defensive team doesn’t get the ball back in time.

            You can hit the ball as many times as you can after it lands on your roof, but you’ve only got four seconds.   My intention is that “returning” the ball is not really that hard; it’s not that hard to bat a beela ball from underneath in such a way that it flies over the net.   The only thing is, you’re under pressure to do it quickly, and you’re going to screw it up sometimes.  

            I see this game as having the following virtues:

            1)  That it would require and display extraordinary athletic ability.  To play the game you’d have to jump higher than you have to jump to dunk a basketball, and there would be dozens and dozens of those jumps in every game.   It’s an aerial show. 

            2)  That it would be very tense, since the teams would be under constant pressure to get the ball back quickly.   The game would involve sustained, high-energy action by people who were pushing their athletic ability to their limits. 

            3)  That almost every game would be competitive, since a couple of goals would have a huge impact on the outcome.  

            In a basketball game, if you’re down twenty going into the fourth quarter, you’re done.   In this game a typical score after three quarters might be 60-52, assuming that there will be about 1.5 points scored per trial.   You hit a goal, you’re back in the game. 

            4)  That there would be strategy.  I am confident that strategy would develop, because there are multiple levels of points.  Strategies would have to develop to try to avoid one thing and go after another.

            I also like the idea of a game that has a goal, but has other ways of scoring points, irrelevant to the goal.   I think that’s fairly unique, and I think there is value in it. . .as opposed to allowing games to end 0-0 or 1-0, because scoring a goal is so difficult.  I like the idea that you score points for the opposition when you foul up.   When you fail to do your job, it registers points for the other team—unlike any other major sport, although a little like volley ball.  I like that.    

            But the game has these problems:

            1) That it has no history.

            2) That it requires equipment.   Part of the genius of basketball is that all it requires is a basketball and a hoop.   That enables the game to be played at all levels, and that allows players to refine their skills over a long time from a low starting point.   This game, it’s hard to see where you start.   You’re not going to have a court in your backyard, and, unless you’re a pretty good athlete, you can’t play anyway.  

            3)  That is would be more difficult for people to relate to, because most people couldn’t play it.

            4)  That you’d have to do something to save the player’s knees.   You’d have to have a soft surface or a spring-loaded floor or something.   Otherwise you’d just tear up your players’ knees.

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6.  The Great Dodger Infield

            In 1971 the Los Angeles Dodgers came within one game of winning the National League West with an infield of Wes Parker, Jim Lefebvre, Steve Garvey and Maury Wills.   All of these men were fine players.   Parker, however, left baseball after 1972 to pursue an acting career, Lefebvre was battling injuries that were taking about 15% of his ability every year, Maury Wills was 38 years old and Steve Garvey couldn’t throw.   In 1972 the Dodger infield was a problem, and the Dodgers finished ten and a half out.

            The Dodger farm system at this time was hopping with prospects, so many prospects that it was hard to figure them all out.   Bobby Valentine was supposed to be the shortstop, but he got hurt and the Dodgers traded him to the Angels, where he got hurt worse.  Bill Buckner was supposed to be the first baseman, but where does that leave Garvey?   And who plays short, and second?

            The Dodgers moved Steve Garvey from first to third, sent Buckner to the outfield, moved an outfielder in to play shortstop (Bill Russell), moved another outfielder in to play second base (Davey Lopes), and brought up a funny-looking guy who nobody thought was a prospect to play third base (Ron Cey).  

This infield—Garvey, Lopes, Russell and Cey--was tremendously successful.   All four players were regulars into the 1980s, and, as they were all about the same age, the Dodgers were able to keep the infield together longer than anybody else has ever been able to keep an infield together.   They played more games together, as a unit, than any other infield ever; in fact, my recollection is that they played more than twice as many games together, as a unit, than any other infield.   Maybe three times.   They’re off the charts.

While they were active, Steve Garvey was the big star of the group.   Garvey was movie-star handsome and well spoken, courted the press, got 200 hits regularly, drove in 100 runs regularly, won several Gold Gloves at first base, and won the MVP Award in 1974, his first full season at first base.  

