CEMETERY WINS ABOVE REPLACEMENT, Vol. 7
Kansas, Connecticut, Arkansas, Virginia, and South Carolina
We’re smack-dab in the middle of our rambling survey of baseball cemeteries, tallying the numbers to the one state, the one graveyard, to rule them all with the most dead player value. Sounds cold, but we’re really here to remember some guys.
Revisit the introduction for method/madness.
Today’s communiqué: one-stop Kansas, highs and lows in Connecticut, the Skeeters of Arkansas, a famous cemetery in Virginia, and a South Cackalacky road trip.
But first, let’s get lucky. From Bull Durham, you know the scene.
”You still don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? Get the hell out of here.”
You get out of here, Crash, you’re drunk. But I know what you are talking about. You’re talking about luck. You’re talking about BABIP. OK, maybe you didn’t know it at the time, but that’s the gist.
Crash’s dismissive reaction to Nuke’s life-altering news is not out of jealousy. He’s trying to impart one more lesson. While Nuke has talent, lots of it, success or failure in baseball often comes down to razor thin margins. And inside those teeny tiny margins is luck. One more gork and you’re not in Durham, you’re in the majors. Add an occasional duck snort and you’re probably an All-Star. Two more Texas Leaguers a week and you’re a goddamn Hall of Famer. It’s the difference between Chris Johnson and Chipper Jones.
Can a player cultivate that kind of luck? Can the Baseball Gods be cajoled to bestow their blessings in a certain direction?
Can luck even be measured? It’s 2023. Of course it can.
Batting Average on Balls In Play (BABIP) is a great way to quantify how lucky, or unlucky, a hitter is. Technically, it’s a player’s batting average excluding walks, home runs, and strikeouts. In other words, it shows how good you are at getting on base when you make the defense play defense.
BABIP doesn’t care if those balls are 110 mph rockets, or if they’re pitching wedge bloopers. An out is an out and a ball on the grass is not. The accepted league average for BABIP is .300, in the broadest generalizing kind of way.
Now, it follows that players who hit the ball hard (Exit Velocity) more often (Hard Hit Rate) will have a higher BABIP. Physics and all. Two examples:
Byron Buxton is having one of his worst offensive years of his career. His BABIP is just .249, yet his hard hit percentage and average exit velocity are both ABOVE his career average. That's weird, right? Sure sounds like bad luck. Too many balls hit right at-‘em.
Brandon Marsh is having a career year (125 OPS+). He leads the league in BABIP at .410. His hard hit rate is up compared to his career average, but he’s clearly hittin’ ‘em where they ain’t. Luck has been on his side.
So is BABIP a skill for some players? Speed plays a part. Out running the ball to first for infield hits is certainly a skill. Other outliers, like Luis Arraez (not fast, doesn’t hit the ball hard, but is still chasing a .400 batting average), break the mold in ways that are harder to explain. But for most players, over a full season, the law of averages (and the proverbial Baseball Gods) agree: BABIP is constant. Buxton will be better. Marsh will come back down to earth. We’ll see what happens, but, as they say, the numbers don’t lie. They don’t even care.
Researching this week’s cemetery stops is what got me thinking about Crash, BABIP, and the callous nature of luck.
Kansas <insert “Dust in the Wind” and/or “Carry on Wayward Son” reference here>. The state’s most prolific baseball practitioner is Hall of Famer Fred “Cap” Clarke (68 WAR, St. Mary Cemetery, Winfield). If you are driving from a Wichita Wind Surge game to an Oklahoma City Dodgers game, visiting Fred is but a 25 mile detour. Starting in 1894, Clarke played left field for twenty-plus seasons, compiling gaudy offensive numbers. He was fifth all-time in hits when he stopped playing full-time (1911). The Pittsburgh Pirates leaderboards include Clarke in the top ten in hits, runs, triples, stolen bases, & sacrifices. He’s also Pittsburgh’s winningest manager at 1422-969 over sixteen seasons. After his playing & coaching days, Clarke survived a boating accident that left him in the water for three hours, a hunting mishap where his cap deflected buck shot from a fellow hunter, and a gas furnace explosion! Clarke attributed his career longevity to fate.
