Bruce Sutter
Well, they finally went ahead and done it. They caused the graves of Cy Young, Walter Johnson and Christy Mathewson to turn over, forthwith. Some would say they besmirched the art of pitching, the very being of a hurler.
"They" are the folks who vote on who gets in or left out of the Baseball Hall of Fame. Yesterday the votes were tabulated, and only one player qualified for induction this summer in Cooperstown: Bruce Sutter. A reliever. A man who never so much as took the hill to throw a pitch in the first inning of any game in which he appeared. That's right -- no starts. Zero. Zilch. Nada.
But that's okay by me. What others may think, I don't know.
Sutter represents, more than any inductee ever, the evolution of the game. Sort of like when Bill Clinton was elected president in 1992 -- the first president born after World War II. Makes you stop and think for a moment, doesn't it, about where we've been, and where we're headed?
Yes, Bruce Sutter represents this, and the only way he wouldn't have been the first to do so is if the committee voted in a guy who was mostly a designated hitter, and that hasn't happened yet.
Sutter received 76.9% of the votes counted, which is 1.9% more than the minimum necessary for induction. Jim Rice was next with 64.8%, or 337 votes, which was 53 votes shy of the minimum needed.
Sutter had 300 saves, a career ERA of 2.83, and a losing record. He was 68-71, but that's hardly an indicator of a closer's effectiveness, of course. But again -- changing times. Before Sutter's generation of pitcher, the idea of making the Hall with a record below .500 would have been folly. Sutter also led the National League in saves five times, was a six-time All-Star, won the Cy Young Award in 1979, and was the World Series MVP in 1982. Not bad for a guy who could have arrived in street clothes by the seventh inning of every game and not missed anything.
But good for him. As Sutter said after the vote, "I hope more closers get in. I think the voters try to compare us to starters, but we can't compete with their innings or strikeouts. We play a different position -- but without us, it's tough to win."
Indeed it is tough to win without a decent closer nowadays. Long gone are the days of 20+ complete games and 300+ innings from the starters. But like Sutter says, try winning without the short relievers. Kind of like trying to win a golf tournament with no putter.
It wasn't always like that, of course, but that's where the symbolism of Sutter's career enters the picture. He started in in the mid-1970's, when closers were known as "firemen." He continued throughout the 80's, and in the beginning of the decade he was known as a "stopper." By the time he finished in 1988, he had become the current sobriquet, the "closer."
And in doing so, Bruce Sutter, along with contemporaries such as Rollie Fingers, Lee Smith, Dennis Eckersley and Goose Gossage, firmly placed a stamp of approval on the role of the closer from even the most traditionalist of baseball fans and media. It was impossible to ignore the contributions to a team's success a competent closer could make.
Sutter's importance coincided with the switch to five-man starting pitching rotations, and the trend of managers to baby their starters' arms beyond even that change. Before long, bullpens were set up with guys specializing in the 7th and 8th "setup" innings, followed by the closer in the 9th. But Sutter threw more than 100 innings five times in his career, which means he wasn't just a ninth inning man, like today's closers. Nowadays, managers rue bringing in their closer in the 8th inning. And the 7th? Forgettaboutit. But Sutter, along with his colleagues, acted often times as their own "setup men," entering games in the 7th inning or even earlier if necessary to stop the bleeding. In those days, managers wanted their best reliever in the game, regardless of inning. If you weren't a closer in the bullpen, and you weren't a starter, you were just another interchangeable part. Now the bullpen is specialized, and I wonder how long it will be when coaching staffs in baseball resemble those in football: a closer coach, a setup man coach, and even a coach for the dreaded "long reliever," which is the lowest man on the bullpen totem pole.
But hold the phone. Bruce Sutter goes into the Hall with his 300 saves, and that's great. But Gossage, who fell 54 votes shy, had 310 saves, and pitched much longer -- 22 seasons to Sutter's 12. He was a World Series champ, too -- twice. His career ERA was 3.01, not all that much worse than Sutter's. Yet Goose is on the outside looking in once again. But you know those voters don't always think straight.
The rejection of guys like Rice and pitcher Bert Blyleven is, in my mind, another victory for those like me who would save the Hall for only the outstanding, not the very good. It's the same thing with Jack Morris. My view isn't popular around these parts, but I agree with Morris' exclusion, too. Too many in Detroit would put him in simply because of his brilliant 10-inning performance in Game 7 of the 1991 World Series. But Don Larsen isn't enshrined, and he pitched a perfect game in a World Series game, for crying out loud.
It's always fun to debate who should and who should not be in any of the major sport's Halls of Fame. It's a sure way to start a lively barroom discussion, even before the drinks have been consumed.
Congratulations to Bruce Sutter -- baseball's first non-starting pitcher to be so enshrined. Who knows what's next? Maybe Charlie Brown will get to kick the football out of Lucy's hold?
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