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We got the gang back together for Tuesday’s edition of the Baseball Today podcast, as Keith Law and I ranted about this and that in the baseball world. Among the topics we discussed:

1. Yu Darvish is still not officially a Texas Ranger, but we expect a contract will be worked out before Wednesday’s deadline. So who is Darvish and why is he so important? Hey, at least he doesn’t have to pitch Opening Day! The Rangers aren't messin' around!

2. Of course, some other moves have happened since the last time we conversed with Mr. Law, including the challenge trade between the Yankees and Mariners. Young players dealt for one another? Never happens! We talk Jesus Montero and Michael Pineda.

3. What are the Colorado Rockies doing? Neither of us quite understands their offseason agenda, from the Michael Cuddyer signing to Monday’s Seth Smith trade for obvious flyball-prone pitchers. Yeah, that should work out swimmingly. But at least they've got Jamie Moyer.

4. Ryan Madson or Jonathan Papelbon, whom would you rather have for the next four years? Sadly, I knew KLaw’s answer before I asked the question. But I had to ask anyway.

5. Finally, Keith, who is not known for ever expressing his opinion, rants about the Hall of Fame and those that choose the members. You’ll want to hear this rant.

So download and listen to Tuesday’s Baseball Today. It’s not only the return of Law, but bias cat. No, really.

The genesis for this article came out of all the recent Hall of Fame discussions. A lot of arguments were along the lines of “Tim Raines was one of the best players in baseball in the mid-'80s,” or “You know, Don Mattingly was the best in the game there for a few years,” or perhaps “Barry Larkin was as good an all-around player as anybody at his peak.”

None of those statements are necessarily incorrect. But are they good Hall of Fame arguments? How many players can you claim were “one of the best in the game” over a period of years? So here’s what I did. I went back to 1969 and looked at each five-year span to determine the five best players in baseball, based on cumulative Baseball-Reference wins against replacement over those five years. (For the purposes of this piece, I looked just at position players.)

So here we go, with the usual caveats about WAR. You’ll see a lot of the same players and you’ll see a lot of Mike Schmidt and Barry Bonds and Albert Pujols in the top spot. But while the best player may not change all that often, it’s interesting to see who pops in some of the top five slots.

1969-1973: Sal Bando (33.6), Joe Morgan (32.7), Reggie Jackson (32.2), Johnny Bench (30.4), Pete Rose (30.1)

Our first entry and we already get a big surprise: Sal Bando, the best player in baseball? It may seem odd now, but Bando was one of the most respected players in the game at the time and finished second, third and fourth in MVP votes in 1971, 1973 and 1974. He hit for power, drew walks and played a solid third base, putting up big numbers for the era in the Oakland Coliseum, a place where batting averages and fly balls often went to die.

1970-1974: Joe Morgan (37.6), Johnny Bench (31.9), Sal Bando (30.0), Reggie Jackson (29.2), Pete Rose (28.8)

No change in the top five, although Morgan takes a big leap ahead of the others, replacing a more mundane 1969 with a monster 1973. You’re going to see a lot of Morgan here, as his 1972-76 run was one of the greatest five-year stretches in baseball history.

1971-1975: Joe Morgan (46.2), Reggie Jackson (33.3), Johnny Bench (31.9), Pete Rose (29.6), Willie Stargell (29.5)

Some believe Rose was a compiler, a good player who merely played forever. That’s not accurate; while he was never the best player in the game -- although he did win the 1973 MVP Award -- he was clearly one of the best for a period of years. This peak coincides with his years in the outfield; his value started declining once he moved to third base in 1975, where it’s fair to say he wasn’t exactly Brooks Robinson.

1972-1976: Joe Morgan (51.0), Rod Carew (33.2), Cesar Cedeno (32.5), Johnny Bench (32.1), Bobby Grich (32.0)

Absolutely phenomenal: Morgan was nearly 18 wins better than the No. 2 player over this five-year span. I don’t know if any player has ever dominated the game to the extent Morgan did over this stretch (that’s another article). Cedeno was a marvelous talent, a power/speed center fielder who hit .298 while averaging 21 home runs and 55 steals per season over these five years. The Astros moved the fences back in 1977 (10 feet at the foul lines, 12 feet in the power alleys), hurting Cedeno’s power. He injured his knee in 1978 and then broke his ankle in the 1980 playoffs, sapping his speed and effectively ending his years as a productive player.

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Guess what Mark Simon and I discussed on Tuesday’s Baseball Today podcast? C’mon, I’ll give you three guesses. Darren Oliver signing with Toronto? Nope. The World Champion Cardinals headed to the White House? Um, no. Hall of Fame? Right!

1. Mildly annoyed special guest Buster Olney joined us -- those were his descriptive words, not ours -- to analyze the voting patterns among his brethren in the baseball writer's industry. Hey, I agree. There are issues, and the 2013 class of eligibles for the Hall will show it.

2. Of course, we shouldn’t gloss over the positive story from Monday, as our colleague Barry Larkin was the lone Hall of Fame electee. We break down his career and show deserved love.

3. We also got a bit silly with Buster, but hey, that’s our thing. Who is his guilty pleasure Hall of Famer? Who’s the best Vanderbilt pitcher? And which ballplayer would be best at milking a cow? Yep, today’s show was definitely one for the ol’ archives.

4. Are Bill Mueller, Brad Radke and Eric Young Hall of Famers? Hard to make the case, but they did receive votes. Is this good, bad or meaningless? You might be surprised at our answer.

5. An emailer asks if the Hall of Fame should have different wings for, well, different classes of the stars. It’s an interesting debate, as is what the plaques of certain members should state.

So join us for Tuesday’s Hall of Fame episode of Baseball Today, probably the only podcast about this great game that spent more time on the issue of milking cows than milking the vote for Fred McGriff. Next show is planned for next Tuesday! Adios!

Check out all the fun we had during Tuesday's chat. Yes, a lot of talk about the Hall of Fame and PEDs. Plus, mentions of Prince Fielder, Hiroki Kuroda, Dave Stieb, Matt Garza and much, much more!

With the Hall of Fame voting still on our minds, I thought it would be fun to look at which non-Hall of Famers fared best in MVP voting, and which Hall of Famers have fared worst.

Modern MVP voting began in 1931 so we'll focus on players whose careers began after that. We'll also limit our scope to position players. We'll use award shares, a metric invented by Bill James that Baseball-Reference tracks. If you're a unanimous MVP winner, meaning you've collected 100 percent of the possible maximum points, your award share is 1.00. If you get 80 percent of the possible maximum points, your award share is 0.80. You can than add up individual seasons to reach a career total.

Not including active players, those yet to have appear on the Hall of Fame ballot (like Barry Bonds or Frank Thomas) or those ineligible for Hall of Fame selection (we mean you, Pete Rose), the player with the most award shares not in the Hall of Fame is ... Dave Parker. With 3.19 career award shares, he's 28th all time. Parker was an amazing player with the Pirates from 1975 to 1979, compiling 30.1 WAR and winning MVP honors in 1978 when he hit .334 to win the batting title, led the league in slugging percentage and hit 30 home runs with 117 RBIs. He also finished third in MVP votes in '75 and '77 and 10th in '79. After that, he got fat, dabbled in drugs and ruined his career for a few years. He bounced back with the Reds and on the basis of a league-leading 125 RBIs in 1985, finished second in the MVP vote. Another big RBI season in 1986 got him up to fifth in MVP voting. Parker never fared well in the Hall of Fame voting, peaking at 24.5 percent in his second year but holding at around 15 percent after that.

