The Phelps hypotheticals (Volume 2)
A few months ago, we introduced the concept of examining the careers of players who, for whatever reason, had major league careers that were less extensive than warranted by their talent. These players either were inordinately delayed in gaining a major league job, and/or were deployed in a less regular role than they plausibly might have been. Our intent in this series is to do our best to imagine what sort of career such a player would likely have achieved, had he been given a substantial chance at regular play.
Our methodology is outlined in the References and Resources section below. All adjusted stat lines appear in blue, all actuals are in black.
The line drive machine
He became famed primarily for his legendary pinch-hitting prowess, with the Dodgers in the 1970s. But Señor Mota had been hitting up a storm in a semi-regular fourth outfielder role for the Pirates since the mid-1960s.
It took a pretty darn good ballplayer to gain semi-regular fourth outfielder status on that Pittsburgh roster, which had future Hall of Famers in Roberto Clemente and Willie Stargell handling right field and left, plus defensive wizard Bill Virdon, and then batting-average-wonder Matty Alou, in center field. The young Mota was a good defensive outfielder, with even enough fielding aptitude to help out at third base or second base as needed, and at the plate he simply put the ball in play with calm, hard authority.
Mota was a student of the game in the classic sense: He was never satisfied, always working hard, and steadily, relentlessly improving. He was a better hitter in his late 20s than he had been in his mid-20s, and still a better hitter in his early-to-mid 30s. And as he further aged, and lost his speed and defensive skill, Mota’s capacity to turn any pitch into a hissing dart didn’t recede in the least.
If you never saw him, you missed one of the rarest of pleasures, though for us Giants fans it was a bitter-edged pleasure. Mota was always in shape, never rotund like Tony Gwynn, but otherwise Mota at bat was a right-handed version of Gwynn: perfectly balanced, impeccably confident and at ease, seeming to cause each pitch to slow down and place itself on a tee smack in the center of his hitting zone, making utterly pure contact with negligible apparent effort.
Had Mota found himself early in his career on a ball club with less talent ahead of him, it’s entirely likely he’d have earned himself a starting role, and a career something along the lines of what we see here would likely have ensued. He wouldn’t be Hall of Fame worthy by any means, but Mota would have been celebrated as a minor star, and probably would have made more than one All-Star team.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS OPS+ 1962 24 183 30 42 7 2 2 14 15 19 .230 .288 .322 .610 66 1963 25 273 40 71 5 4 2 16 16 38 .260 .301 .330 .631 81 1964 26 436 69 120 11 7 6 45 21 52 .276 .309 .374 .683 92 1965 27 489 79 141 15 9 7 54 33 52 .289 .335 .402 .737 106 1966 28 617 100 196 25 13 9 84 42 64 .317 .360 .444 .804 123 1967 29 602 88 190 24 12 6 87 32 64 .315 .349 .425 .775 120 1968 30 541 62 160 16 6 3 58 33 43 .297 .337 .364 .701 112 1969 31 587 67 183 13 7 4 49 50 51 .311 .365 .378 .744 114 1970 32 528 74 162 16 8 3 48 56 46 .307 .373 .386 .759 108 1971 33 475 55 149 20 8 2 56 39 33 .313 .365 .402 .768 124 1972 34 427 63 138 18 6 5 54 32 18 .322 .369 .427 .796 128 1973 35 368 42 115 14 3 1 39 31 16 .311 .365 .367 .732 108 1974 36 192 17 58 9 3 0 33 15 14 .303 .354 .373 .727 108 1975 37 235 32 73 9 3 3 34 19 9 .311 .362 .403 .765 116 1976 38 199 18 61 9 1 0 25 20 11 .307 .369 .360 .729 110 1977 39 126 15 43 4 1 1 11 18 4 .338 .419 .406 .825 123 1978 40 92 9 28 3 0 0 11 8 6 .310 .365 .354 .719 103 1979 41 42 1 15 0 0 0 3 3 4 .357 .400 .357 .757 110 1980 42 7 0 3 0 0 0 2 0 0 .429 .429 .429 .858 143 1982 44 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 .000 .000 .000 .000 -100 Career 6419 860 1947 219 91 54 722 480 544 .303 .352 .391 .743 111
Big-hitting backup catchers
Most second-string catchers, in every era, have been of the give-us-that-solid-defense-and-anything-you-hit-is-a-bonus variety. These two marched to an entirely different drummer.
