Re-imagining the Big Zone ‘60s, revisited: part two
Last time, we began our return to the mid-1960s, and our consideration of what impact that period’s expanded strike zone had on the way we perceive the batting performances of prominent players.
Now we’ll look at the tier of stars just below the very best.
All adjusted stat lines are presented in blue font. For our methodology, please see the References and Resources section below.
Two 3TOers
The Toy Cannon was generally underrated at the time, but in recent decades has become recognized (at least by nerds like us) as an outstanding player. Wynn was elected into the Hall of Merit.
The feat of hitting an adjusted total of 41 homers in 1967 while playing home games in the Astrodome is pretty phenomenal. That would be the most homers hit by any Astro until Jeff Bagwell blasted 43 in 1997. Then again, Wynn’s actual 1967 total of 37 homers was the most hit by any Astro until Bagwell hit 39 in the strike-shortened 1994.
That little cannon did indeed pack a wallop.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1963 21 252 34 63 10 5 4 30 35 49 .251 .342 .386 .727 1964 22 221 21 51 7 0 6 20 28 54 .231 .316 .339 .655 1965 23 570 100 161 31 7 24 81 97 117 .283 .387 .490 .877 1966 24 422 69 111 22 1 20 69 47 75 .263 .338 .461 .799 1967 25 600 113 154 30 3 41 118 85 127 .256 .349 .521 .871 1968 26 548 94 152 24 5 29 74 104 121 .277 .392 .497 .889 1969 27 495 113 133 17 1 33 87 148 142 .269 .436 .507 .943 1970 28 554 82 156 32 2 27 88 106 96 .282 .394 .493 .887 1971 29 404 38 82 16 0 7 45 56 63 .203 .302 .295 .597
This guy was a very similar player to Wynn, yet even more overlooked/underrated. And, unlike Wynn, Allison seems to be largely forgotten today.
He wasn’t quite as good as Wynn; Allison was mostly a corner outfielder while Wynn was mostly a center fielder. Wynn was a better base stealer, and perhaps most significantly, Wynn logged about 35% more career plate appearances. But their overall talent profiles were quite alike, and, from the standpoint of career OPS+, they’re nearly identical: 128 for Wynn and 127 for Allison.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 25 501 79 126 30 3 15 69 92 94 .251 .367 .413 .780 1961 26 556 83 136 21 3 29 105 103 100 .245 .363 .450 .813 1962 27 519 102 138 24 8 29 102 84 115 .266 .370 .511 .881 1963 28 533 109 149 26 4 39 101 104 101 .279 .397 .561 .958 1964 29 498 100 147 28 4 35 95 106 92 .295 .419 .581 .999 1965 30 442 79 106 15 5 25 86 84 106 .240 .362 .468 .830 1966 31 169 38 38 6 1 9 21 35 32 .227 .358 .432 .790 1967 32 501 81 133 22 6 26 83 85 106 .266 .373 .492 .865 1968 33 474 70 121 17 8 24 58 60 91 .255 .339 .478 .817 1969 34 189 18 43 8 2 8 27 29 39 .228 .333 .418 .751 1970 35 72 15 15 5 0 1 7 14 20 .208 .345 .319 .664
When they were center fielders
He achieved historic status for his self-sacrificial legal challenge of the Reserve Clause, but because of that no one seems to simply consider Flood the ballplayer. He wasn’t a major star, but he was remarkably durable and consistent, delivering a high average and first-rate center field defense.
Flood’s early-career re-invention of his hitting style was among the more remarkable in history. Though he was a little guy, in the minors he’d been a home run hitter, and in his first three seasons in the big leagues Flood kept using the big-swing approach. But when he finally became convinced that at the major league level his was warning-track power, in 1961 Flood totally changed his approach and became a contact-focused up-the-middle hitter.
Such a transformation seems easy, but in fact has proven extraordinarily difficult to pull off, and thus very rare. Among the few cases comparable to Flood’s in this regard is that of another marvelous defensive center fielder, Garry Maddox, who redesigned his swing between 1972 and 1973.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 22 396 37 94 20 1 8 38 35 54 .237 .303 .354 .657 1961 23 335 53 108 15 5 2 21 35 33 .322 .391 .415 .806 1962 24 635 99 188 30 5 12 70 42 57 .296 .346 .416 .762 1963 25 670 124 208 36 9 6 70 48 53 .310 .357 .416 .773 1964 26 687 107 219 26 3 6 51 50 49 .319 .365 .390 .755 1965 27 625 100 199 31 3 12 92 59 46 .318 .377 .436 .813 1966 28 633 71 174 22 5 11 86 30 46 .274 .307 .378 .685 1967 29 521 75 179 25 1 6 55 43 43 .343 .393 .427 .820 1968 30 625 79 193 18 4 6 66 38 54 .309 .349 .377 .726 1969 31 606 80 173 31 3 4 57 48 57 .285 .344 .366 .710 1970 32 (Refused to play) 1971 33 35 4 7 0 0 0 2 5 2 .200 .300 .200 .500
The senior member of la familia Rojas became so prominent as a manager in the 1990s and 2000s that some modern fans seem only dimly aware that he was once a player, and moreover quite a good player.
