Two Black Sox

In The Politics of Glory, Bill James described those who advocate Shoeless Joe Jackson’s Hall of Fame case as “baseball’s answer to those women who show up at murder trials wanting to marry the cute murderer.” This was not the first time that James has made a fool of himself, but that is a different matter. In reality, Jackson should never have been banned from baseball, and in a perfect world he would be in Cooperstown today. 

Joseph Walker Jackson was born on July 16, 1887 in Pickens County, South Carolina. Originally a pitcher, he switched to the outfield after he broke a batter’s arm with a fastball. His hitting was outstanding, and he made the Major Leagues in 1908. 

Jackson was illiterate, meaning that he couldn’t read or write. Although this was not uncommon in the early 20th century, Jackson felt humiliated and tried his best to hide it. After he became a big star in the Majors, he knew he needed to learn how to sign autographs, so his wife Katie taught him to write, “BEST REGARDS JOE JACKSON” in all caps. In fact, since Katie signed most of his autographs for him, any real Jackson autographs have become very valuable. In fact, in 2021, a Shoeless Joe autographed photo sold for $1.47 million at an auction. 

Jackson was thought to be kind of a weird fellow. He named all of his bats, most notably Black Betsy, a 36 inch, 48 ounce monster that he used throughout his career. Additionally, his nickname, “Shoeless Joe”, was bestowed upon him after he played one game in the minors in his socks. Why did he play in his socks? Because his shoes were too tight, of course. 

Jackson made his MLB debut in 1908, but didn’t reach rookie status until 1911. His .408 batting average that season not only set an all time high for AL rookies, but is also the last .400 average to fall short of a league Batting Crown. He batted .356 for his career while also building a reputation as a power hitter. He was such a good hitter that Babe Ruth said he modeled his swing after Jackson’s. By all contemporary and modern standards he was a good enough player to be inducted into the Hall of Fame. The only reason why he is excluded is because he was banned from baseball, along with seven others, after the Black Sox scandal. 

In 1919, Jackson’s Chicago White Sox won the American League and were heavy favorites to beat the Cincinnati Reds in the World Series. However, gamblers convinced many of the White Sox players to throw the World Series, promising them fat checks if they complied and violence if they refused. The Sox lost the Series, 5-3. All throughout the 1920 season, rumors of an alleged fix were told and retold. In September, a grand jury was convened to investigate the scandal, and eventually implicated eight players (Jackson, Eddie Cicotte, Chick Gandil, Swede Risberg, Buck Weaver, Lefty Williams, Happy Felsch, and Fred McMullen) and five gamblers. After Cicotte confessed to throwing the Series to the grand jury, Chicago owner Charles Comiskey suspended each player (except Gandil, who was no longer with the team). The trials all took place in 1921, and in the end all eight players were found not guilty. However, Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis banned them anyway. All eight of them were never to have anything to do with professional baseball again. 

Since Landis banned the “Black Sox”, none of them has been seriously considered by the Hall of Fame. Jackson and Cicotte were on their way to Cooperstown at the time, and a couple others may also have had a chance to make it. When Jackson was banned, he was coming off a .382-12-121 season in 1920, and the live ball era was just kicking into effect. If he were allowed to keep playing, his career could have looked a lot like Ty Cobb’s. However, I am adamant that a player must play it straight if he is to be considered by the Hall of Fame. I emphatically rejected Bonds and Clemens on the last two Hall of Fame ballots, and am also opposed to Pete Rose’s election. On the other hand, Jackson had a great World Series in 1919. He batted .375/.394/.563 with the only home run of the World Series. In the field, he made 16 putouts without a single error. In my mind, there is no doubt that Jackson played his best. He didn’t attend meetings with the gamblers, and he tried to return the money to Comiskey. Comiskey evidently wouldn’t listen to Jackson’s warnings, and he was advised to keep the money. On top of all that, he even asked to be benched before Game 1 so as not to have any part in the tainted Series. (Of course, manager Kid Gleason, who knew nothing of the fix, refused.) AND HE WAS FOUND NOT GUILTY ON TRIAL. There is no real reason to keep him out of the Hall of Fame. 

