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Carl Crawford: Rejecting the Gift

By Dave Fleming
November 7, 2008
I found an old copy of a 1976 Sports Illustrated at a yard sale recently. The issue cost me a dollar, the same price printed on the cover thirty-two years ago.
 
I love old sports magazines. They’re relics of the past that communicate a great deal about how previous generations thought about the game, and about the larger world. Tellingly, the 1976 issue features ads for fuel efficient cars, gin, and polyester sportswear, as well as a dozen or so cigarette ads. An ad for Tareyton cigarettes features an interesting sidebar titled “Charcoal: History’s No. 1 Filter!”, which details the uses of charcoal from ancient Egypt to Kentucky bourbon production and its presence on spacecrafts. People sure liked to learn things in the 70’s.
 
Mike Schmidt was on the cover of that Sports Illustrated. Those of us born after 1976 don’t have clear memories of seeing Mike Schmidt play. We didn’t follow his career as it progressed. Instead, we have in our minds a certain conception of Mike Schmidt, an image created on the sum totals of that career. Most of us know him as an elite power-hitter, the greatest third baseman of all-time. He had a bright shock of hair and he collected model trains. That our image. We’ve come to that image in hindsight, in retrospect. It’s Mike Schmidt in conclusion. If his career is a novel, we’re reading the cliff notes.
 
The 1976 Sports Illustrated gives us Mike Schmidt in chapter. It shows us how he was understood in his time. Larry Keith wrote that article, titled, “It’s Either A Clout Or An Out.” And it’s about Mike Schmidt and Dave Kingman.
 
Think about that for a minute: someone once wrote an article about Mike Schmidt and Dave Kingman. Mike Schmidt, one of the greatest players ever, and Dave Kingman.
 
Such a premise seems absurd from our vantage point. It wasn’t: the article was written in early May of 1976, when Schmidt and Kingman seemed like very similar players. They were the same age, and in 1975 they finished 1-2 in the National League in homeruns and strikeouts. Here are their stats from 1975:
 
 
HR
RBI
SO
BA
OBP
SLG
Schmidt
38
95
180
.249
.367
.546
Kingman
36
88
153
.231
.284
.494
 
The article points out the statistical and stylistic parallels between the two players, and even has both players describe what it was like to play baseball as youths. Schmidt states: “When I was a kid I always tried to crush the ball,” while Kingman explains, “At a very early age you find out what kind of player you are.”
 
Yet for all their parallels, the article details a sharp difference in the way each player approaches the game, a contrast in their approaches to baseball. In all of his comments, Schmidt stresses his failings. He is disparaging about his abilities, citing a litany of mistakes he makes every time he steps up to bat. He calls his 180 strikeouts during the previous year “unacceptable.” He makes no  mention to having led the NL in homeruns for the last two consecutive season; instead Schmidt worries that he’ll never hit .300. “I’m a dangerous hitter,” he says, “but I’m not a smart hitter.” 
 
Kingman’s response is the opposite of Schmidt’s: “I don’t think I’ll ever hit for average. I’m not unable to do it. I’m just not that type of hitter. I could choke up, punch the ball and almost totally eliminate strikeouts, but I wouldn’t hit any homeruns. And that’s what I’m paid to do, to hit homers and drive in runs.” Later Kingman adds, “I’ll always have the same swing.”
 
 
 
Rejecting the Gift
 
A thought experiment: imagine Mike Schmidt and Dave Kingman as twelve-year olds on their Little League teams. Imagine them in high school ball or coming up through the minors.
 
At some point they had to know. At some point along the way they had to realize that they were the possessors of a tremendous gift. Maybe it was in Little League, when they were the only kids who hit the ball out of the schoolyard. Maybe it was later, in high school, when scouts started showing up to their games.
 
At some point they recognized their gifts, and later Schmidt and Kingman had to come to a reckoning with that gift, a moment when they could choose to embrace their gift or challenge it.
 
Kingman embraced his gift. He decided to rely on it, to let it define him. At some point he said: Hell, someone gave me the talent to crush a baseball really far. I might as well use it. I might as well be a power hitter who crushed baseballs. In the Sports Illustrated article he is insistent on this point: he says that he could cut down on strikeouts. But why the hell should he?
 
