Filling the Saberhagen Gaps: Volume I
Last time, we introduced an approach to fill in the depressions in the careers of several very fine hitters who displayed an extraordinary inability to sustain peak performance. Now we’ll perform the same exercise for pitchers; actual seasons are displayed in black font, adjusted seasons in blue. (For an explanation of our methodology, please see the References and Resources section below.)
Pitchers are, of course, inherently more inconsistent than batters under any circumstances, as the rigors of their task expose them to both acute and chronic injury to a far greater extent than position players. So finding pitchers with significant dips, dives, and holes in between their best seasons is hardly a difficult thing to do; the greater challenge is to find pitching careers without them. But not all pitchers are the same in this regard, by any means; some pitchers have choppy careers even by the high-choppiness standards of pitchers. We’ll focus on those with some of the most tantalizingly what-might-have-been patterns.
Sabes Himself
A two-time Cy Young Award winner, a .588 career winning percentage, 46th all-time best WHIP, 35th all-time best walks-per-inning, 7th all-time best walks-to-strikeouts—yet Saberhagen has very little chance of making the Hall of Fame. The problem wasn’t his peak, because as a peak performer Saberhagen was brilliant; the problem was very simply that he couldn’t stay healthy, to a degree that was extraordinary even among the fragile fraternity of pitchers.
Our version of Saberhagen is hardly an iron man; he still has his final 200-inning season at age 25, and obviously becomes acquainted with the missed start and the DL stint. But he’s able to hold it together most of the time, and the resulting career winning percentage of .645 (better than Dizzy Dean’s) and ERA+ of 133 (better than Sandy Koufax’s) would likely send him to Cooperstown with votes to spare.
Year Age W L G GS CG IP H HR BB SO ERA ERA+ 1984 20 10 11 38 18 2 158 138 13 36 73 3.48 116 1985 21 20 6 32 32 10 235 211 19 38 158 2.87 145 1986 22 15 9 32 30 10 216 207 20 40 144 3.37 127 1987 23 18 10 33 33 15 257 246 27 53 163 3.36 136 1988 24 18 11 35 34 12 260 242 19 52 176 3.10 130 1989 25 23 6 36 35 12 262 209 13 43 193 2.16 178 1990 26 14 8 28 28 8 198 173 11 39 139 2.71 141 1991 27 13 8 28 28 7 196 165 12 45 136 3.07 135 1992 28 10 6 23 22 4 157 139 10 28 120 3.04 114 1993 29 11 6 24 24 5 171 155 12 25 124 3.02 130 1994 30 14 4 24 24 4 177 169 13 13 143 2.74 152 1995 31 7 6 25 25 3 153 165 21 33 100 4.18 108 1996 32 4 4 16 16 2 90 98 13 22 57 4.53 120 1997 33 8 5 19 19 0 101 106 14 20 57 4.30 108 1998 34 15 8 31 31 0 175 181 22 29 100 3.96 116 1999 35 10 6 22 22 0 119 122 11 11 81 2.95 172 2000 36 6 4 13 13 0 67 71 7 6 46 3.29 151 2001 37 1 2 3 3 0 15 19 3 0 10 6.00 75 Total 216 119 460 436 93 3007 2816 261 531 2019 3.21 133
Another Virtual Vernon
Perhaps even more than Saberhagen, the pitcher’s mound version of Mickey V. A burly guy with an excellent fastball (and late in his career, a famous slider as well, taught to him by Paul Richards), Trucks lost a couple of seasons to World War II, then had an off-year in 1947, a 1950 arm injury, and a lingering dip in performance in ’51 and ’52. But when at his best, while not an elite talent, “Fire” was very, very good.
This heavy-duty vehicle rolls in at 228-156 instead of 177-135, and while probably not Cooperstown-bound, would deserve to be routed into a neighboring locale.
