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You may recall the recent assertion from a loyal subscriber hailing from the suburbs of New Baltimore that Reds shortstop Zack Cozart could out hit Ted Williams both in 1941 (were Cozart to be transported there in, say, a time-and-space traversing blue police box of some note) and in this modern era owing to such intangibles as, and I'm paraphrasing here, improved athleticism, advancements in training, scouting, diet, equipment, as well as the existence of Netflix, smartphones and 3D televisions.
To be fair, I'm not certain there is a way to accurately quantify the intangibles that one side or the other might use to weigh the debate in their favor. How do you quantify the Kevlar armor Barry Bonds wore on his arm versus the fact that Ted Williams played in an era before batting helmets, as but one example?
Ewing pitched through the heart of what is known as the dead ball era, when pitching was dominant, runs were scarce and the outcome of a given contest turned on some fine point of "inside baseball." The Society for American Baseball Research defines the era as the years 1901-1919, or roughly from the turn of the 20th century to the Black Sox scandal.
At first, those times seemed distant and alien. The jargon of the game was strange and baffling. Pitchers were dealing an exotic assortment of inshoots, drops, outcurves and raise balls, with an occasional combination drop/outcurve - an "outdrop" - mixed in. But gradually it became clear that the concepts under discussion were the same ones that television commentators expound upon today. Then as now, pitching was a matter of movement, changing speeds and location, location, location; Christy Mathewson's famous fadeaway was nothing more or less than a screwball. It became clear that despite mostly superficial changes, baseball in the early 21st century remains much as it was in Ewing's time. If Ewing were to come back today, he would certainly be struck by changes in the game - indoor playing fields, staggering salaries, the demise of the complete game, the proliferation of home runs at the expense of what is now classified under the somewhat dismissive term of "small ball." But if he could amble out to the pitcher's mound one more time, he would understand immediately and completely everything that goes on between the white lines. The endlessly repeated duel of pitcher versus batter would be as intensely and intimately familiar to him as it was in 1910.
Baseball was still evolving when Bob Ewing arrived in the Major Leagues in 1902. At the start of his career, home plate was a 12-inch square; 1900 saw the introduction of the five-sided plate with a 17-inch front edge, increasing the strike zone by 42%. Starting in 1899, rules were modified to require the catcher to set up directly behind the plate at all times. The National League adopted the foul-strike rule in 1901, charging the batter with strikes on his first two foul balls. The pitcher's mound was also a recent innovation, having developed through the 1890s; there was no set standard as to the construction of the mound until 1903, when its height was capped at 15 inches.
Such changes consistently worked to the advantage of the pitcher. At the same time, the development of larger and better gloves allowed fielders to routinely make plays that had been all but impossible one decade earlier. Scoring was on the decline, a trend that would continue for most of Ewing's career. By 1908, the average number of runs in a major league game was less than half what it had been in 1894. Though, officially at least, the ball itself remained unchanged, baseball had entered what came to be known as its "dead ball" era.
As every run became more and more precious, baseball was becoming an increasingly subtle, strategic game. Instead of swinging away and hoping for a big inning, teams were forced to scratch and scrape for one score at a time. With a runner on first base and none out, according to Bill James, the sacrifice bunt eventually became so automatic that some managers didn't even have a sign for it. As impressive batting averages became less common, they almost threatened to go out of style. Henry Chadwick, who had written about baseball since the 1850s and had a major hand in refining and standardizing the game's rules, denigrated the pursuit of high averages as "mere 'record batting.'" A better system, argued the man called the Father of Baseball, would be to rank hitters by their success rate in advancing base runners, which he called "the true criterion of 'teamwork at the bat.'" Even Billy Sunday, the 1880s outfielder who quit baseball to become America's most famous evangelist, came to scoff at the game he used to play as nothing more than a "batting fest."
The prevailing view at the outset of Ewing's major league career was that the modern game, with its pitching duels and heavy reliance on strategy, represented the highest expression baseball had yet achieved.
