Salary caps have always struck me as odd, dare I say un-American. At their best, they seem to help undisciplined owners make fewer mistakes; at their worst they suppress what workers can earn in a very artificial way. One might argue that they help to improve competitive balance, but I’m not so sure. What a team pays in salary is one factor among many that helps them to succeed. And teams that fail tend to find lots of ways to do so.
In our last two elections, we paid homage to William Hulbert and Charlie Comiskey, two of the men integral in the formation of the National and American leagues, respectively. Today we honor a third man, Ban Johnson, who probably deserves even more credit than Comiskey for the existence of the American League.
Why? Other “major” leagues had come and gone, none up until 1901 with any success. That’s when Ban Johnson’s Western League became the major league we know today as the Junior Circuit, the American League. In order to compete, one of the main tactics the AL used was to remove the salary cap. Cy Young, Nap Lajoie, Ed Delahanty, Jesse Burkett, and over 100 more jumped to the AL., and by 1902 the fledgling organization outdrew its NL competition by half a million. And the rest, as they say…
I don’t want to share an entire history lesson here. I’m happy to let Joe Santry and Cindy Thompson at SABR do that. I want to point out what a critical element to baseball’s success salary is. Generally speaking, the talented go where the money is. Again, I say that only generally. And in order for great athletes to choose baseball, there has to be a financial incentive. Michael Haupert’s SABR article on salary progression is fascinating for people who like numbers.
Here are a few of the highlights:
To say that Ban Johnson is responsible for Ryan or what we see today would be ridiculous. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of people have more to do with Peter Bourjos, for example, making $2 million this season than he does, but I don’t think we’d see a game much like today’s without Ban Johnson helping to get the American League off the ground by poaching players from a more financially-constrained NL.
As we get deeper into this project, those we elect will be more and more stage-sharers, people to whom we’ll attribute something, something that is more likely the work of a number of people. We’re not quite there yet. We can say that without Ban Johnson, we wouldn’t have had a competitive major league in the form we had one, when we had one. And who knows what would have happened later.
Overall, we’ve elected nine greats into the Hall of Miller and Eric’s Pioneer/Executive wing. Here they are:
Number ten is just a week away.
Philosopher and writer George Santayana told us, basically, that those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it. The key idea here is one that we all buy – people will make mistakes, and they’ll continue to make the same mistakes (unless they get really lucky) if they don’t understand the steps that led to making those mistakes in the first place. Some mediocre history teachers use lines like Santayana’s in failed attempts to convince teenagers to study the Boer War. Absolutely failed attempts.
But I digress. What if history is murky enough that we can’t quite learn it? What if we don’t really know all of the answers? What do we learn then? I was thinking about these questions yesterday when reading a post about Dickey Pearce, the man who may or may not have been baseball’s first shortstop, written by fellow blogger and friend of the HoME, Verdun2.
Our pal used one caveat after another when writing his post – and rightfully so! There’s a lot that we just don’t know. And there’s a lot that we think we know but don’t know for sure.
And that cryptic – and long compared to the rest of the post – introduction leads me to this week’s inductee into the Pioneer/Executive wing of the Hall of Miller and Eric, Charlie Comiskey.
His SABR biographer, Irv Goldfarb, says it better than I could, so I’ll let him.
“One of the most influential figures in the history of the sport, Charles Comiskey had a 55-year odyssey through professional baseball that ran the gamut: captain of one of the greatest teams of the nineteenth century; league-jumper during the 1890 players’ rebellion; one of the chief architects of the American League’s emergence in 1901 as a major league; longtime owner of one of the league’s most successful franchises, the Chicago White Sox; and a central figure in the 1919 Black Sox Scandal.”
Comiskey, indeed, was all Goldfarb says. And that’s because Goldfarb doesn’t make many of the hard and fast claims some of us do. In many quarters, for example, Comiskey is known as the reason the Chicago White Sox threw the 1919 World Series.
As it’s often told, Comiskey worked hard to keep player salaries down, not washing uniforms, not letting his players reach their contract incentives, and just being cheap all around with his employees. That disposition, though either historically questionable or plain inaccurate, led many to the false cause or single cause fallacy that his team threw the World Series because of him. Since he wouldn’t give them the money, they had to get it from somewhere. Gamblers.
This is a single cause fallacy because life is complex enough that there’s almost never one thing that brings about another huge thing. Even if Comiskey were cheap, there were dozens of other factors that contributed to the White Sox throwing games. Perhaps they were greedy, or they were needy. Perhaps they weren’t thinking about Comiskey at all and were just interested in supporting their families. Perhaps there was peer pressure, or the thought that they might as well collect some money if the fix was in anyway. I think part of the reason must have been that the players saw baseball as a job, as a means to earn money. We err in our conclusions about players because we romanticize their job as something far more special. We hold ballplayers to a standard we’d not apply to other employees. And I believe we do so unfairly.