Year Age W L G GS CG IP H HR BB SO ERA ERA+ 1941 24 0 0 1 0 0 2 4 0 0 3 9.00 51 1942 25 14 8 28 20 8 168 147 3 74 91 2.74 144 1943 26 16 10 33 25 10 203 170 11 52 118 2.84 124 1944 27 15 9 31 25 11 202 178 12 67 123 2.96 120 1945 28 13 10 34 27 11 208 192 16 69 130 3.47 102 1946 29 14 9 32 29 15 237 217 23 75 161 3.23 113 1947 30 13 11 37 27 10 210 198 17 80 131 3.79 100 1948 31 14 13 43 26 7 212 190 14 85 123 3.78 115 1949 32 19 11 41 32 17 275 209 16 124 153 2.81 148 1950 33 11 6 24 20 10 162 127 11 73 89 2.92 160 1951 34 17 10 39 28 13 231 199 14 99 130 3.19 130 1952 35 13 15 38 31 13 231 212 15 91 139 3.38 113 1953 36 20 10 40 33 17 264 234 18 99 149 2.93 140 1954 37 19 12 40 33 16 265 224 13 95 152 2.79 134 1955 38 13 8 32 26 7 175 176 19 61 91 3.96 100 1956 39 6 5 22 16 3 120 104 15 63 43 3.82 108 1957 40 9 7 48 7 0 116 106 12 62 55 3.03 130 1958 41 2 2 41 0 0 62 58 3 39 41 3.65 101 Total 228 156 604 404 167 3341 2944 233 1307 1922 3.21 123
A Pair of Latin Aces
Well before he arrived in the major leagues at the age of (well, perhaps as young as) 23, Tiant had spent five and a half seasons in the minors (and who knows how much time in Cuban and winter ball). In the Mexican League from 1959-61, Tiant went from 5-19 with a 5.92 ERA to 17-7, 4.65, to 12-9, 3.78. Purchased by the Indians and climbing throught their system, he went from 7-8 with a 3.63 ERA to 14-9, 2.56, to 15-1, 2.04. His strikeout-per-walk ratios went from 0.92 to 0.86 to 1.33 in the Mexican League, and then from 1.38 to 2.56 to 3.85 in the US minors.
In the American League, Tiant displayed the same knack for continuous improvement, until by 1968 he was simply spectacular: a very hard thrower with excellent command, not only of the fastball but of a variety of wicked breaking pitches, delivered from a kaleidoscopic variety of looks and arm angles. Even within the context of “The Year of the Pitcher” this guy was a startling talent.
It quickly unraveled over the next three years, as Tiant was bedeviled by arm trouble. But just when it appeared that the end was near, in 1972 Tiant suddenly regained his health. While he would never again enjoy his old upper-end velocity, he could still crank up a pretty good heater when he needed it, and mixing that in with his endless repertoire of junk, guile, and wit, El Tiante was once again one of baseball’s better aces (and certainly among its most entertaining) through the mid-1970s.
What if that mid-career sore arm hadn’t been so severe? 247 career wins among modern pitchers is right around the Hall of Fame boundary line.
Year Age W L G GS CG IP H HR BB SO ERA ERA+ 1964 23 10 4 19 16 9 127 94 13 47 105 2.83 127 1965 24 11 11 41 30 10 196 166 20 66 152 3.53 99 1966 25 12 11 46 16 7 155 121 16 50 145 2.79 123 1967 26 12 9 33 29 9 214 177 24 67 219 2.74 119 1968 27 21 9 34 32 19 258 152 16 73 264 1.60 184 1969 28 15 15 36 35 14 254 191 27 101 210 2.64 143 1970 29 16 8 29 28 15 208 151 20 64 173 2.63 141 1971 30 4 5 20 14 2 83 79 10 37 55 4.04 92 1972 31 15 6 43 19 12 179 128 7 65 123 1.91 169 1973 32 20 13 35 35 23 272 217 32 78 206 3.34 120 1974 33 22 13 38 38 25 311 281 21 82 176 2.92 132 1975 34 18 14 35 35 18 260 262 25 72 142 4.02 102 1976 35 21 12 38 38 19 279 274 25 64 131 3.06 128 1977 36 12 8 32 32 3 189 210 26 51 124 4.53 100 1978 37 13 8 32 31 12 212 185 26 57 114 3.31 125 1979 38 13 8 30 30 5 196 190 22 53 104 3.91 105 1980 39 8 9 25 25 3 136 139 10 50 84 4.89 80 1981 40 2 5 9 9 1 57 54 3 19 32 3.92 92 1982 41 2 2 6 5 0 30 39 3 8 30 5.76 71 Total 247 170 581 496 205 3616 3109 346 1104 2589 3.17 118
The mid-career train wreck survived by Martinez wasn’t caused by a sorm arm, but instead by a bent elbow: rampant alcoholism destroyed his effectiveness for a few years, and very nearly ruined Martinez’s career (if not his life). The performance that ensued from the newly sober El Presidente was truly remarkable, not to say inspiring. He was never a particularly hard thrower, so his extremely long and ultimately quite successful career is testament to Martinez’s signature curveball (thrown, like Tiant, from a variety of arm angles), changing speeds, pinpoint control, nerve, smarts, and great conditioning, as well as of course clean living.
