That's a really, really old baseball

  

By Bill

This morning, my wife happened to be watching a recorded episode of Antiques Roadshow that premiered earlier this month, recorded in Miami Beach. I don't figure we have a large crossover audience with that particular program, so I thought this little beauty was worth drawing to your attention.

The photo to the right (from pbs.org) is a hand-stitched baseball, stamped to commemorate a game that was played on that day indicated, 6/23/59 -- that is, 1859. The appraiser for Roadshow, Chicago's Jasmani Francis, identified the "Atlantic" across the middle as referring to the team the Brooklyn Atlantics, the first champion of the National Association (which had been formed in 1857 but didn't award its first championship until that year, '59), but wasn't able to identify the meaning of the number 29 or "TIME15" on the stamp. (You can watch the initial, as-aired appraisal here.)

Not satisfied with his partial answer, Francis went back and did a little research, and came up with some more info:

I discovered in perusing this history-laden book [the Book of American Pastimes] that "Atlantic 29" and "Time 15" refer to the score of the baseball game that was played on June 23, 1859, between the Brooklyn Atlantics (who were also known as "Atlantic") and the Baltimore Pastime.

That's right, 29-15. Hey, you try catching that little rock-like thing without a glove! I think I'd just step out of the way and wait for it to stop rolling, myself.

Francis' additional research confirmed his opinion of the value of the ball: between $20,000 and $30,000. Commence daydreaming, sports fans.

The Inverted W Does Not Cause Autism

By The Common Man

"What number does it have to be ... for people just to start listening to what [Dr. Mike Marshall has] been saying for years ... I told my [orthopedist] something happened ... after [he threw that fateful pitch] ?... Boom — the [lightning] was gone from his [arm]." Later, when [Dr. James Andrews] read a comment from the CDC stating that the vast majority of the science to date did not support [this] assertion, [random Mike Marshall supporter] replied, "My science is [Strasburg]. He's at home. That's my science."

-- A reappropriated quote from Jenny McCarthy's profile in Time Magazine.

For years, parents of autistic children clung to a study conducted by Dr. Andrew Wakefield, a British surgeon and researcher who supposedly made a connection between the MMR (measles, mumps, and rubella) vaccine and autism in children. It helped them cope with their children’s illness, and gave them an external body to blame for the disease that altered their lives and inhibited their child’s ability to develop at a “normal” rate. It’s hard to blame these parents for looking for answers, when science simply cannot fully explain what happens in the human brain.

Wakefield, whose research was never replicated successfully, was ultimately discredited, and the journal that published his study retracted its claims. That said, the movement his work spawned still has significant life, through the high-profile support of celebrities like Robert Kennedy Jr., Jenny McCarthy, and Jim Carrey. Their activism has led to articles and profiles in Time and on CNN, Kennedy went on The Daily Show to talk about it, and McCarthy had an entire hour on The Oprah Winfrey Show.

Similarly, whenever a hot young prospect gets hurt, the disciples of Dr. Mike Marshall, former NL Cy Young award winner and PhD in Kinesiology, trot out “the inverted W”, a position a pitcher’s body makes when he raises his pitching elbow above his shoulder.

Should We Have Seen This Coming?

By The Common Man

On Wednesday night, TCM took part in a massive, four-man podcast orgy that featured himself, Bill (the coauthor of The Platoon Advantage), Carson Cistulli of Fangraphs, and Lar of Wezen-ball.com. Out of the gate, the first topic discussed was Stephen Strasburg and Rob Dibble.

The Common Man wrote about Dibble on Tuesday and doesn’t want to belabor the point that Rob Dibble is an awful announcer, a stupid analyst, and probably likes to kick any friendly, adorable puppies he comes across. In a disappointing story, Dibble’s failure as a person even casually associated with the game of baseball is just a small part of that.