Parker, by the way, had a slightly higher award shares total than Jim Rice (3.15), a similar player from the same era who did make the Hall of Fame in large part due to his success in MVP voting.

Here are the next five:

Jeff Bagwell (2.89 award shares): The unanimous MVP in 1994, Bagwell also had a second-place and third-place finish and three other top-10 finishes.

Juan Gonzalez (2.76 award shares): A two-time MVP, although his 1996 win was one of the worst MVP selections ever.

Steve Garvey (2.46 award shares): Garvey won the NL MVP in '74 with a pedestrian-looking .312/.342/.469 line. It was a good line for the time, but not that good -- he ranked 14th in the NL in OPS. But he was third in the league in RBIs and the Dodgers won the division.

Albert Belle (2.38 award shares): From 1991 through 2000, he hit .300 and averaged 39 homers and 122 RBIs per season. He had a second and two thirds in MVP voting. Despite his peak value, his Hall of Fame support was approximately equal to Herman Cain's in the Iowa caucus.

George Foster (2.37 award shares): The 1977 NL MVP when he hit 52 home runs and drove in 149 runs for the Reds, Foster had a nice run from '75 to '81. Just don't ask Mets fans what happened after that.

Some Hall of Famers with low award shares:

Wade Boggs (1.20 award shares): I was surprised Boggs' total wasn't higher. His best MVP finish was fourth in 1985. He wasn't an RBI guy, so was underrated to some extent during his time, although he cruised into the Hall of Fame. Baseball-Reference rates him as the best player in AL in 1986, '87 and '88.

Tony Perez (0.93 award shares): Despite being a big RBI guy, the kind of player MVP voters have historically loved, he had just one top-five MVP finish in his career.

Ozzie Smith (0.65 award shares): He finished second in 1987 but that was his only top-10 MVP finish. The MVP vote has always been about offense, but it's interesting that the player widely regarded -- even while active -- as perhaps the greatest defensive player ever fared so poorly, especially since he did became a solid offensive contributor in the mid-'80s.

Richie Ashburn (0.62 award shares): A Veterans Committee selection in 1995, Ashburn was a gifted center fielder with a career .308 average but only 29 home runs. He twice finished seventh in the MVP vote, his only top-10 appearances.

Bill Mazeroski (0.19 award shares): A Veterans Committee selection, he was the Ozzie of second basemen, except even less valuable with the bat. He received MVP votes in just two seasons: One eighth-place finish and one 23rd.

New Hall of Famer Barry Larkin finished with 1.10 award shares, including a 0.72 for his 1995 win. Alan Trammell, a similar player who hasn't fared well in the Hall of Fame voting, recorded 1.22 award shares.

The subject of Jack Morris and the Hall of Fame seems to be the bright burning flame before the fireworks for Barry Larkin have finished going off. Morris' clock may have been running out, but after he reached 66.7 percent of the vote in the 13th year on the ballot, he might just slip into the Hall on his next-to-last or last chance.

There are too many layers to this onion to sort it out entirely and explain the sudden jump in votes. But in broad strokes, some of my fellow statheads seem to be looking for a new Cooperstown cause to champion now that Bert Blyleven has been given his belated due, while some of my fellow BBWAA members are looking to honor a “pitcher of the '80s.” Sticking with the broad strokes, those are both worthy goals. There have been too many mistakes already as far as the Hall has been concerned -- with Blyleven, Ron Santo and Lou Whitaker representing the worst cases -- while the '80s are a big chunk of recent history that deserves to be remembered.

But in this case these two parties wind up diametrically opposed about Morris. You’ve got mainstream commentators inventing, and then deriding, statheads’ supposed “joyless” worldview about Morris, while the blogosphere burns down any cobbled-together case made for him. I’ve always counted myself among the latter where Morris is concerned. Nevertheless, is there something to his case?

Now if we went with a definition of the “Big '80s” as 1980-1990, Morris handily leads the field with 177 wins, innings pitched (2,693 1/3) and starts (368). These numbers represent the pitcher that he was: a durable workhorse, usually pitching with support of good-to-great lineups and good-to-great defenses. At least this was the case up the middle when he had Whitaker and Alan Trammell plus Lance Parrish behind the plate and Chet Lemon in center. There’s no shame in that -- Morris was a critical component for the Tigers because of his durability. That shouldn't be the standard for best pitcher of a decade, though.

So the question is whether Morris was anywhere close to being the best pitcher of the decade? He clearly was not. Among the 68 guys who made 200 or more starts from 1980-90, Morris is tied for 22nd in ERA+, behind guys like Charlie Leibrandt or Bryn Smith. So let’s raise the bar to 300 starts -- Morris winds up tied for seventh out of 12 men, behind Dave Stieb, Bob Welch, Frank Viola, Nolan Ryan, Charlie Hough and Blyleven. Morris' “pitcher of the '80s” tag owes everything to his durability, not the quality of his work. If you want a pitcher of the '80s, it was Stieb, because he was almost every bit as durable as Morris (364 starts, 2537 1/3 IP), and significantly better (128 ERA+). And nobody’s firing up a Stieb-for-Cooperstown campaign.

None of this is to meant to diminish the value of Morris’ durability, though, and perhaps we take that for granted. In rushing to discredit arguments for and against Morris, perhaps neither side is doing a very good job of wrestling with a more fundamental issue: There is simply a shortage of "pitchers of the '80s" for which cases can be made.

That 11-year span of 1980-90 generated just a dozen men capable of pitching 300 or more turns. In contrast, 1970-80 produced 21 guys making 300 or more starts. The strike season of 1981 is responsible for a small fraction of the drop off, but even allowing for that fact only brings the ’80s close to the standards set since. During the “steroids era”: 1990-2000 gives another 16 300-game starters, and 2000-2010 just 15. So the number of guys we might broadly define as “workhorses” was lower in the '80s than in the period immediately before, and is also lower than what came after. That might speak well of Morris overall as a survivor in a generation that didn’t have many.

This hints at a broader historical problem. The '70s put all sorts of things out of whack for subsequent interpretation and analysis, where two key factors come into play. First, there’s the introduction of the DH in the AL in 1973. Second, immediately before 1973 you have a generation of young starting pitchers coming up at the end of the high-mound era -- perhaps the best time ever to be a young pitcher making his way to the majors because of low scores and short games.

Nolan Ryan might be the most famous member of that generation, but he was far from the only one who lasted forever. Steve Carlton, Don Sutton, Jerry Reuss, Phil Niekro and Tom Seaver comprise a short list of all-time greats who made it to the majors long before Morris debuted in 1977, and who then wound up being his contemporaries. (You can also add Vida Blue, Tommy John, Jerry Koosman, Joe Niekro, Charlie Hough … the list goes on.) Morris barely outlasted this older cadre by the time his career ended in 1994, but he didn’t start off with the same advantages they did.

So on the one hand, with the addition of the DH you have something that makes pitching in the American League harder, and on the other, you have a new standard set for the kind of workloads that starters are supposed to be able to maintain. Morris faced this new combined challenge and survived, which makes him relatively rare among the first generation of starting pitchers who pitched during what we might call “the early DH era.”