And in that regard, I think Dave Kingman is like most of us. He figured out the thing that he was good at, and he focused on that. And isn’t that what we all do? We study the subjects in college that we are good at, or choose and follow careers in fields where we feel capable and sure. If we’re good at math we go to school to become engineers. We don’t write poetry. If we’re fast runners we join the track team or play wide-receiver on the football team. We don’t try to learn the shot-put or ask to play quarterback.
 
But Mike Schmidt wasn’t like the rest of us. He rejected his gift. It wasn’t enough to lead the league in homeruns: he wanted to know why he wasn’t hitting .300.
 
Carl Crawford
 
I’ve been waiting a long time for Carl Crawford to become a great ballplayer:
 
Crawford
BA
OBP
SLG
2002
0.259
0.29
0.371
2003
0.281
0.309
0.362
2004
0.296
0.331
0.45
2005
0.301
0.331
0.469
2006
0.305
0.348
0.482
2007
0.315
0.355
0.466
 
He was twenty years old in 2002, and for his first six major league seasons his batting average and on-base percentage increased every single year. That’s an impressive feat. He’s a tremendous player: a hitter of considerable skill who happens to be one of the fastest players in baseball.
 
He had a disappointing 2008 season, a fact obscured by his team’s remarkable run to the American League pennant. In 2008 Crawford posted a ..273/.319/.400 line, his worst since 2003. He missed a good portion of the season with an injured finger, and for the first time in five years he didn’t finish among the league leaders in stolen bases. As tellingly, Crawford is no longer the face of the Rays franchise. Evan Longoria and Carlos Pena are better hitters, and during the postseason it was B.J. Upton who hit in the #2 spot, while Crawford was slotted at #5, a new low for the former franchise player.
 
So why the drop-off?
 
In retrospect, there were obvious signs that Crawford was due to suffer a drop-off as a hitter. In 2007, when he posted a .315 batting average, Crawford enjoyed a .376 batting average on balls in play (BABIP), the sixth-best mark in the American league.
 
But I think it goes further than that.
 
To be frank, I think Crawford has been resting on his laurels somewhat. His on-base percentage, the single best measure of a leadoff hitter, is .330, lower than the American League average.
 
Plate discipline is a skill that can be learned. it is a skill that would also give Crawford more opportunities to use his best skill: his speed. Yet Crawford’s discipline at the plate hasn’t improved one inch, and he continues to strike out at a high rate:
 
Crawford
BB %
K %
2002
3.4%
15.8%
2003
4.0%
16.2%
2004
5.3%
12.9%
2005
4.0%
13.0%
2006
5.8%
14.2%
2007
5.2%
19.2%
2008
6.3%
13.5%
 
Strikeouts aren’t bad, not for most players. It doesn’t hurt Adam Dunn or Ryan Howard to strike out 180 times a year. But Crawford is a very fast runner, a man whose every weak grounder to short is a potential basehit. It is within his power to decrease his strikeouts and increase his walks, and he would be a better player for it.
 
The thing about speed is it’s a young player’s skill. Sooner or later Crawford’s ability to leg out infield grounders will leave him. Sooner or later he won’t be able to turn doubles into triples. For Crawford to survive, he cannot continue to rely on his speed.
 
Consider Rickey Henderson, a player possessing the same gift as Crawford. Rickey Henderson is a player who exists largely in caricature. There are the stolen bases, sure, and the undisputed title of Greatest Leadoff Hitter of All-Time. There was his constant use of the third person, and the brash egotism displayed when, after breaking Lou Brock’s record, he claimed that he was the greatest. We have an image of young Rickey, stealing second and third for the Billy-Ball A’s of the early 1980’s. And we have old Rickey, refusing to retire, bouncing from team to team.
 
You know what I remember most about Henderson? I remember his stance, that unique crouch he employed. I used to imitate it all the time when I was a kid. I didn’t realize until later why Henderson crouched down so much: he was trying to cut down on the pitcher’s strike zone, trying to draw walks.
 
Imagine that thought process: Henderson’s great gift was his speed, and he realized early on that the best way to utilize that gift was to get on base. So he adjusted his game to fit that need. It wasn’t enough to be fast on the bases. He wanted to get on the bases more than anyone else.
 
This is Schmidt all over again. Schmidt didn’t settle on being a dangerous hitter; he wanted to be a smart hitter, too. Henderson didn’t settle on stealing bases. He decided to maximize that gift, to work at getting on base so his speed could be utilized.
 
Carl Crawford hasn’t done that yet. He hasn’t changed. He hasn’t rejected the gift.
 
