If you want a bust in Cooperstown, either dominate the game for six or seven years, or compete at a high level for 20. You might call these the Sandy Koufax and Don Sutton methods, respectively.
But this isn't about the Hall of Fame at all. It's about Adam Dunn.
One method of determining with numerical analysis whether a contender is Hall-worthy is to measure his peak value -- the value he added to his team over some arbitrary number of his best years. In his six transcendent seasons, Koufax posted 46.6 wins against replacement. That's all the more astonishing because his total career value is only 53.2 WAR.
That's because the six seasons in which his performance looked like this -- 25-5, 1.88
-- followed six seasons that looked like this -- 11-11, 4.48. His career was a deep valley bordering a high mountain.
Wait til you hear about Adam Dunn.
Sutton, on the other hand, was more like a mesa, a high, flat plain. His peak six seasons only produced 31 wins against replacement for the Dodgers but his career mark of 68.7 outshines Koufax's. Sutton's best season, 1972 (19-9, 2.08), didn't look extraordinarily different from a below average season, say 1982 (13-8, 3.00).
Which brings us, mercifully, to Adam Dunn. The Big Donkey will see himself in Cooperstown only after purchasing admittance and looking in the bathroom mirror. What makes him special is his peak and career value.
Dunn is one of the very few players in baseball history whose peak value is higher than his career value. Dunn's top seven seasons (that's the number chosen for peak value by the respected JAWS system, developed by and named for former Baseball Prospectus writer Jay Jaffe) produced 16.5 wins. In his salad days, Dunn's batting average hovered around .250, he walked 100+ times and he socked 38 or more homers eight times. That was enough to overcome the face plant he did in the field.
In his six worst seasons, Dunn has been an albatross, most notably in 2011, when he batted .159 with 11 homers in 496 plate appearances that made women and children weep. He cost the White Sox three wins that year compared to a Triple-A DH/left-fielder.
Adam Dunn is no stranger to nose-run/feet-smell kinds of results. Five times in his career (2004, 2005, 2008, 2010, 2012) Dunn has compiled more extra base hits than singles. As of last year, only five players in baseball history with 1000+ plate appearances had more extra base hits than singles for their career, including Dunn. Sadly, he fell of the list in 2013 by banging just 49 of his 115 hits for multiple bases. (Giancarlo Stanton also exited the august group, which means the list is down to three.)
Here's another Escher drawing of Dunn's career: in 2011, Dunn walked more often than he hit safely. (In 2008 he walked exactly as often.) In the last 40 years, that has been accomplished just 23 times (minimum 450 plate appearances), most notably by Barry Bonds, six times between '01 and '07.
Here's one that very possibly stands alone in the annals of the game. In 2009, the giant righty slugged 38 home runs for the Washington Nationals, got on base just under 40% of the time, produced an OPS 44% above league average and added four wins of value at the plate. And produced below-replacement value overall. How hard is that? He stole no bases, needed a triple to advance from first to second, and displayed all the defensive range of a cactus. For his career, Adam Dunn has cost his teams 28 wins in the field, despite DHing the last three years.
We'll not see quite the likes of Adam Dunn again. This is a ballplayer who made the All-Star team one year while batting .204 (yet nonetheless producing an above-average on base percentage). He slammed 206 homers over five years and never finished in the top 25 in MVP voting. He racked up 58 extra base hits in 2002 but only 75 RBI. He's walked, fanned or homered -- in other words did not put the ball in play -- more than half the time in his nearly 8,000 career plate appearances.
Funn with Dunn. Enjoy it while you can.
Showing posts with label JAWS. Show all posts
Showing posts with label JAWS. Show all posts
14 December 2013
03 November 2013
Is David Ortiz a Hall of Famer?
With another set of post-season heroics in the rear view mirror, Hall of Fame buzz is beginning to swirl around David Ortiz. At 38, Big Papi delivered his best season since '07, with a .959 OPS in 137 games. Since joining the Red Sox in '03, Big Papi has authored a .292/.390/.572 resume with 373 home runs and an offensive record 48% above league average. That includes 2008-09 when a wrist injury hampered his swing and sapped his power; absent those two seasons he's raking at 55% above average. That Coopestownish.
The major Hall of Fame problem for Ortiz is that his career did not start with Boston in '03. In his first six years with the Twins, he hit just .266 with 58 homers. There was no Big and no Papi until he landed in the Bay state and began mashing behind Manny Ramirez. Ortiz has performed at a Hall of Fame level with the bat over an 11-year period, but that's not long enough and it's not the entirety of his playing career.