To give Morris the benefit of the doubt, let’s stretch the scope to include 1973 to 1992 -- or the end of Morris’ career as an effective big-league starter. Put him in that context, and a stat like WAR still has little love for Morris. According to Baseball-Reference, he ranks just 17th overall among big league starters during the first two decades of the DH era. However, half of those 16 men ahead of Morris were his predecessors, older men who benefited from the high-mound and/or no DH.

Fair enough. Let’s look at him in the context of guys who, like Morris, arrived in big league rotations to stay in 1973 or later. Among the leaders in starts over those 20 years there are five guys we might call near-peers, starting pitchers who established themselves and endured at time when the DH was in play: Frank Tanana, Rick Reuschel, Doyle Alexander, Dennis Martinez and Morris. In that group, Morris and Martinez are the youngest, born just two days apart in May of 1955. Let’s switch to a table to spotlight the full careers of those five guys:



None of them ever finished higher than third on a Cy Young ballot during his career -- Morris and Reuschel both managed that twice. That’s symptomatic of the challenges they faced, following in the wake of that tremendous group of aces, and then combating the faster-fizzling or more fragile aces of the ’80s: briefly great starters such as Ron Guidry, Mario Soto or Steve Rogers.

Morris got the best run support within this small peer group, with 4.9 R/G. That goes a long way toward explaining why he gets the most wins, and why this conversation even exists. Contentions that Morris “pitched to the score” were refuted almost 15 years ago by the late Greg Spira, before it was easy to do the research. Meanwhile, Reuschel got the worst support with just 4.1 R/G, which is essentially why he ends up being the great forgotten workhorse while Morris gets kudos. Of course, Big Daddy Reuschel was also the one of these five who was in the NL for almost the entirety of his career -- and a Cub for most of it, the poor soul -- where everyone else on this list spent most of his career in the AL, with the benefit as well as the hazard of the DH.

Which leaves us where? Even with this much special pleading, Morris wasn’t even that remarkable among these few that make up this first cadre of the most durable starters who had to come up after the high-mound generation and having to face designated hitters. Being better than Doyle Alexander is really, really good, but is that really Hall of Fame-level good?

Putting someone in the Hall of Fame because this generation of pitchers risks being overlooked in Cooperstown represents a reasonable enough goal. But why Morris instead of Martinez, or Reuschel? Because he was fortunate in the teammates his teams put around him, where Reuschel obviously was not? Because he barely won more games than Martinez? Because he’s the one left on the ballot and still eligible? If that’s what we’re left with, that’s pretty weak. If the instinct is to be fair to an era as well as a good pitcher, does it make sense to reward this one but not the other, better pitchers who were his peers?

Of course Morris was one of the most durable pitchers of his generation -- he was, and you can love him for it, as we did watching him muscle through one outing after another back then. If you’re a believer in the virtues of a big Hall you might even almost talk yourself into voting for him. Going through this exercise brought me a lot closer to “maybe” than I initially thought possible. But even then, with as many allowances as you might make for Morris, he wasn’t exactly the most durable any more than he was anywhere close to the most effective. Which leaves us with a likely Hall of Famer who is going to wind up as an idiosyncratic generational selection as Jim Rice, Andre Dawson or Bruce Sutter were in recent years. And he is someone we’re just as likely to argue about after he gets elected as we have beforehand.

Christina Kahrl covers baseball for ESPN.com. You can follow her on Twitter.

It's difficult enough to get three people to agree on anything, let alone 573.

So the fact that the Baseball Writers’ Association of America managed to push Barry Larkin past the 75 percent threshold to elect him into the Hall of Fame is a minor miracle. After all, Larkin received just 62 percent of the vote last year and isn't the kind of slam-dunk candidate the writers usually agree on. There was a good chance the writers would pitch their first shutout since 1996. Still, his 24 percent leap in one year is astonishing and only serves to show the capriciousness of the entire process. Somehow, a full one-quarter of the voters suddenly changed their ballots from "no" to "yes" on Larkin.

Otherwise, there was nothing too surprising about the results. The baseball writers are stingier than the electorates in the other major sports. Although the BBWAA has now elected 16 players in the past 10 years (two more were elected via the Veterans Committee), the NFL has elected 51 players, the NHL 26 and the NBA (with far smaller rosters) 20. Larkin was only the holdover from last year within range of the three-quarters vote.


That doesn't mean, in my humble opinion, there weren't other qualified candidates. Jeff Bagwell was the best player on this year's ballot, a dominant all-around player and former MVP winner. On his first year on the ballot a year ago, he received just 42 percent of the vote, and it became clear that many voters refused to put his name on their ballots because of suspected performance-enhancing drug use, even though Bagwell has never been linked to any steroids usage, whether through the Mitchell report or a positive test late in his career. He did receive 56 percent of the vote this year, which is actually a very positive sign for his future induction.

For most Hall of Famers, it's a climb to get to 75 percent. You would need an advanced degree in psychology to understand exactly what happens in the voting process, but there is no doubt that some form of empathy develops once a player gets over 50 percent. At that point, election becomes a clear possibility, and the voting bloc usually transitions rapidly from "maybe" to "yes." In fact, in the past 25 years, the only players to reach 50 percent in the BBWAA vote and not get elected to the Hall are Jim Bunning, Orlando Cepeda and Jack Morris. The Veterans Committee eventually selected Bunning and Cepeda, and Morris is still on the ballot.

The problem with Morris is that it took him 11 years to get to 50 percent. The election of Bert Blyleven a year ago cleared the path for him as the best starting pitcher on the ballot, but climbing from 53.5 percent to 75 percent in one year was just too much, and he received 66.7 percent. With the ballot exploding with strong candidates in the next two years, it will be difficult for Morris to get over the hump. We saw this in 1999, when Nolan Ryan, George Brett and Robin Yount were elected -- holdovers from the 1998 ballot saw their vote totals dip significantly while being compared to those three. For example, Tony Perez dropped from 68 percent to 61 percent; Gary Carter from 42 to 34 percent; Jim Rice from 43 to 29. A year later, Perez got 77 percent and was elected, Rice got 52 percent and Carter 50. Rice and Carter both eventually made it.

So although Morris is close, he'll start to face "competition" in 2013 from Roger Clemens and Curt Schilling, and in 2014 from Greg Maddux, Tom Glavine and Mike Mussina. Still, he's now so close, I think there's a good chance he'll get in over the next two years, especially with strong anti-PED ballots still running at a fever pitch. Morris may be seen as a "clean" candidate.

After six years on the ballot, Mark McGwire remained steady at 19.5 percent. Rafael Palmeiro, despite being one of just four players with at least 10 seasons of 35 home runs and 100 RBIs (Alex Rodriguez has 12, Babe Ruth 11, Palmeiro and Jimmie Foxx 10) again received even less support than McGwire, with just 12.6 percent of the vote.

Other than Larkin and Bagwell, the player who received the best news today is probably Tim Raines. He jumped from 38 percent to just shy of 49 percent. He's almost at that magical 50 percent make, and as with Blyleven, the statistical analysis that shows he's actually a strong Hall of Fame candidate rather than a marginal one is beginning to mount. It will take several years, but he appears to finally be gaining enough momentum.