Alou’s playing career arc was unusual. He was always a free swinger in stereotypical “nobody walks off the island” mode, and he almost always hit for a good average. But he was big and strong, and hit with good power while not striking out much. Then, in his mid-30s, a point when many excellent veteran hitters become their most power-centric, Alou evolved into an extreme contact hitter and his power production evaporated.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 25 322 48 85 17 3 8 44 16 42 .264 .299 .410 .709 1961 26 415 59 120 19 0 18 52 26 41 .289 .333 .465 .798 1962 27 561 96 177 30 3 25 98 33 66 .316 .356 .513 .869 1963 28 571 83 165 33 9 22 91 31 81 .289 .326 .494 .820 1964 29 419 66 109 27 3 10 56 35 38 .260 .317 .411 .728 1965 30 562 88 172 30 2 25 86 36 58 .305 .347 .502 .849 1966 31 675 135 227 34 6 34 82 28 47 .336 .362 .556 .918 1967 32 580 84 163 27 3 17 48 37 46 .281 .324 .424 .749 1968 33 670 80 218 39 5 12 63 55 52 .326 .377 .453 .830 1969 34 476 54 134 13 1 5 32 23 23 .282 .319 .345 .664 1970 35 575 70 156 25 3 8 55 32 31 .271 .308 .367 .675 1971 36 469 52 135 21 6 8 69 32 25 .288 .333 .409 .742
Shortstops with some sock
These days one often hears the 1960s derided as the decade of ridiculously light-hitting middle infielders. Certainly, any decade featuring the likes of Ed Brinkman, Hal Lanier and Ray Oyler has something to answer for in that regard. Nor were some of the era’s big-name middle infielders, such as Bobby Richardson and Maury Wills, exactly sluggers.
But the truth is that while the defense-first orientation was taken to an extreme in some cases, a fraternity of hard-hitting middle infielders did persist through the period. Here are some shortstops who hit the long ball once in a while.
Nagged by leg injuries during his tenure with the Braves, Menke didn’t enjoy consistent health until playing for Houston, and there the Astrodome suppressed his power stats. He was a very good player, featuring well-rounded offensive production as well as solid defensive versatility.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1962 21 146 12 28 3 1 2 16 16 38 .192 .277 .267 .544 1963 22 523 64 126 17 4 12 55 43 98 .241 .298 .358 .656 1964 23 511 87 149 30 5 22 72 79 71 .291 .386 .500 .886 1965 24 183 18 46 14 1 4 20 21 26 .250 .327 .408 .735 1966 25 459 61 119 21 4 17 66 82 81 .258 .371 .430 .801 1967 26 422 41 99 15 3 8 43 75 57 .234 .350 .338 .688 1968 27 547 62 140 24 6 7 62 74 75 .256 .345 .359 .704 1969 28 553 72 149 25 5 10 90 87 87 .269 .369 .387 .756 1970 29 562 82 171 26 6 13 92 82 80 .304 .392 .441 .833 1971 30 475 57 117 26 3 1 43 59 68 .246 .328 .320 .648
The slick-fielding Cardenas was a slim little guy who didn’t swing the bat the way slim little guys are supposed to. No slap hitter, Cardenas took a full rip, and while he wasn’t a model of consistency, he provided nice RBI production from the back end of the lineup.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 21 142 13 33 2 4 1 12 6 32 .232 .264 .324 .588 1961 22 198 23 61 18 1 5 24 15 39 .308 .353 .485 .838 1962 23 589 77 173 31 4 10 60 39 99 .294 .341 .411 .752 1963 24 570 46 138 23 4 8 53 27 94 .242 .276 .338 .614 1964 25 603 67 156 34 2 10 76 47 102 .259 .313 .370 .683 1965 26 563 72 166 26 11 12 63 69 93 .295 .372 .446 .819 1966 27 574 65 151 26 4 22 90 52 81 .263 .324 .438 .762 1967 28 383 33 101 15 3 2 23 39 71 .263 .332 .335 .667 1968 29 456 50 110 14 2 8 45 42 77 .242 .305 .331 .636 1969 30 578 67 162 24 4 10 70 66 96 .280 .353 .388 .741 1970 31 588 67 145 34 4 11 65 42 101 .247 .300 .374 .674 1971 32 554 59 146 25 4 18 75 51 69 .264 .321 .421 .742
His monster 1969 season was clearly more a fluke than a simple reflection of the strike zone/mound height change from 1968 to ’69. But this exercise makes clear that the still strongly productive level at which Petrocelli settled in 1970-71 was something he was building toward as a younger player.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1963 20 4 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 .250 .250 .500 .750 1964 21 (In minor leagues) 1965 22 326 42 78 16 2 14 36 42 66 .239 .325 .432 .757 1966 23 527 64 129 21 1 20 65 47 92 .245 .307 .401 .708 1967 24 496 59 132 25 2 19 73 57 86 .266 .341 .438 .780 1968 25 410 45 99 18 2 13 51 36 68 .241 .302 .391 .693 1969 26 535 92 159 32 2 40 97 98 68 .297 .403 .589 .992 1970 27 583 82 152 31 3 29 103 67 82 .261 .334 .473 .807 1971 28 553 82 139 24 4 28 89 91 108 .251 .354 .461 .815
Petrocelli seems to be fairly well remembered these days, but the Red Sox shortstop he replaced seems almost forgotten. And while Bressoud wasn’t as good as Petrocelli, during that brief three-year peak he was darn close.