Only three retired modern-era pitchers with more than 261 wins are not in the Hall of Fame: Tommy John, Bert Blyleven, and Jim Kaat.
Year Age W L G GS CG IP H HR BB SO ERA ERA+ 1976 21 1 2 4 2 1 28 23 1 8 18 2.60 126 1977 22 14 7 42 13 5 167 157 10 64 107 4.10 92 1978 23 16 11 40 38 15 276 257 20 93 142 3.52 100 1979 24 15 16 40 39 18 292 279 28 78 132 3.66 110 1980 25 6 4 25 12 2 100 103 12 44 42 3.97 100 1981 26 14 5 25 24 9 179 173 10 62 88 3.32 109 1982 27 16 12 40 39 10 252 262 30 87 111 4.21 96 1983 28 11 15 33 30 7 194 212 21 50 96 3.82 103 1984 29 11 8 34 27 4 187 186 24 43 110 3.88 100 1985 30 12 11 33 32 5 203 197 23 56 112 3.94 102 1986 31 9 9 27 23 5 163 151 10 46 94 3.14 118 1987 32 14 6 28 28 4 188 180 15 45 113 3.23 131 1988 33 15 13 34 34 9 235 215 21 55 120 2.72 132 1989 34 16 7 34 33 5 232 227 21 49 142 3.18 111 1990 35 10 11 32 32 7 226 191 16 49 156 2.95 124 1991 36 14 11 31 31 9 222 187 9 62 123 2.39 151 1992 37 16 11 32 32 6 226 172 12 60 147 2.47 141 1993 38 15 9 35 34 2 225 211 27 64 138 3.85 108 1994 39 11 6 24 24 7 177 166 14 44 92 3.52 134 1995 40 12 5 28 28 3 187 174 17 46 99 3.08 150 1996 41 9 6 20 20 1 112 122 12 37 48 4.50 109 1997 42 1 5 9 9 0 49 65 8 29 17 7.71 59 1998 43 4 6 53 5 1 91 109 8 19 62 4.45 95 Total 261 195 703 587 134 4211 4019 368 1190 2308 3.49 112
Speaking of Mid-Career Alcoholism-Related Train Wrecks Survived by Pitchers Named Dennis
I’m not sold at all on the wisdom of Eckersley’s Hall of Fame selection. He made it, let’s not kid ourselves, almost entirely on the basis of that five-season stretch as the Oakland closer from 1988 through 1992. While Eck was about as brilliant over that five-season stretch as a closer can be, it was, after all, just a five-season stretch, and a five-season stretch in which he worked a grand total of 359 and two-thirds innings, or just over 70 innings pitched a year. No matter how effective a pitcher is, and no matter how highly-leveraged his appeareances, when limited to 70-and-change innings a year out of a team’s 1,450 or so, it’s simply impossible to have a huge impact on team success. The role is roughly equivalent to a place-kicker in football: it’s marvelous to have a great one to bring in with the game on the line in the closing seconds, but his contribution to creating that game-on-the-line circumstance is pretty close to nil.
