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RIP Tom Seaver

shadow_operative

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Guest Lobo

Guest Lobo

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I remember watching him pitch for the White Sox with my father in '85 & '86.  He tried to impart to me that I was watching the greatest right-handed pitcher in a generation (or more).  I didn't realize it then, and wouldn't for several more years.  Tom was absolutely the best pitcher, of anyone, from '69-'81.  What a career, what a consummate professional and all-around swell guy.  Of course, I wish he could have gone out a World Series champ again with the BoSox in '86, but wasn't in the cards.  Glad I got to see him pitch in person, one of my dad's favorites.  RIP, Tom.  

Here's a filthy fact.  Sure '67-'86 wasn't exactly a slugger's era.  But still...think about this.  Tom surrendered 380 home runs in 4,783 innings pitched.  That's just one homer for almost every 13 innings.  That's fucking insane for a starting pitcher.  to only give up one home run per ~13 innings.  so many great stats we can stew over in the coming weeks.  

Anyway, tip of the cap to you sir.  Easily one of the all-time greats and you did it so well.  

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Hornius Emeritus

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He was the first athlete I ever idolized, my first sports hero. Damn.

I saw him pitch at Shea in 1971 against Willie Mays and the Giants.  I can't remember how either player did in the game but I don't think Willie did very well against Tom that night.

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Guest Lobo

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^
Damn, I am jealous.  I only got to see him on the tail-end of his career, but he was still solid.  But '71, he was filthy.  Led the league in K's, WHIP, and ERA, with 21 CG's.  And to see him pitch against Mays, whose last good year was '71.  

It's weird as a kid, some guys you're watching play---your dad tells you that this guy is gonna be special one day soon (it was like that for my dad and I watching Ryne Sandberg in the early 80's).  And there's other guys, you had their baseball cards for years or the "Who's-Who-In-Baseball" book and saw how great they were for so many years, then you get to see them at least once before they hang it up (that was me with Seaver, Eckersley, et. al.).  And then there's the guys who are gonna be hall of famers that get to watch in their prime...but you don't really know it at the time (like watching Maddux in Chicago in the late 80's/early 90's). 

You get older and the guys in those categories are easier to spot, but you don't have the fun benefit of being a kid anymore.  You know about blacklists of steroid users, politics of ballot voting, and why some stats are bullshit and others aren't......you can't just look through the lens of a child who loves the game and see a player who is just great at what he does and who loves the game as much as you do.  But that was Tom Seaver.  Just an obnoxiously talented player who was one of the most mechanically sound pitchers.  He loved the game and that love was infectious to every team he played with.  Though raised in a Cubs household, I'm glad my father took me to Comiskey Park to watch Seaver pitch.  I didn't appreciate it at the time, but I got to watch a legend hurler on the southside. 

And through that, my father got to see one more time, Seaver pitch...the man who despite his insanely good 1971 campaign (that you got to watch live, Hornius), lost the Cy Young to my father's favorite Cubs pitcher...Fergie Jenkins.  And so goes the story of baseball, and of fathers and sons, and of entire generations.  The baseball tree of connectivity that a player like Seaver affords us over 20 years, something I am thankful for.  What a run he had, what a life.  RIP, Tom. 

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Macanudo

Macanudo 12975

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Lobo,  that is a great post.    That feeling when you're a kid watching a player that has skills is so lost as we get older.    Unfortunately for me, when I was 7 until 12, the closest team to me were the Mariners.   They were not good.   But I did get to see Dale Murphy when he was young with the Braves during an exhibition game, Ron Guidry in the late 70's (when he really had his stuff), George Brett and Robin Yount.   We lived about 3 hours south of Seattle so we only got to 10-12 games a year but when we did, my dad would get tickets for a Saturday and Sunday game and we'd spend the entire weekend watching baseball.   Every now and then, we'd leave early on Friday and catch that game too.   3 MLB games in weekend?   I was in heaven.  Even if I was cheering for for a team where the best players were Julio Cruz, Tom Paciorek, Glenn Abbott and Rick Honeycutt.    

We moved to Houston in late 1982, we were all of a sudden 30 miles from the Astrodome.    We went to probably 30-40 games each season from 1983-1986.  Once I was in high school I was less interested in attending but when Ms. Macanudo was in med school we lived right across Fannin from 1996-2000.   I'd walk across the street after the 5 inning (when attendance was final and they stopped looking at tickets) and catch the final 4 innings.   Saw fewer starting pitchers but it was MLB played by the best. 

