The appeal of appeal plays

One of the stranger things about baseball, especially when compared to other sports, is that an umpire can witness a breach of the rules, but doesn’t necessarily have to rule on the infringement.  In football, imagine if somebody lined up in the neutral zone and then proceeded to sack the quarterback, but no penalty was called unless the offense specifically appealed to the line judge for a ruling that the defender was offsides.  Well, that’s basically the situation that exists for certain aspects of the rules of baseball.

This is a remnant of the game’s origins.  Back in the 1850s, an umpire would not make a ruling on any play unless asked to do so by a player on one of the teams.  There were few exceptions to this (one being calling balls foul so that runners would know to go back to their respective bases).  As the game got more competitive, so many challenges were made that by the 1871 formation of the National Association, the onus had gradually shifted to the umpire to rule on most plays.

There were and are still vestigial exceptions, however.  As Peter Morris noted in A Game of Inches (Volume 1), a book I highly recommend (it is basically a compendium of historical baseball firsts), appeals were made for rulings on the legality of pitching deliveries “for many years afterward”.  There are still several appeal situations in the game for which an umpire is not required to rule unless asked, including a batter batting out of turn (almost always a lineup card mishap), a runner missing a base, a runner leaving too early while tagging up on a fly out, and check swings (a more recent development in the appeal world).

I want to write mainly about appeals involving baserunning snafus, but there were two lineup botch jobs in May within five days of each other, and each deserves mention.  The latter of these resulted in Houston’s Michael Bourn batting twice to lead off a game.  After singling, Milwaukee appealed that he had batted out of order (which he had, the Astros having submitted the wrong lineup card), so as a result Kaz Matsui (who should have been the leadoff hitter) was called out and Bourn then batted again as the #2 hitter, this time drawing a walk.

Earlier that same week Tampa Bay had submitted a lineup card in a game against Cleveland that featured two third basemen and no DH.  That situation was notable because it was later determined the umpires had erred on allowing Evan Longoria to remain eligible to play.

Of course, that type of thing happens occasionally.  Hall of Fame manager Dick Williams once submitted a lineup that required Nolan Ryan to face one batter (Gary Ross was supposed to have started the game, but Williams had absent-mindedly written Ryan’s name in the pitcher’s spot in the lineup instead):

Ryan was on the bench and in uniform. But he was wearing tennis shoes and no protective cup. Williams explained the problem.

“Thank goodness he understood,” Williams wrote in his autobiography. “He went out there and stiffly faced one batter, who grounded out to shortstop, at which point I immediately yanked him from the game.”

Imagine if there had been a comebacker…

On May 18, Ryan Church of the Mets was called out on appeal for missing third base during a game against the Dodgers.  It was a key play in the contest, as Church would have otherwise scored the go-ahead run in the 11th inning.  Instead, the game remained tied, and Los Angeles would score in the bottom half of that same inning, winning the game 3-2.  Church’s baserunning gaffe generated considerable discussion in several quarters, including a SABR listserv to which I subscribe.  This is what happened:

In the top of the 11th, Church singled with two outs, his second hit since entering in the eighth as a defensive replacement in rightfield. [Angel] Pagan followed with a long drive into the right-center gap, a shot that apparently allowed Church to score easily. But Church stepped in front of third base and over it – an obvious miss.

Church later said he felt like he brushed the edge of the base with his foot. “I thought I touched it,” he said. “That’s why I kept going. If I had any doubt, I would have stopped.”

Third baseman [Mark] Loretta yelled for the baseball – Dodgers manager Joe Torre noticed Church’s mistake, too – and with Pagan standing on third, got the appeal in his favor. Inning over, score still tied at 2.

Church may have felt he had touched the bag, but according to one SABR member at the game, it was obvious even from a vantage point high in the stands that Church had missed third base.  It was so obvious, in fact, that there wasn’t an appeal play — Loretta called for the ball immediately, with the putout recorded as 8-6-2-5.

What if there had been an appeal situation, though?  What if time had been called after the ball was thrown to the catcher?  Then the pitcher would have had to have initiated an appeal by throwing to third base, with Pagan at the bag following his would-be triple.