Lee Smith did cross the 50 percent mark for the first time, so maybe his election is also inevitable. I'm not so sure that's the case; as a reliever, he's a bit of a unique case, and his vote total has actually remained fairly constant, as he debuted nine years ago at 42.3 percent. With the glut of starting pitching and position player candidates coming up in the next few years, the 10-man limit per ballot would seem to hurt Lee's chances. As for Bernie Williams, at least he stayed on the ballot.

I'm not an actual Hall of Fame voter. But if I did have a ballot, here's what it would look like.

Yes votes

Jeff Bagwell: He's vastly overqualified by even tough Hall of Fame standards, an outstanding all-around player who was one of the very best of his generation. A "no" vote on Bagwell can only be justified under ... well, I don't believe it can.

Barry Larkin: As valuable as Ozzie Smith, I view him as one of the top 10 shortstops of all time. Easily qualified by even tough Hall of Fame standards.

Edgar Martinez: I wrote about Edgar a couple years ago. I admit to some bias as a Mariners fan, but Martinez is simply one of the best hitters of all time. His career was a little short, and yes, he spent most of his time as a designated hitter, but he was so dominant at the plate that he deserves the votes.

Mark McGwire: We all know the issues. Look, eventually these guys will get in ... the Hall of Fame won't stand for the baseball writers determining a moral standard for election to its Hall of Fame. The Hall doesn't belong to the writers; they are merely a conduit for election. It might take five years or 10 years or 25 years, but time will pass and McGwire and others from his generation will get in.

Rafael Palmeiro: Leaving aside the PED issue, there's obviously no precedent for leaving out a player with Palmerio's career credentials -- 569 home runs (12th all time), 3,020 hits (25th), 1,835 RBIs (16th), 1,663 runs (31st) and 5,388 total bases (10th). You do read things like "Palmeiro was never one of the best at his position" as justification for not voting for him. But I don't think that's quite accurate. Using Baseball-Reference WAR, here are the top five first basemen in the majors from 1989 to 2004:



Palmeiro twice rates as the best first baseman in the league, second another time and has two other seasons in the top five (plus one season as the best DH). On top of the career totals and amazing durability, that's good enough for me.

Tim Raines: The second-greatest leadoff hitter of all time, comparable in value to Tony Gwynn. Should be a lock, but hasn't reached 40 percent of the vote during his four years on the ballot. SweetSpot readers give Raines the "yes" nod by an 85-15 vote.

Alan Trammell: I didn't write about Trammell, but his Hall of Fame support has been surprisingly minimal and he has no shot of getting in this year. In reality, you can't find two players much more identical than Larkin and Trammell.

So close I would feel guilty if I had an actual ballot

Jack Morris: I think those who rely solely on WAR sell him short. He survived in an era when most starting pitchers didn't last long enough to establish Hall of Fame credentials. He did have a certain aura about him that doesn't show up in the statistics. As I wrote the other day, he's very close. SweetSpot voters are split as well: 54 percent say yes, 46 percent say no.

Worth strong consideration, and maybe I'll change my mind in the future

Fred McGriff: I wrote on the Crime Dog over the weekend. I could be wrong here; of the nearly 3,500 votes in the SweetSpot poll, 83 percent of you consider McGriff a Hall of Famer ... a huge split over the criminally low support the BBWAA has given him (just 18 percent last year).

Larry Walker: My friend Jim Caple asks how I could consider Martinez a Hall of Famer, but not Walker, considering Walker's all-around brilliance, similar career length (8,030 plate appearances for Walker, 8,672 for Martinez) and similar OPS+ totals (147 for Martinez, 140 for Walker). I'll investigate Walker further next year, but three things still bother me:

(1) His home/road splits during his Coors Field days are generally quite large:

1995: .343/.401/.701 at home, .268/.361/.484 on the road
1996: .393/.448/.800 at home, .142/.216/.307 on the road
1997: .384/.460/.709 at home, .346/.443/.733 on the road
1998: .418/.483/.757 at home, .302/.403/.488 on the road
1999: .461/.531/.879 at home, .286/.375/.519 on the road
2000: .359/.446/.615 at home, .259/.371/.399 on the road
2001: .406/.483/.773 at home, .293/.416/.549 on the road
2002: .362/.453/.671 at home, .312/.387/.530 on the road
2003: .338/.469/.551 at home, .227/.370//395 on the road

(2) Dante Bichette, Ellis Burks, Andres Galarraga, Todd Helton -- a lot of players put up monster numbers in Coors in the '90s and early '00s.

(3) Martinez didn't have a long career, because the Mariners screwed around with him for three years. Walker only reached 8,000 plate appearances because he was very injury-prone -- he missed 495 games during his prime years with various injuries. (Walker played 140-plus games just four times; Martinez did it nine times.)

Bernie Williams: A brilliant player for eight seasons and a key player on four World Series champs. But the Hall of Fame is simultaneously a mix of peak performance and endurance; Williams' peak value is close, but I believe he falls short on the career trek.

A little short for my tastes

Dale Murphy: Similar to Williams, except he won two MVP Awards but lacks the rings. His run was even shorter -- really only an outstanding player from 1982-1985, plus 1980 and 1987.

Lee Smith: I'm not a big fan of closers, even if they did last forever. When I wrote about Smith, my biggest issue is that I don't think he was ever the best closer in the game. It might also be worth considering that the four modern closers in the Hall -- Rollie Fingers, Goose Gossage, Bruce Sutter and Dennis Eckersley -- were all closers for World Series winners. Smith appeared in only four postseason games in his career (and lost two of them).

I used to play my friend Dusty in a Pursue the Pennant simulation league, back when the game was still played with cards and dice. Our battles were famed for our Dennis Martinez-Nolan Ryan pitching duels, but Dusty also had Fred McGriff. He killed me. Considering I was stuck with fat, past-his-prime Kent Hrbek as my first baseman, I lusted to acquire McGriff. He was, after all, one of the premier hitters in the game -- although nobody seemed to give him much attention as such at the time, as he was kind of the quiet assassin plying his lumber north of the border.

Crime Dog has a pretty good Hall of Fame case, and it has nothing to do with his owning the last great nickname in baseball or even the Tom Emanski commercial. As Jim Caple once wrote, if McGriff ever makes the Hall of Fame, there should be no controversy over which cap he'll wear on his plaque -- he should just wear this one. He'd whip that bat through the zone, finishing the swing with a high-arcing flourish, his top hand coming off the bat, his bottom hand ending above his head. You always knew a Fred McGriff swing. It was a thing of unique, awkward beauty.

This will be McGriff's third year on the ballot and he hasn't done well so far -- 21.5 percent in 2010 and 17.9 percent last year. But check out his career numbers compared to the past three first basemen elected to Cooperstown:


Murray, with his long career and 3,000 hits and 500 home runs, soared in his first year. Cepeda was a Veterans Committee selection in 1999, which essentially forced the writers to finally vote in Perez the following year.

Let's look at two more numbers: career WAR and seasons in the top 10 of MVP voting.

McGriff: 50.5, six (best finish: fourth)
Murray: 66.7, eight (best finish: second two times)
Perez: 50.5, four (best finish: third)
Cepeda: 46.8, three (best finish: first)

So McGriff favors comparably with Perez and Cepeda, although to be fair, they are pretty soft as far as Hall of Famers go. On the other hand, Hall of Fame voters have been tough on first basemen -- only four Hall of Famers who played at least 50 percent of their career games at first base began their careers after 1936 -- Cepeda, Perez, Murray and Willie McCovey.

