The Tao of Fred McGriff

Dear Mr. McGriff,

First off, if you're reading this, let me just step back and say: Awesome. But, if you're reading this on a laptop with a flashlight under the covers in bed next to your wife, let me just step back and say: You are not seven years old. Turn off the laptop and make love to your wife.

Second, I think I owe you an apology. I started writing The Tao of Fred McGriff with the intention of posting daily for 99 days. But frankly, I don't think I have 99 things to say about you. Yes, you were a great hitter. Yes, you have a World Series ring. Yes, you'll get my vote for the Hall of Fame (though I technically don't have a vote to give. Let's just say I'm with you in spirit). Yes, you hit a ridiculous amount of home runs in an era when other feared sluggers were juiced. And yes, you had a failed TV pilot that I want to see.

If you've read this blog in the past, you know I like expounding on the intricacies of baseball and baseball cards ad nauseam. But 99 things is a lot. I'm not complaining, I'm just giving up.


Let's sum up The Tao of Fred McGriff:

1. Revel in your underratedness.
2. When faced with a silly nickname, accept it and make it your own.
3. If you make a TV pilot that someone might describe as "Major League meets Blade," prepare for it to end up on YouTube.
4. Each of us is worthy of a cult following.
5. Consistency should be rewarded.
6. Whatever it is, it's worth the wait.
7. Don't stress out about face fat. You too will end up with a turkey wattle.
8. Making a photo frame that's magnetic and that looks like a plaque in the Hall of Fame is not only a great gift, but probably the closest many of us will ever get to the real thing.
9. Most of us haven't realized it yet, but we all owe a great deal to Tom Emanski.

The Tao of Fred McGriff - Day 12

One of the basic tenets of the Tao of McGriff... Be consistent. Example: Fred McGriff performed in post-season play the same way he did during the regular season: consistently well. Or, I consistently get my hopes up, only for it to result in heartbreak.

Staying up late to watch the Red Sox crush the will of the Anaheim of Los Angeles of Interstate 5 of California Angels has given me ample time to contemplate Vlad Guerrero and the importance of post-season performance in the eyes of Hall of Fame voters.

For all that has been said about Guerrero's post-season drought, I am completely convinced that, when he is first eligible for the Hall of Fame, he will be elected with one of the highest vote percentages in recent memory. I'm thinking in the neighborhood of 92-94% on the first ballot.

I'm not entirely convinced that post-season exploits should weigh that much in the mind of the voter. Sure, it will help McGriff's case that his career postseason batting average is over .300 and he's socked 10 post-season home runs. Post-season success will also help someone like Curt Schilling. His performance with the Diamondbacks in 2001 and with the Red Sox in 2004 and 2007 will bolster his resume in the eyes of the HOF voters.

But really if there's anything that should push Schilling into the Hall, it's his character; his playing through pain in clutch situations. I, for one, don't think I could walk around with a tendon stapled to my ankle, let alone pitch. (Well, I guess I could if I was allowed to bring a folding chair to the mound and pitch to Little Leaguers. And I was high on morphine.)

The Tao of Fred McGriff - Day 11

I've noticed lately that as they age, the one really noticeable place people gain weight is in the face. Even athletes, whose job it is to stay in impeccable shape. Just look at Tony Perez's Super Veterans card in 1983 Topps; he almost looks like two different people.

I bring this up because the more I look back through all these cards of Fred McGriff, the more it appears that he didn't gain face weight. Can that be right? His helmet looked comically oversized even late into his career (whereas someone like Tony Gwynn filled out under his helmet).

It's always shocking when you see an old retired athlete (take Larry Bird for example), because usually the first thing you think of is Hey, he really let himself go. And yet, take a look at this photo from a dinner in 2007. McGriff doesn't look like Rickey Henderson, but he also doesn't look like he stopped working out occasionally.

