Hunter Hangs 'Em Up

Hunter is retiring after a nice final season with the Twins (MLive)

After a stellar and tremendously consistent 19-year career, Torii Hunter is calling it quits.

Hunter had returned to the Minnesota Twins--who drafted him out of high school and watched him develop into one of the best center fielders of his generation--on a one-year deal for 2015. While he didn't explicitly say so, it was assumed he intended to retire as a member of the Twins, whom he played for from 1997-2007. He was going to be 40 in July, and while he'd been productive the last couple years one get the sense that his career was winding down. Why else would he want to come home?

Especially since the Twins have been terrible the last few years. When guys get to be Hunter's age and haven't won a ring yet, they usually want to go where they'll have a chance to do so. A popular, respected player with some juice left in his bat like Hunter could have latched on almost anywhere, had he been willing to take a discount. In need of a bat and veteran leadership for its up-and-coming team, Minnesota paid him above market value to come back.

It seemed like a sentimental move more than anything else. Hunter had been replacement level in 2014 and figured to be worse in 2015. That's nobody's idea of a $10 million player. But if anyone could afford to give a former star one last victory lap, the Twins could. With so much young talent to break in, Minnesota wasn't ready to contend.

As it turned out, the team and Hunter were both much better than expected. The Twins surprised everyone by finishing second in the AL Central, pursuing a wild card berth until the season's final week. Hunter hit 22 home runs--his most in a season since 2011--and played 139 games.

It was a fitting farewell for Hunter, one of the best and most popular Twins of all-time. Drafted by Minnesota in 1993, he made the big club in 1997 alongside David Ortiz, who like Hunter kept hitting throughout his entire 30s.

Also like Ortiz, it took Hunter a few years to get going. He didn't break out until he was 25, by which point he was in his fifth season--but once he did he never looked back. He hit 27 home runs and won his first of nine straight Gold Gloves that year (2001), made his first All-Star team and finished sixth in the MVP vote the following year, and had his first 100 RBI season the year after that. Nicknamed "Spiderman" for his amazing catches, he was quietly one of the best players of the 2000s, racking up eight Gold Gloves and topping 20 homers eight times (11 in all).

By the end of the decade he was an Angel, having moved on after a big walk year in 2007. When Vladimir Guerrero departed he moved over to right, which no doubt extended his career. He'd shown signs of slowing down in his last season as an everyday center fielder, batting .262 with his worst slugging percentage in over a decade.

But before long LA's outfield became too crowded for him, with Mike Trout taking over in center and Josh Hamilton signing on. Hunter found a home in Detroit, where he had two near-identical offensive campaings in 2013 and 2014.

It was towards the end of his first year with the Tigers that he was involved in what may be the most memorable play of his career. It was Game 2 of the ALCS and Boston, and Detroit led 5-1 in the bottom of the eighth. The bases were loaded and David Ortiz, Hunter's old teammate, stood at the plate, facing fresh reliever (Joaquin Benoit) summoned to extinguish the flames.

Ortiz turned on Benoit's first pitch and belted it deep into the night. 37,000 cold, tired fans leapt from their seats as the ball rocketed towards the right field bullpen. Hunter raced back to the wall and leapt, his glove hand stretched as high as it could go. Hunter had robbed many a would-be home run before, and it looked like he might do so again. He timed his leap perfectly, but without time to set his feet  he slammed into the wall, then flipped over it as his momentum carried him out of play. The ball followed him into the bullpen, having just cleared his outstretched mitt.

The game was tied, and within a matter of hours, so was the series. The Red Sox went on to win in six, then proceeded to beat the Cardinals in the World Series. Had Hunter made the catch, Detroit would have won the game and probably the series. It could have been them celebrating after defeating St. Louis. And Hunter, of course, would have been the hero for robbing a would-be game-tying grand slam.

Instead, he retires with the best play of his career occurring in an All-Star Game. It was a superb play, to be sure, but I guarantee Hunter would trade it in a heartbeat for the ALCS grab, especially since he nearly killed himself trying to make it.

But not even that could slow him down. Nothing ever did.

Oh sure, he lost range over time as all mortals do. His defense inevitably slipped, forcing him over to right field and eventually DH. But even as he became a non-factor on the bases and a liability in the field, he remained a threat in the batter's box.

It's rare that centerfielders age as well as Hunter did. I think of Mickey Mantle, Dale Murphy, and Ken Griffey Jr., all of whom broke down in their 30s. Same goes for Andruw Jones, Vada Pinson, Fred Lynn, and Cesar Cedeno. Jim Edmonds couldn't stay healthy. All that running and crashing into walls usually catches up to you.

Not Hunter. He had pretty much the same season every year for 15 years. He'd bat around .280 with 20 homers, 20 steals, and 90 or so RBI. Like clockwork. There were a couple years where he got hurt--in 2005 he was limited to 98 games and in 2009 played only 119--but for the most part he was in the lineup everyday.