"Life is a funny game. And a little thing, almost a trifle, may make a splash in your affairs so big that the ripples from it will be felt as long as you live."That’s a healthy perspective, Cap, you lucky(?) sonofabitch.
To Connecticut we go. Mild-mannered Roger Connor (84.3 WAR, Old St. Joseph Cemetery, Waterbury) accumulated 2,467 hits, 1,002 walks, and a 153 OPS+ in in an eighteen-year Hall of Fame career that ended in 1897. As Connecticut’s WAR kingpin, he seems well worth a visit since he was also baseball’s home run leader (with 183), until Babe Ruth came along. At 6-3, 220 pounds (in the 1800s), he was probably the inspiration for the New York Gothams to change their name to the Giants.
Drive down to the coast for our next stop: teammate of Conner and Hall of Famer catcher “Orator Jim” O’Rourke (52.2 WAR, St. Michael Cemetery, Stratford). He had a 134 OPS+ in his twenty-two year career, not including a one-game appearance in a 1904 New York Giants pennant-clinching game… at age 53! He caught all nine innings and went 1 for 4.
While you’re here, stop by another grave and consider the life of Angel Echevarria (-.9 WAR, St. Michael Cemetery, Stratford). A Bridgeport high school product (hit .573 his senior year), Echevarria became Rutgers’ all-time leader in home runs and RBIs as a college junior. Drafted by the 1992 expansion Colorado Rockies, the 1B/OF prospect found success in the minors, but his path to playing time was blocked by a ‘90s Colorado Rockies lineup cluttered with similarly profiled sluggers. He was heavily recruited by ownership to join the replacement players during the 1994-1995 strike. He played in one of two replacement games when the settlement was reached. As a result, the players union barred him from membership. His -2.3 defensive WAR limited him to just 600 plate appearances in seven MLB seasons. He did have a late-career renaissance with Japan’s Nippon-Ham Fighters, hitting 47 home runs in 2003-2004. Upon retirement, Echevarria opened a baseball school in Norwalk in 2013. “It’s about more than just baseball,” he said. “That’s the vehicle, but our goal is to instill a sense of optimism in children and inspire them to develop positive self-worth.” He died from a fall in his home in February of 2020 at 48 years old. His career .308 BABIP was league average, but in life, I’d say he had some fucking terrible luck.
Let’s lighten things up by heading to Arkansas. That seems like a sentence no one has ever typed before. Arkansas impresses with three Hall of Famers you can visit, if you’re willing to put in some miles.
Depart from Memphis, TN, and take I-555 West to US 49, where George Kell (37.7 WAR, Swifton Cemetery, Swifton) awaits. From 1944 to 1957, Kell was a perennial all-star and MVP candidate as a third baseman. As a Detroit Tigers broadcaster, he informed and entertained for 37 years. I am required to inform you that George’s brother, Everett “Skeeter” Kell (-.8 WAR), was a second baseman for one season (1952) and is buried in the same cemetery.
Plug Little Rock into the GPS and drive ninety minutes to find Bill “The Man Nobody Knew” Dickey (56.5 WAR, Roselawn Memorial Park, Little Rock). Dickey was a clutch-hitting catcher for seventeen seasons, ten of those with All-Star appearances, seven of them ending with a World Series ring, all with one team. Unsurprisingly, the New York Yankees logo gilds his headstone. He played himself in the films The Pride of the Yankees (1942) and The Stratton Story (1949).
Bill’s brother George Dickey (-1.7 WAR) was also a catcher and is also buried at Roselawn. George hung around for six seasons despite a 54 career OPS+. The double-A Arkansas Travelers stadium, Dickey-Stephens Park in North Little Rock, is named after the brothers. You’ve made it to the point of this paragraph: “My Beloved Skeeter” adorns George’s grave marker.
