Captain Obvious
Derek Jeter had the Range of a Man Under House Arrest — He’s also on his way to the HOF
Every good thing you’ve ever heard or read about Derek Jeter as a ballplayer is true. He was that good, that steady, that smart.
It’s also true that Derek Jeter might — just might — be the worst defensive shortstop in major league history (shovel passes and face dives into the stands not withstanding). He’s certainly the worst five-time gold glove shortstop in major league history — WAR suggests Jeter cost his teams 243 runs on defense as compared to an average shortstop. No player — of any era, at any position — was allowed to inflict as much damage in the field. As a point of reference, Ozzie Smith saved his teams 239 runs with his glove.
Now, invoking Ozzie Smith is probably unfair to the Captain. Very few players are going to come out unscathed when compared to the Wizard, the greatest defensive player to ever step on the diamond.
So forget Ozzie Smith. In fact, forget “advanced” stats: Forget Zone Rating (UZR), Defensive Runs Saved (DRS) or defensive wins above replacement (dWAR). Forget the pointy-headed geeks and their sabermetrics (BS!). Let’s stick to the basics: Jeter played 18 full seasons and nearly 2700 games as a shortstop.
He led AL shortstops in assists once, finishing in the bottom-five of this category 16 times.
He led AL shortstops in putouts once, while placing in the bottom-five 14 times.
He finished among the top-five in double plays turned by a shortstop four times — not bad! He finished in the bottom-five 14 times — not, um, good.
Jeter was, by any measure, a terrible defensive player. He simply couldn’t get to ground balls that most other shortstops took for granted. Oh, he was sure-handed; he was steady; he made those jump throws. He also had the range of a man under house arrest.
The thing is, Jeter was so good as a hitter and base runner (and his teams were so good) it hardly mattered. You probably know the highlights of his hitting resume, so we won’t get into all that. We’ll simply say there’s an argument to be made that Jeter concedes only to Honus Wagner as the greatest offensive player to man his position. WAR credits Jeter with 96 wins on offense. Only 19 men in baseball history have been better, and the middle infielders ahead of Jeter on this list are named Hornsby, Morgan, Lajoie, Collins, and Wagner.
There are those who would say Jeter’s talent and production are hardly commensurate with his fame; that he’d be a borderline HOF candidate if he spent 20 seasons in, say, Kansas City or Milwaukee. They’d be wrong. New York may have provided the stage, but Jeter made himself the star: Shortstops over the long haul just don’t hit the way he hit, and few players at any position ran the bases with such intelligence and efficiency.
If Jeter fielded his position to a draw, he has a case as a top-two shortstop of all-time. As it stands, he’s probably in the top-10, and an easy, obvious pick for enshrinement.
Bobby Abreu
At his peak, Abreu combined patience, power, speed, and defense in a way few players could match. Does it make him a HOFer? Not quite. At least not by this reckoning. Does it make his career worthy of reflection and celebration?
It does.
A line-drive machine, Abreu averaged .302/.411/.505/136 OPS+ during his decade-long peak (1998–2007). This 10-year seasonal average also includes 105R/26HR/106BB/29SB/5.1WAR. The man could hit, and the man could run. With 60 career WAR, Abreu was exactly as good as Vladimir Guerrero (who is in the HOF) or Jim Edmonds (who dropped off the ballot for lack of support).
Abreu put on some weight, accumulated some injuries, and gave back his defensive value as he aged. He was never, at any point in his career, one of the five best players in his league (and he was never really considered one of the ten best, if we use MVP voting as a proxy for reputation). But when he was right, he was about as well-rounded a player as you’ll find.
Alfonso Soriano
Alfonso Soriano was fun to watch. Whippet thin, he wielded one of the biggest, heaviest bats in the game — and somehow whistled that club through the zone with enough force to launch more than 400 career home runs.
He’s not close to a HOFer, but he was quite good at his peak, averaging a power-heavy .285/.333/.531/120 OPS+ over his best seven-year stretch (with seasonal averages of 35 HR and 29 SB). His best year was probably 2006, when he became the fourth player to join the “40/40” club (after being turned away at the door by a single HR in 2002).