It should be stated, right from the eleventh paragraph, that Cozy is unanimously popular in these parts. None of the following should be construed as being anti-Cozart. If you were to ask Zack about his performance relative to a Hall of Famer and war hero like Ted Williams, I believe that Cozy himself would tell you that he isn't in the same league as The Splendid Splinter.
in 2014 Zack Cozart hit .221/.268/.300. Not his best season. Cozy debuted as a rookie in 2011 but appeared in only 11 games, hardly a representative sample (but credit to him, hitting .324 in 38 at-bats). To date, in Zack's brief career, his best season was in 2012 when he batted .246/.288/.399 and set career-high marks in doubles, home runs, and stolen bases. We'll use that 2012 season as a benchmark for Cozy.
The Major League average in batting average for the 2012 season was .255. Over the broad expanse of Major League history, there have been more seasons (40 in total) in which the batting average was between .250-.259 than any similar .010 range (such as .240-.249 or .260-.269). Here's the rundown:
.259 1913
1878
.258 1990
1986
1978
1975
1962
1961
1958
1957
1956
.257 2010
1985
1974
1973
1959
1883
.256 1992
1991
1981
1946
.255 2012
2011
1976
1960
1879
.254 1989
1988
1970
1918
1914
1891
1875
.253 2013
1952
1943
1942
.251 2014
.250 1964
1915
Eagle-eyed readers will have spotted the inclusion of the 1875 season (.254). The starting point for Major League Baseball is widely understood to be 1876, the founding year of the National League. The immediate predecessor to the NL was the National Association (or NA), in existence from 1871-1875. Considering many of the leading players of the early years of the NL also played in the NA, sometimes in the same ball parks, I am including the NA in my analysis.
You might note the absence of any seasons between 1992 and 2010, a period encompassing the so-called Steroid Era. This fact suggests that particular period was atypical and, hence, not average. This probably surprises exactly no one. There are also just a handful of 19th century seasons represented in the list, above. Pre-20th century seasons routinely averaged more than 10 hits per game and, thus, often saw seasonal League-wide batting averages exceed the .250-.259 range (in the 21st century we are seeing hits/game in, approximately, the 8.5 to 9.5 range. In 1968, the so-called "Year of the Pitcher," the Major Leagues saw 7.91 hits/game. In 2010 there were 8.76 hits/game, in 1990 8.75 hits/game, in 1961 8.76 hits/game.). To that point, the Top 5 league batting averages all-time were:
.309 1894
.296 1930
.296 1895
.292 1925
.292 1897
There were nearly as many Dead Ball Era (1901-1919) seasons (four) as 19th century seasons (five) which fell into the .250-.259 range. Half of the War Years (1942-1945) are represented. Five seasons from the decade of the 1950s. Six seasons from the 1970s. Five seasons from the 1980s. Pre-DH, post-DH. Pre-Expansion, post-Expansion. Pre-Steroid Era, post-Steroid Era. Pre-night games, post-night games. Pre-integration, post-integration. Train travel, air travel. Wool uniforms, synthetic blend uniforms. Canyon-like ballparks, bandbox ballparks. Spitball, no spitball. Pre-slider, post-slider. It appears that throughout baseball history, no matter the changes that may occur in and around the game, Major League batters average something like .255 (the exact batting average of the 2012 season). This has long been one of the great appeals of baseball; you can compare players of different eras because the performances, the outcomes, are so consistent (within a narrow range of variability, of course).
In terms of offensive performance, 2012 fell right into the middle of the most common range of batting averages and all the seasons from 2010-2014 are within this same range. Today, we are experiencing a highly normative version of batting. This makes using Zack Cozart's 2012 season that much easier to use for purposes of comparative analysis. For me, anyway. Additionally, in that 2012 season Cozy batted .246, or (0.96) of the Major League average of .255. Cozy's slugging percentage in 2012 was .399, or (0.98) of the league average of .405. Cozy batted and slugged just about bull's-eye in, historically speaking, a bull's-eye type of season.
Of the 1284 players who logged plate appearances during the 2012 season, of those with a minimum of 500 plate appearances, 105 batted above that season's league average of .255, or just over 8% of all 2012 batters (time constraints prevented me from calculating a similar figure for slugging percentage). The highest batting average for 2012 was .336, the highest slugging percent in 2012 was .606.