Anyway, I didn't really want to talk about face fat. I wanted to talk about good old National Packtime. Take a look at the lineup of this little set from 1995:

Alex Rodriguez
Barry Bonds
Cal Ripken
Ken Griffey Jr.
Tony Gwynn
Frank Thomas
Mike Piazza
Will Clark
Juan Gonzalez
Jeff Bagwell
Kenny Lofton
Fred McGriff
Deion Sanders
Matt Williams
Jose Canseco
Bob Hamelin
Tim Salmon
Raul Mondesi

You know, for all the future Hall of Famers and on-the-cusp guys in the set, the guy I was most excited by was Raul Mondesi. (You want to read something interesting? Read Mondesi's wikipedia page.) I still feel like Mondesi could, if he wanted to, get back into playing shape and make an impact on a team like Pittsburgh or Seattle. And I bet that with a few rigorous workouts, that face fat will leather itself taut. (Scroll down to the bottom of this page to see what Mondesi looks like now.)

The Tao of Fred McGriff - Day 10

Back in 2003, the popular rumor in Boston was that the Red Sox, White Sox, and Rangers were going to put together a three-team trade that would send Manny Ramirez to Texas, Nomar Garciaparra to Chicago, and Magglio Ordonez and Alex Rodriguez to Boston. Nobody knows for sure what would've happened had that trade gone through, but for a minute or two there I could see A-Rod and Ordonez in Sox uniforms.

There have been other players whom I thought would end up on the Sox one way or another (Todd Helton is at the top of that list), but one guy I never saw on the Red Sox was Fred McGriff. Maybe it's because I was raised on the Lou Gorman-led Sox ("What would we do with Willie McGee?"), but the Sox already had Mo Vaughn at first. What would we have done with Fred McGriff?

My grandfather grew up in a small town in South Dakota. His sisters were the switchboard operators for the town, and his father the postman and local semi-pro baseball team manager. He likes to tell the story of how, towards the end of one season, his father lured a star pitcher away from a rival team. And then, instead of pitching him in the big games that followed, kept him on the bench. When asked why he would do that, my grandfather laughs and says that his dad had the luxury of not using the star pitcher--as long as he wasn't pitching for the other team.

And when the A-Rod and Ordonez trades fell through, what did the Yankees do? Did they say "Why do we need A-Rod when we already have Derek Jeter?"

This is one of those little things that we with the Lou Gorman mindset never figure out: having Mo Vaughn at first and Fred McGriff, be it at DH or lounging on the bench, perhaps could've pushed the Sox closer to the pennant. Instead we defensively scoff at even considering the possibility.

The Tao of Fred McGriff - Day 9

This afternoon I sat by the side of the road, waiting for the crosstown bus. I sat there for what seemed like forever, but was probably no longer than 20 minutes. I finally got so impatient that I crouched next to the bus stop sign, counting the seconds between a car appearing around the bend and it passing me. I also got to thinking... If I can't hardly wait 20 minutes for the bus, what's it like to wait six years from the time you retire to when you first become eligible for the Hall of Fame?

What's it like, the anticipation? Part of me thinks 'waiting for the bus' is a good analogy here. Sometimes it's on time, sometimes you have to wait a little longer, and sometimes it never comes at all.

A lot can happen in six years. Whole lives can change (but there's the Hall of Fame ballot announcement date, circled with permanent marker on the calendar in the back of your mind). For some guys, it's a given that the Hall will call (hey, that rhymes). Guys like Rickey Henderson, Greg Maddux, Craig Biggio--these guys don't have to worry.

But is too much emphasis placed on being an inductee in the first year of eligibility? It took Duke Snider eleven years of voting to make the Hall of Fame (first appeared in 1970, inducted in 1980), Joe Cronin ten years (1947-1956), Don Drysdale ten years (1975-1984), and Bob Lemon 13 years (1964-1976). And those players are just four examples. There are plenty of others.

It's guys like Jim Rice, David Concepcion, and Dale Murphy who get their hopes up, only to have them crushed year after year. And I guess I'll probably have to add Fred McGriff's name to that list in a few years. McGriff becomes eligible next year (for 2010 enshrinement), and while I'll be pulling for him, these days 493 career home runs don't seem to be enough to hang your legacy on.