Soriano’s days as an elite power/speed combination were over at 32, and he never learned to take a walk now and again (his career .319 OBP would be fifth-lowest among HOFers, and the guys who were worse are in for their glove work). His defense was erratic at best, awful at worst. Unlike Abreu, Soriano never supplemented his power and speed with discipline and patience. WAR illustrates the gulf between them as players (Abreu: 60 WAR; Soriano: 28.2), and if Abreu doesn’t make our cut, well… sayonara, Soriano.
Paul Konerko
Solid citizen. Solid hitter. Six-time all-star. South side icon. Played eighteen seasons, led his league in exactly one hitting category (er, grounding into double plays…). Konerko will likely struggle to reach the 5% threshold needed to stay on the ballot, and that’s about right for a lumbering first baseman with some pop (439 HR, 118 OPS+).
Jason Giambi
Look, the Giambino has zero chance at making the hallowed Hall. He might have a slightly better-than-zero chance of staying on the ballot another year or two (though I wouldn’t bet on it). Even if he could wash the PED stigmata from his hands, he falls short of most pre-Baines standards.
But my word, what a hitter.
At first glance, Giambi’s career line might bear superficial resemblance to that of his ballot-mate Paul Konerko: batting average, runs scored, doubles, triples, home runs, RBI… if you can find much daylight between them, you have better eyes than me.
Giambi: .277/440 HR/1441 RBI
Konerko: .279/439 HR/1412 RBI
But they’re really not close as hitters. Not at all. Giambi was one of the best hitters of his generation, while Konerko… was not.
Giambi: .277/.399/.516/139 OPS+/50.5 WAR
Konerko: .279/.354/.486/118 OPS+/27.7 WAR
Giambi hung on far too long (retiring at 44, after years as a pinch-hitter), and his career slash rates took a hit — but during his 1999–2002 peak, Giambi (177 OPS+; 30 WAR) had a case as the best hitter in his league. Expand that peak another six years (1998–2007), and Giambi’s 155 OPS+ remains elite. He was a truly great hitter for a decade.
It’s not a HOF case, but it’s something.
The Holdovers
Barry Bonds: It’s not a question of whether or not Bonds was the greatest player of his generation. He was. The more interesting and salient question: Is Barry Bonds the best position player of all time? He probably is. And the best player of all time (or second-best, if you insist on Ruth, or third-best, if Mays is your man) belongs in the Hall of Fame.
Roger Clemens: Based solely on his performance, there’s really no compelling argument to be made that Roger Clemens isn’t the greatest pitcher who ever lived. And the greatest pitcher who ever lived belongs in the Hall of Fame.
Curt Schilling: The HOF is populated by cheaters, gamblers, racists, drunks, and abusers of women. It’s also filled with kind, decent, generous men. One’s view on where Schilling lands on this character spectrum is irrelevant when assessing his qualifications as a player. Schilling (80.5 WAR) is more than worthy of induction even if he had never pitched an inning in the post-season — and as the record shows, there were few better when the stakes were highest.
Manny Ramirez: When he played the outfield, he looked like a man trying to remember where he left his keys. But Manny Ramirez (.312/.412/.585/154 OPS+) is one of the 20 greatest hitters to ever step in the box.
Manny presents an interesting and ongoing dilemma. With 22–24% of the vote his first three years on the ballot, HOF voters seemed to have slotted him into a PED purgatory of sorts between Bonds/Clemens camp (i.e., seemingly destined for enshrinement) and the Palmeiro/Sosa camp (forgotten shams of their era and their suppliers). Like Bonds, Ramirez produced a HOF hitting dossier; unlike Bonds, Ramirez couldn’t run and couldn’t field. And unlike Bonds, Ramirez failed multiple drugs tests. It seems this distinction will ensure voters continue to view his career as more artifice than art (and let’s be honest: They have a point).
The best guess here is that Ramirez sees a drop in his vote totals, holds onto his eligibility, and continues to languish on the ballot for years (Ramirez himself seems resigned to this fate: “I’m pretty sure maybe in 15 or 20 years, we’ll probably get in,” he joked at a recent charity event).
