George Brett and the magic of chasing .400, short season or not

Of course, the differences go well beyond that. Everything in the game has gone away from batting average. Team evaluators don't care about it. Some players still do, but many don't. Shifts cut down on average, as does the recent emphasis at getting the ball in the air. Offenses are geared toward power hitting rather than gap-to-gap hitting and moving runners around. The avatar for all of these trends is the strikeout rate. In 1941, pitchers struck out 3.6 batters per nine innings. By 1980, that number was up to 4.8. In 1994, it was 6.2. So far in 2020, it's an all-time high 9.0.

The end result is that batting average has never been harder to come by. Though numbers have been picking up of late, the league-level batting average has been quoted far and wide during the season's opening weeks. Through Wednesday, it was at .241, which would be the lowest mark since .237 in 1968 -- the famous Year of the Pitcher.

It's actually worse than that because for the first time, every team can deploy a designated hitter. If you remove pitcher hitting from the equation, the league batting average in 2020 remains at .241. But the league average in 1968 jumps to .245. There has never been a season with a non-pitcher batting average as low as it is right here, right now.

Thus Blackmon is absolutely right, even if he might be overlooking the advantages that come with playing half of his games in Coors Field. For a player to hit .400 in 2020, he'll have to beat the MLB mark by (as of now) 159 points. That number in 1941 was 129 points for Williams. In 1980, it was 132 points for Brett.

May 22, 1980

Imagine an alternate universe where the players do end up walking out on May 23 and the owners really do wipe out the season. After going 0-for-6 on May 21 in a 14-inning home loss to Oakland, Brett was still mired in a down season, with his average at .247. The strike deadline was looming. Brett's 1980 average could have been forever frozen where it was, far short of .300, much less .400.

Instead, Miller and Ray Grebey, chief negotiator for management, reached a settlement after an all-night bargaining session. Thus, the storm clouds that eventually engulfed the 1981 season had, for the time being, been blown away. Just like that, the headlines around the baseball media-scape began to refocus to events on the field.

In Kansas City, the Royals recovered from their dispiriting loss the night before to trounce Matt Keough and the A's 10-3. Brett had two hits, including his fifth triple.

"Maybe we ought to call more strikes," Brett said after the game.

Middle West icon

George Brett was already my favorite player before he almost hit .400, but in my part of the world, I was not alone. Kids wanted to play third base in Little League because of Brett. All through that era, a spate of babies were born and were named after the beloved No. 5. Since he rose to prominence in the late 1970s, Brett has been the icon of baseball in that part of the country.

I would argue this: Few, if any, players have hung on to face-of-the-franchise status longer than Brett has for the Royals. While that's a subjective assessment, it can perhaps be illustrated empirically.

Brett is K.C.'s all-time leader in bWAR, with 88.6. That's 1.89 times as many wins above replacement as franchise runner-up Kevin Appier, who had 47. Only two franchises have a career leader with a higher ratio over their No. 2. The Twins/Senators' all-time leader is Walter Johnson, whose 164.5 bWAR is 2.58 times that of Rod Carew (63.8). Of course, it's not clear that the Big Train ever stepped foot in the state of Minnesota, so it's a stretch to call him the face of the Minneapolis franchise.

The only real challenger for Brett in this regard would be the gone-way-too-soon Tony Gwynn, whose 69.2 bWAR is 2.16 times that of what Dave Winfield put up during his time in San Diego. Gwynn died in 2014. The Padres have never had another player who matched Gwynn's stature in San Diego, and of course he was raised in that city. That sole-face status for the Pads could change in the years to come, as Fernando Tatis Jr. cements his superstar status, though that would entail the Padres locking him up for the long haul.

Brett has arguably been the face of Kansas City baseball since 1975. Perhaps the best-ever Angel, Mike Trout, could catch him in, say, 2060 or so. But to have one player lord over a franchise for this long is, to say the least, historically unique.

June 10, 1980

Brett started to hit after his early struggles, especially in the weeks after his 27th birthday on May 15, 1980. The Royals began to pile up wins and Porter rejoined the team, declaring to reporters that it wasn't just alcohol but drugs for which he was seeking treatment. This was a bold declaration at the time, when the stigma of drug addiction was much stronger than it is now.

"I am now beginning the biggest challenge of my life," Porter said. Soon after, a story hit the wires before a road trip that would take the Royals through the media hubs of Chicago, New York and Boston.

"When we go into Chicago and New York, they'll eat him alive," Brett said, and teammate Hal McRae offered similar sentiments.