McGriff's career is a little tough to analyze, since he began in the reputed pre-steroids era and then played into the heart of the era of high-powered sluggers. So while his production remained fairly consistent, his value went down, in comparison to other first basemen. Here, let me show you. Here are his rankings in various categories among players who played at least 50 percent of their games at first base each season.


In 1989, a .924 OPS was good enough to lead the American League (and rank second behind Will Clark among first basemen). A .930 OPS in 2001 ranked only seventh. McGriff was one of the best first basemen in baseball from 1988 through 1994 -- a solid run of seven seasons. A mid-career dip and increase in offense around the majors lessened his value. By 2000, a first baseman who hit 27 home runs with an .826 OPS had little value at all; every team seemingly had a first baseman who could match that rate of production.

It doesn't help McGriff's case that he's not identified with one team. He did make four playoff appearances with the Braves (and one with the Blue Jays) and hit very well in the postseason -- .303/.385/.505 in 50 games -- but going from the Blue Jays to the Padres to the Braves to the Rays to the Cubs to the Dodgers seems to have sapped his legacy. Perez, for example, was a key component on the Big Red Machine. Having a label like that helps. For McGriff, his best seasons were performed in relative anonymity in Toronto and San Diego. His monster numbers from those early years don't look as impressive in comparison to the monster numbers of a decade later.

But they were. From 1988 to 1994, he ranked fourth, first, third, third, third, fifth and fifth in his league in OPS. How many Hall of Famers can claim a run like that?

In the end, however, McGriff remains borderline. The biggest problem is that there are three first baseman on the ballot who are better Hall of Fame candidates in Jeff Bagwell, Mark McGwire and Rafael Palmeiro. Obviously, there are complicating issues around those guys. Plus, there are first basemen such as Keith Hernandez, John Olerud and Will Clark, who arguably had similar value to McGriff, albeit compiled in ways that didn't appeal to Hall voters (on-base percentage, defense).

For now, I say McGriff is just short. And that's not an easy assessment to make for a guy with 493 home runs and over 1,500 RBIs.

I wrote about Jack Morris the other day, but I heard this on TV last night while at the gym: He was the ace on three World Series champions. I think it's at least something to consider that I didn't include in my original analysis.

Now, I would say we use that term loosely. For example, check out the 1984 Tigers:

Morris: 19-11, 3.60 ERA, 240.1 IP, 221 H, 87 BB, 148 SO, 1.28 WHIP
Dan Petry: 18-8, 3.24 ERA, 233.1 IP, 231 H, 66 BB, 144 SO, 1.27 WHIP

You can't get much more identical than that. But Morris was the ace of that team. He started the first game of the playoffs.

Or the 1991 Twins:

Morris: 18-12, 3.43 ERA, 246.2 IP, 226 H, 92 BB, 163 SO, 1.29 WHIP
Kevin Tapani: 16-9, 2.99 ERA, 244 IP, 225 H, 40 BB, 135 SO, 1.09 WHIP
Scott Erickson: 20-8, 3.18 ERA, 204 IP, 189, 71 BB, 108 SO, 1.28 WHIP

Tapani was clearly a little better that season and Erickson pretty good as well, but it was Morris who started the first game of the playoffs and the pitcher Tom Kelly lined up to start three times in the World Series. When there was a big game, Morris was the guy his manager believed in. Is that so easily dismissed?

1992 Blue Jays:

Morris: 21-6, 4.04 ERA, 240.2 IP, 222 H, 80 BB, 132 SO, 1.26 WHIP
Jimmy Key: 13-13, 3.53 ERA, 216.2 IP, 205 H, 59 BB, 117 SO, 1.22 WHIP
Juan Guzman: 16-5, 2.64 ERA, 180.2 IP, 135 H, 72 BB, 165 SO, 1.15 WHIP
David Cone: 4-3, 2.55 ERA, 53 IP, 39 H, 29 BB, 47 SO, 1.28 WHIP

Cito Gaston had several options, including late-season trade acquisition Cone. But Morris, again, was his guy. He started the first game of the playoffs and the World Series (he didn't pitch well that postseason, but the Jays won anyway).

So how many other starters have been the ace of three World Series champions?

• Whitey Ford: He started Game 1 of the World Series eight times (let's see that record broken) and the Yankees won four of those World Series.
• Allie Reynolds: When the Yankees won five straight championships from 1949-53, Reynolds started the World Series opener four times. The '53 start was most interesting because Reynolds had spend the season alternating between starting (15 starts) and relieving (13 saves). But Reynolds had a strong World Series track record and Casey Stengel gave him the ball over Vic Raschi, Eddie Lopat or a young Ford.
• Red Ruffing: He started Game 1 of the World Series six times between 1932 and 1942, with the Yankees winning in '32, '36, '38, '39 and '41. You can argue that Spud Chandler or Marius Russo were just as good in '41, but Ruffing was clearly the ace of the other five teams (which included Hall of Famer Lefty Gomez). By the way, the pitcher in the Hall of Fame with the highest career ERA? Red Ruffing, at 3.80. (He was 39-96, 4.61 with terrible Red Sox teams, got traded to the Yankees and went 231-124, 3.47 with them.)
• Waite Hoyt: Started Game 1 for the Yankees in 1923, 1927 and 1928. He's a very marginal Hall of Fame, helped by his "ace" status on three World Series winners.
• Chief Bender: The Game 1 starter for three Philadelphia A's World Series winners, Bender wasn't the clear ace (fellow Hall of Famer Eddie Plank was on those teams), but Connie Mack clearly believed in Bender as his No. 1 guy.

And to my accounting, that's it. Ken Holtzman started Game 1 of the World Series for the 1972, '73 and '74 champion A's, but that was after an additional round of playoffs had started. You could argue that Catfish Hunter was the ace of all three of those Oakland teams, but Vida Blue started the first game of the '73 playoffs (and no, not because of end-of-season rotation issues -- the A's had five days off between the end of the season and the first game of the ALCS). When the Yankees won four titles in five seasons from 1996 to 2000, four different starters opened the playoffs: Cone, David Wells, Orlando Hernandez and Roger Clemens. That was a team of aces.

So I believe that's the list: Four Yankees, a guy from 100 years ago and Jack Morris.

Does that help his Hall of Fame case? It's not anything that shows up in the statistics, but it is, I believe, an important factor for his argument. But is it enough to sway voters?

In writing these Hall of Fame pieces this week, I often find myself going on random tangents. Mostly, I blame Jim Caple. Anyway, I was talking with Caple the other day and I think he brought up Gene Mauch, which in a roundabout way made me realize that Bruce Bochy is 25th on the all-time list for games managed. Plus he's won a World Series title. In other words: Does Bochy have a shot at the Hall of Fame?

Fourteen of the 24 managers ahead of Bochy on the games managed list are already in the Hall of Fame. Of those 14 Hall of Famers, 12 did win at least two World Series titles, the exceptions being Leo Durocher (who won one) and Wilbert Robinson (who won zero). Three managers who managed more games and won World Series are surefire future Hall of Famers: Tony La Russa, Bobby Cox and Joe Torre.