You know whose career Hunter's reminds me a lot of? Johnny Damon's. They were never really great, All-Star caliber players, let alone serious MVP candidates, but they were really good for a long time and held up surprisingly well. They played on some terrific teams and were usually in the postseason. They were pretty indestructible, too.

Hunter wasn't quite as good as Damon, but he had a better career than most people realize. His counting numbers are actually very similar to Jim Rice's. He surpassed 350 homers and fell just short of some other big round numbers like 2,500 hits, 500 doubles, 200 stolen bases, 1,400 RBI, and 1,300 runs. Not quite Hall of Fame numbers, but Hall of Very Good for sure.

Most impressively, Hunter went out on his own terms, not because of injury or as some washed up bum on a team he didn't care about. He got to retire as a healthy contributor for his original team after a year in which they almost made the postseason. It's not the perfect final chapter, but it's still a happy ending.

Mantle's Miserable Closing Act

All great things, especially great athletic careers, must end (LIFE)

With the 50th anniversary of the 1964 World Series just having passed, I've been thinking a lot about the players on those teams, but I keep circling back to one in particular: Mickey Mantle.

Everybody remembers the 1964 Fall Classic as Mantle's last hurrah. It was the last World Series he ever played in, and statistically it was also one of his greatest. He slugged three home runs, including a walk-off blast in Game 3 that broke Babe Ruth's record for Series homers. He also knocked in and scored eight runs apiece while batting .333/.467/.792. Mantle was a beast and, had the Yankees prevailed over Bob Gibson in Game 7, likely would have copped World Series MVP honors.

After that great series, at the end of Mantle's last great season, it was all downhill for the Mick and his Yankees. His final four years, 1965-1968, are generally regarded as an exercise in futility. An old 33, worn down by his many injuries and years of hard living, Mantle declined sharply after the 1964 season. His last four seasons produced a meager .254 batting average, dragging his lifetime mark down from .309 to .298. To make matters worse, the Yankees were horrible during this time, losing 41 more games than they won and never sniffing a pennant. Mantle's misery was compounded by the failures of his team, and vice versa.

Theoretically, one could pinpoint the beginning of Mantle's decline midway through the 1964 campaign, Mantle's last truly great season. Through July 15th he was hitting .335/.453/.631, right in line with what he'd done the previous two seasons. Had he stayed on that pace, he probably would have secured his fourth MVP. As it were, he tailed off a bit and batted .271/.393/.550 the rest of the way. Still great numbers, but bringing his seasonal stats down enough for Brooks Robinson to steal the award out from under him.

What's often forgotten is that Mantle came roaring out of the gates in 1965, with four home runs in his first 11 games and seven through his first 24. Halfway through May he was hitting .275/.451/.623--in line with his second half performance from 1964. Then Mantle went into an extended slump, scuffling through the next three months, with just five home runs in June and July combined. After gracing magazine covers for 15 years, he found himself on the front page of Life in late July beside a gloomy caption: Mantle's Misery.

He rebounded in August to hit .325/.404/.519, but went out with a whimper in September. After homering in his first two September games, Mantle went into a major funk, collecting just four hits in his final 34 at-bats, with no homers and no RBI. In those final three weeks he lost more than 40 points off his OPS, as his batting line fell from a respectable .269/.392/.480 to a more pedestrian .255/.379/.452 (still good for a 137 OPS+). Believing Mantle's retirement to be imminent, the Yankees hosted Mickey Mantle Day for their beloved legend at Yankee Stadium on September 18th.

Mantle had missed 40 games and struggled when he did play, posting the lowest batting average of his career to that point. It hadn't helped that the Yankees slipped to sixth in the standings, their worst finish since 1925. Embarrassed by his poor performance, Mantle very nearly retired following the 1965 season. Ailed by his battered legs and a shoulder injury that hampered his swing and throwing ability, Mantle made up his mind to quit. But when he went to New York to inform the Yankees, Ralph Houk talked him out of it. He said Mantle shouldn't retire on a bad note, and that he'd still be valuable even if he was only able to play half a season.

By the late '60s Mantle was no longer the physical specimen he had once been

1966 was better for Mantle, but not at first. It took him 21 games to launch his first home run. For most of the first half his numbers were in line with the previous season's until he enjoyed the last great power binge of his career. From June 23rd through July 19th, a span of 28 games, Mantle mashed 15 home runs. For one glorious month, he was the Mantle of old. His revival sparked the moribund Yankees to a brief spurt, helping them climb from ninth place at the All-Star Break to sixth place after play ended on July 29th. New York's hot streak ignited talk of a possible second half surge, but such speculation quickly dissipated as the Bombers bombed in August and stumbled towards a last place finish.

Mantle reverted to his old self, too, parking only two more dingers the rest of the way. With 21 in late July, he should have been able to bank one last 30 homer season, but managed only two in August and none in September. He had a real shot at batting .300 one last time and topping a .400 OBP as well, but did neither, falling short at .288 and .389. Mantle was not an All-Star for the first time since his rookie season even though he compiled a .927 OPS (170 OPS+).