I don’t mean to be all doom-and-gloom about Carl Crawford. He is still a very young player, with plenty of time to improve. He is a motivated player: he was quoted a few years ago saying that he wanted to be the #1 fantasy player in baseball, a Rickey Henderson-esque moment of bravado which speaks clearly to his desire to be more than a speedster. And there is reasonable possibility that the injury he suffered this year will be a wake-up call to him, a figurative ‘brush with death’ that will trigger a change in how he approaches the game.  
 
Right now, Crawford’s career is at a crossroads: he’ll either settle for being the American League burner, or he’ll figure out a way to utilize that gift effectively by becoming a more selective hitter. Among his comparable players right now are Roberto Clemente and Johnny Damon, who turned out to be pretty fine players. But Clemente was a .350 hitter in a lousy offense era: Crawford isn’t close to that level as a hitter. As it stands now, Crawford looks less like Damon and Clemente than Vince Coleman, another burner who had lots of strikeouts and few walks. Crawford is a far better hitter than Coleman, a more talented all-round player. For Crawford to join the elite players in the American League, he needs to refuse to allow his speed to define him. He needs to reject his gift.
 
 

COMMENTS (15 Comments, most recent shown first)

papahans5
- A fine piece, Dave. Excellent comparison of players w/ disparate skills. We all wonder about players resting on their God-given abilities (as you suggest w/ Mickey Mantle) and players who work to refine their already considerable abilities. But working to adjust - in Little League or in the majors - is an even subtler thing. (Think of Yaz and Mattingly constantly tinkering w/ their batting stances.) Well done.
9:12 AM Jan 22nd
 
ventboys
Mike Schmidt was my favorite player growing up. I have very clear memories of his reputation pre-1980. He was the golden talent, the guy that was described as either too dumb or too smart to maximize his abilities. Mostly he was known as a guy that thought too much. He was always self effacing, talking endlessly in article after article about how he was trying to hit the ball on the ground more, cut down on his strikeouts and become a "complete" player.

In 1980 he made a major change in his approach, moving off of the plate and daring the pitcher to pitch him low and away. His batting averages in 1980-1982 were .286, .316 and .280 (his career BA pre 1980 was .255). He turned 31 early in the 1980 season, which means that all three of his MVPs were won after his 31st birthday.

Mikey Ballgame (we really called him that in my home) was a guy that could do as much to beat you as anyone, and possibly as much to get beat as anyone, too. He was as good at cutting off the ball in the hole as anyone I've ever seen, and he probably let more balls go through his legs than anyone I've seen other than Russ Davis. He was a terrific baserunner, missing a 30-30 season by one steal in your 1975 example. He would bunt for a hit about once a month, and (unlike so many others) I don't recall him ever bunting it foul, though he must have many times.

His main footprint, though, might be that he was the first player that I recall consistently driving the ball to the opposite field. Dale Murphy was the one given the credit at the time, but Mikey was doing it in 1980, his natural defense to his stance and the resultant pitching approach to him. I read 2 separate BB Digest articles in Murph's 1982 MVP year that keyed on his power to the opposite field. Neither one mentioned Schmidt.

One last thing. Mikey was probably as streaky as any player could be. This was well before the internet, so we got our information daily from our newspaper. I would look him up during one of his streaks of 4-0-0-0 and 3-0-0-0 and 3-1-0-0, and see a 4-1-1-1 or 4-1-1-2, look below and there was a homerun Schmidt (24), or whatever number he had. I knew, just KNEW, that the next couple of weeks would be great fun...
4:42 PM Dec 19th
 
clayyearsley
I disagree with the premise that Schmidt "rejected" his gift and Kingman, like most of us, embraced and blindly followed his. They both learned they had a gift. They followed it all the way to the big leagues. However, Kingman narrowly defined his gift and rejected any attempt or thought of refining or broadening it. Now THAT is like many of us. He decided that it was good enough to be able to smash a ball on occasion and get paid for it. Schmidt, on the other hand, focused on growing his gift. Refining it, re-defining it. He wanted to be the best - not good enough.
When the rest of us mere mortals determine what our gifts are and follow them, we're doing the same thing both Kingman and Schmidt did. There are choices along the way after that.
When I was trying to figure out what to study in college, I told my Dad I wanted to major in Math - I've always enjoyed and been good working with numbers. He said "why, so you can be a teacher?" And we were both guilty of narrowly defining a gift - there are many other paths a degree in math can take you. (Not to mention that teaching is an honorable profession.) Anyway, I went a different direction.
This article and associated comments have given me a picture in my head of 2 conversations:
Dave: "Dad, I can hit the ball a long way. I'm going to swing for the fences."
Mr. Kingman: "Why, so you can be a one-dimensional slugger and make some good cash?"
Dave: "Yeah, that works for me."
AND
Mike: "Dad, I can hit the ball a long way. I'm going to swing for the fences."
Mr. Schmidt: "Why, so you can be a one-dimensional slugger and make some good cash?"
Mike: "No. I can use my slugging ability to get my career started and work on other things to become the best."
1:51 PM Nov 28th
 