There's another barrier to a bronze bust for Ortiz: he's a DH. You will hear and read irrelevant analysis about how a DH doesn't belong in the Hall or about how no DH has ever been elected. Neither is the point. Cooperstown has a long history of enshrinement of one-dimensional players, in case you mistook Harmon Killebrew for a speed merchant (19 of 37 steals in 22 years) and defensive wizard (19 career wins below replacement with the glove).
The problem with rostering a player who can only DH is that it has an inherent negative effect on team construction. The various sabermetric measuring systems assess this against a player's defense, but the restrictions such a player imposes on lineup flexibility may accrue to offense instead or as well. Between his lack of range when he donned his mitt and the lack of managerial range created by carrying a non-fielder on the roster, Ortiz has cost his teams 18 wins over his career. That offsets a goodly chunk of his overall value.
There are four widely-used systems designed to predict a player's Hall of Fame case. Three of them say Ortiz has a fair amount of work to do. For example, the average Hall of Fame first baseman leads the league in 27 seasonal categories over the course of his career. Papi has led the AL in home runs once, RBIs twice, walks twice, OBP once and total bases once, well short of that standard. The JAWS Hall of Fame valuation model, which compares a player's value to the average Haller at his position (Ortiz is considered a first baseman since there are no DHs to whom we can compare him) suggests Ortiz is well short in both his peak and his overall career numbers, by distances he cannot bridge even if he performs well into his 40s.
None of this captures the special character that sparked the speculation to begin with. "Clutch" hitting is a vastly exaggerated notion, but Big Papi delivers in key situations so relentlessly there can be no denying that he loves the spotlight and thrives on pressure. Recounting all his game-changing home runs in season-altering games would amount to gilding the lily. His .455/.576/.795 line in three triumphant World Series speaks for itself. In addition, his unquestioned leadership was captured exquisitely when he gathered his bearded brethren around him in the dugout in Game 4 of the just concluded championship. It is tempting to assign cause and effect to that confab and the three consecutive victories that turned a 2-1 deficit into a parade.
How do you measure leadership and clutch hitting? What are their value? Are they enough to overcome a career gap of 24 wins against replacement. The answer, for me, is pretty clear: not even close. Big Papi is a great player and a character who will live forever in baseball history, but he hasn't done enough to earn a bust.
On to the elephant in the room: steroids. The New York Times reported that Ortiz was among 100 players who tested positively for steroids in 2003. Ortiz denied he took steroids and the Players Association claims those relatively unsophisticated tests returned false positives for supplement use. For some cynical followers of the game, that's enough to convict a player even though it amounts to nothing.
Others point to the spike in Ortiz big flies from 2004-2006 (40-47-54) at ages 28-30, followed by a dramatic decline to 35 after 2006, never to return. This argument is specious: that's normal career peaking. Indeed, in the four years preceding his home run spike he hit 10-18-20-31. In the four years following his peak, his home run totals declined to 35-23-28-32. He also played more games during the peak than in any other years.
In other words, there are several good reasons not to elect David Ortiz to the Hall of Fame -- a short peak and bad defense chief among them. There are a couple of good reasons to consider him further -- palpable leadership and clutch hitting that helped propel his team to three more championships in 10 years than they had won in the previous 86. But denying him a bust because of steroids is pure electoral malpractice, on par with electing Ted Cruz or Jesse Jackson Jr. to Congress.
The major Hall of Fame problem for Ortiz is that his career did not start with Boston in '03. In his first six years with the Twins, he hit just .266 with 58 homers. There was no Big and no Papi until he landed in the Bay state and began mashing behind Manny Ramirez. Ortiz has performed at a Hall of Fame level with the bat over an 11-year period, but that's not long enough and it's not the entirety of his playing career.
There's another barrier to a bronze bust for Ortiz: he's a DH. You will hear and read irrelevant analysis about how a DH doesn't belong in the Hall or about how no DH has ever been elected. Neither is the point. Cooperstown has a long history of enshrinement of one-dimensional players, in case you mistook Harmon Killebrew for a speed merchant (19 of 37 steals in 22 years) and defensive wizard (19 career wins below replacement with the glove).
The problem with rostering a player who can only DH is that it has an inherent negative effect on team construction. The various sabermetric measuring systems assess this against a player's defense, but the restrictions such a player imposes on lineup flexibility may accrue to offense instead or as well. Between his lack of range when he donned his mitt and the lack of managerial range created by carrying a non-fielder on the roster, Ortiz has cost his teams 18 wins over his career. That offsets a goodly chunk of his overall value.