1967 marked the true beginning of the end. Mantle was moved from the outfield to first base to preserve his body (which worked, as Mantle played 144 games that year and the next) as well as limit the harm he could incur on defense, which had been terrible for five years by that point. Once again it took awhile for Mantle to get going, as he went without an extra base hit in his first 10 games of the season and managed but one RBI. He caught fire after that though, homering in consecutive games and launching 11 in all over the next month, including the 500th of his career on May 14th, Mother's Day. Mantle celebrated by hobbling around the bases on a dreary day at the Stadium.

Mantle's numbers remained strong through late July, with his OPS just a shade under .900. But like most old players, Mantle crashed and burned during the dog days of summer. From July 26th through the end of August, Mantle managed just one home run and six RBI while slugging .308.  By September Mantle was clearly out of gas, and once again his numbers were dragged down by a terrible finish. Hitting .259/.403/.462 midway through September, he recorded just three hits in his final 12 games and lost nearly 40 points off his OPS, which fell from .864 to .825 over the season's final two weeks. He failed to go yard in his last 22 games of the season as well, ending up with 22 taters on the year when he easily could have had 25+.

Looking back, it's puzzling as to why Mantle did not hang it up after that miserable '67 campaign, which had been even worse than his 1965 season. The Yankees were still terrible, having lost 90 games and finishing 9th in 1967. Whitey Ford, his good friend, drinking buddy and last remaining link to the team's heyday of the 1950s, had retired, giving Mantle the perfect opportunity to go out side-by-side with one of the few pals still left from his glory days, With 518 home runs and a .302 batting average, Mantle should have been satisfied. He should have called it a career. He should have walked away.

But Mantle did not quit. He still hoped to play several more years and ascend towards 600 homers, but that dream quickly died as 1968 proved to be even worse than '67. "This is my last year," Mantle told a teammate after striking out for the fourth time one game. "I missed about five pitches I should have hit."

Late-career Mantle made home run trots look painful (Yanks Go Yard)

Mantle just stopped hitting. He had one multi-hit game in June and went six weeks without a homer during the summer. He entered September stuck on 534 career home runs, having gone homerless since tying Jimmie Foxx on August 22nd. It would take him awhile to eclipse Foxx, and only because Denny McLain gifted him several pitches in a meaningless late season game against the World Series-bound Tigers. The following day Mantle ripped his 536th and final home run, taking reigning AL Cy Young winner Jim Lonborg deep at the Stadium. It was Mantle's last highlight as a big leaguer, for he managed just one hit--a measly single--and three walks over his final 21 plate appearances as his batting line tumbled to .237/.385/.398.

Mantle played his last game on September 28 at Fenway Park, popping up against Lonborg in his lone plate appearance. Andy Kosco replaced him at first base in the bottom half of the inning, sending Mantle off the field for the final time. The 25,534 Red Sox fans on hand acknowledged him with a standing ovation, realizing that they were potentially saying good-bye to one of baseball's biggest heroes.

"I knew I had reached the end of the line," Mantle would later write in his biography. He didn't even stay for the rest of the inning. After watching Kosco warm up he slunk down the runway, peeled off his uniform in the clubhouse, and went home.

*****

Mantle dragged himself to Spring Training in 1969, but quickly realized he couldn't go on. The Yankees tried in vain to convince him to stay, but Mantle refused. "I can't do it anymore," he told them. "My body doesn't respond." Houk promised he would take care of Mantle and not let him embarrass himself, but still Mantle said no.

On March 1st, 1969, he announced his retirement. “I was going to try to play but I didn’t think I could,” he said. “I’ve had three or four bad years in a row and, as a result, found myself dreading another season.

“I had a wonderful time playing ball,” he continued. “But I should have quit sooner. If I kept playing, I would only keep lowering my average. That’s what happened the last few years. I have known for two years that I couldn’t hit anymore but I kept trying."

By 1969, the pain was simply too great. It was time to stop trying.

Looking back, Mantle should have sailed off into the sunset after 1965. Joe DiMaggio retired after his lone bad season. So did Hank Greenberg and, for all intents and purposes, Derek Jeter. Ted Williams almost did the same before going out on his terms with one last monster season. It would have been better for everyone. Mantle could have spared himself and his fans three more years of watching him flail away for terrible Yankee teams. All that pain and misery could have been avoided. Plus, had he done that, Mantle would have retired with a .306/.426/.576 line and a career 1.002 OPS. He would have been one of only eight players to finish their careers with a four-point OPS (the others being Ruth, Williams, Foxx, Greenberg, Barry Bonds, Lou Gehrig, and Rogers Hornsby).

So yeah, Mantle hung on too long, but most great athletes do. Even Willie Mays did. Mantle knew he was washed up, too, but just kept hoping against hope that

M&M Boys: Mantle and Mathews

Mathews, Mantle and Aaron pose for a picture in spring training

Throughout the 1950s and into the 60s, Eddie Mathews was essentially a poor man's Mickey Mantle. By this I mean no disrespect to Mathews, easily one of the five greatest third baseman of all-time and a most-deserving Hall of Famer. If you're going to be a poor man's version of somebody, after all, you couldn't do much better than The Mick.