While pursuing his playing career, Bressoud went to school in the offseason, getting an AA degree from Los Angeles City College, and then a bachelor’s from UCLA. Upon his retirement from pro baseball, he received a master’s degree in education at San Jose State, and for many years was both head baseball coach and dean of physical education at De Anza College in Cupertino, Calif.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 28 386 37 87 19 6 9 43 35 72 .225 .290 .376 .666 1961 29 114 14 24 6 0 3 11 11 23 .211 .276 .342 .618 1962 30 599 79 166 40 9 14 68 46 118 .277 .329 .444 .773 1963 31 502 67 134 24 6 22 66 60 86 .267 .345 .471 .817 1964 32 573 95 173 43 3 17 61 83 92 .301 .390 .474 .864 1965 33 299 32 70 12 1 9 28 33 71 .233 .311 .367 .678 1966 34 409 53 95 16 5 11 54 54 99 .232 .322 .376 .697 1967 35 67 9 9 1 1 1 1 10 17 .134 .254 .224 .478
OK, OK, he almost never hit the long ball. But Groat, though he was certainly overrated, was a very good singles-and-doubles-hitting shortstop. This exercise makes it clearer than ever that Groat’s 1963 season was the best of his career, far better than his 1960 performance that quirkily won him an MVP award.
Groat was an interesting athlete. As well as a baseball player, he was an All-American basketball star at Duke (and even played briefly in the NBA), and played nearly 1,900 major league games at shortstop, where he was regarded as displaying excellent range (he sure made a lot of errors, so he better have had excellent range)—yet Groat demonstrated an appalling lack of skill as a base stealer, swiping just 14 in 41 attempts over his 14-year career. It strongly suggests that that the quickness and agility required to excel at playing basketball and playing shortstop aren’t the same thing as baserunning speed.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 29 573 85 186 26 4 2 50 39 35 .325 .371 .394 .765 1961 30 596 71 164 25 6 6 55 40 44 .275 .320 .367 .687 1962 31 678 76 199 34 3 2 61 31 61 .294 .325 .361 .686 1963 32 639 94 209 45 11 7 81 65 54 .327 .389 .464 .853 1964 33 643 77 193 37 6 1 77 51 39 .301 .352 .382 .734 1965 34 593 61 155 27 5 0 58 65 46 .261 .334 .324 .658 1966 35 590 64 158 22 4 2 59 46 35 .268 .321 .330 .651 1967 36 97 8 16 1 1 0 6 12 10 .161 .251 .193 .444
This big-yet-graceful shortstop wasn’t great at anything, but he was good at everything, and was durable and consistent as well. Alas, much to the Mets’ chagrin, once his knees went bad Fregosi was suddenly good at pretty much nothing.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1961 19 27 7 6 0 0 0 3 1 4 .222 .250 .222 .472 1962 20 175 15 51 3 4 3 23 18 27 .291 .356 .406 .762 1963 21 599 92 177 30 12 10 55 42 96 .295 .341 .436 .777 1964 22 511 95 146 23 9 20 80 83 81 .285 .385 .483 .868 1965 23 609 73 174 20 7 17 71 62 99 .285 .352 .423 .775 1966 24 617 86 160 34 7 14 74 77 82 .259 .342 .407 .749 1967 25 597 83 178 24 6 10 62 57 71 .298 .359 .409 .767 1968 26 620 85 156 22 13 10 54 69 94 .252 .327 .378 .705 1969 27 580 78 151 22 6 12 47 93 86 .260 .361 .381 .742 1970 28 601 95 167 33 5 22 82 69 92 .278 .353 .459 .812 1971 29 347 31 81 15 1 5 33 39 61 .233 .317 .326 .643
The possessor of perhaps the most bizarre batting stance in history (he pointed the bat straight toward the sky with his arms fully extended, as though attempting to dislodge a frisbee from a tree) also was probably the single most underrated player of his era. McAuliffe wasn’t a good hitter for average, but he was nonetheless an outstanding run producer, thanks to exceptional strike zone discipline and the kind of home run power rarely found in middle infielders.
Defensively McAuliffe was so-so; he handled shortstop for a few years but became a full-time second baseman at the age of 27.
I recall the radio and TV broadcasters during the 1968 World Series never tiring of touting the fact that McAuliffe had gone the entire regular season without grounding into a double play. That was pretty cool, of course, and as a left-handed batter who generally hit the ball in the air, and was prone to strike out a little bit, McAuliffe was the sort who would always be tough to double up. But the fact that McAuliffe was the everyday leadoff man for a ball club whose seventh-, eighth- and ninth-place lineup slots put up OBPs in 1968 of .282, .239 and .216 respectively might have had a little to do with it.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 20 27 2 7 0 1 0 1 2 6 .259 .310 .333 .643 1961 21 285 36 73 12 4 6 33 24 39 .256 .322 .389 .711 1962 22 471 50 124 20 5 12 63 64 76 .263 .349 .403 .752 1963 23 574 85 155 19 6 14 67 74 70 .270 .353 .399 .752 1964 24 562 94 139 19 7 26 73 89 89 .248 .350 .448 .798 1965 25 408 67 109 14 6 17 60 57 57 .267 .357 .452 .809 1966 26 435 92 123 17 8 25 62 76 74 .282 .389 .533 .923 1967 27 562 102 138 17 7 24 72 121 109 .246 .380 .430 .810 1968 28 576 105 148 25 10 18 62 95 92 .256 .361 .427 .789 1969 29 271 49 71 10 5 11 33 47 41 .262 .369 .458 .827 1970 30 530 73 124 21 1 12 50 101 62 .234 .358 .345 .703 1971 31 477 67 99 16 6 18 57 53 67 .208 .293 .379 .672
The cream of the catching crop
The 1960s were bracketed by decades featuring remarkable clusters of all-time great catchers: The ’50s presented Yogi Berra and Roy Campanella, and the ’70s brought forth Johnny Bench and Carlton Fisk. Thus, in comparison, the ’60s tend to seem like a pretty thin decade for catchers, but in fact several were quite good.