            It was obvious to 1970s fans that Garvey was the best player in the group, but to a 21^st century analyst, this is less obvious.   Garvey didn’t walk.  His bulk numbers are impressive, the 200 hits every year and 100 RBI, but he played every game and his on base percentages weren’t great, so he was making a large number of outs.   He was a good first baseman, yes, but he was the first baseman; first basemen are supposed to hit—and the other guys were pretty good, too.   Was Garvey really the best of them?  If so, by how much?

            Not to mislead you, I am on record as saying before that the best player in the group was really the funny-looking non-prospect at third base, Ron Cey.   But I’m going to set that aside now, and study the issue more carefully than I have studied it before.  Win Shares and Loss Shares. 

            Bill Russell was the first of the four players to reach the majors; he was a half-time outfielder with the Dodgers in 1969 and 1970.   He was a good defensive outfielder, but he didn’t really hit enough to be a regular outfielder.   Steve Garvey got a few at bats with the major league team in those years:

            They were .500 players—which is really good for 20 and 21 year old players.  They were holding their own against major league competition.   In 1971 Ron Cey got a couple of at bats:

            Russell at this point is still an outfielder/second baseman, and the Dodgers third baseman of the future is Billy Grabarkewitz.   Grabarkewitz, just 24 years old, had an outstanding year for the Dodgers in 1970, leading the team in home runs, runs scored, walks and on base percentage, hitting .291.   Grabarkewitz got hurt in spring training, 1971, however, and never recovered.   Garvey got some playing time at third base in ’71 because Grabarkewitz couldn’t play. 

The shortstop of the future was Bobby Valentine.    In the spring of 1972, however, Walter Alston for some reason—it may have been injuries, I don’t know-- decided that he liked Russell better as a shortstop than he did Valentine.   Lopes and Cey got late-season looks:

            Russell is now established as the shortstop, but the rest of the Dodger infield was in chaos.   Wes Parker was at first, with Bill Buckner trying to take his job there.   Lee Lacy and Bobby Valentine were battling to replace the failing Lefebvre at second, while Garvey, Valentine and Grabarkewitz were all trying to nail down the third base shot.  

            And Ron Cey.   Ron Cey had very low knees; they called him the Penguin.  They call Aaron Rowand the same thing now, but it was more pronounced with Cey.   He basically went straight from his ankles to his knees; there wasn’t anything between them—and even apart from that, he was a little bit odd-looking.   He had a kind of a smushed face, and his eyebrows made half-circles high above his eyes.    The thing about Ron Cey was, he didn’t look like a player, but he was.   With the infield being an unholy mess and Cey having a good year at Spokane, Cey got a few games at third late in the season, and he did what he always did:  he made the plays, and he hit the ball hard.  

            Basically, Cey took the third base job away from all the other guys.  Grabarkewitz and Valentine were traded that winter, part of a package exchanged for Andy Messersmith.   Wes Parker retired, which left Cey on third and Garvey to battle with Bill Buckner for the first base job:

            Davey Lopes, the oldest of the four, was the last one to win his job.  Garvey hit .300 and played well at first base, which pushed Buckner to the outfield.   By the middle of the 1973 season, the infield was complete.

            At this point, all four of these players had career winning percentages in the mid-.500s--.563 for Garvey (31-24), .540 for Lopes (18-15), .577 for Cey (19-14), and .523 for Russell (53-48).  

            The Dodgers won 95 games that year, but finished four games behind the Reds.  As good as they were, the four Dodgers at this point were clearly not the best infield in the division.   The best infield in the division, by far, was Cincinnati’s:  Perez, Morgan, Denis Menke and Concepcion.

            The Reds won 98 games again in 1974—but the Dodgers beat them:

            The Dodgers won 102, lost in the World Series to the Oakland A’s.   Garvey won the MVP Award.   He probably didn’t deserve it—26-9 is not normally an MVP record—but he was certainly a deserving MVP candidate, and he was clearly the best player in the Dodger infield that year.   Garvey became the star of the group—and he played just as well in 1975:

            Garvey played just as well—but Cey played better.   The infield, other than Russell, had a fantastic year.    Russell was injured and could never get his bat going.   These were their career won-lost records at that time.