Stephen Strasburg, just 22 years old, who can hurl lightning from his fingertips is going to lose at least an entire season, perhaps more. Perhaps the terrific speed, location, and movement that made him a pitcher to begin with. Strasburg’s injury, despite the advances in orthopedic medicine, has the potential to be a career alterer, if not ender. That’s the point to take away from this.

But this wasn’t supposed to happen. Strasburg was special. He had “perfect” mechanics. He had a strong base. He had had no signs of injury. He was as perfect a physical specimen coming into the draft as anyone had seen. And the Nationals “babied” him, controlling his innings, his pitches. Watching for signs of strain and discomfort.

As Rob Neyer and Joe Posnanski pointed out earlier this week, Strasburg joins a long line of young stars, uber-prospects, that burned too hot and too fast. Prior. Wood. Avery. McDonald. Gooden. Norris. Nolan. Balor Moore. The list is virtually unending. It stretches all the way back to Monte Ward, Al Spalding, and Charlie Sweeney (sorry, Hoss).

As The Common Man discussed in the podcast (which you can listen to here), he wonders exactly how much velocity and movement the human arm can generate before it begins breaking down. Somewhere, there must be an upper limit to what a shoulder and an elbow can sustain. Each person has an unique physiology, obviously, but there has to be some kind of threshold, doesn’t there? After all, most cheetahs can run 70 MPH or so, but we’ve yet to find one that can run 100. The animal’s body would begin to break down. TCM guesses the same principle would apply to humans’ ability to throw a baseball. Injury experts like Will Carroll would know better what that limit might be, but TCM isn’t really sure anyone knows what that exact point is.* But it would seem that Strasburg is past it, that his hellacious cannon is too much for his arm to handle. At least for now.

If the Priors and Strasburgs of the world are, indeed, unlikely to hold up over a typical career length, TCM wonders what this may mean for them in the draft. If, indeed, these great pitchers cannot sustain their health, what good are they to the franchises that choose them? Isn’t a better strategy to take a marginally less talented, but far more reliable talent that has a much higher chance of being valuable for 6-10 years?  Perhaps our disappointment with the Strasburg injury (and the Prior injury...and the Wood injury.) is because of our own inability to comprehend that what they were doing was not sustainable.

Maybe it’s true, there’s no such thing as a pitching prospect. Or maybe, there’s such a thing as being TOO good a pitching prospect. Too talented. Too fast. Too baffling. Maybe we’re just not meant to soar that close to the sun. Maybe this is how the balance between hitters and pitchers is maintained.

*Carroll has pointed out that the injuries to Strasburg and Prior are vastly different. Strasburg’s is in his elbow. Prior’s was a shoulder injury. But TCM is not sure that that adequately explains away the question of why so many of these young hurlers (particularly the hardest throwers) have such a short half-life. If, indeed, the force with which these pitches are thrown does damage to a young arm, perhaps it does different damage to different arms according to mechanics and motion. Again, TCM’s not an expert in this field, so he’s reduced to speculating.

Update: via Tim Marchman, here's the list of under 22 pitchers with the highest K/9 rates.  Like him, I see a trend:

1 Kerry Wood 12.58 1998 21
2 Stephen Strasburg 12.18 2010 21
3 Dwight Gooden 11.39 1984 19
4 Mark Prior 11.34 2002 21
5 Oliver Perez 10.97 2004 22
6 Sam McDowell 10.71 1965 22
7 Mark Prior 10.43 2003 22
8 Scott Kazmir 10.14 2006 22
9 Oliver Perez 10.02 2003 21
10 Rick Ankiel 9.98 2000 20

Random Thursday: Farmer Vaughn

Today is Thursday, and The Common Man feels lucky today, and has decided to make it random. Using Baseball-Reference.com’s “random” button, TCM leapt from the 1964 White Sox to Farmer Vaughn, a part-time 19th century catcher and first baseman who started in the American Association before moving to the Players League, and eventually settling with the Cincinnati Reds. Despite his relative anonymity, Vaughn’s career is interesting for a couple of reasons.