While everyone argues over Jackson’s case because he is a credible Hall of Fame candidate, one other player was banned for life without sufficient cause: Buck Weaver. Weaver had a nice little career, hitting .272 from 1912 through 1920, including .311 over his final three seasons. A fine fielder who played both shortstop and third base, Weaver set numerous fielding records. Weaver was banned because he attended meetings with the gamblers but didn’t report them. He pleaded with his teammates not to enter the fix, but to no avail. The least he could do was play hard, and he hit .324 in the 1919 World Series with a .500 slugging percentage. He should also be reinstated and possibly enshrined in Cooperstown as well.

62

On Tuesday, Aaron Judge hit his 62nd home run of the 2022 season. This not only topped Roger Maris’s 61 for the American League record, but is potentially the authentic single season record (as the only others with more were accused of PED use). The thing that I noticed about Judge’s chase for the record is that the fans wanted him to hit it. He must have felt pressure, but nothing like Maris faced. This post, starting with Babe Ruth’s record, will explain the context of Judge’s homer, the context of Maris’s homer, and Maris’s Hall of Fame candidacy. 

Babe Ruth’s career changed the sport of baseball forever. When he first came up in 1914 (as a pitcher), runs were scored on a much smaller scale, and there was a lot of bunting, base stealing, hit and run - “small ball”, tactical baseball. Ruth decided to start swinging for the fences, and set a Major League record with 29 homers in 1919. As the dead ball era came to a close in 1920, Ruth became a full time outfielder and demolished his mark with 54 homers. He broke his own record two more times, topping out at 60 in 1927. Ruth was the idol of every American back then, and was regarded as “more than a man but less than a god”. When he retired in 1935, his record looked pretty safe. However, a new philosophy began to permeate the game by the 1950’s: “home run or bust”. Guys like Mickey Mantle,  Harmon Killebrew, and Jim Lemon led the new trend, setting impressive home run (and strikeout) records. The Yankees in particular loaded their lineup with power hitters, and became known as the Bronx Bombers. 

One of those new era power hitters was Roger Maris. He began his career with the Cleveland Indians, and soon went over to the Kansas City Athletics. The Yankees in those days got a significant amount of their star power from the Athletics, which was practically their AAAA farm team, and Maris came over to the Yanks in 1960. Maris was a good power hitter, hitting 39 homers to win the MVP that year, but he didn’t communicate well with the press. Like Lou Gehrig essentially avoided Babe Ruth’s limelight, Maris seemed to make sure not to outshine guys like Mantle. Perhaps thinking he had a home in New York, and seeing as how both the  league and the schedule were expanding, Maris teamed up with Mantle for a dual assault at 61 in ‘61. Most fans wanted the immortal Ruth’s record to stand forever, but the Yankee fanbase as a unit cheered on Mantle’s chase. Mantle was their favorite. He had been with the club for ten seasons, won the Triple Crown in 1956, and became New York’s new heartthrob. Maris, on the other hand, was looked upon quite differently. He was the new guy, largely unproven until his MVP season in 1960, and not a great communicator. Mantle looked like a better bet to actually beat Ruth’s mark - his previous career high was 52 in 1956 - so it came as a shock when the new guy matched Mantle’s pace as the season went on. Nobody wanted Maris - who played Ruth’s position in the “House that Ruth Built” - to top the Bambino’s record. When he started seriously gunning for 61, the fans let them know how they felt. Maris experienced nothing but torment and hate on his way to history. He received death threats, boos, bad print, you name it. In one rather famous incident late in the 1961 season, one fan threw his chair at Maris when he was in the field. The stress caused Maris’s hair to fall out. In the end, Maris ended up hitting number 61 (Mantle got hurt and finished with 54), and that became the hallmark of a successful Major League career. He played twelve seasons in the Majors, hit 275 home runs, won three World Series rings, and earned a Gold Glove award in 1960. It was a nice career, and could have been better if the fans were on his side. 

