Cool It, Mad Dog!

My friend Dex’s knowledge of sports, especially baseball, is deep and wide. If I ask his opinion of the fictional pitcher Stanislov Wiśniewski, he can tell me without checking Baseball Reference or the Society for American Baseball Research that Wiśniewski—a native of Stinkwater, Florida—had a fine curve but his fastball was nothing special, that he compiled a 4.22 ERA during his six-year career (Mets and Phillies), that he was a decent batsman, that he later managed in Cleveland and that he had problems with the bottle. Dex really knows his stuff. When the subject of the entirely nonfictional Bill Madlock arose, he acknowledged the man’s skills but disparaged him with a term that rhymes with “glass bowl.” I was not unaware of Madlock the player or Madlock the fallible human being; they called him “Mad Dog” for a reason. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to look closer at his life and his 15 MLB seasons.

He was born in 1951 in Memphis but grew up in Decatur, Illinois. A three-sport star in high school, he opted wisely for baseball. A season of junior college ball in Iowa preceded 3 ½ in the minor leagues, and then he was ready for the show. In the final 21 games of the 1973 season with the Texas Rangers (home was the small-but-not-intimate Arlington Stadium), Madlock played third base and batted a sterling .351. That very offseason, however, he was traded to the Chicago Cubs. Three years there, and he was sent to the San Francisco Giants. By mid-1979, he had become a Pittsburgh Pirate, followed by 2 ½ years with the LA Dodgers and a fraction with the Detroit Tigers. Given that he was traded no fewer than five times despite winning National League batting titles in 1975, 1976, 1981 and 1983—not to mention helping the Bucs win the World Series in 1979—you may ask why.

To some degree, Madlock tended to wear out his welcome. And his game was far from complete, as Dex informed me. He had limited power (just 163 home runs), ran the bases poorly, played matador defense, seldom walked and drove in few runs (never topping 100 in a season). Yes, he had 2,008 hits, but 1,462 of those were singles. I realize it’s a wholly specious comparison, but more than 3,000 of Ty Cobb’s 4,189 hits were singles and he hit just 117 home runs between 1905 and 1928.

Madlock’s defenders, and he sure has some, say he often came through in the clutch. They recall his efficient, compact swing, point to those four batting titles and insist he belong in the Baseball Hall of Fame. After all, 11 other guys did that and each has a plaque in Cooperstown: Wade Boggs (5), Rod Carew (7), Roberto Clemente, Cobb (12), Tony Gwynn (8), Harry Heilmann, Rogers Hornsby (7), Nap Lajoie (5), Stan Musial (7), Honus Wagner (8) and Ted Williams (6). I think it is fair to say that modern HOF voters are more knowledgeable than before about factors that really contribute to winning baseball, and for batters it comes down to WAR (wins above replacement; his was 38.2) and OBP (on-base percentage; .365). By one metric, his limited range and weak arm make him the 493rd best third basemen in the game’s history. I will add that he hit into 190 double plays. Batting average, long considered the main way to measure hitting competence, has come to be recognized as deceptive. So Madlock’s career .305 no longer sways HOF voters. He has not been on the ballot since 1993 and would seem to have little chance of getting in.

There is another reason voters frown at the memory of Madlock in a big league uniform. Throughout his career, his fiery temper often got the best of him. He was ejected from no fewer than 18 games—and three more if you include his two seasons as a Tigers coach. He charged the mound when he thought pitches came too close, injured opposing players, brawled with teammates, aggravated owners and abused umpires. For good reason, umps detested him.

Mad Dog has calmed down considerably since his playing career ended (as a designated hitter, he went 0-for-3 for Detroit in an October 1987 game against the Toronto Blue Jays), patiently giving interviews, interacting with fans and providing hitting lessons near his Las Vegas–area home. Maybe he realizes he should have done more in those 15 seasons than hack one single after another. Furthermore, he must grasp the awful reputation he earned with Texas, Chicago, San Francisco, Pittsburgh, Los Angeles and Detroit. It’s a lot harder to lose an enemy than a friend.

Rangers…

Cubs…

Giants…

Bucs…

Dem Bums…

Tigers…