It’s a false cause fallacy too – meaning that there’s a good deal of evidence that Comiskey wasn’t so cheap with his players. Goldfarb tells us, for example, that there’s no actual evidence that Comiskey refused to wash uniforms to save money. Historian Bob Hoie, in his article, 1919 Baseball Salaries and the Mythically Underpaid Chicago White Sox, pretty much says it all with just the title. Among other things, he challenges the contention that Comiskey failed to pay off incentives. Thanks to great work by the folks at Retrosheet and BBREF, we can see that claims made about Comiskey not letting Eddie Cicotte reach an incentive to be paid if the hurler won 30 games are simply false. From August 20 through September 19, Cicotte won seven straight starts to get to 29 wins. And the four days after his 29th victory, he started against the Browns, giving up five runs in seven innings before being relieved by Dickie Kerr. This is one of six starts on the year that Cicotte didn’t complete. He also didn’t complete his final start, tossing only two innings of one-run ball against the Tigers three days later. Maybe it’s from that start we get the apocryphal story? I don’t know. Clearly though, Cicitte had a chance to win his 30th.
Those 800ish words are really just a stream-of-consciousness about how we think, or choose not to think. They’re not the reason Comiskey is a HoMEr. He reaches HoME-status because of the work he and Ban Johnson, among others, put into the construction of the Western League, which became the American League, which was finally able to end the National League’s monopoly, offer players more money, fans more options, and the game more competition. And ultimately, Comiskey needs to get some of the credit for the National Agreement that was signed, which led to the World Series.
Hey, you can’t throw a World Series unless there’s one to throw.
So we think we know about Comiskey. And there’s a considerable amount we do know. Of course, some of what we think we know is just wrong. Some of what we think we know has been bastardized by time, by poor and creative story-tellers, and perhaps by the self-serving. But if we think and if we trust more credible sources of information, we can know a great deal.
Even though I studied history in college, I’m nobody’s idea of a real historian. I know that. Still, there are two things I want to leave you with. First, if you don’t know, take a lesson from Verdun2, and don’t claim you do. There’s no harm in admitting uncertainty, particularly when such uncertainty is the only real answer you can come up with while still maintaining your integrity. Second, Boer War or not, there’s tremendous merit to thinking about Santayana’s words. If Comiskey and company didn’t learn from the mistakes of the National Association, the Union Association, the Players League, the American Association, and the Federal League, perhaps the American League would have gone by the wayside like all of those. Perhaps we wouldn’t have a World Series. Imagine that.
Next week we’ll introduce our eighth inductee into the Pioneer/Executive wing of the Hall of Miller and Eric. Until then.
Graham Womack of Baseball: Past and Present has a cool project going on: The 25 Most Important People in Baseball History. I thought I’d share my ballot as a way to encourage others to vote.
Well, there’s 18,000+ players, several hundred managers, all kinds of execs, writers, even fans to choose from, and I needed to choose twenty-five. Graham doesn’t define “Most Important” for us:
“most important” is a deliberately subjective term and I’m interested to see what direction people go with it.
For me, it’s about impact. Lasting impact. For me, there are three names that stand above all others, and that any baseball fan should know: Babe Ruth, Branch Rickey, and Jackie Robinson. Without them, major league baseball as we know it today simply would not exist or would be limping toward its death. Ruth who ushered in the modern mode of play, an offensive-minded game with greater mass appeal. Rickey who is the pivot man in at least three of modern baseball’s most important innovations—the farm system, the use of analytical statistics, and equal opportunity for all races—and who played a role in expansion by his attempt to organize the Continental League. And, of course, Robinson, whose success cemented the status of African Americans (and all other peoples of color) in sports, transcending the game and pointing us toward the civil rights era.
After that to understand the lasting impact a person has on the game, we can look at some of the major themes of baseball’s history. These are the major story arcs since the 1840s. They continue to unwind themselves today. The flashpoints among them constitute game-changing moments. So as we sift through the games’ most important people, they should have some kind of prominent role in short- or long-term movements that have brought us to the present day.
That’s another twenty to add to Ruth, Rickey, and Robinson for twenty-three total. Two more.
A lesser theme in baseball’s history is the ascendency of the Yankees. While Ruth accounts for much of it on the field, much of the rest can probably be laid at Ed Barrow’s feet. Barrow first built the twice-champion Red Sox of the late 1910s. Then, moving to the Bronx after the 1920 season, he took advantage of Sox owner Harry Frazee’s debt problems to build the Yankee roster into a perennial winner, thus starting The Evil Empire. Barrow continued on into the 1940s, overseeing the DiMaggio/Gehrig era as well, so this wasn’t a one-time thing. The Yankees are the game’s most loved and most hated team, and they occupy a special place in history thanks to Barrow.
