Joe Morgan -- No Argument Here
It has been said of Joe Morgan that he is the toughest offensive player in the game today.
It is about to be said again; this time with feeling.
By Pete Halden
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Joe Morgan has a tough act to follow. His own.
The diminutive second baseman capped a stellar 1975 season by winning the, National League's Most Valuable Player award by, a margin that would have made Franklin D. Roosevelt blush. In fact, his 163-point edge over runner up Greg Luzinski of Philadelphia was the largest in league history. Perhaps even more than his accomplishments on the field, the MVP award served to place Morgan in the select company of teammates Pete Rose and Johnny Bench, a pair of former winners whose long shadows had heretofore partially' obscured Morgan's contributions. In 1975, Morgan put the baseball world on notice that he had earned the designation of superstar in his own right.
Oddly, Rose and Bench both suffered off years--relatively speaking, of course--following their MVP triumphs, Bench, who won it in 1970, slipped from 45 home runs and 148 RBIs to 27 round-trippers and a paltry 61 RBIs. And Rose, the 1973 winner after capturing his third league batting crown, dipped below the .300 mark the following, season for the first time in a decade. Morgan bristled when asked whether he might be the next victim of the post-MVP syndrome.
"You know me well enough to bet that I'm not going to have any letdown," he declared. "If I have an off-season, it'll be because of physical reasons. I'm not going to have any mental letdown."
Nevertheless, Morgan did have some mid-season problems adjusting to the unexpected glare of the limelight. He had always been. Thought of as a good ballplayer, even a fine one, but sportswriters in the Queen City preferred to talk to the quotable Rose, the majestic Bench or Mr. Nice Guy, Tony Perez. Long about June, someone noticed that Morgan was doing everything but selling Bicentennial pencils, and the locals began touting him as the next MVP. Soon the word spread to the four corners of the earth, even reaching as far as Philadelphia.
"I definitely think Morgan should get it," said Phillies manager Danny Ozark. "Most of the Reds are having super years, but Morgan means a lot to the team in terms of spirit and consistency. I would vote for him."
As the dogdays of August rolled around, Morgan found himself beseiged by sportswriters looking for quotes about the MVP award. Since the Reds had turned the pennant race into a shambles, there wasn't much else to talk about.
"That's when all you writers started asking me how I felt about my chances," Morgan recalled. "Just before a game, I'm in my own little world. I wasn't used to all of those last-minute interviews before I went into a game. I think that's why I had that little dry spell the second half of the season, It took me, a little while to get readjusted. It took a little while for me to get myself up for a game in a hurry after those interviews."
Much to the dismay of National League pitchers, Morgan quickly, adjusted to his new role. Oh, did he adjust. By season's end, the numbers read this way: .327 batting average, 17 homers, 94 RBIs, 107 runs scored, 67 stolen bases in 77 attempts, 132 walks and an astounding .472 on-base percentage. The base-on-balls total, which broke his own club record of 120, set in 1974, is particularly impressive since Morgan bats ahead of Bench and Perez. Whereas stand out sluggers on weak hitting teams - Dave Kingman of the New York Mets springs to mind - are often pitched around, Morgan received few, if any, luxury passes. Instead, he earned his way on with a keenly developed batting eye at the plate. Moreover, 1975 was the sixth time in seven seasons that Morgan surpassed the century mark in walks.
Having waded through the figures, we are obliged at this juncture to note that the essence of Joe Morgan cannot be captured statistically. True, much of what Morgan does shows up in the box score, but a heckuva lot is lost on those who dwell on mathematics alone. Example: it, is fair to say that Morgan's mere presence on base dramatically increases the percentage of fastballs thrown to Bench and Perez, who have been known to hit a fastball now and then. It can also be assumed that a pitcher who throws to first time and again in an effort to hold Morgan close simply, cannot devote his full attention to the batter. Then there are the myriad holes opened in the infield as the second baseman or the shortstop shades closer to the bag knowing that Morgan could be going on any pitch, while the first remains anchored to keep Morgan close. And let us not forget the catcher, that poor beast already burdened by the tools of ignorance, He is the primary victim, in the eye of the public if not in fact, of Morgan's larcenous tendencies.
"I wish I had a cannon," grumbled the much maligned Manny Sanguillen after Morgan and company swiped 10 bases in as many attempts during the first two games of last year's' championship series against Pittsburgh. Four of those steals belonged to Morgan, and three followed walks. Sanguillen's laments notwithstanding, Morgan was quick to absolve the catching corps of culpability for his persistent thievery.
"I think I steal every base off the pitcher, not the catcher," he said, echoing one of baseball's most time-honored lullabyes. "That's what I'm fighting for at first base. I'll always run. If Duffy Dyer is their catcher instead of Sanguillen, he's got a mask on and he's got to throw the ball to second base like anybody else. When I get to a certain point after leaving first base, it doesn't matter to me who's catching.''