First, Vaughn is one of many American Association players who jumped to join the Players League in 1890, when it was founded by John Montgomery Ward, Buck Ewing, Tim Keefe. Vaughn had been playing (poorly) for Louisville for the previous two seasons, but took advantage of the shortage of ballplayers and rise in salaries created by the new league and signed on with Ewing and Keefe’s New York Giants. The three league organizers were three of the biggest stars from the 1889 Giants of the National League. In addition, to its starting SS, C, and the ace of its staff, the Giants lost slugging 1B Roger Connor, 2B Danny Richardson, 3B Art Whitney, and 2/3 of its OF (George Gore and Jim O’Roarke). The ’89 Giants also lost pitchers Ed Crane and Hank O’Day (the same Hank O’Day who would gain fame as an umpire and work the infamous Merkle game). Surprisingly, the NL Giants were owned by perhaps the best owner in baseball. John Day paid the highest salaries and was popular enough with his players that the Players League organizers warned him of their conspiracy in advance and attempted to persuade him to join them. The year after winning the NL Championship, almost completely bereft of its former players, the Giants fell to 6th. Vaughn would play poorly in 1890, getting into just 44 games and posting an OPS+ of just 63. For a great account of the Players League and the revolt of 1890, check out Bryan di Salvatore's excellent biography of John Montgomery Ward, A Clever Baseballist.

Despite apparently jumping twice in his career to teams outside of his regional home, Vaughn is also a terrific example of the parochial nature of baseball in the 19th Century. Except for his season in New York and a 25 game stint for Milwaukee (a team that folded after 36 games) in 1891, Vaughn spent his entire career in and around his hometown in Ruraldale, OH (located approximately 90 minutes east of Columbus; looking at Google Earth, trust TCM that his nickname fits). Vaughn played two seasons for Louisville at the start of his career, before making his big jump to the Players League, and after Milwaukee folded, he caught on close to home with the American Association’s Cincinnati club. Once the American Association folded, Vaughn was absorbed by the NL Reds, for whom he played until 1899. Regionalism played an enormous role in the composition of baseball teams during the 19th Century, as scouting as we know it today didn’t really exist. And the “minor leagues” mostly consisted of town and trade teams and semi-pro factory leagues. Young, promising players were often lured off of these teams to graduate to the professional ranks, but teams rarely ventured outside of their regional sphere.

Finally, Vaughn is a terrific example of how context-dependent RBI is as a statistic, and how meaningless it is in player evaluation. Vaughn was considered good enough to play 100 games just twice in his career, once in 1893 and again in 1896. In 1893, Vaughn got into 121 games and hit 521 times. Vaughn managed just 135 hits, just 30 of which went for extra bases. Indeed, Vaughn managed just a single home run. His batting average (.280) was exactly league average; however, his OBP (.332) and SLG (.371) were both well below the league’s mean. Vaughn’s OPS+ was a paltry 85. Nevertheless, Vaughn managed to drive in 108 runs that year.

While no batting order data is available for that year, it’s clear that Vaughn must have hit high enough in the lineup to benefit from ample RBI opportunities. Hall of Famer Bid McPhee and Bug Holliday both sported OBPs of .401. Artie “The Freshest Man on Earth” Latham had a .368 OBP. But the rest of the team was disappointing. Germany Smith managed just a .293 mark, and Jim Canavan got to just .305. And, horror of horrors, 1B Charlie Comiskey, at the tail end of his playing career, would sport just a .257 OBP and 40 OPS+. Cincinnati’s team OBP was 10th in a 12 team leagues, as was their R/G.

