Iron man Jack Morris has earned his Hall call
Jack Morris, center, leaps and runs out of the Twins dugout when they won the World Series in 1991.
We discovered strip malls, big hair and boom boxes. God, I hated boom boxes. We had thick, oversized eyeglasses, Urkel and Mr. Belvedere. There was acid-washed denim, Weird Al Yankovic and way too much eye shadow. Alex Karras, David Hasselhoff and Billy Idol were around constantly. And Robin Williams mumbled his way through the horrendous "Popeye" flick, which ruined both a good cartoon and a fine comedian as far as I was concerned.
To this day, out of nowhere a bit of Lionel Richie's pop mush will creep into my head. If I'm driving, I have to pull over and collect myself.
I started thinking about the 1980s - and I usually try not to - while talking with Jack Morris the other day. Morris finds out on Monday whether he's been elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame. As far as pitching goes, the 1980s belonged to him.
But even baseball, the great American constant, was a little weird during that decade. There were all sorts of labor problems including the great collusion scandal. And there were high-profile drug cases involving the likes of Dwight Gooden and Darryl Strawberry, among others. Steroids first made an appearance and by the end of the decade had altered the landscape of the game.
The ballparks were older and smaller. The uniforms were tight and gaudy. The peace and goodwill atmosphere of the '60s
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There were some good pitchers, too, but many of them didn't accompany us through the whole stinking decade. Roger Clemens, for example, showed up halfway through. Steve Carlton was washed up halfway through.
Try to recall some of the good ones that slogged through all 10 years. Well, Fernando Valenzuela of the Dodgers was a 1980s phenomenon. If you were around back then, you certainly remember Fernandomania. The fat kid from Mexico won 128 games in the '80s, primarily with off-speed pitches and a hellacious screwball.
Bob Welch was a great, if underrated pitcher in that decade, winning 137 games with the Dodgers and A's. Nolan Ryan was a constant in the 1980s, too, but it seems like he was a constant during the entire century. He still won 122 games in the '80s, even though he was eligible for Social Security.
Dave Stieb was a terrific pitcher for the Blue Jays. He won 140 games in the decade by knocking guys off the plate and then coming in low and away with the slider. Stieb threw a no-hitter, but he also had three potential no-hitters broken up with two outs in the ninth.
And Bert Blyleven was with us in that decade, winning 123 games en route to the Hall of Fame.
Of course, the biggest winner of the 1980s was Morris. He notched 162 victories or, in other words, one full baseball season worth of victories. His career was interesting in a lot of ways. Tigers manager Sparky Anderson bestowed a noble if slightly unorthodox role on a young Morris.
"I was a young guy and Sparky, he just came to me and looked me in the eye," Morris recalled. "He said, 'I need you to learn to finish games. I need one guy that finishes his games and gives the bullpen a rest.'
"It took me a few years where I got my butt kicked, but I learned it. From then on, when I took the mound I had two purposes: To win the game. To finish the game. No pitch counts or anything like that. I took that approach my whole career. Every time a manager asked me - whether it was Sparky, Cito (Gaston) or T.K. (Tom Kelly), - if I was getting tired, I'd tell them 'I'm going to finish this thing.' ''
As a result, he pitched an extraordinary amount of innings, once even throwing 293 in one season. He also had 175 complete games while finishing with a 254-186 lifetime record. Heck, he has five postseason complete games. Some of today's pitchers won't complete five games in their careers.
In retrospect, Morris knows he gave up something by pitching all those innings. His career ERA, 3.90, probably could have been lower with less wear and tear on his arm. He calls that an "unfortunate" byproduct but adds that he wouldn't change his approach.
"It was just a different philosophy of pitching," he said. "When you face the same guys three, four, five times a game, your ERA probably suffers. I really can't respond to it. It is what it is."
I voted for him and think he deserves to be in the Hall of Fame. Not only because of his numbers, which certainly speak volumes, but also just as one guy to another who toiled throughout those awful '80s.
Awww, damn! Now I'm seeing Lionel Richie dancing on the ceiling.
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