Yesterday’s group of players was players who played at a Hall of Fame level for two years or four years or six years, but whose periods of productivity were so short that no one really thinks of them as being serious Hall of Fame candidates.   Today’s players are players who are (or are perceived as being) a cut above that:  they are players who actually could be in the Hall of Fame, but who have not been selected.

            There are two Hall of Fame standards that I have used, and let me give you a third, and let me give you a reason.   The two Hall of Fame standards that I have advocated, based on Win Shares and Loss Shares, are 300 Win Shares or 100 more Win Shares than Loss Shares.   Why those numbers?

            Well, think about it.    How many player/seasons does it take to win a pennant?   Thirteen, 15, 17, something like that?   A team is 25 players and has been for almost 100 years, but that includes some pine time, so it’s 13 regulars and 12 bit players, or 15 and 10, or 17 and 8, something like that.

            And how many years does a player play in the major leagues, if he has a reasonably full career?   It’s about the same, isn’t it?   Thirteen years as a regular, 15, 17, plus a few years as a bench player at the beginning and at the end.   The playing time represented by a team/season and the playing time represented by a full career are actually very similar numbers, although this is obscured by the fact that the “team” playing time is split between pitching and hitting, while the “player” playing time is one or the other.

            And how many Win Shares does it take to win a pennant?   It takes about 300.  Three hundred Win Shares is 100 wins.  It takes about 100 wins to win a pennant—not quite a hundred, but something close to that.    If a team is 33 games over .500 (97-64 with a rainout), that is 99 Win Shares over .500.

            These standards, then, are relevant to the discussion because they represent pennant-winning performance.   If a player has career Win Shares/Loss Shares of 300 and 186, what that really means is that in his year, he won the pennant.   He was 100-62.   His performance, over the course of his career, was pennant-winning type performance.   That’s what it means, and that’s why these standards are relevant.

            In general, a Hall of Famer should win 100 games for his team in the “season” that we assign to him, or some number very close to that.    However, some players make a comparable impact in a shorter period of games.    Mickey Cochrane quite obviously was a Hall of Fame caliber player, but, because of his career-ending beaning by Bump Hadley, he pulled up short of the standard of 300 Win Shares.   Should that keep him out of the Hall of Fame?   Of course it should not.   He had as much positive impact on his teams as the 300-Win Share players—more than most of them—and obviously he should not be excluded from the Hall of Fame because he was interrupted in mid-career by a fastball off the cranium.

            Thus, these two standards:   300 Win Shares, or 100 more Win Shares than Loss Shares.    I should also say that these standards work in practice.   I have yet to see a case where a player met these two standards, and I had any difficulty at all saying that he should be in the Hall of Fame.    If he meets one standard but not the other, then it’s a judgment call, and if he misses both standards, then he doesn’t belong, unless it’s an unusual situation where there is some other consideration that pushes him over the top.

            There are many players who are in the Hall of Fame although they meet neither of these standards.   That’s OK; I’m not frothing at the mouth about it, but. . .I didn’t put them there.   The world is irrational; the fact that we can construct rational tests does not mean that we get to be the emperors.   If you don’t care what my standard for the Hall of Fame is, that’s fine; if you do care, this is it:   300 Win Shares, or 100 W minus L.

            Now, let me introduce a third standard. . .and again, I don’t mean to be absolutist about it, I’m just trying to be helpful.   The third standard is:  three seasons with a Win Share value of 30 or more.

            Again, when you think about it, it’s a pretty rational test.   If a team wins 95 games, let’s say, that’s 95-67, that’s 285 Win Shares against 201 Loss Shares, that’s a Win Share Value of 327—for a pennant-winning team.   You split that up into 13 seasons, 15, 17, you’ve got 20 to 25 Win Shares per player, for the average REGULAR player on the best team in the league.

            Thus, a player with Win Share Value of 30, by definition, almost has to be an MVP candidate.   Of course there are cases where there are maybe five players in a league with Win Share Value of 35 or more, and the player with a value of 30 will get lost.    Every league is different.   But there never has been and never can be a league in which a player with a Win Share Value of 30 isn’t on the list of the league’s best players, excepting those 19^th century pitchers with 500 innings.  What we’re really saying here is, “to be a Hall of Famer, a player should have at least three seasons as one of the best players in the league.”

