By Joe Schackman
In most sports, an athlete's championship wins are the most important part of his resume. So why don't we care that some of baseball's so-called greats never claimed a title?
Sometimes facts, especially sports facts, are so obvious that when you finally stumble upon that well-known truth, you feel like an idiot for taking so long. You cringe at the thought of admitting it to friends and you sure as hell don’t want to post it on the Internet. I mean, how did I not know that Ted Williams, arguably the best hitter of all time, never won a World Series? No career Red Sox player from 1918 to 2004 slid a championship ring onto his finger. So how the hell would Williams have won a title? But if we are being honest here, I had no idea.
“Best player without a championship” is one of the most bittersweet titles in sports. On the one hand, it means you are truly a star player; no one cares that Channing Frye has never won in an NBA championship. But it's also a deep, painful reminder that you have not achieved one of the most important milestones of any athlete’s professional career.
It is a title that haunts the likes of Eric Dickerson, Patrick Ewing, Charles Barkley, Colin Montgomerie and Dan Marino. All of these guys are true superstars in their respective sports, but… you know what comes next.
The list goes on and on, but somehow baseball players never enter the mix. The “best to never win a championship/ring/major” distinction seems to skip over those guys who took to the diamond, and it's certainly not because all of baseball’s greats secured championships. Just to name a few without a ring: Barry Bonds, Ken Griffey Jr., Gaylord Perry, Tony Gwynn, Ty Cobb, Harmon Killebrew and, of course, Ted Williams.
These guys are serious titans of the game. If you stop for a second and think about it, it may not surprise you they are ring-less, but it’s not on the tip of your tongue, either. It's not hanging over their heads like it does for Sir Charles.
The real question is, What makes baseball so special? What prevents the greatest titleless players from “paying” for it like the other guys? Why does Dan Marino suffer, while Griffey gets off without a scratch?
The simple answer seems to be in the very nature of the game. Baseball, unlike football or basketball, is a culmination of individual battles. It is hitter versus pitcher, hitter versus fielder or catcher versus baserunner. Fans and writers acknowledge this, so they do not hold it against Ty Cobb that his team lost the World Series three years in a row in the early 1900s. They don’t blame Gwynn, who couldn’t close the deal for the Padres in 1984 or 1998.
This makes perfect sense. In baseball, there is no assist and there sure is no fluidity. Patrick Ewing might be able to help his teammates get an open look from three late in the game, but baseball doesn’t work that way. Even Albert Pujols can’t hit a home run from the on-deck circle.
But can it be that simple? Is that really everything? Is it solely because a hitter doesn’t appear to have the same control over a game's outcome that an NFL quarterback has? Or are baseball greats excused from this distinction because, when you boil it down, the “best to never win a ring” label is based on flawed logic?
This past year, Derek Jeter was named to his 12th All-Star team, despite the fact that every statistical indicator says he is not anywhere near being a top player in the American League. He was voted in because he is one of the most popular baseball players in the league. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. It was the fans who voted and it is not their responsibility to decipher who the best shortstop is in the AL. Rather, they pick the shortstop they want to see play in the All-Star Game. And we, as fans, have no problem acknowledging that fact. For the meantime, at least.
But problems arise once people start to use these once meaningless titles to make an argument for the player down the road, to measure their greatness and place amongst baseball’s best.
Today, even the most die-hard Yankees fan would admit that Jeter is not one of the best shortstops in the game and that he did not deserve to be on the 2011 All-Star team based on his numbers. But I guarantee you that in ten years, when asked about Derek Jeter’s talent, fans will gladly tell you he was voted to 12 All-Star teams (and likely more as his career continues). They will ignore the fact that he wasn’t always voted onto that team because he was among the top players in the league.
The same holds true for the “best player without a championship” title. In baseball, we can easily see the impact of teammates and different strategic situations, but we ignore it in other sports. If LeBron James does not win an NBA championship before his career is finished, he will be hammered for it. We recall now how he carried a mediocre Cavaliers team in 2007 to the NBA Finals but lost to a fantastic Spurs team. We remember Dirk Nowitzki's unstoppable performance in the 2011 finals that crushed James and the Heat. We acknowledge these things right now. But in 2030, if Lebron never wins that ring, I guarantee fans won’t shower him with praise for just getting his teams to the finals.
The individual nature of baseball also allows us to measure the game with countless statistics. We can tell how much each isolated event–a hit, a walk, a strikeout–increases or decreases a team’s chances of winning down to the decimal. We cannot do the same in other sports. We can count and quantify a large amount of each game, but we leave the rest to intangibles and fall back on ideas that aren’t based in fact. We slap labels on players because they seem to make sense and they help us settle arguments.
Just look at the debate over Dan Marino and Brett Favre. You could go on for days trying to determine which quarterback was better. In almost every major passing statistic, Favre and Marino finish one-two. Favre, with a few extra seasons under his belt, edges Marino in passing touchdowns, passing yards and pass completions. However, Marino was more efficient, throwing significantly less picks and with a slightly higher passer rating. What’s more important? How do you say which player is better? I mean Dan Marino was truly fantastic, but...