They were wrong. When Porter first stepped to the plate at Comiskey Park, he received a warm ovation from the supposedly rowdy South Side fans. In New York, he homered off Ron Guidry, and to his astonishment, the Yankee Stadium crowd gave him a standing ovation. Unfortunately, it was just the current phase of an issue Porter lived with until he died. For the time being, though, the spotlight was off him and on to his quickly heating-up teammate.

Over 18 games from May 22 to June 10, Brett hit .447 with six homers, raising his average to .337. The Royals won 14 of those games, improving their record to 34-20 and opening a six-game lead in the division. Then the bugaboo of Brett's career reared its hideous head: He got injured.

The timing was terrible. Brett's two-run homer on June 8 helped the Royals cap a rally at Texas for their sixth straight win. Rumors were spreading that the Royals were about to finally lavish Brett with that big contract. Brett was upbeat. The next day, Brett's pal Herzog was hired by the Cardinals to replace Ken Boyer as their manager.

"It's fantastic," Brett said. "They're getting a great man."

"He won't last long," Otis said, before backtracking to at least wish Herzog well.

After an off day, Brett started a series at Cleveland on June 10 with a mammoth home run in his first at-bat against Len Barker. In the third inning of that game, he walked, then stole second base. But on the slide into the bag, Brett injured some ligaments in his right ankle. Papers across the country carried a wire photo of Brett being carried off the field on a stretcher with a pained look on his face.

Brett did not play again for a month.

Small-sample heroes

If Blackmon plays all 60 games for Colorado, at his current pace he would end up with 257 plate appearances, or a little over half the minimum number of trips needed to qualify for the batting title in a normal season. Over the course of baseball history, there really aren't any examples of a small-sample .400 hitter.

Since 1901, every hitter who has finished with at least a .380 average -- and reached at least Blackmon's likely maximum level of plate appearances -- ultimately qualified for the batting crown. Except one. In 1939, Don Padgett -- then Mickey Owen's backup at catcher for the Cardinals -- hit .399 over 257 plate appearances. That's right: Padgett nearly hit .400 over the exact same number of trips to the dish as Blackmon is on pace to compile.

In his last plate appearance that season, Padgett was intentionally walked as a pinch hitter by the Cubs' Claude Passeau. We'll never know what would have happened if Passeau had pitched to Padgett, but if he had gotten a hit, Padgett would have batted .402 in 1939.

There is a point to be made here related to Blackmon and the arbitrary nature of qualifying minimums. (Blackmon of course should qualify by 2020 standards, which are far lower than typical season minimums.) The standard for qualifying for the batting crown in Padgett's day was 100 games played. He played in 92 and thus would not have qualified. Still, it was close enough that any mention of the last NL hitter to hit .400 would at least have to acknowledge him.

As it is, Padgett's tale merited a retelling in a piece published on the Hall of Fame's website. So who's to say how a .400 season by Blackmon or someone else would be remembered? Let's find out.

Incidentally, the last NL hitter to hit .400 was Bill Terry, who hit .401 for John McGraw's Giants in 1930, when the league average in the Senior Circuit was .303. Still, 50 years later, Terry had the temerity to dismiss Brett's quest for immortality in one of the all-time-great old-man rants. First, he didn't like it that Brett missed so many games, but there was so much more than that.

"[The missed games] should disqualify him," an 82-year-old Terry told the New York Daily News in 1980. "It's not like playing 154 games. They don't play baseball like we used to. There's more bad hitters than good hitters now. They swing for the fences all the time."

Later in the season, as it looked more and more likely that Brett really would hit .400, columnists across the land took to tracking his plate appearances as closely as his average. It stirred a debate at the highest levels of baseball: If Brett were to fall a few at-bats short, how should it be handled? This conversation lasted deep into September, when a committee of experts held a meeting to discuss the matter. Everyone had an opinion. Ultimately, it was decided not to add the missing appearances to Brett's line to allow him to qualify, as some suggested.

Brett finished with 515 plate appearances to render the debate moot. Still, that's another point to consider for looming Blackmon detractors. There were many pundits in 1980 who thought Brett might hit .400 precisely because the missed time made his sample smaller, but as long as it wasn't too small -- as in not qualifying -- all would be well. That same reasoning seems as if it won't apply for any .400 hitter in 2020.

July 10, 1980

Brett's transformation into a legend began immediately upon his return from the ankle injury, which had kept him in the hospital for a week. During the month off, he was elected as the starting third baseman for the AL All-Star team for a fifth straight season, though he did not play in the game. In one of many off-kilter media clips from Brett's year, during that month a paper in Washington polled the wives of Mariners players about who was the most handsome player in the game. Brett came in fifth, behind Jim Palmer, Rick Honeycutt (who was on the Mariners), Jim Rice and Bucky Dent.