Another team builder had a different kind of perennial influence. Ned Hanlon built the 1890s Baltimore Orioles and Brooklyn Superbas into a two-part syndicate dynasty. But as Bill James points out in his Guide to Baseball Managers the players on those teams went on to influence the game like no other team. John McGraw managed 33 years in the majors, Wilbert Robinson nineteen, and Hughie Jennings sixteen. Fielder Jones skippered for ten seasons, Joe Kelley for five seasons, and Bad Bill Dahlen for four. Jack Dunn became famous as the manager of the minor league Baltimore Orioles of the teens and twenties…the team that sold Lefty Grove and numerous other players to the majors. Hanlon also managed Miller Huggins for two years. All those guys exerted influence over subsequent generations of outstanding managers, including Stengel, Lopez, and Durocher. You can trace Joe Torre, Tony LaRussa, and virtually any great contemporary manager’s lineage back to Ned Hanlon’s Orioles.
Here’s my final ballot. After the big three, there’s any number of orders we could settle on. I’m looking for far-reaching, long-lasting, high-impact contributions. Your mileage may vary.
1. Branch Rickey
2. Babe Ruth
3. Jackie Robinson
I could have put Ruth first for creating interest at a time when the game’s gambling problems came to light. But the sheer number and breadth of Rickey’s innovations tipped the scales in his direction.
4. Kennesaw Mountain Landis
5. Walter O’Malley
6. Henry Chadwick
I’m pretty sure these are the next three. I put Landis first because rooting out gambling’s influence and restoring the integrity of any given game was far more important to the survival of the game than anything anyone below him could have accomplished. O’Malley is next because of the extreme importance of his vision and its affect on expansion. Chadwick was “Father Baseball” for a reason.
7. Doc Adams
8. William Hulbert
9. Ban Johnson
10. Marvin Miller
11. Bill James
Another tough group. As a founder of the game, I give Adams precedence and Hulbert’s corporate-ownership innovation is absolutely huge. Johnson and Miller could be swapped, but Johnson’s impact is still felt more than 100 years later, while Miller’s is more recent. James’ is more recent yet and just as widespread as Miller’s.
12. J.G. Taylor Spink
13. Rube Foster
14. Harry Wright
We’re getting into a place where everyone’s slot is up for debate. The Sporting News was almost an arm of Major League Baseball and affected its fanbase deeply. Foster’s role as a league architect trumps Wright’s as a team architect.
15. Peter Seitz
16. Al Spalding
17. Monte Ward
Ward turned the game upside down for a year, Spalding held it together for a decade, but Seitz has had the greatest total impact of the three. I ding him a little for being a one-trick pony, but it’s one hell of a trick.
18. Ed Barrow
19. Bud Selig
20. Roger Bresnahan
21. Ned Hanlon
22. Sean Forman
23. Curt Flood
24. Frank Jobe
25. Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.
Among this final group of eight, we really are drawing straws. Barrow’s success laid the groundwork for almost 100 years of Yankee success. Selig has made numerous, though dubious, innovations…and helped to rob a lot of taxpayers of their money. I thought about putting him last simply because of his friendships with Jeffrey Loria and the Wilpons. Bresnahan has helped catchers for more than 100 years. Hanlon’s reach has been incredibly deep, though of course diluted over time. Forman’s reach is still growing. Flood and Jobe could be anywhere in this group, but Holmes I’m solid on for #25 because of the one-trick thing but also because I’m skeptical about the positive value of the anti-trust exemption.
There are some notable omissions. For example, I only have two men on this list for their playing careers. No Dickey Pearce nor Hank Aaron. I don’t have John McGraw or Connie Mack or Joe McCarthy or Joe Torre or Tony LaRussa on this list. No Bill Veeck or Billy Beane. Maybe I could have considered HOK architects or Hillerich & Bradsby. Negatory on George Wright, Al Reach, Everett Mills. Nor Fred Lieb or Ring Larnder.
There’s one other guy I didn’t touch on that I thought a lot about and is worth a mention.
I’m not entirely sure who had the most impact on bullpens, but their evolution is also a key theme in baseball history. Bill James suggests that McGraw rolled out the first relief specialist, Doc Crandall, but McGraw didn’t really follow up that innovation. Joe McCarthy was the first manager to split his moundsmen into starters and relievers. Herman Franks in 1979 announced that Bruce Sutter would only pitch in save situations. Although the Cubs canned Franks a year later, this innovation has had startling implications. Before this, relief aces could enter in any inning with any score when the manager felt it necessary. Other bullpen roles were therefore only vaguely defined. The sharp redefinition of the ace into the closer created a cascading effect. As closers threw fewer innings in save situations, managers needed a set-up man for the eighth inning. Since most late-inning relievers were righties, skippers soon found they also needed a lefty specialist to get that one big out in the seventh or eighth, enter the LOOGY (lefty one-out guy). Since then bullpens have become increasingly hierarchical, and include seventh-inning specialists and even the ROOGY. All of this spilled out of Franks’ decision to limit Sutter to save situations. Franks was not great, he wasn’t even a good manager. But his impact is still reverberating through baseball today as we see twelve, thirteen, and even fourteen-man pitching staffs.
This has been a fun exercise. Make your own ballot and vote!