He wasn’t a well-rounded talent, to be sure. Blanchard was a poor defensive catcher (and a poor outfielder when they used him out there), and as hitter he wasn’t good at anything except lofting high flies down the right field line. Fortunately for him, that singular skill is particularly valuable to a team desiring to win baseball games, especially when it plays half of its games in a ballpark with a sign in the right field corner reading “296.”
Had the Yankees in his era not been as extraordinarily rich in catching talent as they were (hello, Yogi Berra and Elston Howard), Blanchard’s power likely would have gained him first-string status. A career along the lines we see below would have been the result: an impactful player, and a fleeting star.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS OPS+ 1955 22 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 .000 .250 .000 .250 -27 1956 23 43 5 9 1 0 1 5 5 5 .209 .292 .302 .594 60 1957 24 218 30 58 8 1 7 37 11 11 .266 .301 .408 .710 95 1958 25 369 50 91 14 3 9 55 29 26 .247 .302 .374 .675 89 1959 26 359 40 81 10 1 18 54 41 53 .226 .305 .409 .714 97 1960 27 417 40 101 13 3 19 60 32 70 .241 .295 .425 .720 98 1961 28 489 67 136 18 2 34 94 50 63 .277 .344 .534 .878 137 1962 29 440 58 107 13 0 27 78 50 57 .243 .320 .458 .779 110 1963 30 408 44 94 11 0 26 78 50 56 .231 .316 .450 .766 114 1964 31 302 31 71 12 0 14 50 41 43 .236 .328 .411 .739 103 1965 32 229 18 44 5 0 6 25 25 29 .193 .273 .297 .570 63 Career 3276 383 792 103 11 162 536 335 413 .242 .312 .428 .740 103
Everything about Johnson was extreme. He was extremely big, and extremely strong. He looked extremely tough, as grittily tough as an old leather glove left outside for weeks in the dusty midsummer San Antonio sun.
Johnson was an extremely poor defensive catcher, and an extremely powerful hitter. As his career progressed, it continued to puzzle me why no team just said, forget about him being a catcher, let’s just put him at first base/DH, and let the opposition deal with him for 500 at-bats a year.
It never happened, but we see here what it might have looked like if it had. Johnson wouldn’t have been a significant star, but he’d have caused many an opposing pitcher to become extremely fed up with him.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS OPS+ 1972 24 35 5 8 1 0 1 5 5 7 .229 .325 .343 .668 92 1973 25 265 51 69 14 1 14 55 28 66 .260 .331 .479 .810 123 1974 26 430 69 106 15 2 25 79 69 103 .247 .351 .465 .816 132 1975 27 539 79 141 25 2 30 98 83 108 .261 .360 .479 .839 139 1976 28 482 60 117 30 2 20 79 87 90 .243 .359 .439 .798 135 1977 29 501 73 134 29 1 32 86 81 93 .268 .370 .518 .888 143 1978 30 327 43 72 17 1 16 47 51 58 .220 .326 .423 .749 112 1979 31 478 71 120 23 1 28 94 60 76 .251 .335 .476 .811 117 1980 32 485 71 117 16 1 23 87 66 86 .240 .332 .422 .753 105 1981 33 342 48 87 11 0 20 70 37 73 .255 .328 .459 .787 131 1982 34 362 38 89 16 0 15 59 45 70 .245 .329 .412 .741 107 1983 35 514 71 137 29 1 26 93 81 89 .267 .366 .480 .846 126 1984 36 473 66 140 29 1 21 81 66 81 .297 .383 .498 .881 138 1985 37 439 45 115 21 1 16 78 50 71 .263 .339 .425 .764 107 1986 38 336 48 84 12 1 15 55 52 57 .250 .355 .426 .781 110 Career 6008 839 1537 288 16 300 1065 861 1127 .256 .349 .459 .808 123
Unusual utility infielders
Even more than backup catchers, backup middle infielders tend to be chosen for the role not on what they can deliver with the bat, but for their mastery of the glove. It’s not typical to find utility infielders with something special to offer in the offensive half of the inning, but that was the case with each of the following four.
