If you’ve read Bill James’ massive book The New Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract, which came out in 2001, then you might recall he took a great deal of time explaining why Willie Davis was a far better baseball player than his actual statistics implied. You can thank your lucky stars that I will not repeat that exercise here, because it involved lots of math, literal formulae and calculations, and, well, those aren’t terribly fun to read.
Still, he made a great point. Davis played the heart of his career in grossly unfair conditions for a hitter. Think of all of those hitters in Coors Field during the Steroid Era, inflating statistics and averages and biceps. Have that picture in your head? Good. Now reverse those conditions and you get the situation for Willie Davis and his fellow Dodgers.
Davis played his prime seasons in the 1960s, when the mound was still high and pitching dominated. He also played in cavernous (for the time) Dodger Stadium, which suppressed hitting even more. How devastating was this to the statistics of Davis and others? Look for yourself:
The first line is the average 162-game numbers for Davis from 1962 to 1968, which are the years from when Dodgers Stadium first opened until the mound was finally lowered before the 1969 season began. These are the prime seasons of most players’ careers, when Davis was 22-28 years old.
The second line is the average 162-game season for Davis in every other year of his career combined. These include his initial couple of years in the big leagues when he was 20-21 years old and the entire decline phase of his career, even the part-time year he played for the Angels in 1979 after returning from a couple of seasons in Japan when he was 39-years old.
Willie Davis had markedly better statistics as an inexperienced kid and in his 30s than he had in the prime years of his career. He drove in more runs, hit for a higher average, hit for more power, walked more, and struck out less.
None of that is an accident. It’s a function of the run-scoring environment he faced during those prime seasons. The math that James did in his book was to develop a method to show how Davis’ actual numbers would equate to a set of career numbers from a neutralized run-scoring environment. A version of that formula now sits on Baseball-Reference.com for every player. Here’s what that would look like for Davis. I’ve laid them next to his actual numbers for reference:
Those are not small differences. None of the adjustments push him past milestones that would have automatically earned him more recognition, but they certainly move him in that direction. For instance, in a more neutral environment, Davis might have surpassed 750 extra-base hits and 400 steals. Only fourteen players in baseball history have done that. Only two of them were center fielders. You might have heard of them:
Now, obviously Willie Davis wasn’t in the same class as either of those players. He’d have been more in the range of Johnny Damon, albeit as a better defensive player.
The point isn’t that Davis was an all-time great. The point is that he was unfairly overlooked at the end of his career, likely at least partially because his final numbers were superficially less impressive than they might have been if he’d played in a less oppressive run-scoring environment. He literally wasn’t even placed on even one Hall of Fame ballot. He was never voted on by the baseball writers. Johnny Damon got a fair chance. He appeared on the 2018 ballot, got eight votes, and then dropped from consideration. But he had a shot. Willie Davis was never given that shot, and it’s not fair.
Lots of players who were worse than Willie Davis retired in 1979, just like he did, and still found themselves on the 1985 Hall of Fame ballot when they became eligible for the first time. Tell me, who was better between David and Don Kessinger?
Who was better between Davis and George Scott? Or Roy White? Or Ed Flippin’ Kranepool?
Heck, it’s fair to ask if Davis had as good a case as Lou Brock, who also retired the same year he did.
Each of those players was on the 1985 Hall of Fame ballot. Most of them weren’t as good as Willie Davis. Hell, a couple of them weren’t good, period. I don’t know if Davis was omitted because he wasn’t a great teammate, or had some odd clubhouse habits, or somehow made the powers that be mad, or disappeared to Japan for a couple of seasons and exited the minds of the folks who create the ballots. Or, maybe, they looked at his career stats and sort of said, “Meh,” because they forgot to take into account the conditions under which he played.
What I do know is that he was a much better player than his statistics show, and that he deserved a shot of having his career properly reviewed when it was over.
What an eye opener regarding Davis' similar numbers in comparison to Brock's. Of course, Brock's SB number stands out, but I'll take slug% and OPS+ over SB every time! Also, Ed Kranepool?! HOF consideration?? Really??!! Thank you Paul
Watching Willie play in the 60’s he was certainly an exciting player to watch, he had some power and lots of speed. He might not have been a hall of famer but he has a case, maybe he’ll end up being more famous as “the best player that never made it on the ballot”. Were there any other cases of very good players that never got their chance, excluding Pete Rose for obvious reasons?