One catcher who had enough to worry about in his own time, long before the life of Morgan began to play at National League theaters everywhere, was Joe Garagiola. "Joe Morgan is the best offensive player in the game today," Garagiola said last October. The contention was subsequently documented by Allan Roth, who is to statistics what Carter is to liver pills. Roth devised a rating system based on batting average, on-base percentage, power, slugging percentage, bases per time up (includ
ing steals and attempted steals), home run rate, walk rate, hit by pitches and strikeouts. Nothing personal, but Morgan was rated the most Offensive player in the majors.
The excitement served to over shadow the fact that in 1975, the Reds' second baseman won his third consecutive Gold Glove. "You know, winning that Gold Glove means an awful lot of hard work to do a good job on defense," he said, savoring the accomplishment like a pitcher who's just knocked in the winning run. Yogi Berra, late of the Mets and now a coach with the Yankees, described Morgan as "the greatest second baseman in the world."
"We played the Reds, three games and Morgan made two plays, that killed our chances of big innings," said Berra after the Mets fled Cincinnati in mid May. "I mean two plays that were impossible. Se we lose two out of three."
A Grade-B Hollywood movie about a Joe Morgan-type ballplayer would doubtless depict the hero climaxing his season by knocking in the winning run in the seventh game of the World Series. With two out in the ninth, of course. If that sounds too unbelievable, you weren't paying attention last October when Morgan's 150-foot blooper fell before the onrushing Freddy Lynn, inspiring Boston manager Darrell Johnson to set a series record for expletives deleted.
Rose wound up winning the car as World Series MVP, but left the impression he felt the transmission and drive shaft belonged to Morgan. "The Reds weren't a winner until Joe came over to us," Rose said. "Now we're champions and I'd say you can give credit to him."
Actually, credit belongs to the Houston Astros, historic practioners of the maxim that it is indeed better to give than receive. While you and I were enjoying Thanksgiving dinner in 1971, the Astros were behaving like southern fried turkeys, sending Morgan, Cesar Geronimo, Jack Billingham, Denis Menke and Ed Armbrister to the Reds for Lee May, since traded to Baltimore to Rob Andrews and Enos Cabell; Tommy Helms, who became a Pirate over the winter, and Jimmy Stewart, long since retired. It was the most onesided deal since the Louisiana Purchase.
Even before he reported to spring training last year, Morgan set his sights on a banner season. As the suggestion of Reds' batting coach Ted Kluszewski, Morgan swung a lead bat over the winter to strengthen his right hand and forearm. "I knew the difference on the first day of spring training," Morgan recalled. "It usually takes a few days before I can hit the ball with any authority, but not this year. I never hit the ball so hard in April."
Morgan was rewarded for his quick start from the gate by being named National League Player of the Month in April, at least in part because of a staggering .557 on-base percentage. "It seems as if he's on base every time I look up," said Alex Grammas, the league's busiest third base coach. Just to make sure nobody thought it was a fluke, Morgan repeated as player-of-the-month in June. When the story of the June award broke, the Reds were in San Diego and Morgan clipped a copy of the story from a local newspaper. "This I've got to keep. I may never see it again," he said, smiling. Then, in an apparent reference to his MVP chances Morgan added, "It sure would be nice, though, if I could tear a clipping out of the paper just like it at the end of the season."
Morgan has often been called the strongest player, pound for pound, in the game. That was never more true than in 1975, when he reported to camp at 158 pounds, 13 pounds lighter than he was at the end of the 1974 season. "But remember, I was injured those last weeks of the season and missed some games," he pointed out.
Morgan, who turned 32 last September, had to struggle early in his career to demonstrate that someone who stands 5-7 can indeed play a little boy's game like a big man. "The biggest thing i've had to fight in my life has been my size," he said, "Even when I was a kid, all I used to hear was, 'He's a great little player'. It really irked me, especially, when I was outhitting and getting, more home runs than kids bigger than I was."
But there's a silver lining to that psychological cloud Morgan and realizes it. "I've never thought of my size as a hindrance, but I guess it made me more competitive," he said. That theme was underscores by Willie Stargell, the biggest of the Bucs who shares Morgan's affinity for No. 8. "Joe hates to lose
even at dominoes," said Stargell. "If he has to, he'll keep you playing all night before he'll quit a loser."
With all due respects to Roy McMillan, Morgan is the best ballplayer, ever produced amidst the hustle and bustle of Bonham, Tex. When he was four, his family moved to Oakland, Calif. Morgan still resides in the Bay area with his wife, the former Gloria Stewart, and daughters Lisa and Angela. Morgans says his close family ties and the lessons taught him by his father are the reasons he enjoys people all people. "I wasn't born in any ghetto and. never have lived in an all-black neighborhood. I guess that's the principal reason I don't judge people on a basis of who they are and what color they happen to be."
Go argue, with that (Halden, 52-58).
Story Taken From the 12th Annual Baseball Illustrated (1976) - Pages 52-58.
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