Few careers in major league history were as weird as his.
At age 16, Tommy Brown wasn’t quite the youngest major league player of all time, but he was the youngest ever to play an on extended basis in a regular role, as the day-in, day-out Dodger shortstop over the final month-and-a-half of the wartime 1944 season. He was egregiously overmatched, but play he did, and the following season, after 85 games in AAA, Brooklyn again promoted Brown, and again put him in the everyday shortstop role. This time, though frightfully error-prone in the field, the teenager managed to more or less hold his own at the plate, displaying a hint of power.
But at the war’s end, just as everyone else was being mustered out of military service, Brown was drafted in. He spent all of the 1946 season and most of 1947 under the direction of Uncle Sam. But upon Brown’s return, Branch Rickey’s Dodger organization didn’t make what would seem to be the obvious move with this talented-but-raw youngster, and send him to the minors to gain playing experience. Instead, they kept him on the big league roster, but deployed him in a backup third baseman role through 1948.
Then the Dodgers gave up on Brown’s ability to make it as a major league infielder, though they’d given him just 49 games at third base in 1947-48. (Brown’s nickname was “Buckshot,” which implies a powerful but scattershot throwing arm.) For the following two seasons, Brooklyn deployed Brown strictly as a backup left fielder, and as a pinch-hitting specialist. Though this was a highly questionable manner of using a 21-22-year-old with clearly impressive potential, Brown thrived in the role, delivering both a high batting average and extraordinary home run power in his limited chances.
Finally in June of 1951 the Phillies rescued Brown from the back end of the Dodger bench. In Philadelphia in 1951, and then with the Cubs in ’52, Brown was used in more extensive infielder-outfielder utility roles. Again he demonstrated impressive ability with the bat, but still, through the age of 24 no one had decided to give this young athlete an opportunity to play regularly for a full major league season.
Then something went wrong for Brown. I don’t know whether he got hurt, or if he had issues with conditioning or drinking or something, but in 1953 at the age of 25 Brown hit poorly for Chicago, and would never hit well again. The Cubs farmed him out in 1954, but his hitting in AAA was so mediocre that by mid-1955 he was demoted further, to the AA Southern Association. Brown played the rest of his career in that league, doing okay but not good enough to be a star even at that level. His final pro season was 1959, at the age of 31.
Here we envision what might have happened if Brown had been given the opportunity to play as a major league regular. We can’t avoid the sudden and early decline, but for a while there this was a young player with unusual power.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS OPS+ 1944 16 146 17 24 4 0 0 8 8 17 .164 .208 .192 .400 14 1945 17 196 13 48 3 4 2 19 6 16 .245 .267 .332 .599 67 1947 19 34 3 8 1 0 0 2 1 6 .235 .257 .265 .522 37 1948 20 341 44 88 9 0 6 50 18 40 .257 .293 .336 .630 68 1949 21 440 68 127 10 1 18 86 33 43 .289 .339 .441 .779 104 1950 22 544 84 149 12 4 35 110 54 56 .273 .339 .503 .842 116 1951 23 507 67 130 15 3 25 82 45 57 .256 .317 .446 .762 103 1952 24 503 59 137 21 1 14 64 37 59 .273 .322 .398 .720 98 1953 25 351 43 83 17 1 6 36 30 50 .238 .298 .345 .643 66 1954 26 251 27 56 10 0 5 24 23 48 .224 .287 .329 .617 60 1955 27 20 2 4 0 0 1 2 1 3 .200 .238 .350 .588 54 Career 3333 427 854 102 14 113 477 254 395 .256 .309 .396 .705 89
The ability to reliably pull lazy fly balls to a distance of 300 feet may not be a particularly impressive feat of batting skill, but it was nevertheless a splendid attribute when one’s home ballpark was the Polo Grounds. Hofman was an otherwise unremarkable backup second baseman who, in his mid-to-late 20s, perfected the art of the cheap Polo Grounds homer; in his 670 major league at-bats he lofted 32 home runs, 20 of them at home. Cheap as they may have been, each counted for precisely as much on the scoreboard as any tape-measure moonshot.
