Baseball Guru
01-20-2005, 08:19 PM
http://proxy.espn.go.com/mlb/columns/story?id=1971211
By Rob Neyer
ESPN Insider
They just don't make exciting baserunners like they used to. But then, that's probably been true for a long, long time. Here's baseball writer Hugh Fullerton in the 1910 book, Touching Second:
http://espn.starwave.com/media/insider/2005/0120/photo/a_cobb_vt.jpg
It is so seldom that one who watches a couple of hundred games of baseball every season sees anything new in the base-running line that when he does it is refreshing. … Philadelphia went wild over [Eddie] Collins, who ran with execrable judgment, but got results. Billy Maloney set Chicago to talking by just such running, and led the National League one season in base-stealing. He ran wild, ran at the wrong time, ran all the time – and the showing that he and Collins made proves the wisdom of the old order to "keep the other fellows throwing." The other fellows tell "how lucky such runners are," and keep on making errors.
In other words, if only you'll keep running, you might end up with a Little League homer! (And by "Little League," I don't mean the games broadcast by ESPN from Williamsport. By "Little League," I mean the games played by fourth-graders at the elementary school down the street from your house.)
These days, the problem with "keeping the other fellows throwing" is that they generally don't keep on making errors. A century ago, though, they kept making errors for two reasons.
For one thing, the conditions did not favor the guys with the ball. Gloves were rudimentary, which meant that unless the ball landed precisely in the palm, it probably wasn't going to be caught cleanly. And the diamonds were, by our standards, practically unplayable; a throw in the dirt toward third base, for example, had almost no chance of resulting in an out.
And for another, the players simply weren't as good. Though professional baseball was roughly four decades old, there really wasn't an efficient system for funneling the best players to the best leagues, and so it's likely that in 1910 there were scores of major leaguers who should have been in the minor leagues, and scores of minor leaguers (and even amateurs) who should have been in the majors.
All that's changed, though, as professional baseball has matured. The gloves are bigger and better, the infield dirt more generous, and the players generally more skilled.
Ty Cobb had a fire in his belly and couldn't stand losing.
If Ty Cobb were playing today, he wouldn't be the same player. Oh, he'd still be a great player. But Ty Cobb's not a legend because he was a great player; he wasn't any greater than his contemporary, Honus Wagner. Cobb's a legend because of what he did on the bases. According to popular opinion, Cobb routinely bunted his way aboard, reached second and then third base by a variety of slightly nefarious methods, and then swiped home after warning the pitcher that's exactly what he would do.
But according to Fullerton, in 1909, when Cobb led the American League, with 76 steals, he 1) was also thrown out 29 times for a 72.5-percent success rate, and 2) stole home only three times all season. How good was Cobb, as a basestealer? We'll explore that question tomorrow; today the message is that Cobb wasn't quite as reckless (read: exciting) as we've been led to believe. But of course there's at least a kernel of truth in every legend, and in this case there's probably something more like a cob.
As Rube Bressler, who pitched against Cobb in 1914 and '15, later remembered, "His determination was fantastic. I never saw anybody like him. It was his base. It was his game. Everything was his. The most feared man in the history of baseball."
Cobb would soon be dethroned as the most feared man in baseball, and by a completely different sort of player: Babe Ruth. And with Ruth changing the game from bloops to blasts, by 1932 Chuck Klein could lead the National League with only 20 stolen bases. There were certainly fast, aggressive baserunners between Cobb's prime and 1947 – Kiki Cuyler, Pepper Martin, George Case – but it wasn't until '47, when Jackie Robinson arrived in the National League, that another player captivated the imagination as Cobb had. Though Robinson led the NL in steals only twice (and topped 30 steals only once), it's his baserunning that people remember (and not his uncanny ability to reach base, or his power, or his sterling defense). The lingering image of Robinson is him stealing home against the Yankees in the 1955 World Series.
" His determination was fantastic. I never saw anybody like him. It was his base. It was his game. Everything was his. The most feared man in the history of baseball. "
-- Rube Bressler on Ty Cobb
The '55 World Series notwithstanding, though, Robinson's time as an intimidating baserunner really didn't last all that long, and by the mid-'50s the most exciting baserunner in the majors was Willie Mays. He would lead the National League in steals four straight seasons, but it was more than just that. Mays would do things like take a wide turn around second base on a hit to left field, and then when the outfielder threw behind Mays, he'd just cruise into third. Drove them nuts.
Mays' reign as Most Exciting Baserunner didn't last long, though, as he got a bit older, a bit slower, and hit a few more home runs (which made baserunning shenanigans seem a bit risky). Maury Wills was ready to take over, though. In 1964, Wills stole 104 bases, which was of course a new record. And though his steals went up and down over the next decade, when Wills reached base, he became the focus of everybody in the ballpark.
Wills played his last game in 1972 (and managed to steal only one base in 71 games). And while there really wasn't another player quite like him – Lou Brock stole a lot of bases, especially in 1974, but was he really that exciting? – a style of baseball was invented (or perhaps reinvented) by Pete Rose and his teammates in Cincinnati.
