He Isn’t Merely Correct Choice, the Man’s a Steal

He played with agility and ability, with quickness and slickness. He was so smooth at shortstop, the groundskeeper rarely had to rake the dirt there. He ran the bases with such ballet-like grace, they should have stopped the game to throw him roses. So, on the day the ballot came, I made my mark by his name:

Maury Wills.

And then I checked off two other names, forgot to write in one more (Pete Rose), licked the seal and sent it off to be counted, waited to see if this would finally be the year Maurice Morning Wills was awarded his rightful place in professional baseball’s Hall of Fame.

He hit .281, lifetime. Luis Aparicio, another great shortstop and a childhood idol of mine, hit only .262, yet he made the Hall of Fame in 1984.

Wills stole 586 bases. Aparicio stole 506, playing four more seasons than Wills.

Wills also played in four World Series. Aparicio played in two.

Yet, just in case you still don’t get the message, I couldn’t have been happier when Aparicio was inducted. He personified infield elegance in my book. He was daring, durable and the kind of guy who drove opposing pitchers batty.

Just like Maury Wills.

So why have 15 years passed without a plaque at Cooperstown with Wills’ kisser on it? He retired in 1972, Aparicio a year later. Yet it has been eight years now since Little Looie got word down in Venezuela that his ultimate honor was at hand, while Maury Wills, as of Tuesday, was still waiting by the phone.

A couple of months ago, some of us were playing a form of parlor game. One by one, we were supposed to name somebody active in major league baseball who eventually would be elected to the Hall of Fame, somebody we thought to be a cinch. Nominations were made, whereupon we cast thumbs-up or thumbs-down.

Nolan Ryan? Absolutely.

Carlton Fisk? First ballot.

Dave Winfield? I said sure, but there was debate.

Fernando Valenzuela? He would have. Not now.

Kirk Gibson? Everybody laughed, and then somebody said: “Well . . . “

Roger Clemens? Too early to call.

Eddie Murray? Likely.

Wade Boggs? Likewise.

Tony Gwynn? Probably.

And then we batted it around some more, and then we tried to remember whom we had forgotten, and then somebody said: “Oh, man! Ozzie Smith!” Which got me all hot and bothered and yelling: “What about Alan Trammell?” Which got everybody to arguing about whether Ozzie would have been a lock for the Hall had his offense not perked up, at which point somebody else, inevitably, started pushing for Mark Belanger.

Which is when it hit me.

What about Maury Wills? What hadn’t he done? What weren’t his qualifications? Sure, Smith was more of a vacuum cleaner than Wills was, and sure, Trammell had far more pop in his swing than Wills had, but could either one say they stole 104 bases in one season? Was Wills not a glove man? Was .281 lifetime an “average” average?

The downside, well, OK, Wills did play in only 14 seasons. I hasten to add that Sandy Koufax appeared in only 12, many of them with Wills protecting his flank.

I can’t lie to you, though.

When my first Hall of Fame ballot arrived in the mail, a couple of years ago, my pencil moved right on past Maury Wills. I was negligent. I didn’t examine his vital statistics. All I knew for sure is that Wills was a good shortstop and a great base-stealer who was being bypassed in the Cooperstown voting year after year, meaning somebody must know something.

Dumb, huh?

This year, I paid more attention. Somebody alerted me that if Wills didn’t make it this time, he probably never would. People who grew up in California, people more familiar with seeing Wills on a daily basis, lectured me that Wills was as skillful and as accomplished as certain other shortstops in the Hall.

I checked out the numbers, same way I did when everybody was boosting Jim Palmer and I noticed that Ferguson Jenkins’ statistics were every bit as worthy. And then I weighed the intangibles, such as the way Wills revolutionized baserunning, paving the way for the Rickey Hendersons and Vince Colemans who came along later, stealing practically at will.

So, I checked off his name. Which I also did for Tom Seaver, who was up there with Palmer and Jenkins. Which I also did for Rollie Fingers, who did for relief pitching what Wills did for base stealing.

I forgot to write in Rose. It wouldn’t have counted anyway, because write-ins aren’t permitted, but I had intended to protest his name being left off the ballot.

And I mailed it in, confident that I had done the right thing. Maury Wills is a Hall of Famer. I don’t care how the vote turned out.