What if the Giants had had room in their infield to make Hofman a regular? Likely they’d have suffered defensively, but at least for a few years, they’d have received quite a bit of run production from this 5-foot-11, 175-pound infielder.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS OPS+ 1949 23 48 4 10 0 0 0 3 5 6 .208 .296 .208 .504 37 1950 24 446 54 119 20 6 10 56 31 49 .266 .314 .408 .722 87 1951 25 504 65 128 20 3 10 63 54 56 .254 .325 .365 .690 84 1952 26 524 75 141 20 9 21 67 54 72 .269 .337 .463 .800 119 1953 27 538 70 141 21 7 32 96 53 74 .261 .328 .508 .836 112 1954 28 506 60 124 20 3 31 103 57 67 .245 .321 .480 .801 105 1955 29 484 55 116 15 3 20 64 54 69 .239 .316 .404 .719 90 1956 30 216 18 48 6 1 5 18 23 32 .220 .296 .325 .620 68 1957 31 30 1 5 1 0 0 1 3 5 .167 .242 .183 .426 17 Career 3296 401 830 122 31 130 471 334 429 .252 .321 .426 .747 96
If he’s remembered today at all, Mantilla seems to be regarded as a vaguely comic figure, a loser: the guy whose throwing error in the bottom of the 12th inning allowed the pennant-winning run to score in the National League playoff in 1959, and who then became a prominent member of the hapless 1962 New York Mets.
Mantilla was, in fact, a good ballplayer. In his early 20s, he was a highly regarded infield prospect with the late 1950s Milwaukee Braves. Those Braves were rich in talent, and had no place for Mantilla except as a utility player through 1958. But in 1959, their veteran star second baseman Red Schoendienst was stricken with tuberculosis, and here was Mantilla’s big chance to step forward as a regular.
Alas, the 24-year-old Mantilla utterly flopped, falling prey to The Mother of All Hitting Slumps. As of early August, Mantilla’s batting average was a sickly .165; he would perk up over the season’s final couple of months, but his inopportune 1959 failure affixed Mantilla’s status with the Braves as a utility man; he would remain with Milwaukee through 1961, but never get another chance as a starter.
Finally getting to play regularly with the Mets in ’62, Mantilla did well, but his solid performance was overlooked amid the gosh-the-Mets-are-terrible hilarity. He was then traded to the Red Sox, and placed again in a backup role, but his hitting was now so robust that he muscled his way into a regular job by mid-1964. Mantilla’s Boston success was muted by the fact that the Red Sox were a bad team overall in that period, and his sudden power-hitting prowess was dismissed as a Fenway Park illusion. Certainly Mantilla took full advantage of The Green Monster, but the fact is he had matured into an excellent all-around hitter.
But good luck was never something Mantilla could count upon, and now he was traded to Houston, whose home ballpark was the hitter-unfriendly Astrodome. In a utility role again in 1966, Mantilla didn’t do badly, but the offensive conditions stifled his numbers (Mantilla’s road OPS in 1966 was .756; at home, .527). The Astros released Mantilla; the Cubs picked him up, but in spring training of 1967 he tore up a knee, and his big league career was finished.