Apparently Phil Mushnick thought there was an appeal play when he blasted Mike Francesa for “big-timing” a caller on Francesa’s radio show who wanted to discuss the play.  That wasn’t the case, although that doesn’t really let Francesa off the hook (he thought the ball was dead, too).  Since this isn’t WFAN, though, and hypotheticals can occasionally be fun, we can discuss what the caller (who identified himself as a high school baseball coach) tried to say:

…in such rare situations — when there’s a call for an appeal play at third with a runner already there, as there was Monday in L.A. — he would instruct the player on third (Pagan) to run toward home the moment the pitcher starts the “live ball” appeal by touching the rubber and beginning his throw to third….the team in the field (Dodgers) must make a split-second move: Follow through on the appeal at third — in Monday’s case risk Church being called safe, thus the Mets would have a two-run lead (Church scoring, followed by Pagan) — or throw home to tag the runner (Pagan), thus no appeal at third could be made and the Mets would be conceded that one, go-ahead run (Church).

…The only way the Mets could not enter the bottom of the 11th with a lead was if the Dodgers stayed focused enough to carry out the appeal and Church was ruled to have missed third.

That would have been rather clever.  One of the key things about an appeal play is that it technically isn’t a “play”.  If it were, you wouldn’t be able to make consecutive appeals, because once the ball is “live” you can’t make an appeal after initiating a play.  So in the example given above, if the Dodgers had thrown home to put out Pagan, that would have been a play, and they would have lost the right to appeal Church missing the bag.

Other notable (or amusing) appeal situations:

From the amusing department, we have Melvin Mora, baserunning savant.  Retrosheet describes the bottom of the 5th of an April 2001 game between the Orioles and Red Sox as follows:

ORIOLES 5TH: Ripken grounded out (second to first); Mora was hit
by a pitch; Fordyce lined to third [Mora out at second (pitcher
to second)]; 0 R, 0 H, 0 E, 0 LOB.  Red Sox 1, Orioles 0.

Well, I guess that mention of Mora out at second base by the pitcher to the second baseman should tell you something.  Baseball Digest has the story:

Mora [was] on first base with one out when Brook Fordyce hit a line drive to Boston third baseman Shea Hillenbrand. The Red Sox rookie threw errantly to first to double up Mora and the ball went into dead territory.

Umpire Brian Gorman instructed Mora to go to third base, reminding him that a runner gets two bases on an overthrow that goes into dead territory. Apparently, Mora took Gorman literally and went directly to third without touching second base…

…The moment Mora touched third, he could not return to touch second base since the ball was dead. Orioles’ third base coach Tom Trebelhorn asked the third base umpire about the possibility of Mora returning to second before the Red Sox appealed the missed base. The ump nixed the idea immediately.

Before the next pitch, Red Sox pitcher Pedro Martinez threw to second to appeal Mora’s missed base. The appeal was upheld and the putout was recorded 1-4.

Oof.  That reminds me a little of the 1976 Little League World Series title game, when a Japanese runner on second base was so excited about scoring a run following a base hit that he ran straight home from second, without bothering to run to third base.  The opposing team (from California) appealed to third base for the putout.  Japan won anyway, 10-3.  I guess you can’t compare a major leaguer’s mistake to that of a Little Leaguer, although I suppose they may have been about the same age…

Also in the funny (and more well-known) department would be Marv Throneberry’s baserunning gaffe in this game, where he was ruled out for failing to touch second base on a triple.  According to legend, after the successful appeal manager Casey Stengel went out to argue, but was intercepted by his own first base coach, Cookie Lavagetto.  The coach told him not to bother, because Throneberry had also missed first base.  I don’t know if that story is really true (I’ve also read a version in which Stengel is met by the first base umpire instead of Lavagetto), but it’s part of the lore of the 1962 Mets, and whether or not it’s factual probably doesn’t matter much.  At least Throneberry got a Miller Lite commercial out of his reputation.

In terms of playoff appeals, one of the more famous, if not the most famous, happened in Game 5 of the 1991 NLCS, when Atlanta’s David Justice was ruled to have missed third base while scoring what would have been the go-ahead run in that game, a contest eventually won by the Pittsburgh 1-0.

Justice claimed that he had actually touched the bag, and I think he probably did, but he stumbled over it, and it was such an awkward move that it’s not surprising Jay Bell asked for an appeal.  Frank Pulli then called Justice out.  It would have been a much bigger deal, of course, if the Braves had not rallied to win the series.

In the linked article, Dave Anderson compares Justice’s blunder to the famous “Merkle’s Boner” play, which is understandable, although the play involving Merkle wasn’t actually an appeal.  Johnny Evers retrieved the ball (or some ball; whether it was the actual ball used in the play is debatable) and stepped on second base, and got the out call from umpire Hank O’Day.  That play was still considered “live”, even with all the fans overrunning the field.

Of course, that Cubs-Giants game from 1908 was an end-game situation, and making a standard appeal in that scenario may not be possible.  It’s not unlike what happened in a memorable 22-inning affair at Montreal in 1989 between the Dodgers and Expos.