Those feelings of watching excellence are great memories.  

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Beau Vine

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JoePos:

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Take a moment for yourself, if you will, and think about the great players — the truly great ones, the all-time players — who you got to see play live. On July 5, 1985, when I was 18 years old, I saw Tom Seaver pitch in that mausoleum of a ballpark, Cleveland Municipal Stadium. If the records are correct, there were 6,024 other people there, too. It didn’t feel like that many. The place felt deader than normal. The Tribe was the worst team in the American League, and football season in Cleveland had begun in the imagination.

The Tribe started a guy named Jerry Reed, who has the same name as the singer who did “She Got the Goldmine (I Got the Shaft).” That detail doesn’t matter at all for this piece, but it seems significant enough to include. Jerry Reed made 12 big-league starts in his career. This was his third.

Seaver, meanwhile, was making the 603rd start of his career. He was almost 41, and he was pitching for the Chicago White Sox, and he was a walking, talking legend. No, Seaver not the perfect pitching machine he had once been. In his youth, at his best, he blended a blistering fastball with a heart-stopping curveball with a vicious slider with a flawless motion that looked like it was pulled out of a “How to Pitch” pop-up book with a toughness that came from his time in the Marines.

And that mind! Everybody talked from the start about Seaver’s pitching mind. He seemed to know, instinctively, exactly what pitch to throw at exactly what time. “Blind people,” Reggie Jackson once said, “come to the park just to listen to him pitch.”

By 1985, Seaver was worn down, tired, his fastball had faded, his curveball no longer bit. Seaver still knew things about pitching, though, things they don’t teach in books or discuss during mound conferences. He knew things about pitch location and changing speeds and being unpredictable and picking up a hitter’s weaknesses. And even without his best stuff, he was still among the better pitchers in American League.

That day, he baffled and befuddled Cleveland’s lineup. He gave up two hits in the first five innings (both to Julio Franco) and just kept on going. He had a shutout going into the ninth — the score was 8-0 — and only a few of us stragglers remained in the stadium. Only then did Seaver lose juice and interest. He gave up a couple of singles and a three-run homer to the much forgotten Tony Bernazard. Seaver looked pretty mad at himself when he was taken out, but it still ended up being his 296th career victory.

After the game, Cleveland’s manager, Pat Corrales, offered a quote that makes more sense to me the older I get.

“Seaver’s the same guy I watched in 1967,” Corrales said, “except that he doesn’t throw as hard.”

In 1974, at the height of his greatness — he had already won two Cy Young awards and led the Mets to two pennants and a World Series title — Seaver released one of the oddest and most enjoyable baseball books any great player has ever written. It is not a biography. It is not a tell-all. The book is called “How I Would Pitch to Babe Ruth.”

It is not what you might expect. The book is actually a collection of some of the greatest baseball articles ever written — none of them by or about Tom Seaver. Included in the book are John Updike’s “Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu,” about Ted Williams’ last at-bat; Jack Olsen’s marvelous story about how Al Kaline suffered for his craft; Jerry Izenberg on Stan Musial; Ring Lardner on Ty Cobb; and a couple of Roger Kahn stories about the Boys of Summer Dodgers.

Every piece in the book was accompanied by a prologue Seaver wrote about each player. For the Josh Gibson story, for instance, he wrote about his own feelings about segregation (opposed). For the Stan Musial story, he wrote about how he always wanted to bat one time using Musial’s famous peekaboo stance (he never had the guts to try it). And for many of the others, he did, in fact, offer how he might have pitched the all-time greats if given the chance.

So here are a few of those — how Seaver would pitch to some of the best hitters:

Henry Aaron: This wasn’t imagination; Seaver and Aaron matched up 93 times (Seaver held him to a .220 average; Aaron hit five home runs). Each matchup was special, though, because Aaron had been Seaver’s hero. The first time Seaver faced Aaron, it was 1967, and Seaver had to turn away from the plate and look out to the outfield just to compose himself. He wrote that it felt so familiar because he had dreamed it so many times. Seaver then turned back around, blanked his mind and threw an inside fastball; Aaron grounded into a 5-4-3 double play.

Five innings later, he faced Aaron again, threw the same inside fastball and watched Aaron deposit it over the left-field wall.

How Seaver would pitch Aaron: Unpredictably, never throwing the same pitch twice.