In 1998, Mark McGwire of the Cardinals and Sammy Sosa of the rival Cubs began their chase for 62. They both crushed the record (McGwire had 70 and Sosa hit 66), and Sosa hit 60 homers a couple more times. However, there is good reason to suspect that they were using illegal performance enhancing drugs (PED’s), likely anabolic steroids, to build muscle. McGwire for one has admitted it (https://www.espn.com/mlb/news/story?id=4816607#:~:text=NEW%20YORK%20%2D%2D%20Mark%20McGwire,to%20hit%20the%20long%20ball.). That 1998 season was a pretty big deal back then, but until Tuesday many people considered Maris’s 61 homers the true record. So be it. 

61 seasons after Maris hit his historic homer, Aaron Judge hit his record setting 62nd homer. To add irony to irony, Judge is also the Yankee rightfielder, patrolling the same outfield position as both Ruth and Maris. I am happy that he hit number 62, and it is a truly impressive record. Aaron Judge deserves his congratulations. However, so did Maris. Judge will get cheers for a long time, but Maris never got to experience the appreciation from the fans. He seemed to live out his baseball days in misery. I want people to remember and appreciate what a legend Maris really was. He took down the Babe Ruth. People should remember that. Back in July of 2020, I wrote a post advocating his election to the Hall of Fame. I still believe that he should be a Hall of Famer, but his case is very complicated. For one thing, his career statistics do not merit induction to the Hall. He had good numbers, a .260 batting average, 275 homers (about 50 more than the average Hall of Famer), two MVP’s, three World Championships. The Hall of Fame official voting criteria states, ”No automatic elections based on performances such as a batting average of .400 or more for one (1) year, pitching a perfect game or similar outstanding achievement shall be permitted.” The rules don’t get any more specific than that, so I’d guess that since Maris hasn’t been automatically inducted (I don’t really know how to interpret that), then he’s still a credible candidate. However, I’m not going to lie; without that 1961 season, Maris wouldn’t be considered by the Hall of Fame.

Groat to Maz to Stuart

In the January 1987 issue of Baseball Digest, Richard Blue of Hollywood, California, wrote:

    “I would like to champion the cause of a player who heretofore has received very little support [for the Hall of Fame]: second baseman Bill Mazeroski. He has better hitting and fielding statistics than another Hall of Fame second baseman, Johnny Evers of the old Chicago Cubs (and later miracle Boston Braves). Is Mazeroski to be denied because no one wrote a poem called Groat-to-Mazeroski-to-Stuart?”

This essay will give my personal opinions of his contention and the six players’ Hall of Fame cases, but first I need to give some background information. 

From 1902 through 1912, the Chicago Cubs’ double play combination featured shortstop Joe Tinker, second baseman Johnny Evers, and first baseman Frank Chance. They were all fine fielders and all around good players, and their Cubs won the World Series in 1907 and 1908. However, the trio became famous with the 1910 publication of “Tinker to Evers to Chance”, a poem written by Franklin Pierce Adams and published in the New York Evening Mail. The poem went something like this: 

These are the saddest of possible words: 

“Tinker to Evers to Chance.” 

Trio of bear cubs, and fleeter than birds, 

Tinker and Evers and Chance. 

Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble, 

Making a Giant hit into a double, 

Words that are heavy with nothing but trouble: 

“Tinker to Evers to Chance.” 

This poem, published in the prime of their careers, brought them much glory and public recognition. As a result, the three were inducted into Baseball’s Hall of Fame at Cooperstown in 1946. To this day many people question the merit of their selections. 

From 1958 through 1962, the Pittsburgh Pirates’ double play combination featured shortstop Dick Groat, second baseman Bill Mazeroski, and first baseman Dick Stuart. All three were good players, and helped the Pirates to the World Championship in 1960. However, all three of them more or less avoided the limelight during their careers, and were forgotten by the Hall of Fame for some time. Finally, in 2001, the Veterans’ Committee elected Mazeroski, but Groat, a legitimate candidate, remains on the outside looking in. 