            In today’s group of Hall of Fame candidates there are several players who meet that standard, but who don’t meet the others.   That’s because we’re focusing on short-career stars.   If we looked at, let’s say, players who had 2,500 career hits but an OPS below .800, then we would find players who meet the other standards, but don’t meet this one.   It’s just another thing to look at, in attempting to puzzle out who belongs in the Hall of Fame and who doesn’t.

            Of course, there are always exceptions, and here again we come to Mickey Cochrane.   Mickey Cochrane’s Win Share Values, beginning in 1927, are 26, 25, 27, 30, 34, 28, 29, 26, and 28.   Cochrane won two MVP Awards in that stretch, but the interesting thing is that he won them in his worst years.   26, 25, 27, 30, 34, 28, 29, 26, and 28.

            We could be literalists and say “The standard is three seasons with Win Share Value of 30 or greater; Cochrane has only two such seasons, therefore he doesn’t meet the standard.”   You could say that, but it would be stupid; obviously he meets the standard of three seasons among the best players in the league, if he won two MVP Awards when he was not having particularly good seasons.   Standards don’t replace our best judgment; they merely inform it.   

            OK, let’s get to our list, which has now grown to 45 players with the inclusion of these sixteen:

45.   Herb Score (75-58, 562)

44.   Bob Locker  (71-46, .603)

43.   Tony Conigliaro (95-82, .537) 

42.   Johnny Murphy (88-58, .600) 

41.  Brian McRae  (134-151, .470)

40.  Tiny Bonham (111-69, .618)

39.  George Case  (138-148, .482)

38.  Vince Coleman  (144-166, .465)

37.  Steve Gromek (140-120, .538) 

36.  Sam Chapman (138-152, .475)

35.  J. R. Richard (125-97, .565) 

34.   Scott Fletcher (147-153, .490)

33.   Jack McDowell (126-87, .548)

32.  Bobby Higginson  (142-121, .540)

31.  Jim Ray Hart (130-79, .622) 

30.   Spud Chandler (123-54, .696)

29.   Bob Veale (145-116, .556) 

28.  Pete Fox  (161-156, .509) 

27.  Johnny Allen (145-107, .576) 

26.  Sal Maglie (142-83, .631)

            Sal Maglie, known as “The Barber” because he liked to “shave” the hitters, and known for his great curve ball, was banned from baseball for four years after signing a contract with the Mexican League, which was a rogue effort to start a competing major league.   Due to that and World War II, he had pitched only 13 major league games before the age of 33, then had a series of outstanding seasons in his mid- to late-thirties, for which he is still remembered.  He was 23-6 with the Giants in 1951, making him a pivotal figure in what may be baseball’s most famous pennant race.   He finished fourth in the MVP vote that year, and, despite a won-lost record of just 13-5, actually finished second in the MVP voting in 1956, behind Don Newcombe.  He joined the Dodger rotation in July of that season, and went 11-2 down the stretch, capturing the imagination of some gullible sportswriters who happened to have an MVP vote.

            Maglie was a fine pitcher, but his career is nowhere near a Hall of Fame standard.  The only way you can make a Hall of Fame argument for him is to argue that:

            1)  His banishment from the majors was unjust, and

            2)  Had he had those years, he would have been a Hall of Fame pitcher.

            But even if (1) is true, (2) is almost certainly untrue.    Maglie did not perfect his famous curveball until he pitched in Mexico.   Before World War II he was getting the bejeezus beat out of him in the minor leagues.   If he belongs in the Hall of Fame, Ellis Kinder is next.   Team Success Percentage:  .746.

25.   Thornton Lee  (158-127, .555)

24.  Bobby Shantz  (153-99, .607)

23.   Firpo Marberry (159-104, .604)

22.   Jim Maloney (163-91, .642)

            Jim Maloney used to pitch some fantastic games.  On May 21, 1963, facing a strong Milwaukee lineup that included Mathews and Aaron, he pitched 8 1/3 innings of two-hit, shutout ball, striking out 16.    At Wrigley Field on July 23, 1963, with Billy Williams, Ron Santo and Ernie Banks hitting 3-4-5, he pitched a 1-hit shutout, striking out 13, giving up a first-inning single.  On August 13, 1963, he bested Juan Marichal with a 2-hit shutout, making him 18-4 on the season.    On September 2 he pitched a 3-hit shutout with 13 strikeouts, making him 20-6.