It's fascinating how much their personal lives and baseball careers overlapped. They were born one week apart in October, 1931 in the rural Midwest, with Mathews hailing from Texas and Mantle a progeny of Oklahoma. Both signed as amateur free agents in 1949 and played their first full season in 1952 with similar results; Mantle had 23 home runs in 142 games, Mathews slugged 25 in 145, and both drew MVP votes despite leading their respective leagues in strikeouts.

Thus marked the beginning of two outstanding careers that lasted until 1968, when both posted the worst batting averages of their careers and promptly retired, clearly done. But not before they hit milestone homers in that Year of the Pitcher, with Mantle taking Denny McLain deep to pass Jimmie Foxx and Mathews, by then a teammate of McLain's eclipsing Mel Ott with the last home run he'd ever it.

In between they didn't see a whole lot of each other, as they played in different leagues during a time when AL and NL players met twice a year; in the Midsummer Classic and the Fall Classic. They were All-Stars in the same year nine times and crossed paths in two World Series--in 1957 and again the following year. Milwaukee won their first meeting but New York took the rematch, with both series going the full seven. Mathews played better in the first one, Mantle fared better in the second.

In the end, Mantle was clearly the better player and enjoyed the superior career, but some of their numbers look remarkably similar:

Mantle: 2,401 G 2,415 H 344 2B 72 3B 536 HR 1,509 RBI 4,511 TB 109.7 bWAR
Mathews: 2,391 G 2,315 H 354 2B 72 3B 512 HR 1,453 RBI 4,349 TB 96.4 bWAR

They were both patient power hitters who drew their fare share of walks and weren't afraid to strike out. They both established themselves as great young players and peaked early on, but by the same token crashed and burned rather prematurely in their mid-thirties. They ended up as one of the five best to play their respective positions, even if their walk-drawing and run-scoring skills wouldn't get the credit they deserved for many years. Mantle wasn't fully appreciated until Roger Maris arrived midway through his career and took most of the heat off him, and Mathews remains criminally underrated to this day.

Off the field, they both led difficult lives and drank too much, which may have led to their somewhat early demise as players and as men (neither one played past 36 or lived to 70).They were ultimately tragic figures then, exceptional players but flawed human beings with a whiff of unfulfilled potential. The Commerce Comet was frequently criticized for not living up to his great Yankee predecessors of Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, and Joe DiMaggio, while it was Mathews' fate to be overshadowed by teammate Henry Aaron.

Not surprisingly, Mathews is rated as Mantle's closest comp on Baseball-Reference. Mantle is the fourth-best match for Mathews, following Mike Schmidt, Ernie Banks, and Willie McCovey. Pretty good company.

With so many similarities, it's easy to see why:

• Both had four seasons with at least 40 home runs (Mantle topped 50 twice) and 14 with at least 20. Mathews had 10 seasons with more than 30 bombs, one more than Mantle's nine. 
• Because they walked so much, neither one knocked in as many runs as one would expect given their huge power totals. Mantle exceeded 100 RBI four times, while Mathews did so five times. Each managed five additional seasons in which they plated more than 90 (but less than 100). Additionally, Mathews' career high of 135 barely exceed's Mantle's personal best of 130.
• Because they walked so much, both scored tons of runs. Mantle had 11 straight seasons with at least 90 runs, including nine with over 100. Mathews had 10 consecutive seasons with 90 or more runs, including eight with at least 100. 
• Both struck out a lot. Mantle led the league in the dubious K statistic five times, something Mathews did in 1952, when both led their respective leagues, with Mathews' 115 edging Mantle's 111 for the ML-lead. 
• Both finished their careers with near 1:1 strikeout to walk ratios. Mantle walked 23 more times than he whiffed for a 1.01 BB/K ratio, while Mathews fanned 43 more times than he walked and thus had a 0.97 BB/K ratio.
• Neither one hit a lot of doubles. Each had only one season with more than 30.
• Mantle was caught stealing 38 times, one fewer than Mathews.
• Mathews bounced into 123 doubles plays, Mantle 113. Both had more than 10 in a season only three times, and never bounced into more than 11.
• Mathews had six seasons with at least 300 total bases, one more than Mantle's five.
• Mantle was intentionally walked 126 times, but Mathews wasn't far behind at 107. Both were clearly feared by opposing pitchers and managers.
• They were both All-Stars in 1953, then every year from 1955 through 1962

Gone Grady Gone

Sizemore had a nice spring, but struggled mightily once the season got underway

The Boston Red Sox designated Grady Sizemore for assignment today, bringing an end to their attempt to salvage his career. Sizemore's comeback attempt, one of the baseball seasons more positive stories during spring training, stalled shortly after the season began when it became apparent that his once elite skills were no longer intact. Sizemore was not even a capable fourth outfielder, much less the 30/30 All-Star he used to be.