On this unofficial ballot, he gets in today (though not without major misgiving). His career ranks as a hitter, across the board, are just too overwhelming to keep him out.
Larry Walker: Considered one of the best all-around players of his time, Walker’s HOF support surged to a new high last year when he captured 55% of the vote. Now in his final year of eligibility, it looks like Walker has run out of time.
It’s a shame. Walker belongs.
Walker’s lack of support comes down to 1) playing time; and 2) playing conditions. He’s obviously the victim of altitude bias, having spent his, ahem, peak in Colorado, and he simply wasn’t able to take the field enough (Walker averaged 119 games per season from 1995–2005) to accumulate many of the milestone stats expected of a corner outfielder. Lack of playing time (and counting stats) is one thing, but the anti-Colorado bias is unfair: We can properly adjust for park and league effects — and with those adjustments, Walker was 40% more productive than a league-average hitter. When one considers his superior base-running and solid defense, Walker (73 WAR) was clearly a HOF talent (though it’s admittedly less clear that his body of work makes him a slam-dunk candidate).
One way to look at it: Walker was at least the equal of his fellow Les Expos de Montréal alumnus (and 2018 HOF inductee) Vlad Guerrero at the plate — and much better in every other facet of the game. Walker receives this vote.
Scott Rolen: Did anyone ever look the part of a third baseman more than Scott Rolen? The eye black, the perpetual squint and grimace, the hulking frame coiled to stab every howling liner that had the misfortune to head his way. Rolen just looked like a major-league third baseman.
Of course, style points don’t count. And that’s ok. He doesn’t need them.
Even though he was often compromised by injury, Scott Rolen, like his one-time teammate Bobby Abreu, was better than you remember. Quite a bit better, probably. As measured by WAR (70), he’s the eighth most valuable third baseman of all-time, slotting in between Ron Santo –who’s in the HOF — and Graig Nettles — who probably should be. Defensively, he’s as good as anybody who ever manned the hot corner (well, anybody not named Robinson or Beltre): His 175 defensive runs saved (DRS) is the third-best career mark for the position. You might also be surprised to learn Rolen’s 122 OPS+ ranks sixth all-time at the position (min. 1800 games played); his 316 home runs are the ninth-most for a third baseman; his 1287 RBI rank 10th (for what that’s worth).
Third base is one of the most difficult assignments on the diamond. By any measure, Scott Rolen is one of the best handful of third baseman to ever play. One of the best third baseman to ever play deserves a plaque in Cooperstown.
Andruw Jones: To twist a line from Bill James: If you could split Andruw Jones’ career in half, you’d have one Hall of Famer.
But you can’t, and that complicates things.
Through his age-30 season, Andruw Jones hit .263/.342/.497/113 OPS+. Respectable, but not particularly noteworthy.
But here’s the thing: Through his age-30 season, Jones is also the best defensive center fielder to ever play the game. It’s true that defensive metrics prior to the advent of the Statcast era can be squishy — but the gulf between Jones and the number two man on the list (Paul Blair) is so vast, it more than exceeds any margin of error.
Between his respectable hitting and non-pareil defense, Jones was an extraordinarily valuable player, accumulating 61 WAR through age 30. If you prefer some old-school statistics, Jones also hit 368 HR — the ninth most ever by a player through his age 30 season. A graceful decline makes him a no-brainer for the HOF. Even an extended decline — with a rough landing — probably makes him an easy choice.
But Andruw Jones didn’t decline. He collapsed. Andruw Jones got hurt, got fat, and fell off a cliff at the age of 31. The best center fielder to ever grace a ballfield was relegated to DH and spot starts in left field. It was like watching Jimi Hendrix play Creed covers at a local bar. Over the last five seasons of his career, he hit .210/.316/.424/95 OPS+ as a platoon player. He was out of baseball at age 36.
Andruw Jones in his 20s is a lock HOFer; Andruw Jones in his 30s is a fringe player. Does he belong in the HOF? His career WAR (63) marks him the very definition of “borderline.”
This ballot says he lands on the right side of that line, and joins the Hall (glove first).
2020 HOF Class: Derek Jeter, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Manny Ramirez, Larry Walker, Scott Rolen, Curt Schilling, Andruw Jones