Holliday knocked home 89, but no one else on the squad had more than 68. From this, we can presumably conclude that Vaughn batted 3rd or 4th, behind McFee and Latham (each of whom scored more than 100 runs). Holliday’s depressed RBI numbers, despite superior slash stats, suggest that he may have been hitting behind a slower runner who got on base less often. Vaughn would certainly count as that. In an era of rampant thievery, Vaughn managed a career high of 16 in 1893. However, Holliday also managed to score 108 times with no one else of note hitting behind him, so the catcher with almost no extra-base punch could have been batting cleanup. Anyway, like Joe Carter from 1986 to 1997, it’s clear that Vaughn’s success in 1893 was a product of increased opportunities in the form of increased playing time and the performance of the players hitting in front of him. It’s not that Vaughn had a great season; it’s that he had more chances to not screw up. Appropriately, his employers were not impressed, and he was demoted back to part time status the next year. His second-highest total would be just 66.

Vaughn would fade into obscurity after his playing career, and didn’t seem to ever get back into organized ball. The Common Man could find nothing about his post-baseball life, except that he died in Cincinnati in 1914, just 49 year old.

A Whole Old Ballgame

On his excellent site, Way Back and Gone, tHeMARksMiTh wrote earlier today about Terry Larkin, an early hurler in the National League who was forced out of the game by an arm injury after tossing more than 1500 innings in three seasons. Larkin descended into alcoholism, violence, and depression very quickly as his career ended, shooting his wife and attempting suicide three times (finally succeeding in 1894). Larkin’s post-baseball life is a tragedy, and he seems to have been a decent player. Mark writes,

“Debuting for the New York Mutuals in 1876, Terry Larkin threw a complete game in his only appearance of the season. Over the course of the next three seasons, Larkin would be one of the best pitchers in the National League and extremely consistent. He notched seasons of 29, 29, and 31 wins. His ERA's over that time were 2.14, 2.24, and 2.44. All of those seem very impressive, but his ERA+'s in those years were 114, 108, and 106 (a little above average). As for the type of pitcher that he was, he didn't strike out a lot of guys, not topping 2.9 K/9 (not all that uncommon), but he was very accurate with BB/9's below 1 and as low as 0.4.”

This is not meant as a criticism of Mark, but more of a commentary of how we (as baseball historians) look at the first years of our professional game. The Common Man has spent a lot of time in the last couple months within that world, looking at early American Association teams, the 1878 Louisville Grays scandal, and finishing Bryan Di Salvatore’s excellent biography of John Montgomery Ward (review still forthcoming, dammit). And the more he looks at it, the more he thinks we need to not be talking about the traditional statistics we use to evaluate 19th century baseball. For as much noise as nostalgists make about being able to plop old Alex Cartwright down in 2009 and he’d recognize his game, baseball in the 1870s and 1880s was very different from the game today. Pitchers originally threw underhand, and were required to throw the ball where the batter requested it. Balls caught on a single bounce were considered an out. Indeed, until 1878, foul balls caught on a bounce were outs. Walks were awarded after nine balls, then eight, seven, six, five, and finally four in 1889. Amazingly, Salvatore writes, "From 1876 through 1890...if a batter had two strikes on him, and didn't swing at the next 'fair' pitch, the umpire did not call him out. Instead, he gave him a 'freebie,' merely calling out a warning: 'good ball.'" In 1887, four strikes were required to strike a batter out. The pitching mound was far closer, and were required to throw from a box. According to Salvetore, "During Ward's pitching career, he and other hurlers had great leeway--twenty-four to thirty-six square feet of leeway--to accommodate whatever preliminaries to throwing the ball they felt most effective. Pitchers spun and threw, ran toward the plate like a cricket bowler, or pitched while moving sideways [think of a running Mitch Williams, I guess].” Runners could be soaked (or hit) with the ball to record an out. And with no gloves to speak of, the high error totals (and low strikeout totals), batters who were fast (thus putting additional pressure on the fielders) and who made solid regular contact would be significantly undervalued (since a baserunner’s a baserunner, whether he gets on via a single or an E-6) by traditional analysis. Likewise, concepts like “earned” run average have less meaning when about half of the runs scored are “unearned.”