Not quite a star, perhaps, but Haller was a rock-solid producer.
When Haller was with the Giants, Candlestick Park wasn’t fully enclosed (that remodeling would take place in 1970-71). The wide-open-to-the-elements configuration made for famously hilarious and unpredictable wind gusts, but the prevailing wind direction was toward right field. Taking full advantage of this, the 6-foot-4 lefty-batting Haller swung with a big uppercut and lofted high fly balls, as indicated by his ratio of doubles to home runs.
Whether it was a conscious effort on Haller’s part following his trade to Los Angeles in 1968 (Dodger Stadium at that time was a very difficult home run park), or whether it was just an involuntary evolution as his bat speed declined with age, in his 30s Haller was a distinctly different hitter, with a shorter, more compact stroke. In his final few seasons, Haller didn’t pull the ball much, and instead reliably delivered line drives.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1961 24 62 5 9 1 0 2 8 9 23 .145 .260 .258 .518 1962 25 272 53 71 13 1 18 55 51 59 .261 .384 .515 .899 1963 26 301 35 79 8 1 15 49 44 42 .262 .356 .451 .807 1964 27 392 48 102 15 3 18 53 64 47 .260 .363 .448 .811 1965 28 426 44 110 4 3 18 54 54 62 .259 .342 .407 .749 1966 29 475 82 117 20 2 30 74 61 69 .247 .333 .485 .818 1967 30 460 60 119 24 5 15 54 72 57 .258 .358 .433 .791 1968 31 479 41 140 28 5 4 59 53 70 .293 .363 .401 .764 1969 32 445 46 117 18 3 6 39 48 58 .263 .337 .357 .694 1970 33 325 47 93 16 6 10 47 32 35 .286 .351 .465 .816 1971 34 202 23 54 5 0 5 32 25 30 .267 .346 .366 .712
On the other hand, everybody’s favorite TV color man was a line-drive hitter from the get-go. Though he was pretty big and strong, even as a very young player McCarver was extremely contact-oriented, largely eschewing the long ball.
He was a good, dependable hitter, but by no means a great one. Still McCarver achieved one remarkable feat by leading the league (indeed, leading the major leagues) in triples in 1966. How many other catchers have led their league in triples? Well, there was Pudge Fisk in 1972, and no one has done it since. Before that, you have to go way, way, way back … all the way back to Buck Ewing in 1884.
You know, Joe, he was a pitch-snagger … (wait for it) … who hit three-baggers!
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 18 10 3 2 0 0 0 0 0 2 .200 .200 .200 .400 1961 19 67 5 16 2 1 1 6 0 5 .239 .239 .343 .582 1962 20 (In minor leagues) 1963 21 410 43 122 13 7 4 56 31 40 .297 .347 .395 .741 1964 22 470 59 139 20 3 10 58 46 41 .296 .359 .415 .774 1965 23 413 53 117 18 2 12 53 36 24 .284 .341 .425 .766 1966 24 549 55 155 20 13 13 75 42 35 .282 .333 .439 .772 1967 25 477 75 145 27 3 15 76 62 30 .303 .384 .470 .854 1968 26 438 39 114 16 6 6 53 30 29 .261 .308 .362 .671 1969 27 515 46 134 27 3 7 51 49 26 .260 .323 .365 .688 1970 28 164 16 47 11 1 4 14 14 10 .287 .346 .439 .785 1971 29 474 51 132 20 5 8 46 43 26 .278 .337 .392 .729
This burly backstop’s heyday was rather brief. First he spent several years sitting on the White Sox bench, blocked by Sherm Lollar. And he thoroughly ran out of gas at a pretty young age.
But for the few years in between, Battey was an exceptionally good all-around catcher.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 25 466 49 126 24 2 15 60 48 68 .270 .346 .427 .773 1961 26 460 70 139 24 1 17 55 53 66 .302 .377 .470 .847 1962 27 522 58 146 20 3 11 57 57 48 .280 .348 .393 .741 1963 28 514 71 151 18 1 29 93 70 70 .293 .379 .499 .878 1964 29 409 36 114 18 1 13 58 59 45 .279 .370 .425 .795 1965 30 399 40 122 23 2 7 66 58 21 .305 .393 .423 .816 1966 31 368 33 97 13 1 4 38 50 28 .263 .351 .339 .689 1967 32 110 7 19 3 1 0 9 15 22 .171 .270 .218 .488
And then there’s this guy, to whom Fate seemed personally dedicated to preventing becoming a regular major league catcher. The long road included two-and-a-half seasons in the Negro Leagues and two-and-a-half more in the minors (through all of which he was at least as much an outfielder as a catcher), plus a two-year hitch in the military for good measure. Then when he finally made it to the majors, at the age of 26, he was deployed not as a regular at catcher, the outfield, or anywhere else, but as a roving supersub for five more years.
It wasn’t until he was in his 30s that Howard was finally able to edge past Berra and settle in as the Yankees’ regular catcher. But once he got the opportunity, Howard made the absolute best of it, performing as a full-fledged star for several years, and even copping an MVP (though the merit of that can be debated).