That five-season stretch stands against 19 other seasons in Eckersley’s amazingly long career. That’s a point in his favor. In those 19 seasons, Eck worked 2,926 other innings and went 173-162, with a 3.70 ERA, or an ERA+ of 111. Those figures are not points in his favor; longevity itself is a positive, no doubt, but a very long career of net-pretty-good pitching doesn’t whisper “Cooperstown” in my ear, and so it’s not at clear that taking that and strapping five years of lights-out closing on top does the trick, either.
Here we’ve taken the worst of the mid-career sorriness and cleaned it up, resulting in an Eck with a better Hall of Fame case, but I’m still not sure it would be a compelling Hall of Fame case.
Year Age W L G GS CG IP H HR BB SO ERA ERA+ 1975 20 13 7 34 24 6 187 147 16 90 152 2.60 146 1976 21 13 12 36 30 9 199 155 13 78 200 3.43 102 1977 22 14 13 33 33 12 247 214 31 54 191 3.53 112 1978 23 20 8 35 35 16 268 258 30 71 162 2.99 138 1979 24 17 10 33 33 17 247 234 29 59 150 2.99 148 1980 25 13 14 32 32 10 223 201 28 49 156 3.86 110 1981 26 12 6 23 23 10 169 167 16 42 96 3.45 112 1982 27 15 12 33 33 14 236 231 30 51 139 3.34 129 1983 28 13 12 31 31 10 212 229 28 49 114 4.09 107 1984 29 14 12 33 33 4 225 223 21 49 114 3.60 111 1985 30 11 7 25 25 6 169 145 15 19 117 3.08 129 1986 31 6 10 44 17 1 158 163 16 30 125 4.01 101 1987 32 6 8 54 2 0 116 99 11 17 113 3.03 137 1988 33 4 2 60 0 0 73 52 5 11 70 2.35 160 1989 34 4 0 51 0 0 58 32 5 3 55 1.56 237 1990 35 4 2 63 0 0 73 41 2 4 73 0.61 606 1991 36 5 4 67 0 0 76 60 11 9 87 2.96 130 1992 37 7 1 69 0 0 80 62 5 11 93 1.91 196 1993 38 2 4 64 0 0 67 67 7 13 80 4.16 100 1994 39 5 4 45 0 0 44 49 5 13 47 4.26 104 1995 40 4 6 52 0 0 50 53 5 11 40 4.83 90 1996 41 0 6 63 0 0 60 65 8 6 49 3.30 129 1997 42 1 5 57 0 0 53 49 9 8 45 3.91 107 1998 43 4 1 50 0 0 40 46 6 8 22 4.76 97 Total 207 164 1086 350 114 3329 3041 352 755 2489 3.30 123
A Couple of Control-Artist Southpaws
Ellsworth’s was a truly weird career. That season he put together in 1963 would look right at home tucked alongside the very best of a Warren Spahn or a Jim Palmer, yet Ellsworth never had another that even began to approach it.
Obviously there was some just plain flukiness at work there; a lot of his pitches were hit right at his fielders that year, or something. But it was more than that: Ellsworth clearly pitched beautifully in 1963, too. He always had excellent control, and that season he had a decent strikeout rate, and perhaps most significantly, avoided the long ball extremely well. (A product of Fresno High School in central California, Ellsworth won his 20th game in 1963 on the same day that Jim Maloney, a Fresno High teammate from the very same class, won his 20th for the first time, giving coach Ollie Bidwell ample reason to be proud. A few years later, that school’s team would feature a right-hander named Seaver.)
Ellsworth was a big guy (6’4″, 195), but still appears that the heavy workload he sustained, not just in 1963 but over the entire 1962-66 period, pretty much wore him out at an early age. He enjoyed a mini-revival at the age of 28, but the bitter end came rather soon after that. In our version we have him developing some of the 1963 magic before the fact, and keeping some of it around for a few years after as well, thus putting together a nice run as a front-line starter. Ellsworth’s actual 115-137 career record is almost perfectly reversed here.