In 1941 the Major League average for batting average was .262, or .007 points higher than the solidly normative 2012 season average of .255. Yet in 1941, Major League batters slugged .375, or .030 lower than our modern variety of batters. Of the 546 batters with plate appearances in 1941, of those with 500+ plate appearances 68 were above average, or just over 12% of all 1941 batters. A batting average of .406 and a slugging percentage of .735 were the top Big League marks in '41 and both belonged to Ted Williams. Ted's .406 batting average was 1.55 times the league's 1941 average and his .735 slugging percentage was 1.96 times the league's average. Thus, if we apply a direct correlation to the 2012 league averages, the 1941 Ted Williams would have batted .395 and slugged .794, both figures vastly greater than the best that any 2012 batter managed to achieve. Consider the significance; In a 1941 season in which slugging percentages were down league-wide compared to the modern variant of baseball, Ted's .735 slugging outpaced the leading slugger (.606) in 2012 - a season in which slugging percentages were higher - by .129 points.
Ted Williams outslugged his Major League contemporaries by .360 points and outpaced 2012 normative slugging percentages by .330 points.
Zack Cozart's 2012 batting average that was (0.96) of the league average would have equated to a .252 batting average in 1941 [(0.96) of .262] and Cozy's 2012 slugging percentage would have been .368 in the depressed slugging season of 1941. For a comparable 1941 batter, look no further than the Cincinnati Reds' own shortstop in '41, Eddie Joost.
Of the 492 batters with plate appearances in 1921, 60 had more than 500 plate appearances and batted above the league-wide average of .291 (just over 12% of all batters in '21).
In 1921 George Herman "Babe" Ruth led the world in on-base percentage (.512; only Ruth's fifth-best single season OBP), runs batted in (168), home runs (59) and slugging percentage (.846; not Ruth's highest) when the Babe alone out-homered eight Major League clubs (including the Reds who managed a paltry 20 home runs in 1921; Reds center fielder Edd Roush paced the '21 Redlegs with 4 home runs). Ruth's .378 batting average did not lead the Major Leagues that season, but his batting average was 1.30 times the 1921 league average of .291. While league-wide batting averages were significantly higher in 1921 than they were in 2012, by .036 points, league-wide slugging percentages in 1921 were marginally lower than they were in 2012 (by .002 points). Ruth's .846 slugging percentage was 2.10 times the league-wide average of .403. Applied to 2012 norms, the Bambino's batting average would equate to .331 [1.30 of .255] and his 2012 slugging percentage translates into .851 [2.10 of .405]. That .331 batting average would not have led the Majors in 2012 (Buster Posey's .336 did) but The Sultan of Swat's .851 slugging percentage would have been nearly .250 points higher than the 2012 leader.
The 2012 Major League leader in home runs, Miguel Cabrera, had 44. That is 43% of the total of the club which had the fewest home runs in 2012 (the San Francisco Giants; 103 HRs). Babe Ruth out-homered eight Major League clubs in 1921.
Zack Cozart's 2012 statistics applied to 1921 norms equate to a batting average of .279 [(0.96) of .291] and a slugging percentage of .394 [(0.98) of .403]. A comparable '21 player would be Bill Wambsganss (yes, I can spell "Wambsganss" without looking it up!), the Cleveland Indians second baseman who batted .285 and slugged .393 in 1921. Every baseball fan should know that in 1920 Wamby turned the only unassisted triple play in World Series history.
Interesting, and I think significant, to note that despite different eras, Zack Cozart - a shortstop - bats similarly to middle infielders (Joost, Wambsganss) from earlier generations.
Both Ted Williams and Babe Ruth recorded higher absolute slugging percentages in 1941 and 1921 than do modern-day league leaders. Additionally, Thumper and the Bambino both slugged proportionally higher percentages against their slugging percentage depressed-era colleagues than do the best modern-day sluggers against their own contemporaries. From the example of these two prominent batters, one can better understand why there is a sentiment, a belief, that the best hitters from earlier eras were vastly superior to the best that the modern game has to offer.