All in all this long and completely singular career is a tricky one to assess. The experts over at the Hall of Merit did a good job of wrestling with it, and decided that Howard doesn’t quite make that cut, but his case is clearly deserving of consideration. He was a very fine player.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 31 323 29 79 11 3 6 39 28 43 .245 .298 .353 .651 1961 32 446 64 155 17 5 21 77 28 65 .348 .387 .549 .936 1962 33 494 63 138 23 5 21 91 31 76 .279 .318 .474 .792 1963 34 493 83 146 22 6 31 94 40 63 .295 .349 .553 .902 1964 35 557 70 179 28 3 17 93 55 68 .321 .383 .472 .855 1965 36 395 42 95 16 1 10 50 28 60 .240 .290 .360 .650 1966 37 414 42 109 20 2 7 39 43 60 .264 .332 .369 .702 1967 38 317 24 58 9 0 4 31 24 56 .184 .242 .255 .496 1968 39 205 24 51 4 0 6 20 25 42 .249 .331 .350 .681
His hitting was a little inconsistent, but that’s the only knock. Most frequently, Freehan was a superb all-around catcher, offensively and defensively, whom the Hall of Merit has seen fit to induct.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1961 19 10 1 4 0 0 0 4 1 0 .400 .455 .400 .855 1962 20 (In minor leagues) 1963 21 303 41 76 13 2 10 40 45 52 .251 .348 .404 .751 1964 22 526 76 162 15 8 20 88 42 63 .308 .359 .480 .839 1965 23 435 50 105 16 0 11 48 45 58 .241 .313 .354 .666 1966 24 497 52 120 23 0 13 51 46 67 .241 .305 .367 .673 1967 25 523 73 152 24 1 22 82 84 66 .290 .389 .467 .856 1968 26 546 81 148 25 2 28 93 75 59 .271 .359 .476 .834 1969 27 489 61 128 16 3 16 49 53 55 .262 .342 .405 .747 1970 28 395 44 95 17 3 16 52 52 48 .241 .332 .420 .752 1971 29 516 57 143 26 4 21 71 54 48 .277 .353 .465 .818
Having never watched Josh Gibson play, the greatest hitting catcher I’ve ever seen was Mike Piazza. But the next best, at least for a short while, was this guy.
Torre wasn’t much of a defensive catcher, but he could handle the position when he was in his 20s. And his bat was just exquisite: Torre was a lot like Piazza, in fact, in the manner in which his stroke was calm, easy and well-balanced, yet delivering scorching power to all fields. (I wonder whether Gibson’s approach was along the same lines.)
Torre didn’t get as much Hall of Fame consideration as he deserved (though he’ll eventually almost certainly go in with his managerial career added in), but the Hall of Merit voted him in strictly as a player.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 19 2 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 .500 .500 .500 1.000 1961 20 406 40 113 21 4 10 42 28 60 .278 .330 .424 .754 1962 21 220 23 62 8 1 5 26 24 24 .282 .355 .395 .750 1963 22 507 63 153 20 4 15 79 48 73 .302 .363 .448 .811 1964 23 609 96 201 38 5 22 121 42 62 .330 .373 .517 .890 1965 24 529 75 158 22 1 30 88 70 73 .299 .381 .513 .894 1966 25 553 92 179 21 3 40 112 69 57 .323 .399 .588 .987 1967 26 482 74 137 19 1 22 75 57 70 .285 .360 .465 .825 1968 27 429 50 120 12 2 11 61 39 67 .279 .339 .393 .732 1969 28 602 72 174 29 6 18 101 66 85 .289 .361 .447 .808 1970 29 624 89 203 27 9 21 100 70 91 .325 .398 .498 .896 1971 30 634 97 230 34 8 24 137 63 70 .363 .421 .555 .976
Hall of Fame fielders
These next three guys have Cooperstown plaques, but vastly more on the basis of what they contributed with the glove rather than with the bat. Still, each had something to offer in the offensive half of the inning.
While Aparicio’s base-stealing contribution wasn’t adding as much value as his teams believed, it was adding value. Through his peak years Little Looie was swiping 50 bases a year at an 80%+ success rate, and that’s terrific. But the volume of outs did largely drown out the bases gained.
His defensive value was unambiguously extraordinary, not only in quality but in volume; Aparicio was tremendously durable. The combination of career length, defensive excellence and base thievery persuaded the Cooperstown electorate. But the Hall of Merit voters weren’t sold, considering Aparicio essentially equivalent to Rabbit Maranville, who’s also HOF yes, HOM no.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 26 600 86 166 20 7 2 61 43 39 .277 .323 .343 .666 1961 27 625 90 170 24 4 6 45 38 33 .272 .313 .352 .665 1962 28 581 72 140 23 5 7 40 32 36 .241 .280 .334 .614 1963 29 607 81 156 19 8 6 50 42 32 .257 .305 .342 .647 1964 30 584 103 160 21 3 11 41 57 47 .274 .338 .377 .715 1965 31 569 74 132 21 10 9 44 53 52 .232 .298 .351 .649 1966 32 666 107 189 26 8 7 45 38 39 .284 .323 .378 .700 1967 33 551 61 132 23 5 4 34 33 41 .240 .283 .324 .607 1968 34 628 61 170 25 4 4 40 38 40 .271 .313 .345 .658 1969 35 599 77 168 24 5 5 51 66 29 .280 .352 .362 .714 1970 36 552 86 173 29 3 5 43 53 34 .313 .372 .404 .776 1971 37 491 56 114 23 0 4 45 35 43 .232 .284 .303 .587
It’s certainly the case that Forbes Field suppressed Mazeroski’s home run totals, but his power wasn’t better than Grade B anyway. And given that his OBP performance was worse than Aparicio’s, and that his speed was average at best, Mazeroski’s defensive excellence had to pull an awful lot of weight to take him all the way to Cooperstown.
Moreover, Mazeroski’s defensive excellence wasn’t broad-based, as his range was nothing special. Mazeroski’s tremendous defensive renown boils down to one single skill: his double play pivot. But the good news for Mazeroski was that his double play pivot was probably the best any second baseman has ever displayed.