Ernie Banks: Seaver and Banks faced each other 31 times, so there were no secrets between them. Seaver generally owned Banks, holding him to .138 average. But, Seaver admitted, this was largely because he didn’t face Banks when Mr. Cub was at his peak.

Seaver remembered one pitch in particular. It was a day game at Wrigley Field in June 1968, and Banks was mired in a slump, having gone 0-for-18 in his previous four games. In the bottom of the sixth, Seaver had Mr. Cub down 0-2 and threw a curveball about six inches off the ground. Banks golfed it off the left-field catwalk for a home run. “Yes, sir!” Banks said to himself as he rounded the bases, “a home run in Wrigley Field!” Seaver couldn’t help but smile.

How Seaver would pitch Banks: Start with hard stuff up and inside and try to put him away with sweeping pitches just off the plate … but beware that you keep those pitches away.

Johnny Bench: They faced each other 96 times, with Seaver holding Bench to a .179 average. (In the middle of Seaver’s career, Bench was his catcher with the Reds.)

But that low average doesn’t really describe the battle between them; Bench hit two home runs off Seaver. Seaver feared nobody on the mound, but he came closest to fearing Bench. In Game 1 of the 1973 National League Championship Series, Bench came up in the ninth inning. Seaver had struck out 13 and was throwing his fastball by everybody — but not Bench.

Seaver threw a fastball — “It just didn’t seem to have anything on it,” he would say quietly afterward — and Bench crushed it to left for a walk-off homer.

Four days later, in Game 5 of the series, Bench came up in the first inning with runners on second and third and two outs. Seaver never hesitated. He intentionally walked him.

How Seaver would pitch Bench: Carefully.

Mighty Casey: They never faced each other. Seaver expected that Casey would be a tough man to face in a clutch situation.

How Seaver would pitch Casey: He wasn’t sure of the pattern — probably fastballs up and in, sliders away — but one thing he definitely knew: Seaver would not have thrown three fastballs down the middle of the plate like the pitcher did in the poem.

Roberto Clemente: They faced each other 65 times, and Seaver generally got the best of it — he held Clemente to a .242 average with 21 strikeouts.

How Seaver would pitch Clemente: Fastballs and sliders on the extreme outside corner of the plate. If you could hit that tiny spot — “Imagine a box in that corner just big enough to hold one baseball,” Seaver said — Clemente would tip his cap and head back to the dugout. But miss it by the tiniest of degrees and there would be hell to pay.

Ty Cobb: The book was written in 1974, and in it Seaver called Cobb’s hit record of 4,189 unbreakable. A little more than a decade later, Pete Rose broke it.

How Seaver would pitch Cobb: “I’d keep the ball low, trying to make him hit on the ground rather on a line drive to the outfield … And if Cobb bunted and I had to cover first, I’d be very careful.”

Rogers Hornsby: Seaver, unfortunately, does not go into how he would pitch Hornsby, which is a shame because I’m dying to know. But he did talk about Hornsby’s obsessive views about hitting. Hornsby believed that a hitter should never drink a beer, should never read a book and should never see a movie because of the effect it has on the eyes.

Seaver was dubious about the book and movie part. “Reading and seeing movies helps you train and stimulate your mind while also helping you relax,” he wrote.

And as for abstinence from beer? Seaver said, “Well, it’s fine to take care of your body, but nobody likes a fanatic.”

Mickey Mantle: Seaver faced Mantle one time … sort of. It was at the 1968 All-Star Game. Seaver was 23 years old and throwing just about as hard as anyone in baseball history. Mantle was 36, his body was closer to 60, and he was just about at the end. He was at that Fonzie point in his career, when everyone in the crowd would just cheer him for showing up* — and sure enough, he got a long and lasting standing ovation before the Seaver at-bat.

*By the end of the show “Happy Days,” EVERYBODY was getting that Fonzie treatment, where the studio audience would cheer Mr. Cunningham or Joannie or Jenny Piccalo for just having the good form to show up.

Seaver threw four fastballs down the middle, and Mantle struck out.

How Seaver would pitch Mantle: He would throw fastballs, but certainly the down-the-middle fastballs he used in the All-Star Game. “At his peak,” Seaver said of the four fastballs he threw, “Mantle probably would have hit one of them through the dome.”

Willie Mays: Seaver faced Mays 26 times and allowed just five hits, none of them a home run. But Seaver readily acknowledged that he never did face the real Willie Mays. By the time Seaver came along, Mays’ bat had slowed. After that, Mays was Seaver’s teammate with the Mets.