First of all, Richard Blue’s piece is a little mixed up. While his main point (that Mazeroski should be inducted) is true, his argument is all out of whack. His first mistake is comparing Mazeroski’s statistics with those of Johnny Evers. In terms of hitting, Evers played in the dead ball era. From about 1900 to 1920, MLB played with a pretty “dead” baseball that wouldn’t travel very far unless you straight cow-tailed it. Sometimes entire teams would hit less than 10 home runs in a full season, and league leaders rarely topped 15. Comparing Maz’s hitting stats with Evers’ is a little unfair (although Mazeroski played during what many people call the “second dead ball era”). If you want to compare their defense, you must consider that Evers played before the invention of the Bill Doak baseball glove, which helped fielders handle the ball instead of just protecting their hands. Mazeroski played with the better glove for his whole career. That said, I tend to look for league leaders to reveal the best players of each era. Neither Evers or Mazeroski led the league in any major offensive category (Maz led twice in games and once in intentional walks), and neither was really considered a big time hitter. However, they both had their moments in the World Series, as Evers batted .316 in four Series while Mazeroski walked off the 1960 Series with one of the most famous home runs in history. On the other hand, Blue was right that Mazeroski was a better fielder. He simply demolishes Evers on defense. Maz led NL second baseman in games six times, fielding three times, double plays eight times, putouts five times, assists nine times, and range factor nine times. This is, quite simply, an insane record! It is not a surprise that Mazeroski is widely considered the best defensive second baseman of all time. On the other hand, Evers led in games and fielding each once, and twice each in putouts, assists, and range factor (and errors). This is a very good record, but it pales in comparison with Mazeroski’s accomplishments. 

The other problem with Blue’s argument is quite simple: just because Evers is enshrined doesn’t necessarily mean that everyone better than him should be inducted. Does anybody remember Tom Herr? Ozzie Smith’s double play partner with the Cardinals in the 1980’s? Well, his record is extremely similar to Evers’s, but he isn’t a Hall of Famer. The Hall of Fame has always been imperfect, and we don’t need to make it worse by inducting every Tom Herr and Bobby Richardson, good players, perhaps better than some in the Hall, but not those who define the Hall of Fame. 

My opinion: Of the six players in question, I believe that Chance, Mazeroski, and Groat should be in the Hall of Fame, while Tinker, Evers, and Stuart should not. We’ve already gone over Evers (https://thecooperstownadvocate.blogspot.com/2021/07/lucky-hall-of-famer-number-7-johnny.html) and Mazeroski, and we don’t need to go over Stuart, who has 1,055 hits and was finished at 33. 

Frank Chance was one of the top first basemen of the dead ball era, but I think his career was too short to merit induction as a player. I can live with his selection if you consider his accomplishments both as a player and a manager. However, he was a very good player and definitely the best of the three famous Cub infielders. He was a career .296 hitter with a .394 OBP and still holds the single season record for stolen bases by a first baseman (67 in 1903). Originally a catcher, Chance moved over to first after suffering many broken fingers and, as some sources suggest, at least one concussion. 

Dick Groat was a shortstop from 1952 through 1967, excepting two seasons lost to military service. He was a very good fielder, leading NL shortstops in double plays a record five times among other accomplishments. He had 2,138 hits, and could have had a shot at 2,500 without missing those two seasons. Groat was the NL MVP in 1960, when he won the Batting Title with .325, and finished second in 1963. He won the World Series with two different teams, the Pirates in 1960 and the Cardinals in 1964. Read more at https://thecooperstownadvocate.blogspot.com/2021/02/why-i-think-dick-groat-should-be-in.html. 