It was one of those things where, really, you had to see it to believe it. The toss would come to Mazeroski from the shortstop or third baseman and then just instantly be on its way to first base. It wasn’t a case that if you’d blink, you’d miss it; watching the event with both eyes wide open, you still missed it.
Thus the analysis becomes simply one of how many runs Mazeroski’s double play wizardry saved the Pirates, and whether that total balanced against his so-so offense (and the fact that Mazeroski pretty quickly broke down after the age of 30) adds up to a contribution equivalent to those of Hall of Famers in the forms we’re more accustomed to seeing. After rigorous consideration, the Hall of Merit concluded that, outstanding performer though he was, Mazeroski’s totality of achievements don’t quite get there.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 23 538 58 147 21 5 11 64 40 50 .273 .320 .392 .712 1961 24 558 71 148 21 2 13 59 26 55 .265 .298 .380 .678 1962 25 572 55 155 24 9 14 81 37 47 .271 .315 .418 .733 1963 26 539 48 136 23 3 9 58 37 43 .253 .301 .356 .656 1964 27 607 73 167 23 8 11 71 33 48 .276 .313 .395 .708 1965 28 499 58 139 18 1 7 60 21 32 .279 .308 .359 .666 1966 29 627 62 169 23 7 18 91 36 57 .270 .309 .414 .723 1967 30 646 69 174 26 3 10 85 35 51 .269 .306 .365 .671 1968 31 511 40 132 19 2 3 46 44 35 .258 .317 .323 .640 1969 32 227 13 52 7 1 3 25 22 16 .229 .298 .308 .606 1970 33 367 29 84 14 0 7 39 27 40 .229 .283 .324 .607 1971 34 193 17 49 3 1 1 16 15 8 .254 .303 .295 .598
He obviously wasn’t a great hitter, but this exercise helps make clear that for a few years there in the mid-1960s Robinson was a pretty darn good one. And like Aparicio, he was exceptionally durable for a very long time. The Hall of Merit electorate concurred with the BBWAA on this one, and Brooksie is in.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 23 595 74 175 27 9 14 88 35 49 .294 .329 .440 .769 1961 24 668 89 192 38 7 7 61 47 57 .287 .334 .397 .731 1962 25 634 77 192 29 9 23 86 42 70 .303 .342 .486 .828 1963 26 595 74 154 27 4 12 74 53 78 .259 .319 .379 .699 1964 27 620 91 202 37 3 31 130 59 59 .325 .384 .544 .928 1965 28 566 90 173 26 2 20 88 54 44 .305 .366 .464 .830 1966 29 627 101 174 37 2 25 111 65 33 .277 .345 .464 .808 1967 30 616 97 170 26 5 24 85 62 50 .277 .343 .454 .797 1968 31 614 72 160 38 6 19 83 51 51 .261 .317 .434 .751 1969 32 598 73 140 21 3 23 84 56 55 .234 .298 .395 .693 1970 33 608 84 168 31 4 18 94 53 53 .276 .335 .439 .774 1971 34 589 67 160 21 1 20 92 63 50 .272 .341 .413 .754
Peaking early
These two guys shared a lot in common. Both were left-handed hitters, and slender, diminutive athletes whose speed wasn’t surprising given such a build, but whose power certainly was. And, alas, neither’s full career matched its early trajectory.
The shape of Callison’s power production is what’s so curious. Check out his SLG column: amazingly consistent from 1963 through 1965, and then just as amazingly consistent from 1966 through 1970—only with the tone dropped by an octave.
Callison’s career didn’t really have an arc. It was more like three mesas in a row, the high one in the middle.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 21 288 36 75 11 5 9 30 45 70 .260 .360 .427 .787 1961 22 455 74 121 20 11 9 47 69 76 .266 .363 .418 .781 1962 23 603 107 181 26 10 23 83 54 96 .300 .363 .491 .854 1963 24 633 106 185 38 11 29 86 58 103 .292 .351 .523 .875 1964 25 661 112 186 31 10 34 115 42 88 .281 .324 .515 .839 1965 26 625 103 168 26 16 35 112 66 108 .269 .339 .532 .871 1966 27 619 103 176 42 7 12 61 65 77 .284 .352 .434 .785 1967 28 562 69 151 31 5 15 71 64 58 .268 .343 .425 .768 1968 29 402 51 101 19 4 15 44 48 65 .251 .332 .433 .765 1969 30 495 66 131 29 5 16 64 49 73 .265 .332 .440 .772 1970 31 477 65 126 23 2 19 68 60 63 .264 .348 .440 .788 1971 32 290 27 61 12 1 8 38 36 55 .210 .298 .341 .639
Unlike Callison’s, Pinson’s performance didn’t suddenly drop to a lower plane, but gradually faded after his tremendous early success. Moreover, even through his best period Pinson was presenting a sawtooth great year-good year-great year-good year pattern; he never really established a particular level of performance and held it.