If you’re hellbent on a SKEETER completist jag, I’m here for you. James “Skeeter” Webb (-4.3 WAR, Magnolia Cemetery, Meridian, MS) is about five hours away. Keep going East for Lamar “Skeeter” Newsome (1.2 WAR, Parkhill Cemetery, Columbus, GA).
Skeeter(s) Scalzi, Shelton, & Bigbee are a much longer trip/conversation.
In 2020, the Sugarland (Texas) Skeeters of the indie Atlantic League became the Houston Astros triple-A affiliate, changing their name to the Space Cowboys a year later. RIP Swatson, the furry green Skeeter mascot.
I’m pert-near skeetered-out, but feel pretty good about it.
Back to Arkansas for one more leg on our Hall of Famers trek. From Little Rock, head southeast toward Shreveport, LA, to call upon Travis “Stonewall” Jackson (44.2 WAR, Waldo Cemetery, Waldo). Jackson played his whole career as the New York Giants shortstop through four pennants and one World Series championship. That pennant total seems low when you consider that Jackson played with fellow future Hall of Famers at 1B (George Kelly and Bill Terry), 2B (Frankie Frisch and Rogers Hornsby), 3B (Freddie Lindstrom), RF (Ross Young and Mel Ott), CF (Hack Wilson), and pitcher (Rube Marquard and Carl Hubbell). In 1982, the Hall mustered their complete set of 1920s Giants infielders, inducting Jackson at age 78. Research shows the Jackson family tree to be Skeeter-less.
While you’re in Waldo, you better go ahead and visit these two pitchers: Lynwood “Schoolboy” Rowe (42.5 WAR, Arlington Memorial Park, El Dorado) and Lonnie “The Arkansas Hummingbird” Warneke (45.8 WAR, Owley Cemetery, Mount Ida). In one of the most notable events involving two Arkansawyers until the Clinton Administration, Rowe and Warneke faced each other in games one and five of the 1935 World Series. Hummingbird beat Schoolboy in both matchups for the Cubs, but Detroit swept the other four games.
That’s 226.7 dead player WAR in 350 miles. Well done, The Natural State! (Eddie “The Natural” Waitkus, inspiration for the novel and film, is buried in Massachusetts. We’ll get to him.)
The most famous cemetery in the US is probably Arlington National in Virginia. It hosts sixteen buried ballplayers, not many of the household name variety. Nonetheless, we’re visiting Luzerne “Lu” Blue (36.6 WAR), a burly first baseman for the 1920s Detroit Tigers. Unverifiable stories persist that he hit two grand slams in one minor league game in 1917, one lefty, one righty. When in doubt, print the legend, and so we shall.
Also buried in Arlington is the mythical “Founder of Baseball” Abner Doubleday, along with Presidents William Howard Taft (who threw out the maiden ceremonial first pitch in 1910) and John F. Kennedy.
It’s a three hour drive south to see the Virginia WAR leader, turn of the century pitcher Al “The Curveless Wonder” Orth (51.3 WAR, Springhill Cemetery, Lynchburg). He lasted fifteen seasons through pinpoint control and a “slow ball,” accumulating 324 complete games and a 3.37 ERA. His signature pitch elicited an accusatory poem from W.A. Phelon, “glistening ball… but little speed, and scarce a curve at all.”
Like Arkansas, South Carolina’s WARpC visitation requires a road trip.
From Greenville, drive 13 miles east to find the resting place of solid journeyman Alvin “The Swamp Fox” Dark (43.8 WAR, Robinson Memorial Gardens, Easley). We have many miles ahead of us, so we’ll be quick: 1948 Rookie of the year, played 14 seasons, over 2000 hits. Managed both the Kansas City Athletic and the Oakland Athletics (World Series in 1974). Dark often quoted scripture, but also butted heads with notorious A’s owner Charlie Finley. His biography looks completely cromulent.