Put simply; Williams and Ruth did more damage than modern hitters while playing in eras when it was more difficult to do so.
Or as Sparky Anderson himself might have said; Don't embarrass Zack Cozart by comparing him to Ted Williams.
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Now that you've navigated my analysis from 2012, 1941 and 1921, here are rapid-fire analytics from three earlier seasons:
1901: League-wide batting average was .272. Of the 371 players recording plate appearances that season, 60 (or just over 16%) finished the season with at least 500 plate appearances and a batting average higher than .272. The Major League's leader in batting and slugging that season was Philadelphia Athletic second baseman Napoleon Lajoie (.426 AVG, .643 SLG). Nap's .426 batting average was 1.56 times the league average, his slugging percentage was 1.79 that of the league's norm of .360. Zack Cozart's 2102 statistics translate into a .261 batting average [(0.96) of .272] and a .353 slugging percentage [(0.98) of .360] for the 1921 season.
1891: The National League (remember, the American League did not exist prior to 1901) averages for batting and slugging were .254 and .343, respectively. The NL leaders in those same categories batted .350 and slugged .512. Of the 359 players with plate appearances that season, 57 (or 16%) had 500+ plate appearances and batted above the league's average of .254. Cozy's 2012 performance would, in 1891, translate into a .243 batting average [(0.96 of 254] and a .336 slugging percentage [(0.98) of .343].
1876: In the first year of the National League, batters averaged .265 and slugged .321. The NL leaders in those categories batted .429 and slugged .590. In the Centennial year of these United States, none of the 121 National League batters recorded as many as 500 plate appearances. Cozy's modern numbers when viewed through the sepia tone prism of 1876 look something like an average of .254 [(0.96) of .265] and a slug percentage of .315 [(0.98) of .321].
These six hand-selected seasons suggest that while league-wide slugging percentages have generally increased with the passage of time, league-wide batting averages have remained comparatively stable.
I think we can attribute the upward trajectory of slugging to livelier baseballs, smaller ballparks and modern (which is not to say improved) strategies of batting. I'm not sure what to make of the decrease in the percentage of players with 500+ plate appearances batting above the league-wide norm to a point where, today, the rate of batters achieving this performance is fully one-half less than that of players from 100 years earlier. Increased platooning? More utilization of the 40-man roster? Perhaps it may be attributed to the increase in rate of strikeouts; I selected 23 seasons ranging from 1871 through 2014 from which to analyze for this project. In 2010 the strikeouts per game [henceforth; K/g] was 7.06. It rose to 7.50 in 2012 and in 2014 the rate of K/g was 7.70 (the highest all-time). Over the period between 1961 and 2000 the K/g rate ranged from 4.83 (in 1976) to 6.45 (in 2000) but most often was in the mid-5s. From 1910 through 1941 the K/g rate was almost uniformly in the 3s (excepting 1927 when the K/g was 2.79). From 1871 through 1897 the K/g rates were sub-3 and as low as 0.69 in 1871 (excepting a rate of 3.45 in 1891). Considering the rise in slugging, the relative stability in batting averages and sky-rocketing rates of K/g, modern batters are putting far fewer balls in play.
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Returning to Mike Lackey's excellent book Spitballing; The Baseball Days of Long Bob Ewing for a closer examination of the dead ball era's most notorious pitch and how it made an impact on the game of baseball:
Bug Holliday, former Cincinnati outfielder and National League umpire, told the story of a scene he'd supposedly witnessed in a sporting goods store. It seems a youngster walked in and wanted to know how much it would cost to get one of those new spitballs, like the one Bob Ewing was throwing.
The kid in Holliday's story went away disappointed, but his interest was understandable. The spitball had been the sensation of the 1904 season; soon it seemed almost every pitcher was looking to acquire one for his personal use. The pitch had caught on first in the American League, then spread to the National. The damp delivery's rise to prominence in the newer circuit prompted sportswriter Charlie Dryden to quip that the American League consisted of "Ban Johnson, the spitball and the Wabash Railroad." Around the league, practically every club had somebody serving up wet ones. By far the most successful practitioner was Happy Jack Chesbro, who employed the pitch to win an astonishing 41 games for the New York Highlanders.