benhurwitz
I was a Mets fan in the 1970's, so I know the whole Dave Kingman story. And speaking of Sports Illustrated, one of my all-time favorite baseball quotes came from an SI story on the resurgent Cubs of the early 80's, who were then employing Dave Kingman.

A dying, comatose Cubs fan briefly wakes up in his hospital bed, says, "We gotta get rid of Kingman," then lapses back into his coma, and dies shortly afterward.
1:26 PM Nov 12th
 
jeffsol
Regarding the Brett/Schmidt comparison, I too grew up (born in '69) when Brett & Schmidt were at the front of many discussions of the best players in baseball. Brett always LOOKED more impressive, more like a ballplayer, but I don't know how one could come to the conclusion that Brett was a better all-around player. Brett hit for a better average and struck out less. They had similar speed, both decent meither great (Brett was a slightly better base stealer over his career, but not enough to amount to much). Schmidt had more power and got on base more often because of significantly more walks. Schmidt was generally regarded as a better 3B (Schmidt was a regular Gold Glover, 10 times, Brett only once). This is also supported by Schmidt staying at 3B pretty much his whole career while Brett post-'86 was a 1B/DH. Schmidt was much more durable, playing at least 140 games every year from 1974-1987 except for the strike year. Brett's longest such streak was 2. Don't get me wrong, Brett was marvelous and I loved watching him play, but I don't understand how anyone could think he was a better all-around player than Schmidt. Summing up, Brett was a better contact hitter, they had similar speed, and Schmidt was better at just about everything else.
5:54 PM Nov 11th
 
evanecurb
Nice article and interesting observations. I have often wondered whether it is possible for everyone to develop plate discipline. I associate plate discipline with having a quick bat, i.e. being able to wait until that extra fraction of a second before deciding to take or swing. I don't know if this is right or not. I remember Kingman as being a low ball hitter with a loopy swing, so in his case development of better plate discipline would have meant changing his swing entirely. On the other hand, Dave Fleming's comments have made me rethink this assumption. Practice something over and over again, and you do become better at it. So shame on Kingman and Willie Wilson for not at least trying to draw more walks.

I am not sure what to make of Tim's comments regarding bat control, lower walks, and fewer strikeouts. The point is worth debating though, as high walks don't always correlate with high strikeouts. I point to Ted Williams and Barry Bonds as guys who achieved a high level of walks and low level of strikeouts while having exceptional bat control.

I never understood why Rickey and Raines were able to draw so many walks. It seems like the pitchers would have just thrown in down the middle instead of risking a walk to either of those guys. It is not amazing at all that Willie Wilson, Maury Wills, Luis Aparicio, Vince Coleman, Omar Moreno and Ichiro did not draw a lot of walks, but it is amazing that Raines and Henderson (and Joe Morgan) did. I guess maybe this proves once and for all that walks are as much as/more a function of the hitter as the pitcher.
11:11 AM Nov 10th
 
Trailbzr
For some reason, Dave F writes articles that make me think of Willie Wilson. He seemed like such a natural as a young player, that I can't help but think it was a kind of willful immaturity about walking that kept him from becoming the equal of Raines or Henderson.
There are enough tools in statistical-sabermetrics today that it would be fairly straightforward to construct matched sets of young players who seem identical except for drawing walks, and check how often it correlates with having the longer and more successful career, like Ozzie Smith vs. Garry Templeton or Eddie Murray vs. Cecil Cooper.
8:37 AM Nov 9th
 
Richie
It seems to me a premise - heck, the key premise - of the article is that Crawford could learn plate discipline, but hasn't decided to. Billy Beane would say, "that's garbage, I know 'cuz boy I sure tried teaching it and it just about never took".