The time had come to pull the plug on Sizemore, who had the sixth-lowest OPS among players with at least 200 plate appearances this season. A shell of his former self, Sizemore was hitting a paltry .216/.288/.324 after going 0-for-4 in Sunday's extra-inning loss to Cleveland. The combination of power, speed, and defense that made him one of the game's best all-around players five years ago was nowhere to be seen, a distant memory.

Quite frankly, the Red Sox should have cut bait weeks ago, when both Sizemore and the team were slumping. There was no sense in wasting at-bats on Sizemore, a thirtysomething has-been, when Boston's farm system is quite literally overflowing with talent. The Red Sox have elected to fill his roster spot by recalling 23 year-old Garin Cecchini, who debuted on June 1st and appears to be the new third baseman of the future (your days are numbered, Will Middlebrooks).

So while Cecchin's major league career is just taking off, Sizemore's is likely finished. Over his past 156 games spanning parts of three seasons, the soon-to-be 32 year-old is a .219/.283/.361 hitter with 161 strikeouts worth -0.3 bWAR. Teams don't have room for an outfielder who can't hit and doesn't offer much defensively or on the bases, especially one with the extensive injury history of Sizemore.

If this is indeed the end of the line for Sizemore, you have to feel disappointed about how quickly he crashed and burned. A career that began with so much promise, seemingly destined to land him in Cooperstown, only to be ravaged by injuries right when he should have been coming into his prime. He was robbed of what were supposed to be the best years of his career, and baseball fans that missed his early years in Cleveland were deprived of watching him perform at an elite level. Few superstars have ever been so unlucky in the injury department so young, and consequently his career is ending much too soon.

You have to give Sizemore credit for trying to come back, for giving it one more shot and defying the odds after missing two full seasons. It's just a shame it didn't work out.

Put Pinson in Cooperstown?

A classic borderline Hall of Famer, does Pinson make the cut?

At the conclusion of the 1967 baseball season, it must have seemed almost certain that Vada Pinson was destined for Cooperstown. The 29 year-old centerfielder was coming off a run of nine seasons in which he led baseball in games, plate appearances, hits, doubles, and triples. In addition to batting a combined .300/.343/.478 over that span, he'd also swatted 180 home runs, stolen 202 bases, and scored 898 runs. To that point, his most similar batter was Al Kaline, a first ballot Hall of Famer.

No one could have known it at the time, but Pinson's days as one of baseball's best all-around players, a 20/20 centerfielder who batted close to .300, were over. He'd have one more good year in 1971 with the Cleveland Indians, the only season of his final eight in which he slugged better than .385, hit more than 11 home runs, or posted an OPS above .700. Pinson played eight more years and over 1,000 more games, but would be worth a mere 7.7 bWAR, meaning he was essentially replacement level during that time.

That he was so ordinary in the second half of his career, especially during seasons that could still be considered peak years, is hard to reconcile given how good Pinson was at such a young age. Few players have ever been as good as Pinson was at 20, when he batted .316 with 205 hits, 20 long balls, 21 steals, and led the major leagues with 131 runs and 47 doubles (he is one of only 13 players to total at least five fWAR in their age 20 season). Few have been as good as he was at 22, when he batted .343--still the highest average by a 22 year-old since World War II-- paced the majors with 208 hits and was worth 7.5 wins above replacement. He also won his only Gold Glove and had his highest finish in the MVP voting (third, behind teammate Frank Robinson and Orlando Cepeda) that year.

Those represent Pinson's greatest seasons, but he remained a great player through most of his 20s. From ages 20 through 28 he maintained a 120 OPS+ and almost never missed a game, which combined with his solid performance in center and on the bases made him worth 46.3 bWAR. He averaged 100 runs, 191 hits, 34 doubles, 10 triples, 20 homers, 84 RBI, 22 steals, 305 total bases, and 5.1 bWAR per year. With such a fast start, Pinson should have been a lock for 3,000 hits, close to 300 homers and 300 steals, and a spot in the Hall of Fame.

Pinson's decline began in 1968, the Year of the Pitcher, and Pinson's numbers declined along with everyone else's. He also missed time with injuries, which may have contributed to his down season as well. After the season he was traded to St. Louis for Wayne Granger and Bobby Tolan. After spending his first 11 seasons in a Reds uniform, Pinson became something of a journeyman, never sticking anywhere for more than two years after leaving the Reds. He lasted just one season in St. Louis, as he missed more time and his numbers continued to decline. 1969 saw him post then-career lows in many categories, making him the weakest link in a phenomenal outfield that included Curt Flood and Lou Brock.

Following a five-player trade to the Indians he rebounded in 1970, smashing a career-high 24 home runs in his American League debut. But his numbers declined again in 1971 and he was traded to the Angels for a minor leaguer (Barry Raziano) and cash. He was solid in 1972 but mediocre in '73, so he was traded one final time; to the Kansas City Royals. Decent in 1974, Pinson was miserable in 1975 and was flat-out released that winter. He signed on with the Milwaukee Brewers a month later, but failed to stick with the big league club and was released in April, ending his major league career at the age of 37. He would coach for nearly 20 years afterwards before passing away much too soon at 57 in 1995.