Year Age W L G GS CG IP H HR BB SO ERA ERA+ 1958 18 0 1 1 1 0 2 4 0 3 0 15.43 25 1960 20 7 13 31 27 6 177 170 12 72 94 3.72 101 1961 21 10 11 37 31 7 187 213 23 48 91 3.86 109 1962 22 16 15 37 35 13 250 232 19 76 149 3.35 124 1963 23 22 10 37 37 19 291 223 14 75 185 2.11 167 1964 24 18 14 37 37 18 274 245 24 73 167 2.88 129 1965 25 18 13 37 36 14 257 225 18 66 158 2.84 129 1966 26 12 15 35 33 10 233 259 22 44 125 3.58 103 1967 27 11 7 32 25 7 161 174 11 37 76 3.56 96 1968 28 16 7 31 28 10 196 196 16 37 106 3.03 104 1969 29 6 9 36 24 3 147 178 11 44 52 4.10 92 1970 30 3 3 43 1 0 59 60 4 17 22 3.79 104 1971 31 0 1 11 0 0 15 22 1 7 10 4.91 71 Total 139 118 404 313 105 2247 2201 175 599 1234 3.30 112
Shantz was extremely small (5’6″, 140) while Ellsworth was tall, but aside from that they share some similarities: both were crafty, control-oriented young lefties who came out of nowhere to forge a stupendous season that was followed by frustration. But where Ellsworth kind of gradually wore down, Shantz’s arm trouble after his great MVP year of 1952 was immediate and severe, and quite obviously career-threatening.
Unlike Ellsworth, Shantz was able to work through it, no doubt greatly helped in 1957-60 by being adroitly spotted by manager Casey Stengel amid a deep and flexible pitching staff, and working his home games in the ideal-for-southpaws environment of Yankee Stadium. And also unlike Ellsworth, Shantz was able to remain a very effective major leaguer through the age of 38. I don’t know why Shantz’s career ended when it did; it sure looked as though he had quite a bit left in the tank. (Two other differences between them: hitting and fielding. Shantz wasn’t a bad-hitting pitcher, with a lifetime batting average of .195, but Ellsworth was horrific, hitting .088 lifetime (OPS+ of -30) with 322 strikeouts in 673 at-bats. And Ellsworth wasn’t anything special as a fielder, while Shantz was universally regarded as spectacular with the glove, an Ozzie Smith on the mound, winning the Gold Glove every year it was awarded during his career, from 1957 through 1964.)
Our Shantz has a far less worrisome mid-career crisis, and winds up with some glittering career totals: 152-98 (.608) with a 131 ERA+. That isn’t sufficient volume for a Hall of Fame case, but what’s there is all good: pound-for-pound, one might say, extremely tough to beat.
Year Age W L G GS CG IP H HR BB SO ERA ERA+ 1949 23 6 8 33 7 4 127 100 9 74 58 3.40 121 1950 24 8 14 36 23 6 215 251 18 85 93 4.61 98 1951 25 18 10 32 25 13 205 213 15 70 77 3.94 109 1952 26 24 7 33 33 27 280 230 21 63 152 2.48 160 1953 27 15 8 25 25 17 193 169 16 45 105 2.92 147 1954 28 12 4 22 18 12 154 133 13 35 76 2.56 153 1955 29 13 7 29 24 13 193 170 15 56 94 2.91 143 1956 30 7 6 38 12 5 137 126 14 39 70 3.15 137 1957 31 11 5 30 21 9 173 157 15 40 72 2.45 147 1958 32 7 6 33 13 3 126 127 8 35 80 3.36 106 1959 33 7 3 33 4 2 95 64 4 33 66 2.38 153 1960 34 5 4 42 0 0 68 57 5 24 54 2.79 129 1961 35 6 3 43 6 2 89 91 5 26 61 3.32 120 1962 36 6 4 31 3 1 78 60 8 25 61 1.95 211 1963 37 6 4 55 0 0 79 55 6 17 70 2.61 136 1964 38 2 5 50 0 0 61 52 5 19 42 3.12 116 Total 152 98 563 213 114 2272 2055 175 686 1230 3.07 131
Big Daddy
A very big fellow (6-foot-3 and, um, politely listed at 235), Reuschel was nonetheless a sinker-slider control artist who didn’t throw hard at all, and he was remarkably quick and agile as a fielder, winning two Gold Gloves.
