Country music has had better songs but none truer than Hank Williams Jr.’s “Family Tradition.”
In it, the son of the legendary Hank Williams sings, “If I get stoned and sing all night long, it’s a family tradition.”
Expanding the boundaries of family, as Bobby Bonds did when he linked San Francisco Giants teammate Willie Mays with his infant son, brings us to one of those sports arguments that doesn’t really have a correct answer:
Who’s the greatest living ballplayer, 73-year-old Willie Mays or his godson, Barry Bonds, who is carrying on his family tradition?
Others should come into the debate too. Hank Aaron, absolutely. Stan Musial has a better claim than you might think. Alex Rodriguez is forcing his way into the conversation. If you choose to include pitchers–and not many non-pitchers would–you could add Sandy Koufax, Nolan Ryan or Roger Clemens.
In years past there was no argument. This was how Joe DiMaggio insisted he be introduced when he made his rare public appearances. There were some people in New England who disagreed, but it wasn’t until DiMaggio’s death in 1999 that the tag officially passed to Ted Williams.
Since the Splinter’s death in July 2002, little attention has been paid to crowning Williams’ heir. It has been hard to take our eyes off the game on the field long enough to wax nostalgic, as baseball fans have done forever.
The game hasn’t been reinvented, but it’s being played better than ever on its highest stages, delivering drama in volume since the playoff field was expanded.
During this time Barry Bonds could have become the second coming of Babe Ruth. Unfortunately for him, he has about as much personality as a rake. The sneer that prompted a magazine cover, “I’m Barry Bonds and You’re Not,” practically dares you to like him.
Many have tried, and many have failed. But fortunately for the 39-year-old outfielder, charisma is not a prerequisite for greatness.
Bonds’ hitting has been a huge part of baseball’s recent story.
He has earned six National League Most Valuable Player awards, including the last three in a row, and finished out of the top eight in MVP voting only twice in the last 14 years. He hits homers almost at will in a ballpark where others struggle to reach the fences and probably already would have 700 homers if he had not spent seven seasons based at Candlestick Park, a ballyard only a frisky hot-dog wrapper could love.
Bonds finished with a flourish to break Mark McGwire’s single-season home run record, hitting four in his last four games to get to 73 in 2001. His .863 slugging percentage that year broke a Ruth record that had stood since 1920. He set more records in 2002, when 198 walks to go along with a .370 batting average gave him a .582 on-base percentage. Not bad for a guy who is supposed to be past his prime.
Bonds’ career totals (.298 average, 668 homers, 1,764 RBIs) are inflated somewhat by the offensive explosion of the last decade, but that takes little away from a career OPS (on-base plus slugging percentage) of 1.040.
Through 2003 Bonds’ OPS had averaged 179 points per season higher than the league average. That’s nowhere near as good as Ruth (plus-207) but it’s a whole lot better than any other living player. Mays’ career OPS of .941 is 156 points above the league averages in 1951-73. Aaron’s .929 is 155 points above the league averages in 1954-76.
Bonds arrived from Arizona State as a complete player. He has won eight Gold Gloves and has ranked in the NL’s top 10 in stolen bases nine times, becoming the only player in history with 500-plus stolen bases and homers. But in recent years there has been an occasional indifference to his play in left field. His fielding contributed to the Giants’ inability to hold off Anaheim in the 2002 World Series.
Bonds never was as graceful in the outfield as his godfather. You can argue that there never has been a better outfielder than Mays, whose amazing instincts and athletic ability allowed him to cover a tremendous amount of territory in center field.
That’s why Mays is the career leader in outfield putouts and total chances. He almost never gave up on trying to make a catch, at least twice plucking drives from the air with his bare hand and once knocking himself unconscious colliding with the outfield wall. His time-capsule catch is the over-the-shoulder grab to rob Vic Wertz in the 1954 World Series at the Polo Grounds, but he can cite many he considered more difficult.
Later in that same Series game, he raced to left-center to cut off a Wertz drive, holding him to a double instead of an inside-the-park homer. Mays considers that a better play than the catch that is replayed endlessly.
There’s very little Mays didn’t do in baseball. He was a Rookie of the Year, a two-time MVP, won a batting title, led in home runs four times, triples three times and stolen bases four times. He somehow never led in RBIs but finished in the top 10 for 10 consecutive years. He had 300-plus total bases 13 consecutive years, a run topped only by Lou Gehrig.
Like his fielding stats, his hitting numbers–.302 average, 660 homers, 1,903 RBIs with 338 stolen bases–don’t tell you how good he was. There have been few better clutch hitters, the evidence being 22 extra-inning home runs. Ruth had 16, and nobody else has that many. He had a flair for capturing the moment, seen most notably when he always seemed to find a way to put his stamp on the All-Star Game.
Like Bonds, Mays was never quite embraced by the nation. He began his career when the Giants were New York’s No. 3 team, then spent much of his career overshadowed by Mickey Mantle, whose mystique somehow made him bigger than life.
When the Giants moved to San Francisco, it was Orlando Cepeda, not Mays, who quickly became the franchise’s most popular player. It didn’t help that San Francisco was DiMaggio country, and that the racial climate of the late ’50s and ’60s worked against Mays, whose image was almost entirely built on his play. “I didn’t date Marilyn Monroe,” was how Mays once put it.
Mays was known for his smile and his trademark “Say, hey” expression, but he hasn’t always been cheerful when looking back on his career. He wasn’t paid according to his achievements and then felt the sting of a suspension by then-Commissioner Bowie Kuhn when he went to work as a greeter and PR man for Bally’s Casino in Atlantic City, N.J., in 1979.
That ban lasted until 1985. It has taken the link to Bonds, and perhaps the deaths of DiMaggio and Williams, to focus some attention back on one of the most remarkable players in history.
Best living hitter? That’s Bonds.
Best living player? That’s Mays.
How Bonds compares to Mays, Aaron
Bonds already has passed his godfather, Willie Mays, on the all-time home run list. Next up is Babe Ruth, followed by the king, Hank Aaron. If Bonds maintains his level of excellence for a few more seasons, no milestone should be out of his reach.
BONDS
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GAMES AB R H
2,601 8,800 1,968 2,622
HR RBI BB SO SB
668 1,764 2,124 1,395 503
MAYS
GAMES AB R H
2,992 10,881 2,062 3,283
HR RBI BB SO SB
660 1,903 1,464 1,526 338
AARON
GAMES AB R H
3,298 12,364 2,174 3,771
HR RBI BB SO SB
755 2,297 1,402 1,383 240
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