            On April 18, 1964, he pitched six no-hit innings, leaving the game with the no-hitter running because it was early in the season and he wasn’t ready to go deep.   On September 25, 1964, he pitched a one-hit shutout at Shea Stadium, a second-inning single by Joe Christopher marring the occasion.  His next start after that (his last start of the year), he pitched 11 innings of 3-hit, shutout baseball, striking out 13 but receiving no decision.

            His first start of 1965 he pitched another one-hitter, an eighth-inning single by Denis the Menke.    In those three consecutive starts (in two different years) he pitched 29 innings, giving up 5 hits and no runs, striking out 29.   On June 14, 1965, he pitched 10 innings of no-hit ball, striking out 18.   He gave up a homer in the 11^th inning, and took a loss.  At Wrigley Field on August 19, 1965, he pitched a 10-inning complete-game no-hitter, striking out 12.   That was just three weeks before the famous Koufax/Hendley pitchers’ duel in the same park, a no-hitter for Koufax, a one-hitter for Hendley, and the thing that almost nobody remembers about that one is that Koufax and Hendley tangled again five days later, and Hendley actually beat Sandy, 2-1.

            Anyway, getting back to Maloney, Maloney pitched a 5-hit shutout against Milwaukee on September 6, striking out 12.   He pitched a 2-hit shutout against Houston on September 25.

            He started the 1966 season with a 5-hit shutout of Philadelphia, striking out 13.  He added a 2-hit shutout in May and a 3-hit shutout in June.   In August, 1967, he pitched a 3-hit shutout of Atlanta, then pitched 6 and a third innings of no-hit ball, leaving the mound with the no-hitter hanging, at Pittsburgh on August 16.

            In 1968 he pitched a one-hitter on May 28 against the Dodgers, striking out 10.   He ended the 1968 season with two consecutive two-hit, complete-game shutouts, striking out 20 in total.

            Against Houston on May 13, 1969, he pitched a no-hitter, striking out 13.   On September 26 he pitched a one-hitter, striking out 9.

            Jim Maloney was 50 games over .500 in his career.   If he had been able to pitch through the years of the Big Red Machine he might have won 30 games a year, but his arm went the day Sparky showed up in town, and he retired with “just” 134 wins, although most of them were really impressive wins.   We credit him with individual won-lost contributions beginning in 1963 of 25-11, 20-9, 28-7 and 25-7.   With Win Share values of 32, 39 and 34 for three of those seasons, he does meet one standard of Hall of Fame performance, the standard of three high-impact seasons. Team Success Percentage:  .564.

21.   Lu Blue (191-163, .539)

20.   Rico Carty (179-112, .615)

            Rico Carty—the Beeg Boy—came to the majors as a part of the rookie explosion of 1964 (see Tony Oliva, below) and hit .330 with power as a rookie.  In 1965 he broke something, don’t remember what, missed half of the season with the injury, but still hit .310 with power.    Rico was a bad outfielder, but he could throw OK, and the Braves—frustrated with Joe Torre’s defense behind the plate—worked with Carty behind the plate.    For a couple of weeks in June, 1966, they moved Torre to first base and used Rico at catcher.   He wasn’t terrible; he allowed only 6 stolen bases in 129 innings at catcher, and threw out 5 of 11 would-be baserunners—but after a couple of blowout losses to Pittsburgh they decided to forget about it.

            That was Bobby Bragan; he would try stuff that nobody else would have the stones to even think about.   He would lead off Eddie Mathews; he would draw his lineup out of a hat to break a slump.   One time, facing Koufax, he drew his lineup out of a hat—and beat Koufax.  That’s from memory; it’s probably wrong.   Bragan had four outfielders that year who could really hit—Aaron, Carty, Mack Jones and Felipe Alou—so he decided to try Carty behind the plate.   It’s bush league, but it’s gutsy.

            Anyway, Rico hit .326 in 1966, highest in the majors for somebody who wasn’t a member of the Alou family, but battled injuries in 1967.    In 1968 he missed all of the season with tuberculosis.    Returning to the majors in 1969, he hit .342 in 1969, and .366 in 1970—the highest average by any major league player between 1957 (Ted Williams) and 1977 (Rod Carew).   He blew out a knee, and missed all of the 1971 season.    It took him years to recover from that.   He didn’t really make it back as a hitter until 1975, when he hit .308 with 18 homers in 383 at bats for Cleveland, followed that up with a .310 season in 1976, and then blasted 31 homers as a 38-year-old in 1978.

