Jack Morris deserved his Hall pass as the most dominant of pitchers
One of the few joys of aging is knowing you’ve seen amazing feats like none to be seen in the future. When I heard that Jack Morris, the greatest pitcher not in the Hall of Fame, finally got in, I reflected on his unique heroism. I saw him close-up, flu-stricken, pale as skim milk, go out to pitch 10 scoreless innings in Game 7 of the 1991 World Series, to win it for the Minnesota Twins.
Several times during that Game 7 against Atlanta, Twins manager Tom Kelly tried to persuade the sickly and exhausted 36-year-old righthander to turn it over to the bullpen. Morris rebuffed him in no uncertain terms.
In the 10th, Kelly tried again to take the ball from Morris, but his ace pitcher argued him out of the decision.
Asked why he gave in, Kelly said, memorably, “Oh, hell, it was only a game.”
I remember that game in the ugly gray Homerdome (some said it looked like a giant garbage bag), the sound of a million bees in my ears. Morris was World Series MVP.
I think it’s safe to say we will never see another performance like that. Five innings is now considered a good night’s work for a starting pitcher.
“No question it was my defining moment in baseball,” Morris said. “I’ve never pitched a game where I had better focus. I never had a negative thought, even though I was in trouble several times.”
Other sports offer more athleticism, but nothing approaches baseball for history and drama. I’m old enough to have witnessed Juan Marichal and Warren Spahn dueling for 16 innings. Marichal and the San Francisco Giants won 1-0 at Candlestick Park. I don’t know how many pitches they threw. Who was counting?
I did not know Jack Morris well but covered several of his postseason series and All-Star games and admired him for his constant professionalism. He was totally unselfish, not choosing to play for teams that offered the most money, but selecting cities that needed him. Like Detroit and then Minneapolis-St. Paul, where he was born.
It was absurd that he had to slip into Cooperstown through the back door, via the Modern Baseball Era Committee. The Baseball Writers somehow couldn’t put together enough ballots to get him in. Closest he came was in 2013 when he was named on 67.7 percent of the ballots but needed 75%.
He won 254 games – more than any pitcher of the 1980s. He pitched a no-hitter, and he holds the big-league record for most consecutive opening-day starts: 14. He won 20+ games in three seasons.
Toward the end of his career I don’t recall many ballwriters doubting he would be in the Hall of Fame. He was the most physically dominating pitcher of his era, and nobody ever suggested he was cheating.
I think he felt somewhat betrayed by the Baseball Writers, whom he treated well. But he never sounded bitter, never acting entitled.
“I learned there were reasons why maybe I didn’t deserve to be in,” he said. “I wasn’t born and raised in the analytics that are in the game today.”
I think he was being sardonic, referring to his lack of WAR and park-adjusted ERA.
What the analytics didn’t tell you was that Jack Morris did not care about ERA, much less WAR or WHIP or anything else except winning the damn game. By himself if need be.
If the bullpen was tired and he had a 5-run lead, he’d plead with his manager to finish the game, even if it meant absorbing another earned run or two. He pitched 175 complete games.
So yes, Morris had a 3.90 earned-run average, the worst ever by a Hall of Famer.
But keep in mind that he played most of his career in Detroit, in a ballpark with tight fencing. With teams that did not make it easy for him to win.
The talent level with the Tigers was seldom elite, though the lineup did include shortstop Alan Trammell, who was elected to the Hall the same day as Morris.
For 17 years Morris pitched in the majors and was in the postseason in only four of them. But he made the most of his opportunities, going 7-4. With a 3.86 ERA, if you need to know. The Modern Era Baseball Committee was composed primarily of players and managers who saw him pitch. Those who saw him pitch knew how great he was.