Los Angeles would eventually win the game 1-0 on a home run by Rick Dempsey (off El Presidente, Dennis Martinez), but Montreal thought it had won the game in the bottom of the 16th inning, when Larry Walker appeared to have scored the winning run on a sacrifice fly.  The Dodgers appealed that Walker had left third base early, though, and he was ruled out by third base umpire “Balking” Bob Davidson.

According to one observer who was at the game, Davidson did not immediately leave his position after the play (and presumably the game) had ended, which may have suggested to the Dodgers that an appeal play might prove successful.  I think that illustrates an inherent problem with the “see evil, don’t say evil unless asked” aspect of appeal plays, to be honest.

Tangent:  that game was also notable because Expos mascot Youppi! was ejected from the game in the 11th inning, which is believed to have been the first time a mascot was ejected from a major league game by an umpire.  Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda had complained after being disturbed by some Youppi! antics on L.A.’s dugout roof.  Youppi! did reappear later in the game, however, although he (it?) was restricted to Montreal’s dugout roof.

One more appeal story, a side note to one of baseball’s more famous (or infamous) regular season games, the George Brett “pine tar” game.  After AL president Lee McPhail had overruled the umpires’ decision, and that Brett’s home run stood, the Yankees and Royals resumed the game — 25 days later.  Billy Martin had one more argument to make, and it would have been a good one, but somebody in the league office had been thinking along with the Yankee skipper:

Before the first pitch to Hal McRae (who followed Brett in the lineup), Martin challenged Brett’s home run on the grounds that Brett had not touched all the bases, and maintained that there was no way for the umpires (a different crew than the one who worked July 24) to dispute this. But umpire Davey Phillips was ready for Martin, producing an affidavit signed by the July 24 umpires stating that Brett had indeed touched all the bases. An irate Martin continued to argue with the umpires and was ejected from the game.

I think that’s a good way to end this post — with an appeal that was rejected.

In defense of Rabbit Maranville’s Hall of Fame plaque

A few weeks ago I was reading a column by Chicago-based sportswriter Rick Telander, who as a longtime member of the Baseball Writers Association of America (BBWAA) gets a Hall of Fame vote every year.  This was his (presumably) annual column about his vote.  One of the benefits of being a BBWAA member is that every year you get an easy column by just writing about your ballot.

Telander’s column is a bit of a ramble.  He whines about steroids, decides he’s getting old, and also mentions the “grandeur” of the Hall.  He writes:

When you go to Cooperstown, there is not a player enshrined (other than maybe Rabbit Maranville) who doesn’t blow your socks off.

There it is again.  Somebody who doesn’t understand why Rabbit Maranville is enshrined in Cooperstown.

It’s not like Telander’s the only one.  I remember reading an article on the Hall of Fame back in 1989 by Steve Wulf, then writing for Sports Illustrated.  While leading up to a paragraph about Abner Graves (!), Wulf wrote:

Some are more deserving than others, but once you walk into the Hall of Fame Gallery—the wing that holds the famous bronze plaques—you know you are in a place of worship, and you could never begrudge a man his place there. You might wish that Phil Rizzuto, Richie Ashburn, Leo Durocher, Roger Maris, Nellie Fox, Bill Mazeroski, Ron Santo, etc., could be there too, but you wouldn’t wish to unscrew Rabbit Maranville’s plaque to make room for another, even if Maranville did hit just .258 lifetime.

Besides, there’s no sense in trying to read the minds of the baseball writers who vote for the Hall of Fame candidates (in the first election, in 1936, 11 of them left Ruth off their ballots). And there’s no benefit in chastising the veterans’ committee, which, in trying to undo past injustices, has perhaps relaxed the standards a bit; Jake Beckley may not be a household name, but that’s not to say his name doesn’t belong here. No, the overwhelming feeling you get in that splendid room is one of gratitude. Thanks, fellas, for filling up the afternoons and evenings of so many, for bringing them to their feet, for the memories.

The story was accompanied by a picture of Maranville’s plaque.  I don’t remember the caption under the photo, but I am fairly sure it was something along the lines of “he only hit .258 and shouldn’t really be in the Hall, but don’t sweat it”.

Re-reading that passage, I think it’s interesting that of Wulf’s list of players “you might wish” would also be enshrined, all of them have now been elected except for Maris and Santo.  (Poor Santo.  A quarter-century of being the woulda-coulda-shoulda guy when it comes to the Hall.)