            In the early days of BJOL I posted a poll question:   If Rico Carty had been healthy through his career, would he be in the Hall of Fame?”   He lost the poll something like 77-23, which I thought was astonishing, because I thought it was obvious that he would have been.    I mean, .330 hitter as a rookie, .366 in his one healthy season in his prime, 31 homers as an old man. . ..stretch a rope between those, what do you have?    Maybe I should fill in the blanks and re-create Rico.   Rico has the could-have-been allure for me that Jim Ray Hart and Tony Oliva have for many others.

            Anyway, we credit Rico with won-lost contributions of 19-5 (1964), 20-8 (1966), 21-3 (1970), 19-8 (1976) and 16-9 (1978).   It breaks down as 165-69 as a hitter (.704), but 14-43 as a fielder (.253).    99.9% of his value was as a hitter, and his team success percentage was a putrid .363, as he spent much of his career trying to catch on somewhere where he could get his stroke back.

19.  Allie Reynolds (192-144, .572)

            Allie was called “Superchief” as a part of the tradition of nicknaming power pitchers after trains (The Big Train, the Express, etc.) and also because he was one-quarter Indian.   He seems to have enjoyed playing with the Indian image.  A diabetic, he would refer to diabetes as “The Indian disease”, and would do things like burn furniture to ward off demons, which he would claim was old Indian tradition, although actually he just made it up.

            Allie pitched with the Indians—the Cleveland Indians—from 1942 to 1946, and was kind of a league-average pitcher there, posting a won-lost record of 51-47 with ERAs that are essentially average.   Traded to the Yankees for Joe Gordon, he came into his own immediately, and we credit him with individual won and lost contributions, from 1947 to 1952, of 20-14, 19-12, 17-11, 20-13, 19-11, and 25-8.  He performed at a Hall of Fame level in 1952 (20-8 actual won-lost record, 2.07 ERA), but in all candor his career is nowhere near Cooperstown worthy.    According to Lee Sinins he was 86 runs better than an average pitcher, over the course of his career.   Tommy Bridges was 300 runs better than an average pitcher, Bret Saberhagen 240 runs better.    Hank Aguirre was 87 runs better than average.     He was a good pitcher and a fun pitcher, and the Yankees made him look better than he was.   Team Success Percentage:  .809. 

18.  Riggs Stephenson (171-81, .671)

17.  Danny Tartabull  (175-93, .654)  

16.  Johnny Pesky (168-95, .640)

15.  Ken Williams (179-106, .630)

            A star with the St. Louis Browns in the early 1920s, Williams was the only player in the first 75 years of baseball history to hit 30 homers and steal 30 bases in a season, and he drove in 155 runs the season he did that.   In fact, no one else from 1876 to 1950 hit even twenty homers and stole 30 bases.

            Baseball changed very substantially in 1920, due to the confluence of several dramatic events.   Whenever the game changes, that advantages some players, and disadvantages others.   Williams was one of the players for whom the new game was a better game—Williams, and Jacques Fournier, Cy Williams, Tilly Walker, Zack Wheat.    Williams was 30 years old when the Lively Ball era began, but his best years were all ahead of him.   Team Success Percentage, .470, and Williams does not meet any of my three tests of a Hall of Fame performer. 

14.    Ron Guidry (176-95, .650)

            In another series of articles on this site last year, looking at seasons in which a player was among the best pitchers in his league, I concluded that Ron Guidry was above the Hall of Fame lines.   It is nice when my different methods of studying something converge, and it is a pain in the rear when they don’t, but. . .sometimes they don’t.   As this system sees it—dueling methods—Guidry was among the best pitchers in the American League consistently in his era mostly because the league in that era didn’t have many very good pitchers.   After all, Cy Young Awards were given in Guidry’s career to Steve Stone, Pete Vuckovich and Guillermo Hernandez, not to mention the Fat Felon LaMarr Hoyt.   You couldn’t find another league with a string of “Cy Young” winners like that.

            Guidry’s individual won-lost contribution in his great season was 30-2, Win Share Value of 43, but then we drop off to 21-7 (28), 18-6 (24), 18-9 (23) and 18-9 (23).   He was an extremely good pitcher, but he doesn’t meet any of the three tests of a Hall of Famer in this analysis.   Team Success Percentage:   .694. 