Here we see a Mantilla who gets an earlier chance at regular status, and thus is allowed to play through the 1959 slump. He wasn’t a great player, but Mantilla’s bat was quite good for a middle infielder.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS OPS+ 1956 21 53 9 15 1 1 0 3 1 8 .283 .309 .340 .649 79 1957 22 250 37 61 11 1 6 29 20 43 .243 .300 .374 .674 86 1958 23 497 73 121 15 2 16 52 46 55 .243 .307 .377 .683 87 1959 24 484 53 118 14 2 9 49 35 57 .244 .294 .333 .627 73 1960 25 575 76 151 24 2 14 59 40 66 .263 .311 .385 .695 95 1961 26 524 71 128 18 1 13 51 52 76 .245 .313 .359 .672 83 1962 27 574 68 156 21 4 15 72 47 65 .272 .330 .400 .730 94 1963 28 556 81 165 24 2 23 63 55 52 .298 .362 .470 .831 129 1964 29 532 83 155 24 1 34 78 55 59 .291 .357 .530 .887 139 1965 30 534 60 147 17 2 18 92 79 84 .275 .374 .416 .790 120 1966 31 286 34 68 10 1 10 39 24 50 .239 .297 .386 .683 95 Career 4865 646 1285 178 19 157 586 454 614 .264 .327 .406 .733 101
No, this isn’t Indian Bob; this is one of three other Bob Johnsons to have played major league ball. Perhaps you’ve never heard of this guy, as he is rather obscure, but this was a utility infielder who swung a mean bat. In a backup role, one season he batted .295 in a league that hit .253, and in another he posted a .348 average in a .256-hitting league. And he wasn’t just a slap hitter, either; Johnson hit the ball hard. In the only year in which he played even semi-regularly over a full season, Johnson hit .288 with 12 homers.
But following that one moment of regular prominence, Johnson was traded to Baltimore. The Orioles had an infield set of Brooks Robinson at third base, Luis Aparicio at shortstop, and Jerry Adair at second: one of the very best defensive infields in the history of the game. Johnson had no shot at a regular job, and he was branded as a utility player from that point forward.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS OPS+ 1960 24 146 12 30 4 0 1 9 19 23 .205 .301 .253 .554 52 1961 25 361 42 102 18 1 9 39 31 43 .282 .339 .412 .751 101 1962 26 466 58 134 20 2 12 43 32 50 .288 .334 .416 .750 102 1963 27 541 64 152 22 2 14 65 34 76 .280 .323 .404 .726 104 1964 28 526 60 137 22 3 11 64 29 78 .260 .298 .375 .673 86 1965 29 490 57 117 21 3 8 49 28 68 .239 .279 .342 .622 75 1966 30 320 33 82 12 2 4 28 21 45 .256 .302 .343 .645 87 1967 31 444 45 131 14 4 6 40 27 58 .296 .336 .382 .718 107 1968 32 297 25 84 7 2 2 23 16 32 .282 .319 .337 .656 97 1969 33 139 11 38 2 0 3 13 8 11 .275 .313 .345 .657 87 1970 34 75 8 17 1 0 2 5 5 4 .223 .267 .305 .572 61 Career 3805 415 1023 143 19 70 379 249 488 .269 .314 .371 .685 92
The Virtue of Persistence
Here are three fellows who found themselves entrenched in utility roles early in their careers, and who might well have never emerged beyond that. But all three persevered and enjoyed much better second career halves, and interestingly, in their mid-to-late-30s wound up as Baltimore Orioles teammates.
Lowenstein didn’t have star talent, but he was the kind of guy who could do a little bit of everything. He could handle just about any position on the field defensively, had decent power, nice strike zone discipline, and ran the bases quite well. But he wasn’t much of a hitter for average, at least not consistently. In the one season Lowenstein was given the opportunity to play every day, he didn’t hit his best, and he was quickly re-cast as a role player.
Lowenstein kept on delivering solid contributions off the bench, and into his 30s his power improved. Toward the end of his career he turned in a couple of outstanding seasons as a platoon player.
