When I was a boy, I wanted to grow up to be Joe Morgan.
The Hall of Fame second baseman, who died Sunday night of polyneuropathy, was said by some statisticians to be the greatest player ever at his position. Morgan was probably the most exciting star to watch this side of Willie Mays, was a consummate professional throughout his career, and was a fierce proponent of old-school integrity.
At just 5 feet, 7 inches tall, Morgan was a small man who used an unusually small glove, but together, that man and glove acted as a vacuum cleaner for more batted balls than seemed possible, as his five consecutive Gold Glove Awards attested. As a hitter, his performance was extraordinary, and he led the league in on-base percentage four times, in slugging once, in walks four times, in runs once, and in triples once. As a base runner, he was spectacular, stealing 689 bases and driving pitchers and infielders to distraction.
And more than all that, as a leader, he was nonpareil. It wasn’t just happenstance that the Cincinnati Reds had its best decade when Morgan played for the team, that the Houston Astros tied for its division’s title when he returned in 1980, and that the Philadelphia Phillies won the National League championship when Morgan went there in 1983. Quite simply, Morgan made everybody around him a better player.
Yet not even any of that could capture the experience of watching Morgan play. From his signature “elbow flapping” move as a hitter to all the evidence of his obviously top-notch intelligence, from the way he calmed pitchers and fellow infielders after they grew frustrated to the churning speed he showed on the basepaths, Morgan was rightly the center of attention even when surrounded by superstar teammates such as Pete Rose, Johnny Bench, and Tony Perez. It was almost impossible to keep one’s eyes off him.
Still, Morgan was hardly the only star player to watch. What made it personal for me, in addition to me being far smaller than average and playing second base and thus wanting to emulate Morgan’s success, was that he seemed not just talented but thoroughly admirable. Many years later, he vindicated that impression when he wrote a famous letter opposing the admission of known steroid users into the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York. The whole letter is a model of thoughtfulness, eloquence, high standards, and decency.
The key paragraphs are here: “Section 5 of the Rules for Election [to the Hall] states, ‘voting shall be based upon the player’s record, playing ability, integrity, sportsmanship, character, and contributions to the team(s) on which the player played.’ I care about how good a player was or what kind of numbers he put up; but if a player did steroids, his integrity is suspect; he lacks sportsmanship; his character is flawed; and whatever contribution he made to his team is now dwarfed by his selfishness.”
And: “Steroid users knew they were taking a drug that physically improved how they played. Taking steroids is a decision. It’s the deliberate act of using chemistry to change how hard you hit and throw by changing what your body is made of. … For over eighty years, the Hall of Fame has been a place to look up to, where the hallowed halls honor those who played the game hard and right. I hope it will always remain that way.”
Agree with Morgan or not, one must admire his appeal to integrity and character. In those respects and in his riveting on-field performances, Morgan was the epitome of a Hall of Famer.