13.  Dominic DiMaggio (186-127, .595)

            Joe DiMaggio’s little bro, DiMaggio was like Roy Thomas, who we talked about yesterday—a singles-hitting center fielder with very high on base percentages.   Dominic was an outstanding player, but meets none of the three tests of a Hall of Fame career.  His best season was 1942, when his won-lost contribution was 25-11. 

The hard thing to figure about Dominic is what to do with the three-year abscess in his career which immediately follows his best season.    As Guidry and Dominic each have Win Share Values of 217, we would ordinarily rank Guidry ahead of Dominic because of his higher winning percentage.   In essence, the Win Shares Value calculation assumes a .250 replacement level, which is probably lower than it should be, and we shade toward the player who would be favored by a calculation based on a higher replacement level.

That concern, however, is obviously out-voted by the three missing seasons for Dominic D., with which DiMaggio would obviously rank as the better player.   We might move Dominic ahead of Don Newcombe (next), except that Newk has two-plus seasons missing out of his own career due to service during the Korean War.

We don’t invent performance; we don’t rate players based on what they might have done or could have done, regardless of why they didn’t do it.   I have, however, occasionally made the argument that Dominic DiMaggio (or Pesky, or Ted Williams) was a top-level major league player in 1943; he merely lacked the opportunity to create a statistical documentation of it.   I don’t think you can follow the statistics blindly.  We work out the puzzles that the statistics present as carefully as we can, but we don’t always know what the right answers are.   Team Success Percentage:   .720. 

12.   Don Newcombe (181-96, .653)

            Don Newcombe’s career won-lost record (actual Wins and Losses; 149-90) is similar to

Dizzy Dean (150-83) and Johnny Allen (142-75).   Dean, of course, is in the Hall of Fame, while Allen and Newcombe are not. 

            Based strictly on his performance on the mound, we would rank Newcombe ahead of Allen.   We have Allen, on the mound, at 130-86, .602, and Newcombe at 147-92, .613—a slightly higher percentage, in a slightly longer career.   The real difference between them, however, was not on the mound, but at bat.   Allen’s career won-lost contribution, as a hitter, was 15-21.   Newcombe’s was 34-4.   Newcombe was among the greatest-hitting pitchers of all time, hitting .359 with 7 homers in 1955, and hitting .300 several times.

            Newcombe won the first Cy Young Award in 1956, finishing with an “actual” won-lost record of 27-7, a credited record by our system of 26-9.   He was also the MVP that season.   He meets the “30” standard in that season and in 1955, and has four other seasons at 28 and 29.   Newcombe was a fantastic asset to his teams, but he does not technically meet any of my three Hall of Fame tests., and thus can only be defended as a Hall of Famer by the argument that he deserves compensation for the years that he missed in service to his country.  Team Success Percentage:  .634.

11.   Smokey Joe Wood  (177-86, .673)

10.  Hal Trosky (184-104, .638)

            The American League in the 1930s had three of the greatest first basemen of all time, in Lou Gehrig, Jimmie Foxx and Hank Greenberg.   Hal Trosky was the fourth.   A left-handed hitting slugger from a small, baseball-crazy town in Iowa, Trosky drove in 142 runs as a 21-year-old, hitting 45 doubles and 35 homers, and then drove in 162 runs as a 23-year-old, hitting .343 with 42 homers.  

            In the early 1940s Trosky

            a) was hit in the head by a line drive during batting practice, and

            b) began to suffer from debilitating headaches that left him unable to function (which is redundant, but if I don’t make it redundant you won’t really process the word “debilitating”.) 

            Apparently—best current research—these two facts are unrelated; the headaches were not a consequence of the blast off the noggin.   I don’t know what difference it makes; in any case he was one hell of a hitter early in his career, but didn’t last long enough to be a viable Hall of Fame candidate.   He doesn’t meet any of my three Hall of Fame standards.   His best season, actually, was 1940, when he hit just .295 and drove in just 93 runs.   But the offensive context was shifting rapidly, the ERA dropping by 20 points a year, and the park factor for Cleveland was 1.064 in 1936, .897 in 1940, so the run context for Trosky in 1940 was very, very different than it was in 1936, and we put Trosky at 21-12 in 1936, but 24-6 in 1940.   Team Success Percentage:  .558.

9.  Nomar Garciaparra (191-95, .668)

            Let’s start with Nomar’s records:

            And build on to that the Win Shares and Loss Shares that they represent.  