Some old-timers contended that pitchers had dabbled with the spitball for decades, at least since the 1880s; a few graybeards recalled Bobby Matthews throwing something that looked suspiciously like a spitter for the Lord Baltimores club clear back in 1868. But when the pitch came into vogue in the early 1900s, it was hailed as something new under the sun. The "invention" of this new pitch was widely attributed to a little right-hander who had crossed paths with Ewing in the minor leagues. Elmer Stricklett was a teammate of Ewing's at Toledo in 1900, but he didn't add the spitball to his repertoire until two years later, when he was pitching for Sacramento in the California League. Stricklett always disavowed credit for discovering the pitch. He said he learned it from outfielder George Hildebrand, later a longtime American League umpire. Stricklett had a sore arm at the time and was ready to try anything to avoid being released. With the spitball, he ran off 11 straight victories, saved his job and eventually earned a ticket to the big leagues.
Hildebrand's story - probably about as close to the truth as we're ever going to get - is that he discovered the spitball by accident while playing for Providence in the Eastern League earlier in the 1902 season. Warming up one day with pitcher Frank Corridon, Hildebrand noticed that Corridon wet the tips of his fingers before throwing his changeup, a sort of spinless blooper pitch. When, as a joke, Hildebrand took the ball and "put a big daub of spit on it," his next throw took an eye-popping dip. Corridon immediately asked how he did that and Hildebrand demonstrated, releasing the ball with a forceful overhand motion. Using the pitch in an exhibition game a month later, Corridon struck out nine Pittsburgh Pirates in five innings. But he strained his arm and was thereafter leery of the spitball for a time.
In 1904, after three straight 20-win seasons on the West Coast, Stricklett was invited to Texas for a tryout with the Chicago White Sox. That spring he showed the spitball to Jack Chesbro. But Stricklett's star pupil was a big, strapping coal miner from eastern Pennsylvania. Ed Walsh, another rookie in the White Sox camp, studied Stricklett's technique closely. Stricklett again fell victim to arm trouble and was returned to the minors after appearing in only one game with the White Sox; he never became more than a mediocre major leaguer, winning 35 games and losing 51 in four seasons. Walsh, however, stuck in the big leagues and kept working on the spitball. At first he had difficulty controlling the pitch and for nearly two years "was practically worthless to the White Sox." Then everything fell into place. Walsh became the premier spitballer of his day, and one of the premier pitchers, winning 40 games in 1908. Sam Crawford, who batted against Big Ed throughout his prime years, was convinced the ball disintegrated after leaving Walsh's hand and "when it went past the plate it was just the spit that went by."
Hitters throughout the era shared Crawford's frustration. Casey Stengel, whose 56-year career as player and manager began in 1910, years later described the spitball as "the pitch that almost drove me out of baseball when I was 25."
There was little consensus at the time as to how or why the spitball worked, and the answers are not entirely certain today. Some hitters in Ewing's time suspected the ball was haunted. John Thorn and John B. Holway, in their book The Pitcher, maintained that the spit increases air resistance on the wet side of the ball, "making the ball, in its flight through the air, veer the other way - the path of least resistance, be it up, down or sideways." Yale University's Robert Kemp Adair, who once served as the National League's official physicist, said the effect had more to do with the lubricant allowing the pitch to slide off the pitcher's fingers with little or no backspin; such a ball travels through the air with very little rotation, creating "asymmetric stitch configurations... that leads to imbalances of forces and extraordinary excursions in trajectory." Those explanations came decades later. Among Ewing's contemporaries, the thinking man's ballplayer, Christy Mathewson, viewed the spitter as "a style of delivery the science of which cannot be explained."
Ewing, the Auglaize County farm boy, didn't tax his brain much about the science involved. "The mystery of the movement of the spitball is too deep a problem for me to solve," he confessed.