Joe Tinker was a strong defensive shortstop and a decent hitter. He was a very good player, but not a great player. The Hall of Fame is supposed to honor the greats. I just think that a .262 hitting shortstop, even in the dead ball era, should play more than 13 seasons as a regular to be seriously considered, unless he is one of the greats in something else. Tinker just doesn’t pass the test. Read more at https://thecooperstownadvocate.blogspot.com/2021/07/lucky-hall-of-famer-number-5-joe-tinker.html 

All things considered, Richard Blue’s article was successful: articles like his are what eventually prompted Mazeroski’s induction. However, Tinker and Evers, two of the Hall’s worst selections, are enshrined forever, and it looks like Groat may never be selected.

Rizzuto Versus Stephens

The New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox share the most bitter rivalry in the American League. Ever since 1918, when the Red Sox dealt Babe Ruth over to the Yankees and failed to win another World Series until 2004 (while the Yanks captured 26 during that span), the teams have hated each other. In the 1940’s and 1950’s, the Yankees almost always edged the Bosox for the pennant. Now both teams had some very talented players in their lineups, but since the Yankees always won, their players generally won comparisons with the Red Sox. The most contested player comparison of this time was the general consensus that the Yankees’ shortstop, Phil Rizzuto, was better than Vern Stephens, that of the Red Sox. 

Phil Rizzuto was the Yankees’ main shortstop from 1941 though 1953, excepting three seasons during World War II. He was a fine defensive shortstop and an okay hitter who had one big, MVP type season (when he captured the Award in 1950). To the surprise of many, he was inducted into the Hall of Fame in 1994. 

Vern Stephens was a contemporary shortstop of Rizzuto’s, active from 1941 through 1955. He was a lot bigger and stronger than Rizzuto was, and consequently hit for a lot more power. Stephens spent the majority of his career with the St. Louis Browns franchise, but is best remembered for his five seasons in Boston. He never received one vote for the Hall of Fame. 

The fact that Rizzuto was inducted and Stephens wasn’t is just ridiculous. Absolutely absurd. (See two previous posts, WHY I THINK VERN STEPHENS SHOULD BE IN COOPERSTOWN and Lucky Hall of Famer Number 19 - Phil Rizzuto). 

The main arguments in Rizzuto’s favor are that he was a better shortstop and that he didn’t receive the benefits that playing in Fenway Park have on hitters’ statistics. As for the first point, I will not deny that Rizzuto was a top notch defensive shortstop. In his 13 Big League seasons, he turned 100 or more double plays eight times. He also had a career fielding percentage of .968. The only problem is that Stephens was a very underrated fielder. Stephens had the strongest arm of any shortstop in the league, while Rizzuto had one of the weakest. As a result, Stephens made more assists than Rizzuto did. Rizzuto, on the other hand, was more speedy and nimble than Stephens was, and consequently made more putouts. Stephens also played 322 games at third base, and did well at the hot corner, too. Rizzuto, with his iffy arm and smaller frame, surely could not have played third base in the Majors. That said, I don't think Rizzuto had much of a leg up on Stephens on defense.

As for the second point, it is true that Stephens’s offensive statistics were greatly aided by the effects of Fenway Park for a while. For example, in 1949, Stephens hit more home runs than Rizzuto did in his entire career and additionally drove in 159 runs, the MLB record for a shortstop and as many as Ted Williams drove in that season. However, unlike many others, Stephens was a top hitter if you take away the effects of Fenway. He led the NL in RBI’s in 1944 and in home runs in 1945, despite playing in a relatively pitcher friendly ballpark (Sportsman’s Park in St. Louis). If you double Stephens’s career road statistics, he still comes out a Hall of Famer, while Rizzuto does not. 