            Now let’s break that down into batting and fielding, and add in percentages and Win Shares Value:

            Now, does that pass muster as a Hall of Fame career?

            Eh. . .probably not.    Nomar was certainly on a Hall of Fame path through 2003.   We have set three MVP candidate seasons as a test of greatness, and Nomar meets that test; he was at or near an MVP-candidate level every season from 1997 through 2003, except 2001.    After the injury in late 2003, whatever it was, he never got back anywhere near that level.              Team Success Percentage:   .667.

8.   Albert Belle (205-106, .660)

            Albert Belle’s temper reached the majors before he did.   In the minors he was known as “Joey” Belle—his actual named was Albert Jojuan—but he changed what he called himself in an effort to commit himself to his better angels.   This wasn’t always successful.  There was the time, for example, that he chased some trick-or-treaters in his SUV for trespassing on his lawn, and there were numerous other petty disputes that he could talk about in Anger Management sessions whenever the court ordered him to attend.

            Albert took pride in his game, though; the people who were around the Cleveland organization in Albert’s heyday will still rise to his defense.   Albert cared about winning.   He was in the lineup and ready to play everyday, and he expected the same of his teammates.   Plus, the man could flat out hit.   50 doubles and 50 homers in a strike-shortened season?   How incredible is that?    He was a disappointment for the White Sox, and he had 48 and 49 there, with 200 hits and 152 RBI.   The man could hit.   He had four high-impact seasons, and a Team Success Percentage of .514.

7.   Jacques Fournier  (209-102, .673)

6.  Dolph Camilli (211-97, .685)

            Dolph Camilli’s older brother was a boxer, killed in the ring by Max Baer.  Camilli was a quiet player, prone to worry.    Like Charlie Keller (below), he was a sabermetric dream come true:   a player who spiked a .277 career batting average with home runs, walks, and defense.  His defensive won-lost contribution was 40-48, which is good for a first baseman.   Although his career is very short for a Hall of Fame candidate, he had four high-impact seasons, and thus he does meet two of the three Hall of Fame tests.   Team Success Percentage:  .541.

5.  Charlie Keller (191-25, .883)

            Charlie Keller was known as King Kong Keller because he was covered by thick black hair.   With Joe DiMaggio and Tommy Henrich he formed perhaps the greatest outfield of all time.

            As a rookie in 1939 Keller hit .334.   He never hit .334 again—he never hit .300 again as a regular—but his power and walks made him an enormously effective offensive player, with OPS between .900 and 1.000 every year from 1939 to 1946 except 1944, when he didn’t play.   He was also a good outfielder, with a defensive won-lost record of 35-24.   Keller had individual won-lost contributions of 30-1 (1942), 29-1 (1943) and 29-3 (1946), being credited with Win Shares Value for those seasons of 45, 43 and 42—MVP levels of performance all three seasons.

            Keller’s career was shortened by a congenital back problem, without which he unquestionably would be in the Hall of Fame today.    Team Success Percentage:   .812.

4.  The Great Babe Herman (217-97, .692)

            Floyd Caves Herman had teeth-cracking numbers in 1930:  241 hits, a .393 average, 35 homers, 48 doubles, 130 RBI, 143 runs scored.   Of course, it was 1930; half the league had really good numbers, and a couple of other players had numbers as good as the Babe’s.

            The Dodgers of the late 1920s and early 1930s were cast by indigenous journalists as “the Daffiness Boys”, a sort of 1930s reality show with overdrawn characters and orchestrated chaos.    Babe Herman was the central figure in this show—lovable old Wilbert Robinson, yes, and Dazzy Vance, yes, but Babe Herman more than anyone else.   The baseball magazines of my youth were full of Babe Herman anecdotes, in which Herman was portrayed as slow, inarticulate, easily confused and deeply in love with his own image.   In these anecdotes baseballs bounced off his head and off of his glove, triples degenerated into triple plays, and openings melted into traps.    I remember once Uncle Robby was supposed to have attempted to talk to him about getting a big head.   “Who, me?” Babe was supposed to have responded.  “The great Babe Herman?”