Different pitchers employed different methods of moistening and throwing their spitballs, and there were widely varying descriptions or claims as to what the pitches could be expected to do. Chesbro said he released the spitball just like a curve. Harry Howell, on the other hand, cautioned against using a curveball motion, advising instead a straight overhand deliver "with a smart, short motion of the shoulder and a snap of the wrist." Other specialists agreed with Spittin' Bill Doak, who appeared on the major league stage about the time Ewing was making his exit, that "a rigid wrist is absolutely essential." Walsh favored "a high overhand delivery, releasing the ball at full speed." He shared the common view that the "one real essential" for a spitball pitcher was "speed and strength."
As the possessor of a good natural fastball, Ewing was a likely candidate. He described moistening the first two fingers of his pitching hand and gripping the ball lightly on the surface, not across the seams. Spitballers usually chewed gum, tobacco or most often slippery elm, from the bark of certain elm trees, to help generate sufficient saliva. Soon, imaginative pitchers were coating baseballs with all manner of lubricants in hopes to gaining the desired effect - talcum powder, Vaseline, crude oil - but there is no indication that Ewing ever used anything but good, old-fashioned spit. Delivered with the same motion as his fastball, Ewing's pitch slid off the wet fingers and reacted much like a knuckleball: It approached the plate at middling speed - midway between that of a fastball and a change of pace - with little or no rotation. Ewing said the pitch was "liable to take any kind of shoot when it reaches the batsman" - down and in, down and out, or sometimes straight down.
Many pitchers claimed to be able to determine or at least influence the break of the pitch by their grip or release. Chesbro asserted he could "make the spitball drop two inches or a foot and a half" and that he could create an exaggerated version of a drop, outcurve or inshoot, depending on his release. Walsh said he could make the pitch break four different ways, depending on his grip. Burleigh Grimes, who threw the major league's last legal spitball in 1934, said his spitter would break downward when thrown overhand or outward when thrown sidearm, and "any [arm] angle between overhand and sidearm" would produce a corresponding break.
Despite the fact that modern batters don't have to face the daunting task of hitting a spitball, in 1914 and 1918 - long after the spitball became an established pitch in the Major Leagues - hitters batted .254, the identical league-wide batting average for big leaguers in 1970, 1988 and 1989. In 1964, a season in which Pete Rose was the National League's most recent honoree of the Rookie of the Year award, he and his contemporaries batted an average of .250, the identical average of the dead ball/spitball season of 1915.
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Ted Williams recorded his highest-ever slugging percentage (.735 in 1941) in just his third full season in the Major Leagues, at the age of 22. In 1942 Teddy Ballgame batted .356 and slugged .648. Williams then missed the next 3 baseball seasons - what would have been his 5th, 6th and 7th big league seasons when he was aged 24, 25 and 26 - while in service as a Marine fighter pilot in World War II. Those missed baseball seasons were right in the prime years of his playing career. When Ted resumed playing baseball in 1946 following WW2, he batted .342 and slugged .667 at the age of 27. For the 1947 season, at the age of 28, Williams batted .343 and slugged .634.
It is interesting to note, as an aside, that Ted Williams later missed parts of two seasons - in 1952 and 1953 - when he again donned the uniform of the United States Marine Corps (now serving as a jet fighter pilot) and fought in the Korean War. Before leaving for service in 1952, Ted Williams' so-called "slashline" in six games (12 plate appearances, 10 at bats) was .400/.500/.900. When Thumper returned to baseball at the end of the 1953 season his slashline in 37 games (110 plate appearances, 91 at bats) was .407/.509/.901.
True greatness is found in consistency.
As late as 1955 (aged 36) Williams batted .345 and slugged .703. At the age of 38, in 1957, The Splendid Splinter was less splinterish but just as splendid, batting .388 and slugged .731 (with an OBP of .526).
True greatness is enduring.
There is no doubt that Ted Williams missed some crucial years in the prime of his playing career.
When considering just how much more great Ted's cumulative lifetime numbers may have been, or, similarly (and significantly for the subject at hand), just how much better his 1943-1945 seasons could have been relative to his superlative 1941 season, consider this: Batters rarely have their greatest slugging season in just their third Major League season, or as early as age 22 (as was the case for Ted's twice-interrupted career).