So Mark’s insinuation that Larkin was a little above average, and a control freak who struck out few doesn’t really hold water when we compare him to his peers. For instance, in 1877, there were five pitchers (in a six team league) who threw more than 300 innings (Larkin, Tommy Bond, Jim Devlin, Tricky Nichols, and George Bradley). Looking at R/9, BB/9, and K/9, Larkin finishes fourth across the board in all categories. In '78, there were six pitchers who fit the same criteria (again, in a six team league): Larkin, Bond, John Montgomery Ward, The Only Nolan, Sam Weaver, and Will White. Larkin finished fifth, second, and fifth, respectively. And in '79, when the National League expanded to eight teams, there were eight pitchers with more than 300 IP. Larkin, White, Ward, Bond, Bradley, Pud Galvin, Jim McCormick, and Harry McCormick. Larkin finished fourth, third, and fifth.

Above all, The Common Man would argue we should look at R/9 to determine the quality of a starter from this period. Again, walks are few and far between, to the point where 10 walks (spread across 500 innings) represents a massive difference in ranking. Likewise, with such low K rates, only the outliers like Ward or Tommy Bond really have any significance. Regardless, Larkin finishes in the middle of the pack pretty consistently. He’s clearly better than each team’s second pitchers, but nowhere near one of the top hurlers of his day. Decidedly middle-of-the-road.

Ward, meanwhile, after finishing his pitching career in 1883, became one of the National League’s preeminent shortstops until 1891 (when he moved to 2B for three seasons). Despite a lifetime 92 OPS+, and a career batting mark of .275, Ward was universally hailed as one of baseball’s great superstars. Ward wasn’t terrible with the bat, necessarily, but lacked power (he only topped twenty doubles once in his 17 year career, once topped 10 triples, and never hit more than 7 homers). Instead, Ward beat out a ton of infield hits, and presumably forced a good number of errors. His stolen base totals are very high, leading the league twice (with 111 in 1887 and 88 in 1892). In his final season, despite an OPS+ of just 49, Ward scores 100 runs in 136 games, 143 hits, and just 34 walks. That high run total was presumably inflated significantly by the number of extra times Ward found himself on first. Likewise, his value on defense, where he was above average throughout his career, and excellent at his peak, significantly influences how he should be perceived.

The Common Man finds this frustrating about the early game, how it is constantly described in batting average, ERA, strikeouts, and stolen bases. And maybe that’s because it’s not as sexy to study the era that has little relevance to how many homers Joe Mauer is projected to hit this year or what Phil Hughes’ performance would look like if he shifted to the bullpen. Or maybe that’s because, even with evocative books like Salvatore’s painting a remarkable picture of the age, we still have a lot of holes in the data. But The Common Man would really like more ways to look at the 19th century, to truly appreciate those players whose careers have gone largely unnoticed or have been relatively maligned. The Common Man cares because, while it may not be the same exact game, it’s where our sport comes from.

If you have any useful 19th Century resources, shoot them this way.

Random Thursday: 1882 Cincinnati Red Stockings

This vow is what you get from The Common Man: No matter how crazy things get, we will always have Thursdays. The Common Man likes Thursdays and never really know what he's going to talk about from week to week. So that sticks around. The Common Man will do what he can with the rest. In the meantime, you should definitely be checking out friend of the blog, frequent commenter, occasional guest poster, and all-around-good-guy Bill, who has started his own site, The Daily Something. In particular, The Common Man recommends you find out why Jackie Robinson = The Pledge of Allegiance.

Lady Luck suspiciously landed on another 19th century team this week, perhaps her way of telling The Common Man he needs to finally finish Bryan Di Salvatore's vivid and excellent biography of John Montgomery Ward and get a review up. Anyway, this week's randomness crash-landed on the 1882 Cincinnati Red Stockings of the oft-forgotten American Association. 1882 marked the first season for the appropriately-acronymed AA (as it was considered the "beer and whiskey league" since the National League was prudishly dry), and the Reds were the class of it. Cincy won the league crown going away, with a 55-25 record and an 11.5 game lead over the second place Philadelphia team by the end of it. The Cincinnati squad was comprised of leftover players from the National League's Cincinnati Reds (who had folded in 1880), as well as a few players who jumped directly from the NL (most notably Pop Snyder). They also came up with second baseman Bid McPhee, who was a 22 year old rookie to Major League ball, and who would go on to have a Hall of Fame career.