Are Pinson's accomplishments Hall of Fame worthy? One could certainly make the case. He had a fantastic peak, worth 40 wins above replacement and 22.1 wins above average from 1959 through 1965, when he was the seventh most valuable player in baseball and led both leagues in hits, doubles, and triples. During this period he scored more runs than everyone except Hank Aaron and Willie Mays, stole more bases than everyone except Maury Wills and Luis Aparicio, and batted .303/.349/.487--24 percent better than average per OPS+. If one expands the timeframe to 1969, a span of 11 season, Pinson still rates as the eighth-best position player in the National League, barely behind Frank Robinson at number seven. If you want to make a compelling case for Pinson, noting that he was one of the NL's ten-best non-pitchers for more than a decade, during a time when the sport was overflowing with talent, is a great place to start.

Pinson also had longevity. Pinson played 18 seasons (only one of which he failed to play 100 games) and nearly 2,500 baseball games. His durability helped him accumulate almost 10,500 plate appearances, in which he compiled 2,757 hits, close to 500 doubles, and more than 250 home runs and 300 steals. He ranks inside the top-100 all-time in runs, hits, total bases, doubles, triples, and extra base hits. His counting numbers are very good, and if those aren't Hall of Fame numbers, they're very close.

It's also important to remember that like all great offensive stars of the 1960s, Pinson was undoubtedly hurt by the era in which he played. Neutralizing his offensive numbers lifts his career OPS by 18 points and makes his counting numbers more Hall of Fame worthy: 1,457 runs, nearly 2,900 hits, and more than 500 doubles.

Pinson played like a Hall of Famer at his best, and with such a fast start should have been a Hall of Famer. He certainly played like one for many years.

So why is Pinson not in the Hall of Fame? He was unfortunate to have his peak overlap with two of the greatest center fielders of all-time, Willie Mays and Mickey Mantle, to whom he could not compare (then again, Duke Snider showed there's no shame in finishing third to those two). The National League also enjoyed an abundance of talent in the 1960s, which explains why Pinson was an All-Star in only two of his 18 seasons and fared poorly in MVP voting, finishing better than tenth only once. Even on his own team he was overshadowed, playing Robin to Frank Robinson's Batman. He's also hurt by the fact that in his lone postseason appearance, the Reds fell in five games to the mighty Yankees led by Mantle, Roger Maris, and Whitey Ford. Pinson failed to distinguish himself, batting below .100 with no runs or RBI in his only Fall Classic.

One of the great all-around players who has been tragically underrated, Pinson did everything well but nothing spectacularly well. He had good power, topping 20 home runs seven times and reaching double digits in 12 seasons, but never hit even 25 home runs in any season. In the year that Maris shattered Babe Ruth's single season home run mark, for instance, Pinson's 16 dingers paled in comparison. Pinson was fast and stole lots of bases, but topped 30 only once and never stood out the way Maury Wills and Lou Brock did. He was a fine defender in his early years but only won one Gold Glove (the same can be said for Mantle). He hit .299 through the first ten years of his career but only once seriously competed for a batting title.

If Pinson was unappreciated during his day, he is even less appreciated by today's sabermetric-oriented community. Pinson rarely walked, barely eclipsing 500 unintentional walks for his career, and so his .327 career OBP is poor by Cooperstown standards (but still better than Andre Dawson's!). His .442 career slugging mark ranks 487th all-time, just a hair better than Mark Grace's. His 111 OPS+ is nothing special, ranking 632nd all-time and tied with the likes of Carney Lansford, Carlos Guillen, Julio Franco, and Jermaine Dye.

He wasn't good enough defensively or on the bases to compensate for a bat that was only 11 percent better than average.With 54.1 career bWAR, Pinson's still a few solid seasons short of the Hall. Had he just had one or two more monster years like his 1959/1961/1963, or merely even maintained his 1966-67 production through '68 and '69, he'd have a much stronger case. Had he been able to hang around a few more years, he probably could have reached 3,000 hits or come close enough to punch his ticket to Cooperstown.

As it is, according to most available metrics, Pinson is not a Hall of Famer. WAR says he was one of his league's ten-best players only twice--in 1959 (ninth) and 1961 (fifth). He was the best player on his team once, in 1963. His Black Ink and Gray Ink scores both fall short, as does his Hall of Fame monitor score. He comes up short by Hall of Fame standards, JAWs, and the Hall of Stats Hall Rating as well. For a long-time he had the most hits of any player outside the Hall of Fame, but someone has to hold that title. It's also telling that Pinson never came close to election, polling under five percent his first four years on the ballot and peaking at 15.7 percent in 1988. He was on the ballot for 15 years, and the writers never seriously considered him.

Furthermore, only two of his ten most similar batters are enshrined, and only one in the top seven. That would be Roberto Clemente, Pinson's most similar batter from ages 32 throug 35. The other is Zack Wheat, who was inducted by the Veteran's Committee, which is now Pinson's only chance. Pinson's closest comps--Steve Finley, Johnny Damon, Clemente, Al Oliver, and Willie Davis, were all great players but only Clemente was Cooperstown-worthy. The rest must merely settle for the Hall of Very Good.