When looking at the playing careers of a sampling of baseball's greatest sluggers - baseball's greatest clean sluggers - we find the following among those whose careers began, as did Ted's, as full-time players right from their respective rookie seasons:
Henry Aaron, the true home run king, recorded his highest single-season slugging percentage (.669) at the age of 37, during his 18th big league season. His next-highest single-season SLG (.636) occurred at the age of 25, during his sixth big league season.
Willie Mays' top single-season SLG (.667) happened when he was 23 years old, during his third big league season (having missed the preceding season, 1953, serving in Korea. It could therefore be argued that the Say Hey Kid's top mark was achieved in what would have been his fourth baseball season). In this respect, Willie Mays' accomplishments mirror closely those of Ted Williams.
Ken Griffey Junior recorded his highest-ever single-season SLG (.674) during his sixth big league season, at the age of 24.
Frank Robinson achieved his best single-season SLG (.637) at the age of 30, during his 11th season. His next-best SLG (.624) was attained at the age of 26, in his seventh season.
Reggie Jackson was another whose top single-season SLG (a comparatively paltry .608) happened during his third big league season, at the age of 23.
Mike Schmidt's single-season SLG peaked at .644 when he was 31 years of age, playing in his ninth full big-league season (tenth season overall).
Mickey Mantle (.705), his sixth season, aged 24.
Ernie Banks (.614), fifth full season (sixth overall), aged 27.
Stan Musial (.702), 27 years of age and in his sixth full season, (seventh overall, eighth if one includes his 1945 season missed while in service).
Ty Cobb, playing in an era when slugging meant doubles and triples, slugged .621 in his sixth season (seventh overall), when he was 24 years old.
When you consider how consistent Ted Williams' production was pre- and post-WW2, and when you contextualize just how truly great Ted's 1941 season was - when he was just 22 years old and playing in only his third season - it isn't difficult to project even greater achievements during what would have been Williams' age 24, 25 and 26 seasons. Particularly in light of the fact that so many of baseball's greatest sluggers performed at their highest levels in the approximate/identical age range when Ted Williams was fighting in WW2.
For my larger purpose here today, we had to use Ted's 1941 season. He likely could have been even better than what the record books demonstrate.
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Finally, a return to the modern versus pre-modern issue as a way to give this rambling project a summation of sorts.
The most shameful season in baseball was not 1919 (Black Sox) or 1989 (A. Bartlett Giamatti witch hunt of the sainted Hit King) or 1998 (McGwire/Sosa) but rather 2001 when Barry "the San Francisco Cheat" [credit; Lou] Bonds blew up - once and for all - all that was sacred and honorable about the National Pastime, desecrating the record books with his performance-enhanced 73 home run season.
In that 2001 season in which Major Leaguers averaged .264 and slugged .427, Barry Bombs [sic] "creamed" .328 and "cleared" .863. Using the Williams '41 and Ruth '21 ratios; in 2001 Ted would have batted .409 and slugged .837, Babe .343 and .897. Both batting for higher averages than Bonds, Ruth slugging a greater percentage. The obvious difference being that two were unquestionably clean and one is a filthy cheat.
In 2002, with Major League pitchers issuing intentional walks to Bonds by the boatload, he batted .370 and slugged .799 while the league-wide averages were .261/.416. The Williams/Ruth equivalents are .405/.816 (Ted Williams) and .339/.874 (Babe Ruth). Both slugging for greater percentages than Bonds, Ted batting for the higher average. The obvious difference being that two were unquestionably clean and one is a [MULTIPLE EXPLETIVES DELETED].
Ergo, even during the peak performance-enhanced baseball seasons, Ted Williams and Babe Ruth outperformed the grossest statistical abuser of the record books, a scoundrel who himself out-hit Zack Cozart.
Roll the credits!
In Memoriam, Al Forester.
Mr B with Al at Fenway Park on a cool, crisp autumn evening in 1999.
Mr Heavy Artillery with Al on the field at Fenway Park on a hazy, hot and humid summer afternoon in 2002.