Here we see Lowenstein as more or less a full-career platoon player, a capacity in which he would have created a lot of value.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS OPS+ 1970 23 43 5 11 3 1 1 6 1 9 .256 .273 .442 .715 90 1971 24 140 15 26 5 0 4 9 16 28 .186 .269 .307 .576 58 1972 25 297 34 67 15 1 10 36 34 67 .226 .305 .379 .684 101 1973 26 457 60 123 22 2 10 58 41 75 .270 .330 .394 .724 102 1974 27 508 65 123 14 2 8 48 53 85 .242 .313 .325 .638 85 1975 28 470 65 110 11 2 15 49 50 61 .234 .307 .360 .668 89 1976 29 383 56 84 13 3 8 30 44 58 .220 .300 .327 .627 85 1977 30 304 47 69 12 3 7 26 46 54 .227 .329 .356 .684 90 1978 31 319 52 75 14 4 11 39 58 56 .233 .351 .405 .756 113 1979 32 401 69 104 17 4 16 60 68 69 .259 .367 .440 .807 121 1980 33 447 73 125 18 1 15 62 66 73 .280 .373 .423 .797 120 1981 34 348 51 97 14 1 14 47 48 58 .279 .367 .439 .807 132 1982 35 475 90 144 21 3 30 89 75 86 .302 .397 .547 .945 157 1983 36 412 69 115 18 2 20 76 64 75 .280 .376 .481 .857 137 1984 37 270 34 64 13 0 8 28 33 54 .237 .319 .374 .693 93 1985 38 26 0 2 0 0 0 2 2 3 .077 .138 .077 .215 -38 Career 5300 785 1339 209 29 175 664 699 911 .253 .340 .402 .742 109
Perhaps no other player in history demonstrated such remarkable broad-based improvement over the course of a career. Lacy didn’t produce a single home run in his first three years in the majors; a few years later he blasted 13 in 245 at-bats. Lacy didn’t achieve his 40th career stolen base until age 32; at age 34 he stole 40 in 121 games. Lacy’s career batting average through age 31 was .268; he then hit over .300 in four of the next five seasons.
But while Lacy’s improvement was genuine, even in his 20s he was a solid, multi-talented player. Had he not become stuck behind Davey Lopes early in his career, and wrapped in the utility-man label, Lacy would likely have delivered a career something along these lines: nearly 2,000 hits, and quite possibly an All-Star team or two.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS OPS+ 1972 24 243 34 63 7 3 0 12 19 37 .259 .312 .313 .625 80 1973 25 293 38 71 10 1 0 20 23 60 .241 .297 .283 .581 65 1974 26 222 31 60 10 1 2 22 15 38 .270 .316 .349 .666 90 1975 27 460 66 138 19 6 8 56 29 49 .301 .342 .418 .760 115 1976 28 499 67 138 17 4 8 55 33 43 .276 .320 .374 .694 95 1977 29 468 64 124 22 4 15 60 36 50 .266 .318 .425 .743 98 1978 30 552 69 143 30 7 23 72 55 80 .259 .326 .460 .785 118 1979 31 482 59 135 30 8 17 57 54 72 .279 .351 .476 .827 120 1980 32 582 81 171 35 9 13 53 54 84 .294 .355 .452 .807 122 1981 33 322 50 92 17 5 4 21 21 44 .287 .331 .412 .743 108 1982 34 566 96 171 26 6 7 41 45 84 .302 .353 .408 .761 110 1983 35 574 86 177 26 5 10 46 44 77 .309 .359 .423 .782 114 1984 36 527 73 168 28 4 13 74 36 69 .318 .362 .458 .820 130 1985 37 492 69 144 22 4 9 48 39 95 .293 .343 .409 .752 108 1986 38 491 77 141 18 0 11 47 37 71 .287 .334 .391 .725 98 1987 39 258 35 63 13 3 7 28 32 49 .244 .326 .399 .725 94 Career 7032 996 1999 331 69 145 711 573 1002 .284 .338 .413 .751 108
For the longest time, even a utility role was highly elusive for Dwyer; his status was so marginal that by the age of 27 he’d been traded three times, sent back to the minors, and released.
He never would establish himself as even a semi-regular major leaguer, with a career high of 260 at-bats. But in his 30s Dwyer delivered a solid decade as one of the most reliably productive bench players in history: He could just flat-out hit.