That leaves the following guys who have managed more games than Bochy:

• Gene Mauch: 3942 games, .483 win percentage, two playoffs, zero pennants. Mauch is eighth on the all-time list, but the below-.500 record and lack of even a single pennant are the obvious strikes against him.
• Lou Piniella: 3548 games, .517, seven playoffs, one pennant, one World Series title. I don't think Piniella is an automatic selection, but he's 13th on the all-time and did win a World Series. If Whitey Herzog can make it with 1,000 fewer games managed, a .532 winning percentage and just one World Series title, Piniella probably gets in. Like Whitey, he was certainly an iconic manager for his time.
• Jim Leyland: 3175 games, .500, six playoffs, two pennants, one World Series title. Similar to Piniella, but with slightly less success so far.
• Ralph Houk: 3157 games, .514, three playoffs, three pennants, two World Series titles. He won World Series titles his first two seasons as manager of the Yankees in 1961 and '62 and then managed 18 more seasons. Other managers with two World Series titles but not in the Hall of Fame: Bill Carrigan and Danny Murtaugh, plus more recent managers Tom Kelly, Cito Gaston, La Russa, Torre and Terry Francona.
• Jimmy Dykes: 2962 games, .477, no playoffs. He never even finished in second place.
• Dusty Baker: 2852 games, .521, five playoffs, one pennant. Still time for Dusty to win the big one.
• Chuck Tanner: 2738 games, .495, one playoffs, one pennant, one World Series title. He did win a World Series, but that was his only playoff trip in 19 seasons.

In addition, there are seven Hall of Famers elected as managers who managed fewer games then Bochy: Miller Huggins (three World Series titles), Earl Weaver (four pennants, one World Series), Ned Hanlon (five pennants in the pre-World Series era), Al Lopez (.584 win percentage, two pennants, no World Series titles), Frank Selee (four pennants in pre-World Series era) and Billy Southworth (four pennants, two titles).

As for Bochy, his career winning percentage is under .500 (.497) but he has made five playoff appearances and won two pennants and a World Series and accomplished that without managing one of the iconic big-market franchises. If he manages three more seasons, he'll move up to 17th on the list of games managed (assuming Baker and Leyland keep managing). I've never thought of Bochy as a Hall of Fame candidate, but he's done a lot of things that certainly warrant consideration.

I want to consider Lee Smith's Hall of Fame question fairly. But I keep returning to what I think is the obvious question: Would you really rather have Lee Smith on your team than Barry Larkin or Alan Trammell or Edgar Martinez or Tim Raines or Bernie Williams or Larry Walker or Jack Morris or Jeff Bagwell or Dale Murphy or Fred McGriff?

You really think if the Chicago Cubs had called up the Montreal Expos or Atlanta Braves in 1983 -- when Smith was at his most dominant -- and said, "Hey, we'll give you Smith for Raines or Murphy" that those teams would have said yes? In 1991, when Smith finished second in the NL Cy Young vote, do you think the Padres would have traded McGriff for him?

Isn't the answer clear?

* * * *

Smith was taken in the second round of the 1975 draft by the Chicago Cubs, discovered in his small Louisiana hometown by the legendary Buck O'Neil. He was big, he threw gas and he had no idea what he was doing. In 1978, pitching as a starter for Double-A Midland, he threw 155 innings, walked 128 and struck out 71. His ERA was 5.98. He nearly quit baseball at the time, but Billy Williams convinced him to return. The odds that he’d become a Hall of Fame candidate at the point? I’d say less than the Cubs’ chances of winning the 2012 World Series.

Smith, of course, converted to a relief pitcher and became one of baseball's most intimidating closers, sauntering in slowly from the Wrigley Field bullpen, his cap sitting loosely atop his head, throwing smoke from the late-afternoon shadows. It's that slow walk that I most remember Smith for; indeed, near the end of his career he became notorious for napping in the clubhouse during the game and not heading out to the bullpen until the seventh inning.

What I don't remember is ever thinking of Smith as baseball's best closer. But memories are hazy. Let us check some of Smith's best seasons.

1983: 4-10, 1.65 ERA, 29 saves, 103.1 IP, 70 H, 41 BB, 91 SO

In Smith's only season with an ERA under 2.00, he led the NL in saves and ranked fourth in the majors. You can make a case he was the second-best reliever in baseball that year behind Dan Quisenberry (45 saves, 139 innings, 1.94 ERA), although Jesse Orosco was also pretty dominant (1.47 ERA in 110 innings) and Orosco went 13-7 rather than 4-10.

1984: 9-7, 3.65 ERA, 33 saves, 101 IP, 98 hits, 35 BB, 86 SO

The Cubs won the division title and Smith ranked second to Bruce Sutter in the NL in saves, but didn't have a particularly dominant season. Sutter, Quisenberry, Willie Hernandez (AL Cy Young and MVP), Goose Gossage and Bill Caudill, for example, all clearly had better seasons. In fact, 77 pitchers with at least 100 innings had a lower ERA that year. In the NLCS, he also served up the game-losing gopherball to Steve Garvey in Game 4.

1988: 4-5, 2.80 ERA, 29 saves, 83.2 IP, 72 H, 37 BB, 96 SO

Now with the Red Sox -- he was considered so valuable the Cubs gave him up for Al Nipper and Calvin Schiraldi -- Smith got his ERA under 3.00 for the first time since 1983 and the Red Sox won the AL East. Smith was 29-for-37 in save opportunities that year, a 78 percent success ratio. He ranked ninth in the majors in saves and among those with at least 25 saves, he ranked ninth in ERA, sixth in innings, second in strikeouts and tied for 13th in save percentage. I don't think you say he was one of the best three or four closers that year.

1990: 5-5, 2.06 ERA, 31 saves, 83 IP, 71 H, 28 BB, 87 SO

For some reason, the Red Sox had signed Jeff Reardon in the offseason, so in early May they traded Smith to the Cardinals for Tom Brunansky. Smith was 31 for 37 in save chances. But it was a good year for closers: Dennis Eckersley had a 0.61 ERA, Bobby Thigpen saved 57 games with a 1.83 ERA, Randy Myers and Tom Henke were just as dominant as Smith. A good year, but Smith clearly ranks behind Eck and Thigpen and no better than even with Myers and Henke.

1991: 6-3, 2.34 ERA, 47 saves, 73 IP, 70 IP, 13 BB, 67 SO

You'll notice that Smith's innings are slowly dropping as closers became more and more protected. Once a 100-inning reliever, he's now in the low 70s. That didn't prevent Smith from finishing second in the Cy Young vote, as he led the majors in saves. He had a good year, although Bryan Harvey was the most dominant closer that year -- 46 saves, 1.65 ERA, 101/17 strikeout/walk ratio. I'd argue that Eckersley, Rick Aguilera and Henke were also as effective or more so than Smith. He did convert 89 percent of his save chances -- the third-highest ratio of his career.

1992: 4-9, 3.12 ERA, 46 saves, 75 IP, 62 H, 26 BB, 60 SO

Smith led the NL in saves, but with nine losses and eight blown saves, it was hardly a stellar season. Among the 12 relievers with at least 30 saves, Smith ranked 10th in ERA, sixth in innings, sixth in strikeouts and seventh in OPS allowed. And somehow finished fourth in the Cy Young vote. (Thirteen NL starters pitched 200 innings with a lower ERA than Smith that year.)