            Garvey was 26-9 in 1974, 26-9 again in 1975; the man was nothing if not consistent.  But when Garvey went 26-9 in 1974, he won the MVP Award.  When Ron Cey went 26-6 in 1975, he finished 18^th in the voting.   Garvey finished 10^th.   Draw your own conclusions; my conclusion is that Cey was underrated because he just didn’t look like a star.   He was slow, he did not have tremendous range at third base, and he was awkward—but he made the plays, and he got on base, and he drove in runs. 

            The Dodgers won 88 games in 1975—and lost the division by 20.  Their outfield was weak.   The Reds were pretty good.  It was kind of the same way in 1976, when the Dodgers won 92:

            Once more in 1976, the Dodger infield had a tremendous season.  A won-lost record of 82-41 is outstanding.  Once more, Ron Cey was the best player in the group.  And once more, the Reds blew by them as if they were standing still. 

            Ron Cey, at 25-4, finished 23^rd in the MVP voting.   Steve Garvey, at 25-10, finished 7^th.  

            In 1977 the Dodgers moved their fences in, and a couple of very good outfielders stepped up for them.  Tommy Lasorda replaced Walter Alston.  The infield had another outstanding season:

            This time the best player in the infield was Davey Lopes.   Lopes hit a career-high .283, drew 73 walks, stole 47 bases, broke into double figures in home runs.   Steve Garvey finished sixth in the MVP voting, Cey finished eighth—and Lopes wasn’t mentioned.   Go figure.

Davey Lopes was a good player.   They were all good players; that’s what’s interesting about them.   The best player in the group was Bill Russell in ’72, Garvey in ’74, Cey in ’75 and ’76, Lopes in ’77.   In ’73 they were all about the same.  

            Anyway, the Dodgers went back to the World Series, where they got an up-close look at the Reggie Jackson show.   In 1978 the Dodger infield had their greatest season:

            Steve Garvey finished second in the MVP voting.  Lopes finished 16^th.  Ron Cey wasn’t mentioned.

            The Yankees beat them again. 

            These were the career won-lost records of these players, through 1978:

            In 1979 the rest of the Dodger infield had another great year, but Bill Russell stunk:

            Russell’s on-base percentage, which was never anything to call mommy about, dropped to .297.   But Russell’s defensive won-lost record, which in the previous three seasons had been 7-2, 8-0, and 8-1, dropped to 4-5.  

            What happened?   His innings in the field dropped a little, but less than 3%, not a big deal.    His double plays dropped from 91 to 70.   In 1978 the Dodgers could have been expected to turn 137 double plays, and turned 138.   In 1979 they could have been expected to turn 142, but turned 123. 

            Russell’s assists in the field went from 245, which was +43 vs. expectation, to 218, which was +16.   His putouts dropped from 533, which was +4, to 452, which was minus 53.   The man did not have a good year in the field.  

            Bill Russell was a positive, self-confident person, the kind of player that baseball likes.   I always liked him because he was a Kansan.  So was Davey Lopes, in a way.   Lopes had been a star basketball player at Washburn University in Topeka, twenty miles from my home.   I used to listen to their basketball games on the radio.  

            The ’79 Dodgers finished under .500, at 79-83; it was their first sub-.500 finish since 1968.  Steve Garvey (21-14) finished 14^th in the MVP voting.  Lopes (21-12) and Cey (22-5) were not mentioned. 

            Bill Russell’s on-base percentage dropped even lower in 1980, but his defense rebounded, and the Dodgers won 92 games, losing the division in a playoff to the Astros:

            Steve Garvey, 23-14, finished sixth in the MVP voting.   Ron Cey, 22-10, was not mentioned. 