Hal McRae was the most aggressive baserunner of the 1970s, a man who left home plate thinking "double" every time he hit the ball. The rule allowing the second base umpire to call a double play if the runner from first leaves the baseline to take out the pivot man is known informally as the McRae rule. He was probably thrown out on the bases, I would guess, 40 times a season. He took the lessons of the early Big Red Machine, and transmitted them to the Kansas City Royals …
I remember reading that passage and thinking to myself, "Geez, if McRae was really making that many outs, he was killing the Royals."
He wasn't. McRae certainly was aggressive – and yes, exciting – but he wasn't thrown out anything like 40 times per season. From 1974 through 1979, the five years in the 1970s that McRae spent with the Royals, he was thrown out, trying to take the extra base either as batter or runner, 74 times. And of those 74 times, only 26 came immediately following a hit; that is, only 26 times in six years was he thrown trying to stretch a single to a double, a double to a triple, or (perhaps) a triple to a home run. (My thanks to Retrosheet for that information.)
It's true, about the so-called "McRae rule," which came into being after McRae took out Willie Randolph in the 1977 ALCS (it's a good rule, and would be a great rule if the umpires actually enforced it). So yeah, McRae certainly was aggressive. But was he really more aggressive than Pete Rose, McRae's erstwhile teammate in Cincinnati? After all, it's Rose who got the cool nickname, at the very beginning of his career, because when he drew a walk, he ran to first base. He also routinely slid head-first into whichever was next, even though every book about playing baseball said you shouldn't.
So I would argue the progression runs from Cobb to Robinson to Mays to Wills to Rose to … who? McRae, perhaps, except McRae's last full season was 1986, same as Rose. And since Rose and McRae? Vince Coleman was certainly exciting, but then so were half his teammates with those late-1980s Cardinals. Bill James lists Alfredo Griffin as the most aggressive baserunner of the 1970s, and Delino DeShields as the most aggressive baserunner of the 1990s. There's no doubt about Griffin. He was exceptionally fast, and though not a particularly effective base stealer, wasn't at all shy about going first to third, or even – once – second to home … on a walk.
DeShields? Sure, I guess. You certainly don't hear tales of his baserunning down at the corner bar, though. Unfortunately for today's fans, if you remove steals from the equation, there just isn't much aggression, or excitement, on the bases anymore. The fielders are just too good, and the baserunners just too valuable. And it's hard to imagine the future any other way.
By Rob Neyer
ESPN Insider
They just don't make exciting baserunners like they used to. But then, that's probably been true for a long, long time. Here's baseball writer Hugh Fullerton in the 1910 book, Touching Second:
http://espn.starwave.com/media/insider/2005/0120/photo/a_cobb_vt.jpg
It is so seldom that one who watches a couple of hundred games of baseball every season sees anything new in the base-running line that when he does it is refreshing. … Philadelphia went wild over [Eddie] Collins, who ran with execrable judgment, but got results. Billy Maloney set Chicago to talking by just such running, and led the National League one season in base-stealing. He ran wild, ran at the wrong time, ran all the time – and the showing that he and Collins made proves the wisdom of the old order to "keep the other fellows throwing." The other fellows tell "how lucky such runners are," and keep on making errors.
In other words, if only you'll keep running, you might end up with a Little League homer! (And by "Little League," I don't mean the games broadcast by ESPN from Williamsport. By "Little League," I mean the games played by fourth-graders at the elementary school down the street from your house.)
These days, the problem with "keeping the other fellows throwing" is that they generally don't keep on making errors. A century ago, though, they kept making errors for two reasons.
For one thing, the conditions did not favor the guys with the ball. Gloves were rudimentary, which meant that unless the ball landed precisely in the palm, it probably wasn't going to be caught cleanly. And the diamonds were, by our standards, practically unplayable; a throw in the dirt toward third base, for example, had almost no chance of resulting in an out.
And for another, the players simply weren't as good. Though professional baseball was roughly four decades old, there really wasn't an efficient system for funneling the best players to the best leagues, and so it's likely that in 1910 there were scores of major leaguers who should have been in the minor leagues, and scores of minor leaguers (and even amateurs) who should have been in the majors.
All that's changed, though, as professional baseball has matured. The gloves are bigger and better, the infield dirt more generous, and the players generally more skilled.
Ty Cobb had a fire in his belly and couldn't stand losing.
If Ty Cobb were playing today, he wouldn't be the same player. Oh, he'd still be a great player. But Ty Cobb's not a legend because he was a great player; he wasn't any greater than his contemporary, Honus Wagner. Cobb's a legend because of what he did on the bases. According to popular opinion, Cobb routinely bunted his way aboard, reached second and then third base by a variety of slightly nefarious methods, and then swiped home after warning the pitcher that's exactly what he would do.