Another argument in favor of Rizzuto is that he did a lot of little things right - he was a good bunter, occasionally stole a base, and was very good at hitting behind the runner. Stephens rarely did any of these things. The truth is that Rizzuto, while talented in these departments, wasn’t one of the all time greatest in any one of them. Rizzuto is often hyped as the greatest bunter in history - well, in terms of sacrifices, it is evident that he was not in the same league as Ray Chapman or Eddie Collins, among others. He also stole only 149 bases, and no more than 22 in any one season. While his skills in these departments were valuable, it is easy to believe that he was encouraged to bunt so much because he wasn’t such a good hitter. His career slash line was .273/.351/.355, rather abysmal in terms of power and basically average considered as a whole. Stephens, however, was a great hitter - he slashed .286/.355/.460 for an OPS 15% better than Rizzuto’s, which is a huge difference. If Stephens had been less of a hitter, learned to bunt in desperation, and stuck with it, would that make him a Hall of Famer? Certainly not.

One more thing: Rizzuto took approximately one third of his career plate appearances batting eighth.

Catchers and Third Basemen

    The number of times a catcher is injured in a season is surprising. At one time in 1909, for example, George Gibson of the Pittsburg Pirates had black and blue marks imprinted by nineteen foul tips upon his body, a damaged hand, a bruise on his hip six inches square where a thrown bat had struck, and three spike cuts. Yet he had not missed a game and was congratulating himself on his "luck." - Johnny Evers and Hugh Fullerton, Touching Second (1910) 

    Of all the defensive positions on a baseball diamond, by far the most demanding is that of the catcher. He has to squat for nine innings, catch or block everything that gets past the batter, call pitch sequences, convince umpires that certain pitches are strikes (framing), throw out baserunners, restore a pitcher's calm after a home run, position the fielders, etc. Until just a few years ago, the catcher occasionally had to endure the momentum of a hard charging baserunner trying to knock the ball out of his hand (after Buster Posey broke his leg on such a play in 2011, the rule was changed). And he has to do it all in hot, clunky catchers' gear. Most 19th century catchers had either no gear at all or just the face mask, so a fastball in the dirt had to be blocked by nothing other than his chest. A foul tip or a backswing from a batter often broke many fingers. And primitive catchers' gloves required the catcher to make the catch with both hands. 

    My point in saying all this is that almost nobody can do it safely, or at all. Nobody else on the field has to deal with any of it. Those men who catch almost every game in the Majors are, in my opinion, superheros. 

    A human man can only take so much punishment. Anything that a catcher hits is a bonus, but in recent years it seems like nobody cares. A.J. Pierzynski won't get into the Hall of Fame, but what catcher hits 27 home runs at age 35, or bats .300 at 38? Those catchers who are consistently among the best hitters in the league should be taking home the MVP trophy far more often. There should also be more catchers in the Hall of Fame. 

    Third basemen, too, are criminally underrated. Some people even think that the centerfielder has a tougher job than the third baseman does. Although they don't have nearly as much to do as catchers, it takes a special kind of athlete to play third base at a higher level. They have to be quick and agile, but they also must have a strong arm to be able to field a batted ball and get it all the way to first base before the batter gets there. The hardest play to make is to go back in the hole to snatch a ground ball headed down the third base line, backhand it, turn around, and still make the throw in time to first. Additionally, third basemen have to field most bunts, which is easier said than done. Also, perhaps the hardest hit balls - a line drive down the leftfield line, pulled by a righthanded batter - are hit to third base. Finally, the third baseman has to know how to set up the most difficult cutoff play - the cut to home from leftfield. It is difficult because (1), the whole defense has to kind of shift to the left, while the third baseman lines up the throw to the plate, and (2), there is still the batter-runner, who might try to take third base on a relay to the plate. All in all, the third baseman's job is among the toughest because he needs the best reflexes on the team (other than the catcher), a strong frame to stop line drives, agility to field balls that the shortstop can't reach, and he makes the longest throw of any position. 

    In conclusion, catchers and third basemen are two of the hardest working players on a baseball team, and easily the two most underappreciated. The Hall of Fame is short on both catchers and third basemen, and I want to make it clear how hard their jobs are. 