            1981 was a painful season to be a baseball fan.   A mid-season strike dragged on from early June into August.  When they finally got the game re-started they decided to call it a split schedule, with two sets of winners, one before the strike and one after.   It didn’t work; nobody figured it would actually happen, but the two rightful division champions in the National League were both left out of the playoffs.    The Dodgers, 27-26 after the strike, got in the playoffs because of a hot start.  They had the season’s best story, Fernando Valenzuela—and they won the World Series:

            Ron Cey posted an .800 winning percentage for the fourth time in seven years—and was not mentioned in the MVP voting.  

            The infield started to break up that winter.   The Dodgers had a young second baseman they wanted to try, Steve Sax.   They traded Lopes to the A’s for a minor leaguer.   Sax won the Rookie of the Year Award.

            In truth, it was about over for the infield.   Cey was still a good player, Garvey was still a .500+ player, but they were dropping back, as a group, a little bit every year.   At the time they finished their years together in Los Angeles, these were the career records of the four players:

            Lopes was in Oakland in ’82, but I’ll track them in the same form:

            I apparently said something in the 1983 Baseball Abstract about Lopes being obviously finished.   Lopes played better in 1983, and a reporter asked him how he felt about what Bill James had said about him being all washed up.   I wasn’t there, but I heard about it.   Lopes stared at him blankly and said, “What are you talking about?   Who’s Bill James?   Why would I care what he said?”

            And I was entirely on his side.  Shoot, I liked Davey Lopes; he was one of my favorite players.   I didn’t mean to mean to put him down; I just thought I was stating the obvious.   He’s 37, and he hadn’t played well for two years.   I was thrilled to see him come back strong in ’83—very surprised, but very pleased:

            They were still .500 players, but the gang was all over the place now.   Garvey went to San Diego as a free agent after the 1982 season, while Ron Cey was traded to the Cubs for someone named Vance Lovelace.   They may have been a little hasty.  In 1984 the only one of the four players who wasn’t in the National League Championship Series was the one who was still with the Dodgers, Bill Russell: 

            The two Lopes lines are Lopes with the A’s, and Lopes with the Cubs; he re-joined Cey in the Windy City on August 31.   That was the first year since 1971 that the group was under .500.    Bill Russell would finish his career with the Dodgers, but he was a utility player:

            Davey Lopes in 1985 was amazing.  He was 40 years old, played only 99 games and batted only 275 times—and stole 47 bases in 51 attempts.   Damndest thing you ever saw.   He was mostly playing the outfield by then, and you’d swear he was going to be asking for a walker out there, and then—BOOM—soon as he got on first base, he was on second.   He made a career out of it, of course; he’s been a first base coach basically from then until now.    They say he’s the greatest first base coach there ever was.  

Russell, the first to reach the majors, was the first to leave, after the 1986 season.   The other three made it into 1987:

            So who was the best player of the group?   By my math, it was obviously Ron Cey:

            But as the MVP voters saw it, the best of the group was obviously Steve Garvey.   Breaking it down into offense and defense, we have:

            My system is set up so that shortstops tend to have higher winning percentages in the field than other infielders; tend do, but don’t always.   Second basemen tend to be higher than third basemen or first basemen, but Lopes was not a good defensive player.

            In the ten years that they were both regulars with the Dodgers, 1973-1982, Steve Garvey scored an average of 78 runs, drove in an average of 93 runs.  (The numbers are knocked down a little by the 1981 strike.)    Cey scored an average of 71 runs, and drove in an average of 84.   Garvey’s numbers are bigger—but Garvey made an average of 441 outs a year.   Cey made an average of 405.  

            Garvey was a Gold Glove fielder; Cey was not.   But Garvey was a Gold Glove fielder because he couldn’t play third base, so they moved him to a position he could handle.   Ron Cey could play third base, and quite well, thank you, so they left him at third base.   I’m not putting down Garvey’s defense, which was very good, but I think it’s obvious who the more valuable defensive player was.  

            Steve Garvey may yet make it into the Hall of Fame, once the world has had time to forget about his little zipper problem.   It’s not the end of the world; you can throw a rock at Cooperstown and hit five players worse than Garvey.   Ron Cey is not going into the Hall of Fame.   I accept this; I am not disturbed by it.   But if anybody wants my opinion, The Penguin was the best player in the great Dodger infield of the 1970s.