There are four widely-used systems designed to predict a player's Hall of Fame case. Three of them say Ortiz has a fair amount of work to do. For example, the average Hall of Fame first baseman leads the league in 27 seasonal categories over the course of his career. Papi has led the AL in home runs once, RBIs twice, walks twice, OBP once and total bases once, well short of that standard. The JAWS Hall of Fame valuation model, which compares a player's value to the average Haller at his position (Ortiz is considered a first baseman since there are no DHs to whom we can compare him) suggests Ortiz is well short in both his peak and his overall career numbers, by distances he cannot bridge even if he performs well into his 40s.
None of this captures the special character that sparked the speculation to begin with. "Clutch" hitting is a vastly exaggerated notion, but Big Papi delivers in key situations so relentlessly there can be no denying that he loves the spotlight and thrives on pressure. Recounting all his game-changing home runs in season-altering games would amount to gilding the lily. His .455/.576/.795 line in three triumphant World Series speaks for itself. In addition, his unquestioned leadership was captured exquisitely when he gathered his bearded brethren around him in the dugout in Game 4 of the just concluded championship. It is tempting to assign cause and effect to that confab and the three consecutive victories that turned a 2-1 deficit into a parade.
How do you measure leadership and clutch hitting? What are their value? Are they enough to overcome a career gap of 24 wins against replacement. The answer, for me, is pretty clear: not even close. Big Papi is a great player and a character who will live forever in baseball history, but he hasn't done enough to earn a bust.
On to the elephant in the room: steroids. The New York Times reported that Ortiz was among 100 players who tested positively for steroids in 2003. Ortiz denied he took steroids and the Players Association claims those relatively unsophisticated tests returned false positives for supplement use. For some cynical followers of the game, that's enough to convict a player even though it amounts to nothing.
Others point to the spike in Ortiz big flies from 2004-2006 (40-47-54) at ages 28-30, followed by a dramatic decline to 35 after 2006, never to return. This argument is specious: that's normal career peaking. Indeed, in the four years preceding his home run spike he hit 10-18-20-31. In the four years following his peak, his home run totals declined to 35-23-28-32. He also played more games during the peak than in any other years.
In other words, there are several good reasons not to elect David Ortiz to the Hall of Fame -- a short peak and bad defense chief among them. There are a couple of good reasons to consider him further -- palpable leadership and clutch hitting that helped propel his team to three more championships in 10 years than they had won in the previous 86. But denying him a bust because of steroids is pure electoral malpractice, on par with electing Ted Cruz or Jesse Jackson Jr. to Congress.
03 March 2013
Just One More Good Year
Sandy Koufax's bifurcated Major League career would have made Henry Jekyll proud: the mediocre first half (seven years, 36-40, 4.06, six wins against replacement) and the spectacular second half (six years, 129-47, 2.24, 44 wins against replacement.)
Considering the totality of his career achievements, Koufax is a pale shadow of the average Hall of Fame hurler. Yet omitting the Left Arm of God from Cooperstown is unthinkable. His peak years, in which he posted ERAs an astonishing 43%, 59%, 86%, 60% and 90% better than league average, were the equal of anyone's, ever.
Where Koufax's career was an avalanche, Don Sutton's was the inexorable drip, drip, drip of a waterfall in drought. Sutton truly excelled in just three seasons, but his reliably good performance across 23 years earned him a bust in the Hall as well.
Thus the premise for the widely used "JAWS" rankings for Hall of Fame contenders: both full career value and peak value are relevant. Whereas some players earn their ceremony for sustained excellence, others get in with bursts of greatness.
This is why 2013 is so important for Robinson Cano's Hall of Fame resume. Cano has not played nearly long enough to accumulate the career numbers for the Hall, but another eight-win season catapults him to average peak WARP for Hall of Fame second basemen. After that, it would just be a matter of accumulating the remaining 30 WARP or so over the second half of his career. That feat is accomplished by playing well, if not spectacularly, for another six-seven years before tailing off in his late 30s.
It's not quite fair to say Cano's age-30 season is a make-or-break campaign for his Hall of Fame resume. He's young enough, after all, to slip for a year or two before rebounding in another season. The Hall is filled with gentlemen who were absent from the discussion at age 30 but sprang into it thereafter. Paul Molitor jumps to mind: although he was a seriously fine player in his first nine seasons, he'd never cracked .842 in OPS before his age-30 campaign. In his 30s, he perenially batted above .300, crossing .850 OPS six times, including three seasons above .900. Molitor also contributed value to the Brewers - and then Toronto and Minnesota -- every year through his age-40 season.