Apparently the criteria wasn't entirely clear. "We weren't sure what you wanted," Honeycutt's wife, Debbie, told the reporter doing the polling. "We didn't know if you wanted it from the neck up, or the neck down."

Back on the field, Brett became an entirely different kind of hot. He homered in his first game back, on July 10, the first game after the All-Star break. Over his first week back, Brett went 17-for-29. Quite suddenly and quite shockingly, baseball was a week into its second half and Brett was hitting .374.

The AL squad in the All-Star Game that year was managed by Baltimore's Weaver, who selected Frey as one of his coaches. The Royals were due to play Baltimore after the break, and Frey assured his old boss that Brett would be back in the lineup.

"He's trying to get me to throw Brett curveballs," Weaver said, adding that Frey would take that news back to Brett. "Those curveballs will wind up in the water fountain in Kansas City."

Brett was hitting the ball so hard that it actually cost Weaver his best player. On July 14, Brett hit a bad-hop grounder with such ferocity at Orioles star Eddie Murray that it fractured the orbital bone around Murray's right eye and sent the future Hall of Famer to the injured list during what was shaping up as an epic race with the Yankees in the AL East. Murray had played in 444 straight games.

Brett was just getting started. "When I was hurt, I spent eight days in the hospital," Brett said. "I spent a lot time thinking on hitting and fundamentals. It's paid off."

Brett capped that big first week back with four hits at Fenway Park on July 16, then told reporters after the game that "hitting is not easy for me." As if to prove his point, he went 0-for-4 the next day against Boston's John Tudor.

One day later in New York, in front of his mentor, legendary hitting coach Charlie Lau, Brett got back on track with four hits at Yankee Stadium. The last of those hits came against New York's Ed Figueroa, a former 20-game winner who twice had finished in the top 10 in AL Cy Young balloting. Brett hammered a lot of pitchers, but no one got it worse than Figueroa. Brett was 25-for-42 against him in his career.

That four-hit outburst began what turned into a 30-game hitting streak, during which Brett became the biggest sensation in sports. By the end of July, he was hitting .390 and had finally landed the long-rumored contract that would pay him around $1 million per year over five years, including deferred payments. Imagine what that deal would look like now.

At the beginning of August, the first of the "Will Brett hit .400?" articles began to appear nationwide. Around this time, Tigers manager Sparky Anderson declared that he was done pitching to Brett, saying, "I'm gonna walk him. He'll look pretty good with 600 walks next year."

There was also a lot of MVP chatter at this time, and not everyone thought Brett was the clear choice. Some thought K.C. teammate Willie Wilson was the real driving force of the Royals, and Wilson was having an epic season of his own. Wilson eventually finished with 230 hits, with more than 100 from each side of the plate.

In New York, the popular pick was Reggie Jackson. Among the Reggie supporters was Reggie himself. "Jackson," Jackson told The Sporting News when asked whom he'd pick. He then went on to list his top four, none of which was Brett. Within a month, even New York writers were on the Brett bandwagon. Brett eventually edged Jackson for the award, earning 17 first-place votes to Jackson's five.

Brett's hitting streak ended at Texas on Aug. 19 at the hands of Jon Matlack, though the Royals scored three in the ninth to win the game. During the 30-game spree, Brett's numbers were simply not plausible, but they happened. Over what in 2020 would be exactly half a season, Brett hit .467, with 57 hits in the 30 games. If you take the hit total and the 42 runs he drove in during the streak and project them over 162 games, you get 308 hits and 227 RBIs.

The apex

Right now, the calendar is cluttered with the 40th anniversaries of things Brett did in 1980.

If the iconic moment of Brett's season was the bases-clearing double on Aug. 17 that put him over .400 for the first time, the high-water mark occurred a few days later. After a short downturn dipped his average to .397, Brett went 5-for-5 in the first game of a road trip at County Stadium in Milwaukee. Two times during the game, Brett received a standing ovation from Brewers fans. When the dust settled, Brett was hitting .407.

That game was played on Aug. 26. At the close of play on Aug. 29, Brett's average stood at .404. Here's the reason I mention that date. Because this season is 60 games long, Fangraphs put together a neat tool on its website where you can look up performances over 60-game stretches through history.

Brett's .469 average over his previous 60 games, starting May 30 and ending on Aug. 29, 1980, is the highest ever. But of course, no one looks at batting average anymore, right? Well how about this: Brett's 6.5 fWAR during that span is also the best ever, better than a 60-game spree by Barry Bonds in 2001 during which Bonds hit 31 home runs.

No one has been hotter for longer than George Brett was in 1980.