The Battle Of A Lifetime (Final Draft)

So, last night I went to a baseball game. It started at 7:00 P.M. and lasted for three hours, and since we live an hour away from the ballpark, I went to bed very late. That meant that it didn't have time to finish my last player article (I have two that are almost done, but none ready for publication). Instead, while I work on my regular posts, I will publish a real assignment that I wrote in high school for my grammar class. 

JMJ AMDG 

Damien 

Grammar 9

Due Date 

Word Count: 1,702  

The Battle Of A Lifetime (Final Draft) 

Madison Posey was born in Alamo, California, on August 9, 1969, with a major disability. His left arm was much thinner than his right, and it had no hand. At the end of young Madison’s left arm was one small finger. His left arm was basically nonfunctional for his whole life. He had to overcome a lot of hindrances to make a statement and find success, but his courage and fortitude carried him up and above the others. Let us see how his story unfolds. 

Madison Posey, as we have already mentioned, was born in Alamo, California, around fifty years ago with a severe disability. His parents tried their hardest to give him a normal life, but the kids in his neighborhood made fun of him, calling him horrible names such as “Stumpy” and “Claw.” These names he minded, but he didn't get into fights or anything. He knew that he was special and that he could live a very successful life. He did well in school, but he wanted more than anything to be a great baseball pitcher. Everybody else played ball, so if he was good, he thought, he might prove them wrong when they said that he wasn’t special. Then he’d never be called names again. There was one small predicament that he had to face, however - how could you field and throw with just one hand? Madison would spend hours bouncing a racquetball against the wall of his parents’ garage, trying to field the ball with his right hand, put his glove in the crook of his left arm, and make the throw with his right hand. He did this for many years, moving closer and closer to the wall as he got faster, until he was as fast as greased lightning. His coach caught sight of Madison and saw a potential star in him. He made his school’s varsity team when he was still a freshman and earned the opening day start against the rival high school. The star on the opposing team, twelfth grader Big Bill Brown, said that he’d homer in every plate appearance against Posey. “He doesn't have any skills,'' he said before the game. Instead, Posey threw a no-hitter and struck out Big Bill Brown all three times he came up to the plate. After the third strikeout, he yelled at Brown, saying, “How about that for a homer? I didn’t even see it leave the park.” At this Brown threw his bat to the ground and his batting helmet against the dugout wall. Since Brown couldn’t keep his mouth shut, he also received a rigging in the locker room. Most thought that Posey’s no-hitter was a fluke and that the competition would pass him up in no time, but Madison, his parents, and the coach didn’t have any doubts about what this young pitching prodigy could do. 

When he reached twelfth grade, Posey was one of the finest high school players in the state. When he was not pitching, he would play in the outfield, and ended the season going 10-1 on the mound and batting .427 at the plate. Not bad for someone with only one hand to hold the bat. He graduated high school in 1986 and spent four years at Christendom College in Virginia, continuing to play baseball. In 1990 he was drafted by the San Francisco Giants right out of college, which brought him great joy. He lived only ten minutes away from Candlestick Park and loved watching the Giants. He was called up to the club in 1992 and became an instant fan favorite in the Big Leagues, winning the National League Rookie of the Year Award that season. This instant publicity made him cocky. For example, when his manager congratulated him for winning the Award, Posey replied, “I knew that I would win it since opening day.” He was one of the best pitchers in America - the best, he thought - so he could do anything and could strike out anyone. One day after the season he was invited to a press conference to discuss his fabulous rookie campaign. Okay, he wasn’t really invited - if one refuses to come to one of these, he gets fined heavily and receives a bad word from the press. At any rate, he went to the press conference. That very night, he experienced the shock of a lifetime - Big Bill Brown, the kid who had hated him the most, walked up to him and asked him rude questions that had to do with his few mistakes. Apparently he was still sore from the high school game, and he wanted to do all in his power to make life miserable for Posey. Well, Brown said some other things to him that were pretty mean and, frankly, unnecessary, which caused Posey to lose his temper. He pushed Big Bill Brown to the ground, calling him a “big smelly ape”, which made Posey look bad in front of the press. Brown tried to attack Posey but the reporters broke up the fight before it got out of hand (funny, the reporters usually don’t want to spoil a good story at any cost, but I guess times were different back then). When they both calmed down, Brown was still pretty upset, and he made a $10,000 bet with Posey that he’d be out of the Majors by the end of the 1993 season. Posey, not about to look like a chicken in front of his hometown San Francisco, accepted the bet with pleasure. For the next few months the San Francisco press was on fire. 