The early peaks followed by the long irregular tail always prompted me to question Pinson’s accepted birth year of 1938; his career sure looks like it would be a more plausible fit for someone born a few years earlier than that. But no researcher I’m aware of has found evidence to contradict his officially recognized birthdate, and moreover Pinson’s daughter graciously joined in the Hall of Merit discussion thread regarding Pinson and vouched that, as far as she knows, her dad was born on Aug. 11, 1938.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 21 652 107 187 37 12 20 61 47 96 .287 .339 .472 .811 1961 22 607 101 208 34 8 16 87 39 63 .343 .379 .504 .883 1962 23 619 107 181 31 7 23 100 45 68 .292 .341 .477 .818 1963 24 660 106 212 39 14 24 117 42 74 .321 .362 .533 .895 1964 25 632 109 173 24 11 25 93 48 92 .273 .325 .467 .792 1965 26 677 107 212 36 10 24 104 50 75 .313 .360 .503 .864 1966 27 625 77 185 37 6 18 84 38 77 .296 .337 .459 .795 1967 28 657 100 194 29 13 20 73 30 80 .296 .326 .471 .798 1968 29 504 66 140 30 6 6 53 37 55 .278 .328 .396 .723 1969 30 495 58 126 22 6 10 70 35 63 .255 .303 .384 .687 1970 31 574 74 164 28 6 24 82 28 69 .286 .319 .481 .800 1971 32 566 60 149 23 4 11 35 21 58 .263 .295 .376 .671
A power trio
Stormin’ Norman’s mind-boggling 1961 performance is of course the single most arresting element in his career. But even if one completely ignores that season, a slightly odd feature remains: Cash’s walk rate was at its highest in his first few years, and then gradually declined as he aged, quite contrary to the typical pattern.
But mostly what this exercise reveals (as does any non-cursory look at Cash) is just how darn good he was. The lowest OPS among these 12 seasons is .820. He didn’t quite make Hall of Merit muster, but he got the serious consideration he deserves.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 25 353 64 101 16 3 18 63 65 58 .286 .402 .501 .903 1961 26 535 119 193 22 8 41 132 124 85 .361 .487 .662 1.149 1962 27 507 94 123 16 2 39 89 104 82 .243 .382 .513 .895 1963 28 498 74 138 20 1 29 87 103 70 .277 .401 .494 .895 1964 29 484 70 128 16 5 25 92 81 61 .264 .370 .475 .845 1965 30 472 87 129 24 1 33 91 89 57 .273 .388 .539 .927 1966 31 610 108 175 19 3 35 103 76 84 .286 .366 .501 .867 1967 32 493 71 123 17 5 24 80 94 93 .249 .369 .451 .820 1968 33 415 55 112 16 1 28 70 45 65 .270 .342 .512 .854 1969 34 483 81 135 15 4 22 74 63 80 .280 .368 .464 .832 1970 35 370 58 96 18 2 15 53 72 58 .259 .383 .441 .824 1971 36 452 72 128 10 3 32 91 59 86 .283 .372 .531 .903
An interesting guy in several regards:
1) Colavito was your prototypical slugger in that he had thunderous power, didn’t hit much for average, was quite slow, and had a cannon for a throwing arm. But in one regard he was most unusual among players of this type: He was rather difficult to strike out.
2) Lots of players decline in their early 30s. But Colavito didn’t just decline, he went full-steam into a brick wall.
3) His name. Isn’t it perfect?
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 26 555 67 138 18 1 35 87 53 80 .249 .317 .474 .791 1961 27 583 129 169 30 2 45 140 113 75 .290 .402 .580 .982 1962 28 601 90 164 30 2 37 112 96 68 .273 .371 .514 .885 1963 29 603 101 168 30 2 24 101 97 72 .279 .379 .457 .836 1964 30 594 98 167 33 2 37 113 96 52 .282 .381 .532 .914 1965 31 599 102 177 31 2 29 119 107 58 .295 .402 .498 .900 1966 32 538 75 132 14 0 33 80 88 75 .245 .351 .455 .806 1967 33 384 33 91 14 1 9 55 57 38 .238 .336 .348 .683 1968 34 206 23 45 5 2 9 27 33 32 .217 .327 .391 .718
This exercise illustrates the degree to which Maris’ mid-career breakdown was perceived as more drastic than it was, because of the reduction in scoring conditions beginning in 1963. But it remains a rather stunning breakdown.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 25 499 98 141 18 7 39 112 70 65 .283 .371 .581 .952 1961 26 590 132 159 16 4 61 142 94 67 .269 .372 .620 .992 1962 27 590 92 151 34 1 33 100 87 78 .256 .356 .485 .841 1963 28 315 59 87 15 1 25 59 40 37 .277 .359 .571 .930 1964 29 519 95 150 13 2 29 79 72 72 .289 .375 .486 .861 1965 30 156 24 38 7 0 9 30 33 27 .246 .379 .462 .841 1966 31 351 41 84 9 2 14 48 42 56 .240 .320 .401 .721 1967 32 414 71 111 19 7 10 61 60 57 .269 .361 .420 .781 1968 33 313 28 82 19 2 6 50 28 35 .262 .322 .388 .711
The lumbering company
Finally, the stats of these three behemoths speak for themselves. So how about just some anecdotes.
Bill Wise on Stuart: “In an era of rubber stamps, the 6’3″, 210-pound Red Sox first baseman remains a bona fide original.”
In Ball Four, Jim Bouton relates:
It was Dick Stuart-story day today, and this one was about the time Johnny Pesky was managing the Red Sox and Stuart was playing for him and showing up late for a lot of things. For some reason this upset Pesky, so he called a meeting to talk about MORALE. Stuart was late for it. In fact he didn’t show up until about half an hour before the game (three is considered about right) and he walked right into the middle of the meeting.
All eyes were on him as he opened the door to the clubhouse and, without missing a beat, opened his double-breasted jacket, paraded to the center of the room with his hips swinging, did a pirouette and said, “And here he is nattily attired in a black suede jacket by Stanley Blacker, with blue velvetine pants and shoes by Florsheim. The handkerchief is by Christian Dior.”