"He's a helluva hitter," Teddy Ballgame himself told Red Smith in a syndicated piece around that time, after Williams had initially ignored the furor and went off to fish in Canada. "He's strong and he's a gutty guy. I hope he makes it."

This was a decidedly different note than Williams had sounded earlier in the month, when he grumpily said he hoped Brett would hit .400, "so writers would ask him who the next .400 will be."

Brettmania

Well, if you've read this far, you know Brett didn't make it. He came close. He got hurt again in September -- a hand this time -- and sat out 11 days. When he returned, he put up three straight two-hit games, and after a 13-3 win over the A's on Sept. 19, Brett was hitting .3995 -- which most would round up to .400, though some disagree that would make someone a .400 hitter. (Probably including Williams, who would have had a rounded-up .400 average in 1941 if he had not played that last-day doubleheader and gotten six hits to finish at .406.) The latest day on which Brett was above .400 was Sept. 4, when he was at .401.

The media crush around Brett that began in August was unlike anything he or the team could have prepared for. National magazines, including news publications like Time and Newsweek, poured in from every corner. After his five-hit game at Milwaukee, Brett said he answered questions for so long that he missed the team bus back to the hotel. Everyone wanted a piece of Brett and he tried to give everyone what they wanted, saying time and again that he didn't feel any pressure.

In a large swath of the middle of the continent, where I was growing up and at which Kansas City was the center, the summer of 1980 was full-blown Brettmania. As in 2020, it was an election year, and "George Brett for President" bumper stickers proliferated. At a stop in K.C. during his reelection campaign, President Jimmy Carter exchanged bumper stickers with Brett during a photo op. Dick Young, the cranky columnist in New York, complained how some guy in Britain kept calling him up to ask how Brett was doing. The Royals signed Brett's older brother, Ken, and that became a story. Brett was everywhere.

"It's becoming a joke," Brett told The Kansas City Star. "It really is."

Years later, Brett admitted that the moment did in fact get to him. His biggest mistake in trying to hit .400 was that, at some point, he started trying to hit .400. He didn't. He fell five hits short. He always joked in the decades afterward how his famously stern father, Jack, had said, "You couldn't get five more frickin' hits?"

No, instead Brett had to settle for what came to him. He had to settle for a season that boggles the mind. Over 117 games, he hit .390/.454/.664 with 24 homers and 118 RBIs. He drew 58 walks, but here's the real testament to how good and how feared Brett was: He struck out only 22 times in 515 plate appearances and was walked intentionally 16 times. It was almost as common for him to be intentionally walked as it was for him to whiff.

"I never thought I'd be this good," Brett told one writer. No one thought it was false humility. "I never thought I'd hit .300."

In today's analytics-fused approach to baseball, it never has been better to be a baseball fanatic. There is nothing you cannot know. For years, the old measures have been pushed toward obsolescence in favor of more revealing measures, none of which diminish what Brett did during his career.

Sometimes those complaints about the old-school stats are tiresome at best and condescending at the worst. There will always be a place for old measures, understood in their proper context, because they are the ties that bind the generations of baseball together. We can't go back and see what Brett's exit velocity was in 1980 -- though Eddie Murray would be the first to tell you it was probably pretty high. But we do know that Brett almost hit .400, closer than anyone except Gwynn, who never got a chance to finish his quest.

Analytics or not, short season or not, a run for .400 by Blackmon, LeMahieu or anyone else would be special. It would tie this unprecedented season to some very special history. That's worth getting excited about, even if Blackmon himself understandably wants to keep the quest at arm's length. It's worth getting excited about even if it only serves to remind us of Williams and Brett and Carew and Gwynn, who provided us so much great drama in the quests of summers past. It's worth getting excited about even if there are those who might want to say, "It's only batting average."

A .400 season never did come to Brett. What came to Brett instead was what the poet Archibald MacLeish had written what came for his compatriots in literary Paris of the 1920s, titans like Ernest Hemingway, T.S. Eliot and James Joyce -- fame. Fame came to George Brett, as it had for Williams and Carew before him, and Gwynn after him. It was enough fame to mark a player as the icon of baseball for an entire generation of an entire region.

Forty years later, Brett's quest hardly looks like a failure because it came up short. It looks like one of the great, slowly unfolding triumphs in baseball history. Besides, now that Williams is no longer with us, he'll get his wish: If Blackmon carries his quest deep into September, it'll be Brett's phone lighting up with comment seekers.

Brett might not have hit .400, but his 1980 season is synonymous with the feat, perhaps his entire career. Whether that would hold true for a .400 batter in 2020 is an open question, but wouldn't it be great to have a chance to answer it?