On opening day in 1993, Madison Posey was nervous. He was getting the start against the rival Los Angeles Dodgers. It didn’t help that Big Bill Brown was a big time Dodgers fan. It didn’t help that a reporter reminded him of the bet that he had accepted at the press conference. It didn’t help that, in his nervousness, he spilled grape juice all over his jersey and needed to get it dry cleaned, which made him late and made his manager a little squirrely. Posey struggled through the first couple of innings but pulled it together after that, reminding himself that it was just a game, and ended up winning. This calmed him down. He ended up finishing the season with a 2.55 ERA (earned run average, ER x 9 / IP) to go along with 18 victories. He finished third in the Cy Young Award voting. Posey ran into Brown at Dodger Stadium on the last day of the season, when he beat the Dodgers for the NL West Division Title. Big Bill held his head down when he heard Al Rosen (the Giants’ General Manager) praise Posey and offer him a large contract extension for the 1994 season. Even if he wasn’t getting paid any good money he wouldn’t have asked Big Bill for the $10,000. Posey figured that Brown was living tough enough and decided in his heart to forgive him and to apologize for pushing him if he ever got the opportunity. Fat chance, he thought, like that would ever happen. 

All in all, Posey had a pretty good career as a pitcher, to say the least. He retired at the close of the 2010 season at the age of 41. Posey had gone 251-173 (.592) on the mound with a 2.97 ERA, spending the entirety of his illustrious career with the Giants. In 2016, he was inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame on his second ballot. When he was about to make his speech, he noticed Big Bill Brown among the cheering crowd. He wasn’t screaming his name, as hundreds of others were, but simply clapping his hands with a small grin on his face. At this, Posey stammered and stuttered. He couldn’t make his speech. After he finally got something out, “Thanks...”, he immediately came down from the stand and ran up to Brown. He asked, “What are you doing here, Bill? I thought you hated me.” “That was then,” replied Bill, “This is now. I’m a changed man. I feel deep remorse over how I have treated you. You see, I became friends with somebody. He seemed to have deep internal peace. I asked him why he was so happy, and he said that he had the life of Christ in his soul. He told me all about Jesus Christ and I felt a deep hunger for truth. He also told me that Christ wanted us to love our neighbors as ourselves, which got me thinking about how I treated you. I was baptized into Catholicism last year and quickly made a confession. Now, before I forget, here’s your ten thousand bucks.” Posey refused the money, saying that he already had “a couple hundred of those at home” and they shook hands. Posey apologized for pushing him back in 1992, and Bill forgave him. To this day the story of Madison Posey, as much for his courage in the face of scorn as for his Hall of Fame pitching, is cherished in the hearts of men and women everywhere. The best part was that he was never called an unkind name since the press conference. 

What’s True And What Isn’t 

Madison Posey is a fictional character. The real 1992 NL Rookie of the Year was Eric Karros. His name comes from MLB players Madison Bumgarner and Buster Posey, who both debuted in 2010 for the Giants and are on their way to stardom. He is based on Jim Abbott, who was born in 1967 with the same disability except for the fact that he has his left arm intact, not his right. Abbott threw a no-hitter in his first little league start, did field as described, and did make the Major Leagues as a pitcher. Abbott made his Big League debut in 1989 for the Anaheim Angels. While he was inspirational, not to mention good, he is not in the Hall of Fame. He retired from baseball in 1999. Today he is a motivational speaker. Everything else is fiction, just the imagination of the author going to work. 

The End