The American Association itself was formed by owners who were rebuffed by William Hulbert and his powerful and insular National League, owners who wanted a taste of the big league life and noticed plenty of cities where the NL was absent. Indeed, the National League, in 1882, was ensconced in Chicago, Boston, Cleveland and Detroit, but also had clubs in Buffalo, Providence (R.I.), Troy (N.Y.), and Worschester. Sensing an opportunity, the AA owners moved into recently vacated Cincinnati, Philadelphia, Louisville, Pittsburgh, St. Louis, and Baltimore, and promptly began outdrawing the NL clubs.

Also, as Di Salvatore writes, the NL had not positioned itself to properly appeal to the masses:

"League magnates had embarked on a deliberate course to woo the 'respectable' middle class--most notably by instituting the $.50 grandstand fee, refusing to play Sunday games [usually the only day working class fans would have off from work]..., and banning alcohol sales. The League, then--by effectively excluding much of the working class--severely circumscribed the potential size of its daily gate."

This was another disadvantage the AA sought to exploit. Their admission was half that of the Nationals, and they recouped their expenses by selling beer in the stands, and adding Sunday games to the schedule.

Feeling the pinch, the NL chose to directly compete with their new rivals. When the AA moved into Columbus, OH and New York City, the NL countered by moving Worchester to Philadelphia (where they would become first the Quakers, then the Phillies) and Troy to New York (where they would eventually become the Giants). By promoting a better brand of baseball (the teams in the AA were still of relatively poor quality; terrible players from the NL could be above average, or even stars in the AA), the NL managed to hold its own until the two leagues declared peace in late 1883.

The AA promised to steer clear of the NL in the future, swelling dramatically into Toledo, Richmond, Brooklyn, Washington, and Indianapolis for a season before contracting back down to 8 teams until 1890, when everything started to unravel. The renegade Players League, led by the aforementioned John Montgomery Ward, formed in response to the reserve clause and essentially picked apart the AA in an attempt to compete with the stronger NL. Faced with this new threat, the AA rebuffed a peace offering from Ward and sided with the NL. Smelling blood in the water, according to Di Salvatore,

"Not only did the PL begin raiding the Association roster with waning reluctance--eventually picking up thirty or so of its players--but the NL dumped two of its own least viable franchises, Washington and Indianapolis, and successfully wooed two fo the Association's most powerful franchises, Brooklyn and Cincinnati, to its camp. The disheartened Association made the best of a bad situation...and gathered up a hatful of embarrassing new franchises in second-tier cities such as Toledo, Rochester, and Syracuse."

The Players League folded after just one season, but the American Association was too financially weak to continue. After an embarrassing 1891 season during which two teams folded (including the Milwaukee Brewers after just 36 games), the AA gave up. The four strongest teams, Louisville, St. Louis, Baltimore, and Washington were absorbed by the NL (now 12 teams), and the rest of the teams disbanded.

The American Association's existence was relatively long as far as startup challenges go. It outlasted the Players League, the Union League, and the Federal League, all of whom challenged the Major League structure. But the AA had significant advantages. The NL may have been a big league, but it still was not thinking like a business. It was wasteful and did not take advantage of opportunities to solidify its fan base and broaden its appeal. And the NL was the only real game in town at the time, whereas other startups have had to contend with two other competitor leagues. Its quick peace with the NL in 1883 was formed on the promise that the two leagues would stop raiding each others' rosters and competing for talent. This left the NL with a talent advantage it would continue to exploit throughout the AA's advantage. And when faced with an opportunity to join forces with the players and get the talent influx that may have saved it, the AA refused and stood with the NL. And because of this, it eventually crumbled and faded into sepia-toned memory, memories that too may soon crumble away into nothing.