The thing that kills me, though, is that he says that while Jake Beckley “may not be a household name” that doesn’t mean he doesn’t belong in the Hall, even though he mentions Beckley while mildly criticizing the Veterans Committee.  He says that and then talks about Maranville as something of a lesser pick than Beckley, despite the fact that Maranville wasn’t a VC pick — he was elected by the BBWAA.  It’s obvious that Wulf doesn’t know anything about Maranville either, other than his .258 career batting average.

Wulf was only three years old when Maranville was elected to the Hall (in 1954).  Still, a little research wouldn’t have hurt any.  Of course today finding out about past players is much easier than it was in 1989, so Telander has even less of an excuse.  The thing is, though, Maranville still comes up on lists of “least deserving” or “not deserving” Hall of Famers, even among people who follow the sport fairly closely.  At first glance he looks like a guy who didn’t hit for average, had little power, and just hung around a long time.  All of that is true, and yet…

Maranville debuted in the majors in 1912, for the Boston Braves.  He was 20 years old and appeared in 26 games that season.  In 1913, he became the everyday shortstop for the Braves, batting .247 in 143 games, with two homers.  His OPS+ that season was 83, right around his career average (82).  Not impressive, at first glance…but then you realize that in 1913, at the age of 21 and playing his first full season in the major leagues, Maranville finished third in the MVP voting, just ahead of the great Christy Mathewson (who won 25 games that year with a 2.06 ERA).  So how does a guy batting .247 with no power finish so high in the MVP voting?

Well, he was a great defensive shortstop, and a great defensive shortstop can be tremendously valuable, especially if he can hit just a little (and it’s arguable that such a player had more value in the Dead Ball era than at any other time in baseball history).  This was the first of several years in which Maranville fared very well in the MVP voting without obvious offensive numbers to justify it.  That in itself probably is a good indication of just how good a fielder Maranville was.

Another indication, of course, is just how long a career he had.  Maranville had a 23-year career in the majors, playing a total of 2670 games, all but four of which were as a middle infielder (80% of those appearances came as a shortstop).  Maranville held the record for chances for a shortstop for decades and still holds the record for putouts by a shortstop.  At age 41, Maranville batted .218 in 143 games, with no homers (OPS+ of 60)…and finished in a tie for 12th in the MVP voting, ahead of Frankie Frisch (who batted .303 that year with an OPS+ of 111).

Maranville was the runner-up in the MVP voting in 1914 to his middle infield partner, Johnny Evers, as the “Miracle Braves” won the pennant and swept the World Series.  Maranville batted cleanup on that team.  He also finished seventh in the voting in 1924 (OPS+ of 86) and had two other top-10 finishes.

From 1915 through 1923, there was no MVP award for the National League.  It just so happens that Maranville’s seven best offensive seasons (in terms of OPS+) came during that stretch.  I think it’s likely that he would have finished in the top 10 in the MVP voting (if not the top 5) in most, if not all, of those seasons.  If you add, say, five top 10 and two Top 20  finishes (which is probably a bit conservative) to his already impressive MVP history, you would have a player who in his career compiled ten seasons in which he finished in the Top 10 of the MVP voting and another five seasons in the Top 20.

I compared that to some of the players on his “most similar batters” list, courtesy of Baseball-Reference.com.  Ozzie Smith finished second in the ’87 MVP voting (he probably should have won it; that was a weird year) and had three other Top 20 finishes.  Luis Aparacio had two top 10 finishes and four other finishes in the top 20.  Like Smith and Maranville, Aparacio was also an MVP runner-up, in 1959.

Tangent:  the top of the 1959 AL MVP vote mirrored the top of the 1914 NL MVP vote.  For both, the top three finishers played for the pennant winner, and the order was second baseman (Nellie Fox/Evers), shortstop (Aparicio/Maranville), and pitcher (Early Wynn/”Seattle Bill” James).  Also, the fourth place finisher both times was an outfielder.  The 1959 outfielder was Rocky Colavito, who played in 1841 career games.  The 1914 outfielder was George Burns, who played in 1853 career games.

Next on Maranville’s most-similar list is Omar Vizquel, who has one Top 20 MVP finish in his entire career.  Part of why I’m posting about Maranville is that I suspect Maranville’s name is going to pop up more and more as people continue discussing the Hall of Fame candidacy of Vizquel.  They are going to be compared, and my hope is that folks are able to start understanding Maranville’s career a little better.

Nellie Fox follows Vizquel on the comp list, and here finally we have a player who shares Maranville’s propensity for getting MVP votes.  Fox finished in the top 10 six times (as mentioned above, winning in 1959) and had three other Top 20 finishes.  Fox was elected by the Veterans Committee after narrowly missing election by the BBWAA; really, the writers should have elected him.  He’s not as big a miss by them as Arky Vaughan or Johnny Mize, but it was still a mistake.