His career breaks into two neat hunks: from 1972 through 1981, Big Daddy was a consistently effective workhorse, and from 1985 through 1989, he was extremely durable and effective again. But the gap in between was something of an abyss: felled by a torn rotator cuff, Reuschel missed the entire 1982 season, worked in just four games in 1983, and was able to pitch in just 19, highly ineffectively, in 1984.
Our Big Daddy avoids that crisis, encountering only a slight bit of difficulty, and emerges as a 245-game winner.
Year Age W L G GS CG IP H HR BB SO ERA ERA+ 1972 23 10 8 21 18 5 129 127 3 29 87 2.93 130 1973 24 14 15 36 36 7 237 244 15 62 168 3.00 132 1974 25 13 12 41 38 8 241 262 18 83 160 4.30 89 1975 26 11 17 38 37 6 234 244 17 67 155 3.73 103 1976 27 14 12 38 37 9 260 260 17 64 146 3.46 111 1977 28 20 10 39 37 8 252 233 13 74 166 2.79 157 1978 29 14 15 35 35 9 243 235 16 54 115 3.41 119 1979 30 18 12 36 36 5 239 251 16 75 125 3.62 114 1980 31 11 13 38 38 6 257 281 13 76 140 3.40 116 1981 32 8 11 25 24 4 156 162 8 33 75 3.11 117 1982 33 16 10 34 31 7 217 202 12 64 132 3.01 133 1983 34 9 13 33 33 4 215 231 15 62 119 3.67 104 1984 35 9 7 27 24 7 160 165 10 33 75 4.13 95 1985 36 14 8 31 26 9 194 153 7 52 138 2.27 158 1986 37 12 11 33 31 8 212 197 13 50 123 3.45 111 1987 38 13 9 34 33 12 227 207 13 42 107 3.09 131 1988 39 19 11 36 36 7 245 242 11 42 92 3.12 105 1989 40 17 8 32 32 2 208 195 18 54 111 2.94 116 1990 41 3 6 15 13 0 87 102 8 31 49 3.93 93 1991 42 0 2 4 1 0 11 17 0 7 4 4.22 85 Total 245 210 626 596 123 4023 4010 243 1054 2287 3.29 117
References & Resources
Methodology
On my first pass at this, I employed a rather strict, formal structure for adjusting players’ stats, very similar to the one I developed here to fill in the missing seasons for players who served in the military during World War II. While I found that this methodology produced very satisfactory total results, the specific year-by-year stat lines it yielded were too perfect for this exercise: too smooth, too predictable. We went from a frustratingly inconsistent actual career to an implausibly consistent virtual career.
Everyone’s actual career (especially pitchers) includes a certain degree of year-to-year variation, and I wanted even these smoothed-out versions to reflect some of that. So instead of the strict formality, I allowed myself to be a little looser, and apply a bit of artistic license. However, I did require myself to stick to some basic rules:
– I couldn’t just make stuff up; all adjusted stats have to start with the particular pitcher’s actual stat lines.
– In most cases, the stats from the season being adjusted were included (even if in a minor weighting) in the adjusted line, to give the adjusted line some of the flavor of that actual season’s performance.
– No pitcher’s career can start earlier than it did, or end later than it did.
– No adjusted season can surpass the pitcher’s actual peak season(s); the adjusted seasons act as a bridge to and from peaks, not a new peak.
I’ve endeavored to create a new version of each pitcher’s career that is idealized, but in a plausible manner. The intended effect is to enhance the actual career while not overwhelming it, to create an easily recognizable version of the actual career that is, to a reasonable degree, the best it might have been.
Feel free to email me with any questions about the precise formulae used for any particular pitcher.
The tidbit about Ellsworth, Maloney, and Fresno High coach Bidwell comes from the 1964 Official Baseball Almanac, compiled and edited by Bill Wise (Fawcett: 1964), page 13.