Seaver tells a funny story: At the All-Star Game in 1970, Mays complained, “Hey, when you gonna throw me a changeup? You throw me that fastball away, that slider away, I can’t hit that stuff anymore. I’m an old man! Throw me a changeup, man.”

Seaver promised he would.

And the next time he faced Mays, did he throw Mays a changeup? Absolutely not. He threw nothing but hard sliders that ran away like the Road Runner, and Seaver struck Mays out three times. No, Seaver didn’t buy that old-man talk one bit, not from Willie Mays.

How Seaver would pitch Mays: Hard stuff away, away, away, as far away as possible.

Frank Robinson: Seaver faced Robinson 15 times — seven of those in the 1969 World Series — and allowed just two singles. But he never forgot a lesson he learned from one of those singles. It was the World Series, Seaver had a 2-2 count and threw what he thought was the perfect fastball just on/off the outside corner. Robby fouled it off.

So he came back with the same pitch, another perfect fastball on/off the outside corner. Robby fouled it off.

That was it: The setup was complete. Seaver had the great man looking outside, and so he reared back and threw the best inside fastball he knew how to throw — and Robinson turned on it and hit it so hard the Seaver would say he never forgot the sound, much less the harrowing speed.

How Seaver would pitch Robinson: Away, away, away — and never, ever try to get cute.

Babe Ruth: Here’s the title of the book. With Ruth, Seaver let his imagination go and actually played out a couple of at-bats.

How Seaver would pitch Ruth: Seaver would start Ruth off with a sinking fastball, low and on the outside corner of the plate. He imagines getting a strike call as Ruth lets the pitch go by.

With the count 0-1, Seaver would relax and tell himself he was in control of the at-bat now. He would try the same pitch again, low and away, but envisioned Ruth letting it go by for a ball. No more playing around. Seaver would come in with a slider that would begin on the inside of the plate and break hard and in. It’s hard to tell how many sliders Ruth saw in his career, but he certainly never saw one like this. He would swing and miss. Strike two.

Now Seaver would have Ruth’s attention. The Bambino would dig in. He would probably expect another exploding slider; that pitch would undoubtedly fill his mind. Seaver instead would throw that fastball again, down and away, perfect spot — and Ruth would strike out with a big swing.

In the sixth inning, though, they would meet again. Seaver would still feel strong. He would decide to challenge Ruth with a high fastball — let’s see if this guy can handle the high heat. Ruth would turn on it, send it high into the right-field stands, and Seaver would watch Ruth run, pigeon-toed, around the bases.

Ted Williams: For a thinking pitcher, this is the ultimate puzzle — even more than Babe Ruth. Nobody thought more about hitting than Williams. Nobody thought more about pitching than Seaver. This would be a true battle of wits but without iocane powder.

How Seaver would pitch Williams: Actually, he had no idea. His first idea was to try to get Williams to chase breaking balls out of the zone. Unfortunately, Seaver had no confidence whatsoever that this would work. People tried throughout the 1940s and ’50s to get Williams to chase breaking balls, and the guy never did — he led the league in walks eight times and walked more than 2,000 times overall. The “get him to chase” plan did not seem too promising.

So what was left? “I guess I’d settle for the low outside corner,” Seaver wrote sheepishly. And after that? Hope.

Almost exactly a month after I saw Seaver pitch in Cleveland, he went to Yankee Stadium with a chance to win his 300th game. There did seem something cinematic about it — Tom Terrific returning to New York for one final bit of glory. There was a flood of stories about Seaver leading up to the game. Reporters followed him everywhere. One of the biggest crowds of the year poured into Yankee Stadium.

He loved it.

“Pressure?” Seaver asked a reporter. “Sometimes media doesn’t understand pressure. I’ve always believed that it brings out the best in exceptional athletes.”

Yes, pressure focused him, always. A couple of years ago, my friend Jonathan Hock and I made a movie called “Generations of the Game,” which plays daily at the Baseball Hall of Fame. As part of that, we went to see Hall of Famers from all over. Seaver was having good days and bad ones — this was just before he was diagnosed with dementia — and he agreed to talk.

And it was one of his good days, a wonderful day. He talked so beautifully about the game and what it means to him. There is so much I take away from his words that day, but mostly I think about something he said to his brother and idol, Charles, who died years ago.

Charles would ask Tom: “What’s it like when there’s 50,000 people and you’re standing on that little plot of ground 60 feet, 6 inches away from home plate?”