JAWS rates him as the 17th best centerfielder of all-time, sandwiched between non Hall-of-Famers Jim Wynn and Cesar Cedeno. Though Pinson rates better than 9 of the 18 centerfielders already enshrined at the position, almost all of whom had short careers (Kirby Puckett, Earl Averill, Larry Doby, Hack Wilson). His JAWS score is considerably below the established standard at the position, behind Carlos Beltran, Andruw Jones, and Kenny Lofton and barely better than those of Chet Lemon, Fred Lynn, and Dale Murphy, and Bernie Williams. His triple slash stats and home run/stolen base totals are essentially Mike Cameron's.

So in the end, as much as I want to believe that Pinson was Hall of Fame worthy, I think he falls just short. He either needed a few more good seasons or needed to be more dominant during his prime, with 30/30 seasons rather than 20/20 and an MVP award or two. And without Reggie Jackson-esque postseason heroics or a distinguished managerial career, he's just too similar to Murphy, Steve Garvey, Dave Parker, and a lot of other guys who didn't quite make it to Cooperstown's doorstep. I think the case against Pinson is stronger than the case for him, and that's why I'm saying no.

Forecasting Flood's Future

Flood isn't in Cooperstown even though he had Hall of Fame talent (SportsCouchPotato)

Had Curt Flood not sacrificed the second half of his career to challenge baseball's reserve clause, what would his career numbers have looked like, and would he have made the Hall of Fame?

Throughout the 1960s, Flood played at a Hall of Fame level. From 1961 through 1969, when pitching reigned supreme, he batted .302 while averaging 177 hits and 4.3 bWAR per season in addition to playing a terrific center field. At the end of 1969, Flood's age 31 season, he had compiled 1,854 hits, 42.1 bWAR, and won seven straight Gold Gloves. With his skills and speed intact, he was still a solid hitter, plus defender and, above all, a good player worth between three and four wins above replacement.

At that point in Flood's career his most similar player was Willie Davis. Davis aged gracefully and remained a solid regular through age 36, so using his career as a guide it's reasonable to think Flood had around five more decent/good years left in him. After age 31 Davis added about 820 hits, 16 bWAR and two Gold Gloves to his ledger. Doing the same for Flood gives him nearly 2,700 hits, 58 bWAR and nine Gold Gloves, plus probably another All-Star appearance or two.

Would that have been enough for Cooperstown? I say probably, especially if he could have reached double digits in Gold Gloves, which at the time had only been done by Roberto Clemente, Willie Mays and Al Kaline among outfielders. That would have put him in some pretty impressive company. All those Gold Gloves, combined with his large hit total and role on the 1960s Cardinals dynasty teams, probably would have resulted in a Hall of Fame nod (though definitely not on the first ballot and perhaps not even the writer's ballot, but I suspect the Veteran's Committee would have opened the door for him).

Even if we forget White and assume a natural aging curve for Flood in which he declined by 0.5 bWAR per season, he would have posted 3.3 in 1970, 2.8 in 1971, and so on until flatlining at 0.3 in 1976, by which point he would have been 38 and likely too old to play center field. It's well known that Flood, like many players of the time (Mickey Mantle chief among them) lived hard and had a drinking problem, so I doubt he would have lasted to 40 anyways.

That gives him a career bWAR total of 54.6, still a few solid seasons short of the Hall. This is the likely outcome if he had begun to decline significantly around 33 or 34, as many players do, especially back then. In this scenario Flood is not a worthy Hall of Famer, but perhaps makes it in anyways.

A third, and admittedly more crude, way to look at it would be to expect that Flood would have produced roughly half the numbers he'd already compiled. Doing that gives him credit for approximately 425 more runs, 925 more hits, 135 doubles, 20 triples, 40 homers, 300 RBI, 45 steals, and 1200 total bases in about 875 extra games (around seven more years at 125 games per year), good for 21 more bWAR. Though a bit generous, I think that's fair.

So by that measurement, Flood would have ended up with around 1,300 runs, 2,800 hits, 400 doubles, 60 triples, 125 homers/steals, 1,000 RBI, and 3,700 total bases. At 63 bWAR he would have retired as one of the ten best center fielders ever and probably would have been inducted as a result.

I'm inclined to think that because of his hardware, World Series appearances and gaudy hit totals, Flood would have eventually made the Hall of Fame had his career not been curtailed by outside circumstance. Then again, maybe not. His career was obscured by the abundance of great National Leaguers that defined his era; Mays, Hank Aaron, Willie McCovey, Ernie Banks, Billy Williams, Frank Robinson, Vada Pinson, the list goes on. Flood was never viewed as the best player in the league and was often overshadowed on his own team by Bob Gibson, Ken Boyer, Lou Brock, Bill White, and Orlando Cepeda, which explains why he finished in the top-ten of MVP voting only once. His power numbers were weak for an outfielder, and he didn't provide the elite speed or on-base skills needed to compensate for that deficiency. It's quite possible that Flood would have been overlooked and underrated, much like Dwight Evans and the aforementioned Davis.