            That kind of journalism has fallen out of favor; we expect stories to be true anymore, or at least accurate.    Modern writers led by Tot Holmes have attempted to restore Herman’s image by dismissing wholesale the stories about him, and the image that grew from them.   I don’t know what the truth really was.   I will say this:  that having seen the Kansas City Royals play for the last ten years, you just absolutely can’t believe the things that really happen.   You can’t believe how many ways a team can invent to lose ballgames that they might reasonably have won.   I kind of think of the Daffiness Boys as being like the Royals of the last ten years—Lovable Losers, selling Failure by the Yard.   Herman’s Team Success Percentage, .541, shows that in fact they weren’t all that bad.

            We credit Babe Herman with individual won-lost contributions, beginning in 1928, of 20-7, 24-6, 31-1, 23-12, 26-7 and 23-8.   That’s a really good player, and Herman meets two of the three tests I have set for a Hall of Famer:  100 more Win Shares than Loss Shares, and three high-impact seasons (actually, four.)

3.   Tony Oliva (221-105, .678)  279

            It is among the head-scratching ironies of history that not a single rookie from 1964 has yet been selected to the Hall of Fame.  As a rookie in 1964 Oliva led the American League in batting average at .323; he had 217 hits, including 43 doubles, 9 triples and 32 homers.   He scored 109 runs.   Oliva’s season—and Dick Allen’s, the same year—are among the greatest seasons ever by a rookie hitter.  What is more notable is that there were literally fifteen rookies that year who could have won the Rookie of the Year Award in a more normal competition.   Rico Carty hit .330 that year, with an OPS higher than either Oliva’s or Allen’s.   Wally Bunker, a 19-year-old, went 19-5.    Tony Conigliaro, another 19-year-old, hit .290 with 24 homers.    Jim Ray Hart was a rookie that year; he .286 with 31 homers.  That’s six players at least who would be well above the usual standard of a Rookie of the Year.

            In 1964 a rookie right fielder for the Baltimore Orioles, Sam Bowens, hit .263 with 22 homers, 71 RBI.   Injured the next year, his job was taken by another rookie, Curt Blefary, who hit .260 with 22 homers, 70 RBI.   Blefary won the Rookie of the Year Award.   Dick Green could have won the Rookie of the Year Award (.264, 11 homers, 37 RBI, excellent defense at second base), or Bob Lee (1.51 ERA in 137 innings of relief), or Fred Newman, or Don Buford, or Bob Chance, or Sammy Ellis, or Billy McCool, or Willie Smith, or Luis Tiant, or Mel Stottlemyre, or even Chico Salmon or Bert Campaneris or Hal Lanier or Mike Shannon or Sonny Siebert, although we are reaching a bit now, as Salmon and Campy and Lanier and Shannon were guys who played just pretty well for about half a season.

            Oliva, as most of you probably know, was a great and charismatic player, although his career was chopped in half by severe pain (probably arthritis) in his knees and ankles.   Allen was a great player but a walking controversy.   Luis Tiant was a great pitcher, but the Hall of Fame for some reason didn’t like him, although everybody else does.   Rico Carty had every illness and injury known to man over the course of his career, limiting him to just 1,677 hits and a career average of .299.    Conigliaro got hurt early.   Bunker and Ellis and Hart faded after a few good years.    Campaneris was close to a Hall of Fame standard, but not quite there.    Somehow they all missed it.   Almost every season introduces two or three Hall of Famers, but the only Hall of Fame rookies from 1964 were a trio of guys who played briefly late in the year, but were really rookies in 1965 (Joe Morgan, Tony Perez and Phil Niekro.)

            Oliva had five seasons as an MVP candidate—1964 (26-6), 1965 (25-5), 1966 (24-10), 1969 (24-10) and 1970 (26-7), and thus meets two of the three tests of a Hall of Fame career.   Team Success Percentage:   .571.

2.  Roy Thomas (232-100, .698)  297

1.  Don Mattingly (243-127, .656)  301

            Mattingly was graded out at 243-127 in an article posted here on May 18, 2009.   I have made some minor revisions to the Win Shares system since then, and he might have lost a couple of Win Shares as a result of that, so he might come in at 241-130 or something, but. . ..we’re not going to worry about that.

            Don Mattingly had four high-impact seasons, and is the best Hall of Fame candidate among the 45 players that we have dealt with so far in this series of articles.

            In tomorrow’s installment of this series we will deal with only seven new players:  Roy Campanella, Frank Chance, Mickey Cochrane, Joe DiMaggio, Hank Greenberg, Sandy Koufax and Jackie Robinson.