One other player on the similar-list to note:  Dave Concepcion had two Top 10 MVP finishes and another in the Top 20.

I realize that the MVP voting is not the end-all and be-all.  There is a danger that you can compound a mistake by referencing an error of the past (i.e. the 1987 AL MVP vote, which still haunts Alan Trammell).  Still, when you have a player whose statistical batting line does not immediately suggest greatness, it’s worth it to check the historical record.  In the case of Maranville, in his time he was obviously considered to be something special.  Generally speaking, the MVP voting tends to favor offensive-minded players (especially HR-RBI guys).  This is why a comparison to Maranville’s peers is appropriate; I think most people consider Ozzie Smith to have been a great player, but other than one season he never did very well in the MVP race.  Yet despite the historical tendency by MVP voters to not recognize defensive specialists, Maranville still did well.

Of course, there was another thing about him that probably is reflected in his MVP voting — he was famous, for he was a great player who also happened to be a clown of the highest order.

There are many, many Maranville stories, and a lot of them are actually true.  If you needed a player to wax another player’s bat with soap, or swallow a goldfish, or jump into a hotel pool fully clothed, or offer a pair of eyeglasses to an umpire after a bad call, Maranville was your man.  If you needed a player to go drinking with Jim Thorpe, and swing through tree branches screeching like Tarzan, or to be dangled outside the 15th floor of a Manhattan hotel by Thorpe (with one arm), Maranville was your man.  If you needed a player to paint iodine streaks on a hapless ump, or to throw buckets of ice at fellow train passengers (which he did as a player-manager), or trick a teammate into thinking he had accidentally killed him, Maranville was your man.

Maranville once got a hit off Carl Mays by making him laugh so hard he couldn’t maintain his control.  He was in the dugout during the infamous Babe Herman-three men on third base play; when Wilbert Robinson asked Maranville what had happened, Maranville said, “There’s three men on third and if they hang on long enough I’ll go down and make a quartet out of it.”

Once during a pitcher-vs.-batter fight, Maranville distracted everyone, including the fans, by going into the first base coach’s box during the fracas and pantomiming a fight against himself, pretending to knock himself out.  (Judge Landis thanked him later for that one.)  Entertaining the crowd during a slow part of the game with various pantomime activities was one of his specialties.

When Maranville caught a popup, he usually caught it by holding his glove open at his navel, allowing the ball to strike him in the chest, and having it roll down his shirt into his glove.  He called it his “vest pocket catch”.

Bill James (not the Boston Braves hurler), in his New Historical Baseball Abstract, refers to Maranville having a “Marx Brothers life”, and I think there’s a lot of truth to that.  He was probably on Chico’s level, but definitely ahead of Zeppo.

Maranville was elected by the BBWAA in 1954, shortly after his death.  The fact he had recently died had little to no impact on his election; he had risen in the balloting gradually over the preceding decade, finishing tenth in 1949, ninth in 1950 and 1951, seventh in 1952, and fifth in 1953.  Two players were elected in 1953, meaning that Maranville was in the top three of those on the ballot who had not been elected, along with Bill Dickey and Bill Terry.  All three of those players were elected in 1954.  Maranville actually jumped ahead of Dickey and Terry in the voting to finish first overall that year.  Keep in mind that the Hall had only been around for a few years and there were many outstanding players on the ballot.  Nineteen of the top 20 vote-getters from 1954 are now in the Hall (the exception is Hank Gowdy).

After his career in organized baseball was over Maranville helped run youth baseball programs in Detroit and New York.  One of the kids he taught was Whitey Ford.

Anyway, to sum up:  Maranville wasn’t a great hitter, but he was a great player.  His specialty was in preventing runs as opposed to producing them, and this was recognized by his contemporaries.  He was considered something of a clutch hitter (although I tend to find most claims of being “clutch” not involving George Brett to be somewhat dubious).  He had an incredibly long career, and he was enormously popular.  Thinking of him as just being a .258 hitter is small-minded, to say the least.

I’m not saying he was the greatest player who ever lived.  All I’m saying is that if you’re a writer and you’re trying to reference a player who doesn’t belong in the Hall, Maranville is not the right guy to name.  Look, you want suggestions?  Try Chick Hafey or George Kelly, or Rube Marquard if you need a pitcher (don’t get him confused with Rube Waddell, though).  You’ll be safe criticizing those selections — unless a member of one of their families is reading your column.

Just leave Maranville’s plaque alone…