But according to Fullerton, in 1909, when Cobb led the American League, with 76 steals, he 1) was also thrown out 29 times for a 72.5-percent success rate, and 2) stole home only three times all season. How good was Cobb, as a basestealer? We'll explore that question tomorrow; today the message is that Cobb wasn't quite as reckless (read: exciting) as we've been led to believe. But of course there's at least a kernel of truth in every legend, and in this case there's probably something more like a cob.
As Rube Bressler, who pitched against Cobb in 1914 and '15, later remembered, "His determination was fantastic. I never saw anybody like him. It was his base. It was his game. Everything was his. The most feared man in the history of baseball."
Cobb would soon be dethroned as the most feared man in baseball, and by a completely different sort of player: Babe Ruth. And with Ruth changing the game from bloops to blasts, by 1932 Chuck Klein could lead the National League with only 20 stolen bases. There were certainly fast, aggressive baserunners between Cobb's prime and 1947 – Kiki Cuyler, Pepper Martin, George Case – but it wasn't until '47, when Jackie Robinson arrived in the National League, that another player captivated the imagination as Cobb had. Though Robinson led the NL in steals only twice (and topped 30 steals only once), it's his baserunning that people remember (and not his uncanny ability to reach base, or his power, or his sterling defense). The lingering image of Robinson is him stealing home against the Yankees in the 1955 World Series.
" His determination was fantastic. I never saw anybody like him. It was his base. It was his game. Everything was his. The most feared man in the history of baseball. "
-- Rube Bressler on Ty Cobb
The '55 World Series notwithstanding, though, Robinson's time as an intimidating baserunner really didn't last all that long, and by the mid-'50s the most exciting baserunner in the majors was Willie Mays. He would lead the National League in steals four straight seasons, but it was more than just that. Mays would do things like take a wide turn around second base on a hit to left field, and then when the outfielder threw behind Mays, he'd just cruise into third. Drove them nuts.
Mays' reign as Most Exciting Baserunner didn't last long, though, as he got a bit older, a bit slower, and hit a few more home runs (which made baserunning shenanigans seem a bit risky). Maury Wills was ready to take over, though. In 1964, Wills stole 104 bases, which was of course a new record. And though his steals went up and down over the next decade, when Wills reached base, he became the focus of everybody in the ballpark.
Wills played his last game in 1972 (and managed to steal only one base in 71 games). And while there really wasn't another player quite like him – Lou Brock stole a lot of bases, especially in 1974, but was he really that exciting? – a style of baseball was invented (or perhaps reinvented) by Pete Rose and his teammates in Cincinnati.
Hal McRae was the most aggressive baserunner of the 1970s, a man who left home plate thinking "double" every time he hit the ball. The rule allowing the second base umpire to call a double play if the runner from first leaves the baseline to take out the pivot man is known informally as the McRae rule. He was probably thrown out on the bases, I would guess, 40 times a season. He took the lessons of the early Big Red Machine, and transmitted them to the Kansas City Royals …
I remember reading that passage and thinking to myself, "Geez, if McRae was really making that many outs, he was killing the Royals."
He wasn't. McRae certainly was aggressive – and yes, exciting – but he wasn't thrown out anything like 40 times per season. From 1974 through 1979, the five years in the 1970s that McRae spent with the Royals, he was thrown out, trying to take the extra base either as batter or runner, 74 times. And of those 74 times, only 26 came immediately following a hit; that is, only 26 times in six years was he thrown trying to stretch a single to a double, a double to a triple, or (perhaps) a triple to a home run. (My thanks to Retrosheet for that information.)
It's true, about the so-called "McRae rule," which came into being after McRae took out Willie Randolph in the 1977 ALCS (it's a good rule, and would be a great rule if the umpires actually enforced it). So yeah, McRae certainly was aggressive. But was he really more aggressive than Pete Rose, McRae's erstwhile teammate in Cincinnati? After all, it's Rose who got the cool nickname, at the very beginning of his career, because when he drew a walk, he ran to first base. He also routinely slid head-first into whichever was next, even though every book about playing baseball said you shouldn't.
So I would argue the progression runs from Cobb to Robinson to Mays to Wills to Rose to … who? McRae, perhaps, except McRae's last full season was 1986, same as Rose. And since Rose and McRae? Vince Coleman was certainly exciting, but then so were half his teammates with those late-1980s Cardinals. Bill James lists Alfredo Griffin as the most aggressive baserunner of the 1970s, and Delino DeShields as the most aggressive baserunner of the 1990s. There's no doubt about Griffin. He was exceptionally fast, and though not a particularly effective base stealer, wasn't at all shy about going first to third, or even – once – second to home … on a walk.
DeShields? Sure, I guess. You certainly don't hear tales of his baserunning down at the corner bar, though. Unfortunately for today's fans, if you remove steals from the equation, there just isn't much aggression, or excitement, on the bases anymore. The fielders are just too good, and the baserunners just too valuable. And it's hard to imagine the future any other way.