Had Dwyer been given the opportunity to make it as a starting player, his career would have looked about like this. He wouldn’t have been a star, exactly, but certainly was good enough to be a very solid regular for a very long time.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS OPS+ 1973 23 57 7 11 1 1 0 0 1 5 .193 .207 .246 .453 25 1974 24 205 29 58 7 2 3 23 36 28 .283 .389 .370 .759 115 1975 25 344 46 92 14 2 7 38 47 56 .267 .355 .378 .733 101 1976 26 381 50 91 15 3 8 40 53 51 .239 .332 .351 .683 92 1977 27 495 93 138 31 9 14 58 96 51 .279 .396 .460 .856 132 1978 28 459 63 111 21 3 12 54 69 64 .241 .340 .381 .721 105 1979 29 389 60 102 19 2 10 49 57 49 .262 .356 .393 .749 98 1980 30 508 78 139 21 3 16 69 64 59 .273 .354 .419 .773 107 1981 31 327 45 80 8 2 8 34 48 47 .245 .342 .360 .703 103 1982 32 493 84 137 18 6 18 59 82 75 .277 .380 .446 .826 127 1983 33 543 98 154 38 4 19 90 87 82 .284 .383 .477 .860 138 1984 34 525 78 136 30 4 11 77 78 76 .259 .355 .395 .750 110 1985 35 452 64 113 21 5 14 71 69 66 .249 .349 .408 .757 110 1986 36 477 72 121 27 4 23 81 72 91 .253 .350 .469 .819 122 1987 37 521 98 139 18 2 28 80 88 117 .266 .373 .471 .843 125 1988 38 331 49 92 9 0 10 50 64 61 .278 .394 .400 .794 124 1989 39 235 35 74 12 0 3 25 29 24 .315 .389 .404 .793 119 1990 40 63 7 12 0 0 1 5 12 7 .190 .320 .238 .558 55 Career 6807 1055 1798 309 51 204 904 1053 1010 .264 .363 .415 .777 114
James Lamar
His candid self-assessment: “I can’t field, and I’ve got a lousy arm. But I sure love to take a whack at that ball.”
In the 1954 World Series, Rhodes never started a game. But by the seventh inning of the third contest, when the Indians finally managed to retire him, Rhodes had delivered two run-scoring pinch-hit singles and one walkoff pinch-hit three-run homer, and for good measure, had stuck around in one of the games to add another home run. The Series was effectively over.
It was a moment on the sport’s center stage as brief as it was shining. Rhodes’s decline came early and strong; in the same manner, perhaps, as his cocktails. But he sure loved to take a whack at that ball, and here we glimpse what he might have done if given the chance to do it from the beginning of the game more often.
Year Age AB R H 2B 3B HR RBI BB SO BA OBP SLG OPS OPS+ 1952 25 346 60 85 16 2 21 69 40 64 .246 .323 .478 .801 118 1953 26 496 69 126 22 2 35 103 41 85 .254 .310 .514 .824 108 1954 27 503 82 160 20 7 39 131 55 77 .317 .384 .614 .998 155 1955 28 537 66 159 17 6 22 100 73 78 .297 .381 .477 .858 127 1956 29 444 41 102 16 5 14 60 54 73 .230 .314 .380 .693 86 1957 30 304 33 65 9 2 8 36 33 51 .213 .290 .334 .623 67 1958 31 173 20 39 5 1 6 28 24 24 .227 .320 .364 .683 83 1959 32 71 4 15 3 0 1 11 9 12 .205 .291 .288 .579 57 Career 2872 375 750 106 24 144 538 326 463 .261 .337 .466 .802 112
References & Resources
Conceptually, the approach here is very similar to that employed in the Mickey Vernon Gaps series. I allow myself more than a little artistic license. However, I do stick to some basic rules:
– I can’t just make stuff up; all adjusted stats have to start with the particular player’s actual stat lines, either major league or, as appropriate, minor league.
– In most cases, the stats from the season being adjusted are 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 player’s career can start earlier than it did, or end later than it did.
I’ve endeavored to create a new version of each player’s career that’s a plausible representation of his maximized major league career.
Feel free to e-mail me with any questions about the precise formulae used for any particular player.