Player 1 was an average defensive centerfielder who, every day for 20 years, hit exactly 1-for-4 with a single in four plate appearances. He tends to accumulate the appropriate number of runs scored and RBI's for such a game. Now there are two ways to look at him: "1-for-4? Just a dopey single? That's ridiculous! His career slash line is .250/.250/.250! He is terrible (or at best, mediocre) every day for 20 years! He's not helping his team!" The other way would be this: "Well, he played every game for 20 years, or 3,240 consecutive games, 608 more than Cal Ripken Jr. ever could. He had a hit each game for 3,240 straight games, or a streak almost 60 times as long as Joe DiMaggio's. He had 3,240 base hits, definitely enough (by the Hall's present standards) for induction." Well, what do you think?
Player 2 was a closer. He pitched 700 games, and every single one featured him pitch one inning, give up one earned run, and earn the save. You could either say, "He had more saves than anyone in the history of baseball. He got the job done every single time. That's what I call a dependable closer." OR... "He had a career ERA of 9.00. That stinks!"
Player 2 was a closer. He pitched 700 games, and every single one featured him pitch one inning, give up one earned run, and earn the save. You could either say, "He had more saves than anyone in the history of baseball. He got the job done every single time. That's what I call a dependable closer." OR... "He had a career ERA of 9.00. That stinks!"
Player 3 was a starting pitcher, and every one of his 300 starts featured the same slash line: 6 innings, 6 hits, two walks (1.333 WHIP), three earned runs, one win. His career record was 300-0, and his ERA was 4.50. He never had a start that didn't qualify as a quality start, but he always left a fair amount of work for the bullpen. He's the exact opposite of Player 4, who pitched 300 starts, completed them all, struck out 10 hitters each game, allowed 2 earned runs in 150 starts and 3 in the other 150, and lost them all. That's right, 300 games, 2,700 innings, 2.50 ERA, 3,000 strikeouts, 0-300 record. Luckily, history has never given us such an extreme example, but then again, what if a comparably drastic career were to occur? He had zero wins (and 300 against zero losses for Player 3), but he pitched way better than Player 3, who was mediocre. The difference is this: despite their efforts, Player 3 always (technically) got the job done, while Player 4 never could (or did). Would you, as a manager, tell your starting pitcher to go out and win, or to pitch a great game? That's the difference. These ridiculous Players 3 and 4 also teach us a lesson on luck and the inconsistency of won-lost records.
Player 5 was a DH who hit .340 for his career with 900 home runs. However, whether the public knew it or not, he was simply incapable of catching a baseball; it was as if he were allergic to leather so that he couldn't handle gloves or baseballs. As a result, he never played a game in the field, and meets the first criterion (personal record) but doesn't even approach the second, as regards his overall player (playing ability). Well, what about his induction?
Player 6 demonstrates the importance of in depth statistical research. A hitter may want to keep his average up, and a shortstop his fielding percentage up. Well, Player 6 was a shortstop who slashed .370/.390/.390 in 5,000 at bats. That's right: 1,850 hits, 1,950 total bases (let's say 100 doubles and 1,750 singles). His fielding percentage was 1.000, but his range factor was only average, and he was never remembered to have made any spectacular defensive plays. In the field, he was ordinary, but he never made any errors; he always made the play, certainly adding (some) defensive value to his team. Of all the routine ground balls and soft liners ever hit to him, he always got them. This player is more complicated, as he demonstrates extremes on both offense and defense. The highest batting average of all time, but only a .780 OPS. A perfect F%, but no Gold Gloves. Is he a Hall of Famer?
Player 7 is essentially the exact opposite of Player 6. He is an outfielder who fields like Willie Mays, and is listed among the all time great defensive outfielders. He didn't have a perfect 1.000 fielding percentage, but (say) hey, neither did Mays. In 11,111 career at bats, Player 7 hit 650 home runs, and had a rather peculiar slash line of .180/.380/.550. He had only 2,000 hits and struck out 3,000 times, but had significantly more walks than hits. He had good (not great) on base skills and marvelous power, but could rarely be counted on for a clutch hit. He sometimes contributed big (like I said, he hit 650 jacks), but he often struck out. If he walked, then the other hitters had to knock in the runs. Other than his anemic batting average, he would easily be considered a Hall of Famer. Would he be inducted anyway?
Player 8 differs from every other player on this list since he had a realistic regular season career. An outfielder by trade, he played ten seasons, hitting .250 with 10 homers every year. Not really impressive numbers for an outfielder, but hey, he could have been much worse. He also played average defense. His claim to fame, however, is the (unrealistic) fact that his team won the World Series each season, and he had the winning hit each time. Now, each team goes into Opening Day hoping to win the World Series. Obviously the team won with him (after all, he wasn't an egregious hitter), but probably didn't make the World Series every year because of him. He was basically average, which really means below average for a team that makes the World Series every year. But the big question that Player 8 asks is, how much weight do postseason exploits count for in the context of the Hall of Fame? Obviously, this player has done much more for the immediate purpose of his team winning the World Series (the ultimate goal of each season) than any other player in history. He may have had a knack, which would make him extremely valuable for a team that consistently wins the pennant, or was just lucky, meaning that anyone, by extraordinary chance, could have had Series winning hits in ten straight years, and that he was just the only one ever to actually do it. Nobody really knows. In any case, that's the main question: how much consideration should we give to a player's unreal postseason resume, as compared with his regular season resume?
As a side note, I would also like to include a manager with this list. John Doe was basically the average MLB manager, but he lasted forever. Doe had a lifetime record of 2,500-2,500 across 31 seasons. If anyone manages for that long, you'd expect him to have won at least one World Series, right? So we'll give him one World Title. Now, quite simply, since two teams play each in baseball game, and since one of the teams wins, the winning percentage for your average manager, of course, is .500, which is exactly the number that John Doe is entitled to. Among Hall of Fame managers, most of them are above the .500 mark, but some of them are actually below the mark, meaning that they lost more games than they won. If John Doe were a real manager, then his winning percentage, remarkably, would fit in with the managers already enshrined. His win total would be one of the highest of any of them, and he did win a World Series. Even though he could be any old John Doe (when it comes to MLB managers), he probably would be inducted. The lesson here is that the standard for inducting managers is way too low.