Obviously we'll never know if Flood had the finishing kick needed to beef up his Hall of Fame case, especially given his knack for late-night carousing. He wasn't dominant enough at his peak to get in with a short career, and thus needed longevity to compile big counting numbers. Had he remained a great player through the first half of the 70s, he would have approached 3,000 hits and would almost assuredly be in the Hall of Fame today. But if he'd tailed off in the early 70s and retired around 1974-75, then he would have fallen short.

At the very least we can appreciate Flood for what he did do, which was win seven consecutive Gold Gloves, make three All-Star teams, play for three pennant winners and two World Series champions, and compile more hits than all but five players in the 1960s (and more than Mays, Robinson, Banks, Brock, Kaline, Ron Santo, and Carl Yastrzemski). He was one of the best defensive center fielders of all-time and turned out to be a pretty decent hitter, batting better than .300 six times.

So while Flood's career isn't Hall of Fame worthy, it definitely could have been, and I think it would have been had he reported to the Phillies in the spring of 1970.

Vada Damon or Johnny Pinson?

Pinson (left) pictured with Reds teammates Gus Bell and Frank Robinson

While researching an upcoming post about Vada Pinson's Hall of Fame case, I was astonished to discover how much his career resembled Johnny Damon's. They compiled remarkably similar numbers in their major league careers, both of which lasted 18 seasons:

Pinson:  2,469 G, 9,645 AB, 2,757 H, 485 2B, 127 3B, 256 HR, 1,169 RBI, 4,264 TB, 54.1 bWAR
Damon: 2,490 G, 9,736 AB, 2,769 H, 522 2B, 109 3B, 235 HR, 1,139 RBI, 4,214 TB, 56 bWAR

Then there are their batting lines, which mirror each other almost perfectly. Pinson batted .286/.327/.442, good for a .769 OPS and 111 OPS+. Damon batted .284/.352/.433, compiling a .785 OPS and 104 OPS+. Pinson was worth 54.7 oWAR, less than one win behind Damon's 55.4 oWAR. FanGraphs also has their career offensive values nearly even, with scores of 144.4 for Pinson and 131.7 for Damon.

Here are some more similarities:

• Both were talented all-around centerfielders who threw lefthanded and batted from the left side.
• Both wore uniforms that were red and white. They also donned Pinstripes. 
• Both spent time with the Cleveland Indians and the Kansas City Royals. They also played for an American League team based in California; Pinson with the Angels and Damon with the A's.
• Both played partial seasons in their rookie years, then became regulars in their second seasons.
• Both were exceptionally durable. Damon played at least 140 games in 16 straight seasons, while Pinson eclipsed 130 in 14 consecutive seasons.

• Both had a dozen seasons with double digit home run totals, topping out at 24. Though they had good power, they were destined to be overshadowed by slugging teammates such as Frank Robinson, Manny Ramirez, David Ortiz, and Alex Rodriguez.
• Both had one season with more than 40 doubles.
• Both were fast runners and great basestealers, with Damon swiping over 400 and Pinson exceeding 300. Damon had 10 seasons with at least 20 steals, Pinson had nine. Pinson was caught 122 times to Damon's 103.
• Neither walked all that much, and so neither one attained an OBP higher than .390 in any season.
• Pinson was punked 54 times, Damon was hit by 50 pitches. 
• Damon dropped 57 sacrifice hits, Pinson laid down 52. Pinson had 78 sacrifice flies, Damon had 71.
• Both players led the major leagues in runs one time each; Pinson with 131 in 1959 and Damon with 136 in 2000 (narrowly beating out Alex Rodriguez's 134). Since both spent the bulk of their careers batting at or near the top of the order, they scored lots of runs (1,365 for Pinson, 1,668 for Damon).
• Pinson drew MVP votes five times, Damon four. 
• Damon batted better than .300 five times, Pinson four.
• Pinson had an OPS+ over 100 12 times, Damon did so 11 times.
• Both were fine defenders in their early years but ultimately had negative defensive value over the course of their careers.
• Neither one ever struck out 100 times in any season, but both had several close calls (three seasons with 90+ K's apiece). Pinson fanned 1,196 times, whereas Damon whiffed 1,257 times.

Not surprisingly, Damon rates as Pinson's second-most similar player (after Steve Finley), and Pinson is Damon's closest comp. In my mind Pinson's power edge made him a better player at their respective peaks, and even though Damon did it longer I'd still take Pinson by a nose. Pinson at his best was comparable to Andrew McCutchen or Roberto Clemente: a legit MVP candidate and hit third in Cincinatti's loaded lineup. In his prime he was better than Damon, who was more of a complementary player and table setter. 

But to Damon's credit, few players have been as steady or consistently good as he was, and that counts for something too.

Damon won a World Series and established his career high in home runs with NY