You know what comes next.
“Best player without a championship” is one of the most bittersweet titles in sports. On the one hand, it means you are truly a star player; no one cares that Channing Frye has never won in an NBA championship. But it's also a deep, painful reminder that you have not achieved one of the most important milestones of any athlete’s professional career.
It is a title that haunts the likes of Eric Dickerson, Patrick Ewing, Charles Barkley, Colin Montgomerie and Dan Marino. All of these guys are true superstars in their respective sports, but… you know what comes next.
The list goes on and on, but somehow baseball players never enter the mix. The “best to never win a championship/ring/major” distinction seems to skip over those guys who took to the diamond, and it's certainly not because all of baseball’s greats secured championships. Just to name a few without a ring: Barry Bonds, Ken Griffey Jr., Gaylord Perry, Tony Gwynn, Ty Cobb, Harmon Killebrew and, of course, Ted Williams.
These guys are serious titans of the game. If you stop for a second and think about it, it may not surprise you they are ring-less, but it’s not on the tip of your tongue, either. It's not hanging over their heads like it does for Sir Charles.
The real question is, What makes baseball so special? What prevents the greatest titleless players from “paying” for it like the other guys? Why does Dan Marino suffer, while Griffey gets off without a scratch?
The simple answer seems to be in the very nature of the game. Baseball, unlike football or basketball, is a culmination of individual battles. It is hitter versus pitcher, hitter versus fielder or catcher versus baserunner. Fans and writers acknowledge this, so they do not hold it against Ty Cobb that his team lost the World Series three years in a row in the early 1900s. They don’t blame Gwynn, who couldn’t close the deal for the Padres in 1984 or 1998.
This makes perfect sense. In baseball, there is no assist and there sure is no fluidity. Patrick Ewing might be able to help his teammates get an open look from three late in the game, but baseball doesn’t work that way. Even Albert Pujols can’t hit a home run from the on-deck circle.
But can it be that simple? Is that really everything? Is it solely because a hitter doesn’t appear to have the same control over a game's outcome that an NFL quarterback has? Or are baseball greats excused from this distinction because, when you boil it down, the “best to never win a ring” label is based on flawed logic?
This past year, Derek Jeter was named to his 12th All-Star team, despite the fact that every statistical indicator says he is not anywhere near being a top player in the American League. He was voted in because he is one of the most popular baseball players in the league. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. It was the fans who voted and it is not their responsibility to decipher who the best shortstop is in the AL. Rather, they pick the shortstop they want to see play in the All-Star Game. And we, as fans, have no problem acknowledging that fact. For the meantime, at least.
But problems arise once people start to use these once meaningless titles to make an argument for the player down the road, to measure their greatness and place amongst baseball’s best.
Today, even the most die-hard Yankees fan would admit that Jeter is not one of the best shortstops in the game and that he did not deserve to be on the 2011 All-Star team based on his numbers. But I guarantee you that in ten years, when asked about Derek Jeter’s talent, fans will gladly tell you he was voted to 12 All-Star teams (and likely more as his career continues). They will ignore the fact that he wasn’t always voted onto that team because he was among the top players in the league.
The same holds true for the “best player without a championship” title. In baseball, we can easily see the impact of teammates and different strategic situations, but we ignore it in other sports. If LeBron James does not win an NBA championship before his career is finished, he will be hammered for it. We recall now how he carried a mediocre Cavaliers team in 2007 to the NBA Finals but lost to a fantastic Spurs team. We remember Dirk Nowitzki's unstoppable performance in the 2011 finals that crushed James and the Heat. We acknowledge these things right now. But in 2030, if Lebron never wins that ring, I guarantee fans won’t shower him with praise for just getting his teams to the finals.
The individual nature of baseball also allows us to measure the game with countless statistics. We can tell how much each isolated event–a hit, a walk, a strikeout–increases or decreases a team’s chances of winning down to the decimal. We cannot do the same in other sports. We can count and quantify a large amount of each game, but we leave the rest to intangibles and fall back on ideas that aren’t based in fact. We slap labels on players because they seem to make sense and they help us settle arguments.
Just look at the debate over Dan Marino and Brett Favre. You could go on for days trying to determine which quarterback was better. In almost every major passing statistic, Favre and Marino finish one-two. Favre, with a few extra seasons under his belt, edges Marino in passing touchdowns, passing yards and pass completions. However, Marino was more efficient, throwing significantly less picks and with a slightly higher passer rating. What’s more important? How do you say which player is better? I mean Dan Marino was truly fantastic, but...
You know what comes next.
1 comments:
It might also have something to do with the nature of success and failure in baseball versus other sports. The best hitters in baseball are only successful 3 times out of 10. The best pitchers only pitch once every 5 days. You can't be a successful NFL quarterback, though, if you only play once every five games, or if you only complete 33% of your passes. Failure's normalized in baseball due to the nature of the game.
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