The Tao of Fred McGriff - Day 8

From Fred McGriff's entry on wikipedia.org:

"In 2000, the production company Rocco's Jobbers produced a pilot for a television series based loosely on McGriff and the "Crime Dog" nickname. The concept of the series revolved around a professional baseball player who moonlighted as a crime-fighting vigilante named "The Crime Dog". The project was a major creative and financial disaster, failing to get picked up by any networks. It is believed that McGriff himself has the only surviving copy of the pilot episode, which was given to him by his friend and former teammate, David Wells. On casting sheets used to promote the project, the comedy-action series was described as "Major League meets Blade", referencing two successful movie franchises. Kirk Jones, who played the titular character in Blade: The Series in 2005, was cast as The Crime Dog in the pilot.

McGriff has appeared in commercials for Tom Emanski Baseball Training videos on ESPN since 1991, which are still aired to this day on the network (one of television's longest running commercials ever). Because of the frequency and longevity of the Emanski commercials, ESPN analyst Kenny Mayne coined a second, less used nickname for McGriff, "Baseball Superstar", as he was referenced in the commercials as "Baseball Superstar Fred McGriff."

That's a lot to digest, but one thing's for certain: my admiration of the man just grew ten-fold. Like every other sports fan trawling late-night ESPN for west coast scores, I was aware of the Emanski commercials where McGriff walks stiffly across the diamond while juvenile automatons field an endless series of soul-crushing grounders.

I was not, however, aware of the failed pilot. I need to see that show. Should I make it my goal to a) get McGriff to acknowledge the existence of The Baseball Card Blog and b) get him to send me a copy of the tape?

Um, yes. Definitely.

The Tao of Fred McGriff - Day 7

Contrary to what Donruss would want you to believe, Fred McGriff never won an MVP award. Did he ever deserve one? No, probably not.

But so what? Teams need players like McGriff to be successful. In a similar vein, someone recently said that teams wouldn't win with a whole roster of Dustin Pedroias. Why not? The guy has over 200 hits, 100 runs, he hits for average, he's a good fielder... what's not to like? Is it because he's short? Scrappy? Prematurely bald? Is it because he does that weird thing with his mouth and eyes before every swing? The same could be said for Fred McGriff. Could a team win with a roster of Fred McGriffs? Who wouldn't want a bunch of guys consistently smacking 35 homers, driving in runs and hitting for average?

Though until recently Pedroia had been putting together an MVP-like season, guys like Pedroia and McGriff aren't really MVP-caliber players. They're complementary guys. They're guys who make a lineup formidable. And though they're not a given lineup's heavy hitter, they're guys pitchers don't want to face in any situation.

They're like Thursday night. It's not quite Friday, but you're almost there.

The Tao of Fred McGriff - Day 6

I never saw Fred McGriff play in person. And yet, here he is in Fenway Park circa 1989-1990. A friend of mine used to have tickets about 20 rows behind home plate and I remember going to a number of games around that time.

Nor did I ever really watch games that McGriff played in. My family, like everybody else who got cable, got all the Braves games on TBS. But that didn't mean I watched them. So then here's my question: Can I legitimately call McGriff my favorite player if I a) never saw him play in person and b) never made much of an effort to catch his games on TV? I think I'm safe.

McGriff fit what I was looking for in a baseball hero. To me, he was obscure. And if you know anything about my values system, obscurity ranks very high. Oh sure, he wasn't a face in the crowd to fans of the game. But ask a random person on the street who McGriff was and I'd bet nine out of ten wouldn't know. And yet, here's the funny thing: if McGriff had spent his career in a baseball mecca like Boston or New York, I'm completely convinced that his national presence would've rivaled that of Boggs, Mattingly or any other of his more famous contemporaries.

The Tao of Fred McGriff - Day 5

A job I've always enjoyed is planning. In college I did the advertising and promotional planning for my school's campus movie theater, and one of my responsibilities at my old job was media planning for a variety of the firm's clients (media planning refers to deciding where and when an ad will run). In my new job I'll be doing more of the same, which is fine by me. There's just something about planning an event and then sitting back and watching it be a success that is exciting to me. I guess I've got a behind-the-scenes streak.