Seaver: “I said, ‘Charles, you learn how to control your emotions and make them positive.’ I learned that in the Marine Corps. You are always going to have emotions. You can’t say it’s not there. You have to use those emotions for positive energy.”

How did you do that?

“For me, it was very simple,” Seaver said. “I loved what I was doing. I was like an artist, a physical and mental artist. I would take those emotions, whatever they were, and focus them on what I had to do out there. I loved all of it. I loved 60 feet, 6 inches. I loved the history of the game. Sandy Koufax. Christy Mathewson. Walter Johnson. I loved them.

“I understood the Walter Johnsons. Understood — that’s not the right word. I knew them. In my heart and brain, I knew them. They were artists, and I was an artist, and I loved being a part of that history.”

It was beautiful, and it takes us back to Yankee Stadium, Aug. 4, 1985. Seaver was in the bullpen before the game, warming up as the crowd poured in, and White Sox pitching coach Dave Duncan came by to watch. After a few pitches, Duncan’s face went a bit white, and he stopped Seaver.

“Tom,” he growled, “you don’t have squat tonight.”

Seaver smiled. He would go out that day with squat, with nothing but his mind and his heart and all the things he picked up through the years. He would pitch a complete game, allowing six measly singles and just one run while striking out seven. Another brilliant game in a brilliant career.

And do you know what Tom Seaver said after Duncan told him that his pitches had nothing on them?

He said: “Dave, you know that. And I know that.”

He paused and pointed toward the Yankees dugout.

“But they,” he continued, “they don’t know that. And by the time they realize it, I’ll figure something out.”

 

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cafe society

cafe society 2860

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4 hours ago, Helobious said:

That means a 73 grade on the 20-80 scale. 

MLB didn't use the 20-80 scale back then, they had a different numeric system into the late '80s, at least.  Seaver hadn't yet reached his growth spurt, nor received the kind of coaching you don't receive in college even if you attended USC back then.  I'm sure those numbers are accurate.

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cafe society 2860

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I have always hated the Mets, but Seaver was the truth.  I won't embarrass the Surly knucklehead who, when Tom Glavine was inducted into the Hall of Fame, blithely, ignorantly and with Dadaist absurdity opined that Glavine was the equivalent of Seaver.  Maybe the dumbest post in Shaggy/Surly history.   Seaver did it all as a pitcher; he was an outstanding athlete, so he could hit (for a pitcher) and field his position.  He was big, but fit, and - if you follow baseball closely today you'll recognize the importance of this -  he repeated his delivery without even the tiniest deviation.  He was tough and smart, commanded his pitches and had devastating stuff.  Tom Seaver was a pleasure to watch even for baseball fans who hated the uniform on his back.

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Helobious

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22 minutes ago, cafe society said:

MLB didn't use the 20-80 scale back then, they had a different numeric system into the late '80s, at least.  Seaver hadn't yet reached his growth spurt, nor received the kind of coaching you don't receive in college even if you attended USC back then.  I'm sure those numbers are accurate.

I hit 76 a few times as a scrawny 16 year old, and a couple guys on my team threw harder. There’s just no possible way he pitched that slow, even back then. 

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2 minutes ago, Helobious said:

I hit 76 a few times as a scrawny 16 year old, and a couple guys on my team threw harder. There’s just no possible way he pitched that slow, even back then. 

And I know FOR A FACT that the 20-80 scale wasn't in use back then.  I played against and with the position player who received the highest grade ever under the old scouting system; he was the number 1 overall pick in the summer 1978 draft.  He was the first high school player to receive a $100K signing bonus.  He received a perfect 100 scouting score.  Only one pitcher ever received the same 100 score; his name was Bobby Witt.  

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8 minutes ago, msbesq said:

USC was a powerhouse in the 50's-70's through Dedeaux and Seaver probably got better coaching there then in the woeful Mets organization.

Oh FFS.  This is a bad take and you should feel bad.  USC was a Dedeaux production for the glorification of Rod Dedeaux.  You think he was some Merlin and different from other college coaches?  Hell, no.  If you think that any college team has the instructional resources of even the worst MLB organization, then you are too stupid for a mother's tears.  If mother fucking Rod Dedeaux invented baseball, why didn't he take the much bigger (yes, even then) bucks professional baseball had to offer?  Those numbers Lasorda wrote down likely referred to the former 100 point scouting scale.  73 and 63 were not staggeringly bad numbers on that scale.  Holy crap, this is why I rarely post in this forum.  
A paradise for puerility. 