Everybody went nuts. Even Pesky had to laugh.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 27 438 48 114 17 5 23 83 39 107 .260 .317 .479 .796 1961 28 532 83 160 28 8 35 117 34 121 .301 .344 .581 .925 1962 29 394 52 90 11 4 16 64 32 94 .228 .286 .398 .684 1963 30 618 90 166 26 4 46 130 51 133 .269 .325 .549 .874 1964 31 610 81 175 28 1 36 126 43 121 .286 .333 .515 .848 1965 32 543 59 131 20 1 31 105 45 126 .241 .299 .452 .752 1966 33 180 12 45 1 0 8 24 23 40 .250 .334 .383 .718 1967 34 (Played in Japan) 1968 35 (Played in Japan) 1969 36 51 3 8 2 0 1 4 3 21 .157 .204 .255 .459
Zander Hollander on Powell:
Massive man … Has grown bigger each season in the majors … As a rookie in 1962 weighed 230 pounds and claims to have driven a Volkswagen … Banned from Lakeland (Fla.) Little League at age 12 because he was already 5-7 and weighed 165 pounds … A 215-pound star tackle on Key West High School football team quarterbacked by George Mira.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1961 19 13 0 1 0 0 0 1 0 2 .077 .077 .077 .154 1962 20 400 44 97 13 2 15 53 38 79 .243 .311 .398 .709 1963 21 496 74 135 23 2 28 91 57 81 .272 .347 .494 .841 1964 22 429 82 128 18 0 43 109 88 84 .298 .417 .640 1.058 1965 23 477 60 122 21 2 19 80 82 86 .255 .365 .426 .790 1966 24 497 86 147 19 0 37 121 77 116 .295 .390 .560 .950 1967 25 419 59 101 15 1 14 61 64 87 .241 .341 .383 .724 1968 26 555 66 142 22 1 24 94 84 90 .256 .354 .431 .785 1969 27 533 83 162 25 0 37 121 72 76 .304 .383 .559 .942 1970 28 526 82 156 28 0 35 114 104 80 .297 .412 .549 .961 1971 29 418 59 107 19 0 22 92 82 64 .256 .379 .459 .838
Robert Kalich on Howard:
The first time I saw Frank it was at Madison Square Garden. He was on the Ohio State basketball team and a fantastic rebounder. He looked as strong then as Hercules does in those horrible movies, and when I saw him later in the dressing room, he looked even stronger.
He is six feet, seven and weighs 285 pounds. And it’s all muscle. He is the biggest and strongest man ever to play in the majors, and he can hit a ball as far as anyone …
… he hits some that will be remembered forever, and one of them was hit in New York in a World Series game off Whitey Ford. It was hit at the shortstop and Kubek leaped, just missing it as the low liner was about 10 feet high. It never elevated to any height but kept going on a line until it crashed into the bleacher wall 457 feet from the plate.
A ball has no right to be hit that hard, and The Monster lumbered into third base with a triple, as the players and fans and Whitey looked on in dismay.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS 1960 23 448 54 120 15 2 23 77 32 108 .268 .320 .464 .784 1961 24 267 36 79 10 2 15 45 21 50 .296 .347 .517 .864 1962 25 493 80 146 25 6 31 119 39 108 .296 .346 .560 .906 1963 26 422 64 119 17 1 31 71 38 108 .281 .341 .545 .886 1964 27 437 66 102 14 2 26 76 59 105 .233 .324 .455 .780 1965 28 522 59 155 23 6 23 93 64 104 .297 .373 .497 .871 1966 29 498 58 142 20 4 20 79 61 96 .286 .364 .461 .825 1967 30 524 79 138 21 2 40 98 69 144 .264 .350 .539 .888 1968 31 604 87 170 29 3 48 117 62 131 .282 .349 .581 .931 1969 32 592 111 175 17 2 48 111 102 96 .296 .402 .574 .976 1970 33 566 90 160 15 1 44 126 132 125 .283 .416 .546 .962 1971 34 549 60 153 25 2 26 83 77 121 .279 .367 .474 .841
Next time
We examine the very greatest hitters of the 1960s.
References & Resources
Bill Wise, 1964 Official Baseball Almanac, New York: Fawcett, 1964, p. 32.
Jim Bouton, Ball Four: My Life and Hard Times Throwing the Knuckleball in the Big Leagues, New York: World, 1970, p. 52.
Zander Hollander, The Complete Handbook of Baseball: 1971 Edition, New York: Lancer, 1971, p. 17.
Robert Kalich, The Baseball Rating Handbook, New York: Barnes, 1969, pp. 198-199.
Some notes on methodology:
The precise percentage differences derived between MLB 1963-68 and 1960-62/69-71 averages:
Runs: 10.5873%
Hits: 3.9586%
Doubles: 4.958%
Triples: 1.726%
Home runs: 10.2001%
Walks: 15.4743%
Strikeouts: -7.883% (yielding a multiplier of 0.92693)
The percentage change in triples is too small to show up in any individual player season. I think this makes intuitive sense: In a higher-scoring 1963-68 era, there certainly would have been more opportunities to stretch doubles into triples, but correspondingly, less incentive to take the risk.
An impact of a greater rate of hits is an increase in at-bats. I used a simple method to increase at-bats: Every batter’s at-bats are increased by his number of increased hits. Outs are constant, of course, and I assume as well a constant rate of double plays and baserunning outs—probably not exactly proper assumptions, but close enough for our purposes. What the increase in both hits and at-bats for batters yields is generally about an eight-point increase in batting average in the .240-to-.300 range; that is, a .270 hitter usually emerges as a .278 hitter.