Back to Greenville, where the grave of “Shoeless Joe” Jackson (62.2 WAR, Woodlawn Memorial Park, Greenville) is certainly a must-stop, along with the Shoeless Joe Jackson Museum. It’s right across the street from the MiLB Greenville Drive stadium. I won’t indulge in Shoeless Joe’s career details. You’ve seen Eight Men Out (1988). The continuing scholarship on the 1919 Black Sox renders the film dated, but still a fun watch.
Using Baseball Reference’s Stathead tool, it’s pretty easy to calculate career BABIP. As you can see, Shoeless Joe is right at the top.
Granted, these are all-time greats, but one has to ask: Was Shoeless Joe lucky? On balls in play, most assuredly. Off the field, not so much.
Side note: If you lower the minimum number of plate appearances to 1,000, first place in career BABIP belongs to… Brandon Marsh. Maybe BABIP is actually a skill and not just luck? Maybe Marsh’s penchant for playing baseball soaking wet gets credit? Maybe a player is just different… and we know not why. It doesn’t stop us from looking.
Back to our road trip and we’re on the way to find Hall of Fame pitcher Gaylord Perry (90 WAR, Oakland Cemetery, Gaffney) and his grave/treestone. This probably goes in the “Baseball was different then” category, but in Perry’s 1969-1970 seasons with the Giants, he led MLB with 654 innings pitched and 49 complete games. FORTY-NINE. Adam Wainwright leads active MLB pitchers with 28 complete games in his 18-year career. Pitcher usage ain’t what it used to be (obv.), but this still illustrates why Perry is an inner circle Hall of Famer. He is sixth all-time in innings pitched, eighth in strikeouts. He won a second Cy Young Award at age 39. And he still won’t admit to throwing a spitball. Of Perry’s hitting acumen or lack thereof, fellow eternal SC resident Alvin Dark said, “They’ll put a man on the moon before he hits a home run.” On July 20, 1969, just minutes after Apollo 11 landed on said moon, Perry hit his first career home run in his eighth MLB season. So technically, Dark was correct.
Our next cemetery destination is in Pageland, SC, about two hours away, but we gotta go through Charlotte, NC, so a stop-over for lunch or a triple-A Charlotte Knights game is warranted.
Once back on the road, we’re off to see one of my favorites, four-time All-Star pitcher Van Lingle Mungo (32.9 WAR, First Baptist Church Cemetery, Pageland). He was a memorable personality (yes, that’s code for “heavy drinker”) made even more so by the Dave Frishberg song that shares his name. You can bet your ass there’s a future newsletter there.
It’s another 45 minutes south to our final Carolina stop: pitcher Buck “Bobo” Newsom (47.8 WAR, Magnolia Cemetery, Hartsville), a high school rival of Mr. Mungo. He defined the journeyman workhorse pitcher of his era (1934-1953): 600 games, 3,800 innings for nine different teams.
Pitcher wins, as a statistical barometer of quality, is maybe the cruelest number in baseball. Newsome was often the better pitcher on a bad team. His career 107 ERA+ (seven percent better than the average) doesn’t correlate with his losing record (211-222). Newsom is one of only two pitchers to win 200 games, but lose more. Unlucky, all the way to the record books.
That brings us back to Crash Davis, unknowing analytics nerd, sabermetrician before his time.
Players that get hits on weak contact are commensurate with players that make outs with line drives: they know one offsets the other equally, eventually. Doesn’t make it less painful when you do everything right, but your team still loses. That’s baseball and why it fascinates endlessly.
“Regression To The Mean”, however, always wins. In Vegas, it’s the house. In baseball, it’s your true talent. Over a long 162 game season, over a long career, your average is your average is your average.
In life, as in baseball, some people are just lucky. Or do they know how to play the game? If we’re talking slot machines, that’s dumb luck. Poker players, on the other hand, take advantage when good cards come their way. That’s skill. Preparation plus luck equals success, right? Professional baseball players fall into the later category. Good ones take the luck they are granted and make the most out of it.
And this is what Crash is saying to LaLoosh. You’re lucky. Make the most of it. Fickle is the only color that luck comes in. Don’t take it for granted. Enjoy it while it shines, Meat.
Meat!