You could make an argument that McGriff's career was all about excelling behind the scenes. Before winning the 1995 World Series as part of the Atlanta Braves, McGriff's defining achievement came in 1990, when he was traded by the Blue Jays to the Padres (with Tony Fernandez) for Joe Carter and Roberto Alomar. That was, without a doubt, one of the premier trades (if not the trade) of the early Nineties. And it wouldn't have happened without Fred McGriff.

The Tao of Fred McGriff - Day 4

Fred McGriff was selected by the Yankees as the last pick in the 9th round of the 1981 June draft, fresh out of high school and then as soon as he started to get his feet wet BLAM! Traded to the Blue Jays with Dave Collins and Mike Morgan for Dale Murray and Tom Dodd. Drafted one summer, traded the end of the next year. That's either a major confidence booster (that another team would want him) or a huge letdown (the most storied team in the sport gave up on him enough to throw him in on a minor trade).

As fans it's exciting to welcome new players onto our favorite teams, but what about how the players themselves feel? It's no wonder that many reiterate to the media that it's just a business and this is the way this business works. Because what are the alternatives? You can pout, go AWOL, or grit your teeth, say goodbye to your friends and pack your suitcase for the next town.

I'm a Red Sox fan, but it's not hard to see why Brian Giles, though marooned on a terrible Padres team, wouldn't accept a trade to the contending Sox. He has a life to consider, and he's been around long enough to be afforded a choice in his future. Why would you sacrifice that?

(I've never been traded. But if I were, I bet I could bring at least fifteen head of cattle and a few bushels of wheat. Or a bag of balls.)

The Tao of Fred McGriff - Day 3

I always wanted to have a nickname. Something that had to do with an experience, or perhaps from not being able to pronounce my name correctly as a child, or even something wildly nonsensical that had nothing to do with anything. Like Crime Dog.

In the grand scheme of things, Crime Dog isn't bad (for those not in the know, it refers to MacGruff, the bloodhound in the trenchcoat who encouraged kids on Saturday morning to 'Take a Bite Out of Crime'), though slightly bizarre. It's better than being referred to as Three-Finger or Stumpy. Plus it shortens easily to 'Dog.' As in, 'Dog, you can carve the turkey' or 'Hurry Dog, cut the red wire. No no, the red one!'

But that's just the thing about nicknames: you don't decide if you get one; someone else does. And though most baseball nicknames derive from the player's last name, I would bet that Crime Dog was the product of nickname evolution. You don't just wake up one morning with a nickname epiphany (unless your name is Shaquille O'Neal).

So unless I become a gangster, a character on a TV show, or join a baseball team, I'm resigned to spend my life as Ben. Not Piano Legs or Baby Face. Just Ben. Only, simply Ben.

I guess it could be worse. At least I won't be called Steve Urkel for the rest of my life.

The Tao of Fred McGriff - Day 2

I had a great idea a few years back: get baseball players and other celebrities to autograph my high school yearbook. How cool would it be to open your yearbook and have, amongst notes from your old friends, Fred McGriff's autograph? Or a 'Best Wishes' from Jonathan Franzen? I'm all about autographs in unexpected places.

If I weren't so shy in real life I'd do it. Or at least have an autograph book, filled with neighbors and other people I've met.

McGriff hit 34 home runs in the strike-shortened 1994 season. He was on pace for 48, had the season gone the full 162 games.

The Tao of Fred McGriff - Day 1

I found an old binder down in the basement this morning containing my Fred McGriff collection (all 99 cards of it), so I've decided what better way to celebrate my favorite player than with a daily proclamation. I was thinking of calling it 99 Days of Fred McGriff, but the descriptive quality always on the tip of my tongue with him was "underrated." And that's when it hit me: underrated-ness isn't just a term to describe a career, but a way of life. We're all a little bit underrated, in our own way. For instance, my skills with Microsoft Excel are underrated thanks to my prowess in avoiding circular functions.


Today's Tao of McGriff: Underrated is hitting 100 first-pitch home runs. (Baseball Reference)