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Helobious

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Rickey developed the 20-80 scale in the 50s, don’t know when it’s use became widespread. I know some coaches like the 2-8 and the 1-10. I still think it’s a scaled grade of some kind and not velocity. Or maybe I have a very real argument that I might’ve been a better pitcher than Tom Seaver at one point. 

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2 minutes ago, Helobious said:

Rickey developed the 20-80 scale in the 50s, don’t know when it’s use became widespread. I know some coaches like the 2-8 and the 1-10. I still think it’s a scaled grade of some kind and not velocity. Or maybe I have a very real argument that I might’ve been a better pitcher than Tom Seaver at one point. 

Your google skills are tres formidable.  Wasn't the same scale nor the one mlb used.  There is a certain amount - not complete - of revisionist history at work here.  Delve deeper.

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31 minutes ago, cafe society said:

I have always hated the Mets, but Seaver was the truth.  I won't embarrass the Surly knucklehead who, when Tom Glavine was inducted into the Hall of Fame, blithely, ignorantly and with Dadaist absurdity opined that Glavine was the equivalent of Seaver.  Maybe the dumbest post in Shaggy/Surly history.   Seaver did it all as a pitcher; he was an outstanding athlete, so he could hit (for a pitcher) and field his position.  He was big, but fit, and - if you follow baseball closely today you'll recognize the importance of this -  he repeated his delivery without even the tiniest deviation.  He was tough and smart, commanded his pitches and had devastating stuff.  Tom Seaver was a pleasure to watch even for baseball fans who hated the uniform on his back.

Well said, I hate the fucking Mets.  Glavine was good but he's not the same stratosphere as Seaver.  Seaver was a very well-rounded pitcher.  Could go for power, finesse, painted corners, pick-off moves, great fielder, good hitter (though Glavine was also a really good hitting pitcher for the record).  Plus Seaver was the consummate quiet locker room leaders across generations of ball players.  And as you noted, everything he threw looked exactly the same until it didn't.  And you were already looking back at the catcher's mitt.  And it's crazy to think about how big he seemed to me as a kid.  But he was 6'1" 195 pounds.  That's an average sized pitcher these days.  I only began to appreciate seeming him pitch live, later in life.  But glad I did.  Someday during Covid-19, I gotta get a bottle of bourbon and an old school notepad and make a list of every Hall of Famer I was lucky enough to see play live as a kid.  We didn't know how good we had it during those long summers.  

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Helobious

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2 minutes ago, cafe society said:

Your google skills are tres formidable.  Wasn't the same scale nor the one mlb used.  There is a certain amount - not complete - of revisionist history at work here.  Delve deeper.

Pointless. We both agree that Lasorda was talking about a scale and not velocity. Congrats on knowing the scouting world back in the 1920s or whatever it was when you played though. Step into the box against me today and I’d sit you down in 3 pitches, and I haven’t thrown in years.

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4 minutes ago, Helobious said:

Pointless. We both agree that Lasorda was talking about a scale and not velocity. Congrats on knowing the scouting world back in the 1920s or whatever it was when you played though. Step into the box against me today and I’d sit you down in 3 pitches, and I haven’t thrown in years.

Bwahahahahahahahahahahahaha.  Do you realize... comprehend... No, clearly not.  You're like the newest attraction at Disneyland.  Dumbass World.  Now go retreat and plot your revenge, Cruella.

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Beau Vine

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2 hours ago, cafe society said:

And I know FOR A FACT that the 20-80 scale wasn't in use back then.  I played against and with the position player who received the highest grade ever under the old scouting system; he was the number 1 overall pick in the summer 1978 draft.  He was the first high school player to receive a $100K signing bonus.  He received a perfect 100 scouting score.  Only one pitcher ever received the same 100 score; his name was Bobby Witt.  

I hate to break it to you, but Helobius is right.  Maybe it wasn't the industry standard and maybe every scout didn't use it in 1978, but Branch Rickey basically developed 20-80.  The idea is that ML average is 50, and each 10  up or down is a standard deviation .

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dcar00

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1 hour ago, Beau Vine said:

I hate to break it to you, but Helobius is right.  Maybe it wasn't the industry standard and maybe every scout didn't use it in 1978, but Branch Rickey basically developed 20-80.  The idea is that ML average is 50, and each 10  up or down is a standard deviation .

it would make sense that Lasorda would use the Rickey scale...

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