1994: 1-4, 3.29 ERA, 33 saves, 38.1 IP, 34 H, 11 BB, 42 SO

Still going strong at 36, Smith was now the ultimate one-inning reliever -- actually, not even that. He pitched in 39 games so he averaged just less than an inning per outing. He led the majors in saves in the strike-shortened season, but let's be serious -- this was not a great season. Among the 10 closers with 20 saves, he had the fewest innings, ranked sixth in ERA and seventh in OPS allowed. Here's another way to look at the end of Smith's career: From 1992 through 1995 he led the majors with 159 saves, nine more than Myers. But he was really a dominant reliever in that span? Among the 15 pitchers with at least 50 saves over those years, Smith's 3.43 ERA ranks 12th and his OPS allowed 11th. He got saves because he wasn't terrible and had the easiest job in baseball: Come in with the bases empty and get two or three outs.

So what are we left with? Yes, he retired as baseball's all-time saves leader with 478, although he has since been lapped by Trevor Hoffman and Mariano Rivera. He does still rank third and the closest active closer is Francisco Cordero with 327.

In the end I see Smith as a very good reliever, but also the ultimate compiler. Considering the coddled nature of the position, to even consider a closer you need to at least be the man for a period of years, and Smith never had a run of dominance like Rivera or Goose Gossage or Billy Wagner or Joe Nathan. On his first year on the ballot, Smith received 42.3 percent of the vote; nine years later, he hadn't budged much, with 45.3 percent. The line has been drawn on Lee Smith, as strong as the line on steroids users. He had a great career, he filled his role at a position where a lot of guys burn out quickly. But I say again: You can't vote for Smith when there are so many more valuable, viable candidates to vote for.

It's pretty easy to build the case against Jack Morris as a Hall of Famer. For example:

ERA+ is each pitcher's career ERA, adjusted for league and home ballparks. WAR is wins above replacement, via Baseball-Reference.com. These three pitchers are pretty similar, no? Pitcher A is Dennis Martinez. Pitcher B is Morris. Pitcher C is Jamie Moyer. Martinez already appeared on the Hall of Fame ballot. He received 16 votes and was booted. Moyer is attempting a comeback for 2012, but it's safe to assume his Hall of Fame candidacy will go the way of Martinez's, one-and-done.

Here's another one. Morris won 20 games three times. His first good season was 1979; his last good season was 1992. During that span, there were 57 seasons when a pitcher won 20 games. Morris' seasonal ERAs rank 38th, 44th and 57th.

There are 63 players elected to the Hall of Fame primarily for their work in the major leagues as pitchers. Morris' 3.90 career ERA would rank last. (Red Ruffing had a 3.80 ERA, pitching in a much higher-scoring era.) Morris' 105 ERA+ would rank alongside Catfish Hunter, ahead of only Rube Marquard.

If you're a WAR kind of guy, Morris' career 39.3 WAR would rank ahead of nine Hall of Famers. But also well below non-Hall of Famers like Rick Reuschel (66.3), Luis Tiant (60.1), Frank Tanana (55.1), Bret Saberhagen (54.7), Dave Stieb (53.0), Orel Hershiser (51.5), Kevin Appier (50.4) and many others.

During his 1979-92 peak, Morris did pitch the most innings in the major leagues at 3,378.1, just over 500 more than the No. 2 guy, Charlie Hough. During those years, 31 pitchers threw at least 2,000 innings. Morris' 3.71 ERA ranks 13th of the 31, behind guys like Bob Welch (3.32), Danny Darwin (3.49) and Charlie Leibrandt (3.65).

Morris never won a Cy Young Award, never led his league in ERA, in fact never had a season ERA under 3.00. Morris topped 230 innings 11 times in his career. From 1979 to 1992, there were 80 seasons where a pitcher threw at least 230 innings and had an ERA under 3.00. Morris did not have one of those 80 seasons.

Here's another table, comparing Morris to some of his 1980s contemporaries and how often they finished in the top five in their league in various categories:



OK, the point is this: Jack Morris doesn't have a strong statistical case for the Hall of Fame. While he was consistently among the best pitchers in baseball, there were always several better at any given time. (That's not necessarily a strike against him; you don't have to be the best at your position to be a Hall of Famer.) Once you get past the 254 wins, you better leave out the stats.

Early in his career, Morris threw an above-average fastball and slider. In 1983, he added a splitter, which caused his strikeout rates to go up (from 4.6 in 1982 to 7.1 in 1983). Still, there were several things that prevented Morris from ever being the best pitcher in baseball: (1) He walked a lot of batters, 80 or more in 11 different seasons; (2) He gave up too many home runs at times (he ranked in the top five in the AL in six seasons); (3) He threw a ton of wild pitches (he led the league six times); (4) He allowed a lot of stolen bases (45 one year).

Morris' Hall of Fame case comes down to three other issues:

1. He was a durable workhorse in an era without many of those guys. I have a theory on this. Pitchers who came up in the 1960s and '70s -- guys like Seaver, Palmer, Carlton, Sutton and so on -- pitched in an easier environment. Most teams had two middle infielders who couldn't hit a lick. Most catchers didn't hit much. There were several soft spots in most lineups, places where you could cruise a bit. By the 1980s, hitters were getting better and stronger, lineups a little deeper. This was the transitional era between four-man and five-man rotations. Most of the best pitchers of this time couldn't handle the workload to bring their career win totals to Hall of Fame territory -- Fernando Valenzuela burned out, Dave Stieb developed shoulder and back injuries, Dwight Gooden hurt his shoulder, Orel Hershiser led the league three straight years in innings pitched and then tore his rotator cuff. And so on. Morris was the one guy in the decade to essentially survive unscathed. By the time the next generation came around -- Clemens, Maddux, Glavine, etc. -- pitchers worked in five-man rotations their entire careers and were better protected with better medical care, and many of them thus had longer careers than the 1980s guys.

2. He was an iconic figure for the decade. With his big, bushy mustache and tough-guy persona, Morris was certainly one of the famous players of his era. Not everybody believes this, but that has to be worth at least a little something in the voting process. After all, it isn't the Hall of WAR.

3. Game 7. Of course, it really comes down to this, doesn't it? Game 7 of the 1991 World Series, Morris' 10-inning, 1-0 masterpiece that delivered the World Series to the Twins. How much extra credit do you give Morris for this game? He also pitched two complete-game victories in the 1984 World Series for the victorious Tigers (and while he was also on the 1992 champion Blue Jays, he was 0-3 in that postseason, including two losses with an 8.44 ERA in the World Series). But it's Game 7 that Morris defenders have to weigh heavily.

Is it enough? The long career, the wins, the consistency, the unique durability for his era, the 1984 World Series ... and Game 7. What is the added value of a World Series victory, let alone a 1-0 shutout in Game 7 of the World Series? In this piece, David Gassko argues it could be as much as 25 times that of a regular-season win. Is that enough? The Hall of Fame has neglected starting pitchers in recent years (Bert Blyleven was the first starter elected since Nolan Ryan in 1999). I'm on the fence ... but I don't think I can climb over it.