If this is Beane's conclusion - maybe I'm misstating it, I dunno - then it vastly overrides cherry-picking guys who did develop plate discipline. Like saying "let's sign cheap guys with 15-homer power, and develop them into guys with 40+ homer power! See, it worked with Brady Anderson, and Luis Gonzalez, and ... "
11:24 AM Nov 8th
 
jalbright
I like the premise of the article, but it isn't that Crawford or Schmidt or Rickey should or did reject the gift, rather, they should or did build on the gift rather than just rely on it.
9:33 AM Nov 8th
 
doncoffin
Looking at that one-season like for Schmidt and Kingman, I don't see "the same" player, or, even, really similar players. Schmidt's OBA was .367, to Kingman's .284. Even in 1975, a fair number of people knew that was a significant factor in player evaluation. Schmidt's SA was .546 to Kingman's .492, but Schmidt's BA was only 18 points higher. This has to means Schmidt was hitting a lot more doubles than Kingman. Superficially similar, maybe, but even in 1975, I don't think anyone would have thought trading Schnidt even-up for Kingman (based solely on talent and perfomance, leaving anything personal out of it) would have been a good idea.
8:25 AM Nov 8th
 
ScottSimkus
Boy, I grew up watching Mike Schmidt. A Cubs fan in Chicago in the 1970s, I saw him come into Wrigley Field and dominate. I may be a little off on the numbers, but it seemed like he hit 300 of his career home runs in Chicago. Greatest thirdbaseman of all-time, everybody knows it now. But what's funny is, at the time (when I was collecting baseball cards, reading TSN, following this stuff obsessively) I always thought George Brett was a far superior all-around player. And you know what, I still do.
11:08 PM Nov 7th
 
DaveFleming
Thanks for the interesting comment, Richie.

If you can't teach plate discipline, how come a fair number of players demonstrate a dramatic increase in walks as they get older? Dwight Evans comes to mind, as does Willie McCovey. Palmiero, Sheffield...I'm sure there are others. It's not the typical pattern, I guess, but there is a precident.

A thought exercise: let's say you and I were given the chance to stand in a batter's box and call out balls or strikes as Josh Beckett pitched to us. Let's say we had to call out our guess when the pitch was halfway to the plate. And imagine that there was an umpire or a QuestTek machine that called out the correct calls after we made our guesses.

I imagine that we'd be pretty inaccruate at first. Our calls wouldn't match the umps, not with any degree of accuracy. But if we did it long enough, wouldn't our calls start getting better? Wouldn't we develop, through that act of repetition, a better ability to call balls and strikes?

I think we would. Maybe not major-league level accurate, but we'd get better.

You're right that most players don't change. But that's sort of my point: Carl Crawford doesn't have to change, just like Kingman didn't have to change. But he'd be a better player if he did change.
9:55 PM Nov 7th
 
timconnelly
I think one aspect of "plate discipline" that's almost always overlooked is that hitters who seldom swing and miss always walk less frequently. You can't tell me Mickey had more plate discipline than Aaron but because Mickey was always looking for one certain pitch and thus took a lot more pitches (resulting in many more called strikes) he both walked more and struck out more. Aaron seldom swung and missed. Because his timing was so good, he seldom fouled off a bunch of pitches.

There's no reason to believe Babe Ruth had great plate discipline. Pitchers pitched him unbelievably carefully and he swung and missed a lot. The result is a lot of walks and a lot of strikeouts.

In Crawford's case, pitcher's may be more willing to challenge him because of his great speed- maybe they'd rather risk an occasional home run to keep him off the bases via a walk. I love the premise of your article and agree that in many (most?) cases it's valid. I'm just suggesting that there are often other factors that might be impacting things besides the player's failure to work at it.
9:50 PM Nov 7th
 
RoelTorres
Oh, I don't know. I feel like Sammy Sosa is a good example of a player who learned plate discipline. He put up sub-300 OBPs at the start of this career, but progressed to record come .400+ seasons as he got older. He got smarter, he got more selective, and he got on-base more.

I would categorize it as unlikely, but not impossible.

(Of course, Billy Beane knows a lot more about baseball and OBP than I do, so I'm not going to bet the farm on it or anything.)
9:49 PM Nov 7th
 
Richie
I believe Billy Beane stated that you can't teach plate discipline. By the time players get to the pro level, they pretty much are what they are. Get a bit better at everything with experience, till the physical toll starts taking them into the reverse direction.
5:55 PM Nov 7th
 
 
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