More numerous are the meteors who start their career on fire but flame out just when this discussion might have begun. Dwight Gooden found his cliff at age 25, but Fred Lynn posted five 4+-win seasons in his first seven years, then starting after age-30 never reached that height again.
So it's premature to place the burden of Robby Cano's Hall of Fame case on the shoulders of 2013. But another performance like last year's, or the year before or the year before that, begins to put him in the rarefied air that is breathed only along Otsego Lake.
Injuries limited Roy Halladay to 156 innings and a 4.49 ERA in 2012, adding almost nothing to his Hall pass. A bounce-back 2013 would really solidify the case for old Harry Leroy, because he's right at the standards on both career and peak. He owes some of his voluminous value to durability -- 220 innings or more in each of the six years previous to last -- which Hall voters and the general public seem to esteem less than actual greatness. Another top-five pitching performance this year would make it difficult to deny Halladay entrance in 2020, or whenever. The question is whether at 36 he possesses the might to once again throw 230 frames of sub-3.00 ERA. (There is this hope: it's a contract year for Halladay.)
The noodle just began wrapping around this question and these two names emerged from the goo. If you are thinking of a player whose ticket might be one more good year from getting punched, put his name in the comment section and we'll dig in.
Considering the totality of his career achievements, Koufax is a pale shadow of the average Hall of Fame hurler. Yet omitting the Left Arm of God from Cooperstown is unthinkable. His peak years, in which he posted ERAs an astonishing 43%, 59%, 86%, 60% and 90% better than league average, were the equal of anyone's, ever.
Where Koufax's career was an avalanche, Don Sutton's was the inexorable drip, drip, drip of a waterfall in drought. Sutton truly excelled in just three seasons, but his reliably good performance across 23 years earned him a bust in the Hall as well.
Thus the premise for the widely used "JAWS" rankings for Hall of Fame contenders: both full career value and peak value are relevant. Whereas some players earn their ceremony for sustained excellence, others get in with bursts of greatness.
This is why 2013 is so important for Robinson Cano's Hall of Fame resume. Cano has not played nearly long enough to accumulate the career numbers for the Hall, but another eight-win season catapults him to average peak WARP for Hall of Fame second basemen. After that, it would just be a matter of accumulating the remaining 30 WARP or so over the second half of his career. That feat is accomplished by playing well, if not spectacularly, for another six-seven years before tailing off in his late 30s.
It's not quite fair to say Cano's age-30 season is a make-or-break campaign for his Hall of Fame resume. He's young enough, after all, to slip for a year or two before rebounding in another season. The Hall is filled with gentlemen who were absent from the discussion at age 30 but sprang into it thereafter. Paul Molitor jumps to mind: although he was a seriously fine player in his first nine seasons, he'd never cracked .842 in OPS before his age-30 campaign. In his 30s, he perenially batted above .300, crossing .850 OPS six times, including three seasons above .900. Molitor also contributed value to the Brewers - and then Toronto and Minnesota -- every year through his age-40 season.
More numerous are the meteors who start their career on fire but flame out just when this discussion might have begun. Dwight Gooden found his cliff at age 25, but Fred Lynn posted five 4+-win seasons in his first seven years, then starting after age-30 never reached that height again.
So it's premature to place the burden of Robby Cano's Hall of Fame case on the shoulders of 2013. But another performance like last year's, or the year before or the year before that, begins to put him in the rarefied air that is breathed only along Otsego Lake.
Injuries limited Roy Halladay to 156 innings and a 4.49 ERA in 2012, adding almost nothing to his Hall pass. A bounce-back 2013 would really solidify the case for old Harry Leroy, because he's right at the standards on both career and peak. He owes some of his voluminous value to durability -- 220 innings or more in each of the six years previous to last -- which Hall voters and the general public seem to esteem less than actual greatness. Another top-five pitching performance this year would make it difficult to deny Halladay entrance in 2020, or whenever. The question is whether at 36 he possesses the might to once again throw 230 frames of sub-3.00 ERA. (There is this hope: it's a contract year for Halladay.)
The noodle just began wrapping around this question and these two names emerged from the goo. If you are thinking of a player whose ticket might be one more good year from getting punched, put his name in the comment section and we'll dig in.
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