Welcome to a new year for the Baseball Today podcast! Mark Simon and I resumed podcast operations on Tuesday and had a blast talking recent news, Hall of Fame and reminiscing with a special guest!

1. Gar Ryness, also known fondly as the batting stance guy (www.battingstanceguy.com), joined us to discuss his favorite players to impersonate, how he spends his offseason and New Year’s resolutions!

2. By this time next week we’ll know if the Hall of Fame will have pending members like Barry Larkin and Jeff Bagwell, and Mark and I debate the merits of not only some deserving players, but how the Hall decides things.

3. Of course, we’re also keeping up with the latest news! Omar Quintanilla is a New York Met! Yes, the NL East just got far tougher. OK, Carlos Quentin to the San Diego Padres? Why?

4. We’ve got emails! Should former players vote for the Hall of Fame? Are the Giants in danger of losing key rotation pieces? And is the stat total bases calculated correctly? Send more emails to baseballtoday@espnradio.com.

5. Seriously, Omar Quintanilla? OK, we do examine what R.A. Dickey is up to, literally, and talk resolutions and new punter-like stats to follow!

So join us on the first Baseball Today podcast of 2012! It promises to be a great year for baseball, and Baseball Today!

In spring training of 1991, Bob Ryan of the Boston Globe wrote a glowing profile of Jeff Bagwell, suggesting that the Red Sox would one day lament the trade of Bagwell for 37-year-old relief pitcher Larry Andersen.

"Bagwell could be big one that got away," read the headline.

The story appeared in March. Bagwell had yet to play a regular-season game in the major leagues, but the picture was already clear: Red Sox general manager Lou Gorman had made a mistake of potentially historic proportions.

"Jeff Bagwell owned New Britain," wrote Ryan. "He hit .333. He led the Eastern League in hits and doubles. Everybody said he was the best prospect in the league, maybe the best in all of Double-A. A year or so in Pawtucket, and then The Bigs."

Bill James raved about Bagwell, foreseeing him as a hitter capable of winning batting titles. "Gorman has heard it all," wrote Ryan, "and he is quite prepared to live with the consequences of the deal. 'In the seven years I've been here,' (Gorman) contends, 'I don't think any young player has come back to haunt me yet.'"

---

Last year, his first time on the Hall of Fame ballot, Bagwell received 41.7 percent of the vote. As Hall of Fame chances go, that isn’t necessarily a distressing starting point. Jim Rice got 29.8 percent his first year. Goose Gossage received 33.3 percent and Gary Carter 42.3 percent. Andre Dawson didn’t begin much higher, at 45.3 percent. Bert Blyleven notoriously started at just 17.8 percent. The writers would eventually vote all those players into the Hall.

The vote total, however, drew outrage across the Internet, and understandably so. For a player of Bagwell's abilities and accomplishments to receive such a low vote total was ... well, something of historic precedent.

Using Baseball-Reference's ranking of players via its Wins Above Replacement statistic, Bagwell rates as one most dominant players since World War II. Here are the position players ranked Nos. 11 through 30 and how many years it took them to get voted into the Hall of Fame:

11. Joe Morgan, 103.5 WAR (1)
12. Eddie Mathews, 98.3 (5)
13. Al Kaline, 91.0 (1)
14. Cal Ripken, 89.9 (1)
15. Albert Pujols, 89.1 (not eligible)
16. Wade Boggs, 89.0 (1)
17. Carl Yastrzemski, 88.7 (1)
18. George Brett, 85.0 (1)
19. Roberto Clemente, 83.8 (1)
20. Chipper Jones, 82.9 (not eligible)
21. JEFF BAGWELL, 79.9 (41.7 percent)
22. Rod Carew, 79.1 (1)
23. Ken Griffey Jr., 78.5 (not eligible)
24. Robin Yount, 76.9 (1)
25. Frank Thomas, 75.9 (not eligible)
26. Pete Rose, 75.3 (not eligible)
27. Paul Molitor, 74.8 (1)
28. Reggie Jackson, 74.6 (1)
29. Jim Thome, 71.4 (not eligible)
30. Johnny Bench, 71.3 (1)

Wins Above Replacement may not be a perfect statistic, but I don't think anyone can argue that the above list represents anything other than a list of the greatest players of the past 50-plus years. As you can see, other than Mathews, every eligible candidate cruised into Cooperstown in his first year of eligibility. Furthermore, the following players, all with a career WAR below 70, made it in their first year: Brooks Robinson, Tony Gwynn, Eddie Murray, Willie McCovey, Ozzie Smith, Ernie Banks, Dave Winfield, Willie Stargell and Kirby Puckett.

Yet Bagwell couldn't receive 50 percent of the vote, which indicates one of two things:

1. A large percentage of voters don't realize how great Bagwell was.
2. A large percentage of voters didn't vote for him because he had big muscles.

---

In 1990, the year Gorman traded him to the Astros, Bagwell played at Double-A New Britain (Conn.). While he hit .333 (second in the league) and led the league with 34 doubles, he also hit just four home runs. This fact has been cited as evidence that Bagwell must have turned himself into a slugger who mashed 449 career home runs with the help of steroids. After all, a year after hitting four home runs in Double-A, he hit 15 home runs for the Astros and won the National League Rookie of the Year Award. He would end up topping 30 home runs nine times in the major leagues.

You know how many home runs the 1990 New Britain Red Sox hit? Thirty-one. Bagwell was second on the team; Eric Wedge hit five. The team featured eight position players who would reach the majors, including future Red Sox shortstop John Valentin. He hit .218 with two home runs in 351 plate appearances. New Britain was an impossible place to hit. Ryan suggested because of that, Bagwell wouldn't be intimidated by the Astrodome.

"It can't be worse in the gaps than New Britain," Ryan quotes Bagwell as saying. "The ball doesn't go anywhere down there."

The year before, New Britain hit 42 home runs. (Mo Vaughn hit just eight.) It hit 34 in 1988. Bagwell, who Ryan describes in the article as having "something approaching a hockey build," didn't lack power; he was just playing his minor league games in the Grand Canyon.

Bagwell has denied using steroids. He never tested positive once testing was initiated late in his career. He wasn't mentioned in the Mitchell report. He played 156 or more games in 10 of his 15 seasons. Other than his freakishly awesome 1994 season in which he hit .368 in the strike-shortened season, his career shows a rather normal curve of improvement, peak value and slow decline starting in his mid-30s.

But he had big muscles.

---

Since it would seem presumptuous to assume guilt without evidence, I'll assume the majority of voters somehow missed Bagwell's greatness, as they did with Mathews for a few years or with Blyleven for so long. These things happen, but fortunately they usually correct themselves. Bagwell didn't reach the magic 3,000-hit barrier, and he didn't even hit 500 home runs. Some of his value is tied into being an excellent baserunner and solid defensive first baseman, things that can be overlooked in Hall of Fame voting.

I assume the voters will eventually come around and realize Bagwell is just one of 22 players with 1,500 RBIs and 1,500 runs scored since World War II -- his 152 runs scored in 2000 are the most in one season since the 1930s. Of those 22, he ranks seventh in OPS and eighth in adjusted OPS (behind guys named Bonds, Mantle, Musial, Aaron, Mays, Ramirez and Robinson).

So, yes, Bagwell will eventually get elected to Cooperstown. Because he wouldn't be denied admittance because he had big muscles.

Right?