We lost Dan Hicks this week at age 64 after a battle with illness.
I knew Dan a little bit. We worked together for a time at NBC, and I had him on the PosCast back before the 2016 Olympics, and we talked a few other times. I knew him well enough to know that he was a kind man, a funny man, and someone who had a knack for making you feel important.
People who really knew Dan can speak better to the kind of man he was.
What strikes me today is that Dan thrived in a broadcasting business where just about every incentive revolves around making it about yourself. And he did it by specifically NEVER making it about himself.
Broadcasting is show business, for better and worse. Loud and shallow opinions get you television shows and big contracts. Over-the-top hype gets you noticed. Screaming is preferred to talking, and loud screaming is preferred to regular screaming. Catch phrases abound. “Heat over light,” as Bob Costas says.
You can understand it — sports are everywhere, on dozens of television channels every moment of every day, and how do you break through without saying something just a little more outrageous or turning the volume up to 11?
It’s a question that stretches way beyond sports broadcasting, I think.
Dan never fell for it. I don’t mean to say he was alone; he wasn't—there are any number of extraordinary sports broadcasters across the landscape who have stayed true to their voice even when the pressure was to get louder.
But Dan was the paragon. He called some of sports’ most electric moments over the last quarter century without people even knowing his name. I would argue that the final lap of the 4x100 freestyle relay in Beijing is one of the greatest calls in American sports television history. Notice how he does raise his voice at the end, but only because of the sheer shock of the moment.
And here’s his classic three-word call — “Expect anything different?” — when Tiger Woods made the putt that forced a playoff at the 2008 U.S. Open.
He didn’t try to make moments. Dan let the moments come to him.
Introducing The New Outsiders Series
Over the years, I’ve done several versions of The Outsiders series—where I count down the greatest players who aren't in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Each time I’ve tried it, going back 20 or so years, I’ve looked at the Hall of Fame differently. There was a time when I was a strict valueologist — I believed the players who contributed the most value over their careers were the ones who belonged in Cooperstown. Period.
Soon after, I started to think about a more nuanced approach — career value was too broad and limiting at the same time. What about those who played at a Hall of Fame level for a few years but then faded too quickly because of injury or age? It seemed silly to me that they needed to have four or five mediocre seasons just to push their Hall of Fame career value over the line.
So, yes, I think a player with a Hall of Famer peak should be in Cooperstown—assuming the peak lasted long enough.
But how long is long enough?*
*I really liked (and still do really like) Jay Jaffe’s JAWS system, which combines career value with peak value, specifically the players’ seven highest WAR seasons added together.
After that, I started to think about baseball historian John Thorn’s belief that it’s called the Hall of FAME for a reason, and that fame must play a role in a player’s case. But what is fame? It can mean many things. Curt Flood’s fame feels very different to me than, say, Steve Garvey’s fame. Tommy John’s fame and Dwight Gooden’s fame don’t come from the same place. Dale Murphy fame and Manny Ramirez’s fame are not alike.
And so on.
The last time I did The Outsiders series — five years ago — I actually listed 108 players (I had lots of ties). Thirteen of them are now in the Hall of Fame. They are:
No. 91: Dave Parker
No. 48: Jim Kaat
No. 39: Jeff Kent
No. 35: Tony Oliva
No. 23: Fred McGriff
No. 19: Todd Helton
No. 17: Billy Wagner
No. 15: Andruw Jones
No. 13: Gil Hodges
No. 7: Dick Allen
No. 5: Scott Rolen
No. 2: Buck O’Neil
No. 1: Minnie Miñoso
Now, I’m ready to do a whole new list because I have come up with a new way to think about the Hall of Fame.
I call it the 1% Concept.
Of the more than 23,000 men who have played Major League Baseball, just 1 percent have been enshrined in Cooperstown. Combine that with managers, umpires, executives (including Effa Manley, the first female Hall of Famer) and Negro Leagues players elected to the Hall, and you have the most exclusive club in sports.
— From the Hall of Fame Plaque Gallery page.
Folks at the Hall of Fame love to talk about the 1%. It’s a big part of the place’s self-image. And it’s a neat idea—that only one out of 100 players who ever don a big-league uniform will end up in the plaque room in Cooperstown.
The reality is a bit more complicated than that, but the numbers more or less add up (though with the Negro Leagues now recognized as Major League, the number of total players might be closer to 25,000 or 26,000). And the 1% concept is powerful. You can really FEEL that story, right? A green kid comes to the big leagues with giant dreams. He sees his uniform hanging in his locker. He feels goosebumps and thinks of all those times as a kid when he pretended to be in the Major Leagues.
And he thinks, “I’m special. I have a chance to become one of the greats. I have a chance to be one of a 100. I have a chance to be enshrined in Cooperstown.”
All of this got me thinking a bit more intently about 1%.
Let’s say that the 1% are the 250 or so best players ever?
Well, what if we broke it down more than that? Who makes up the 1% of greatest hitters ever? Just hitters. Sure, everybody knows that Stan Musial is among them, but what about Rico Carty? Obviously, there’s Albert Pujols, but what about Adam Dunn?
And then, what about the 1% when it comes to defense? Sure, there’s Ozzie and Brooksie and Willie, but what about Devon White? Javy Báez? Vic Power?
Which pitchers have dominant peaks that put them among the top 1%? Koufax, sure, but what about Johan Santana? Seaver, sure, but what about David Cone?
Who belongs in the 1% of “most famous” players? And, as mentioned, what are we even talking about when it comes to fame? Does Don Mattingly’s fame add up to more than Curt Schilling’s? Should Dwight Evans’ lack of fame make him any less of a Hall of Fame candidate?
These are the things I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about. I’ve thrown out a few hints in the last few months, including the Baseball Garden survey where I asked you to list off people (not just players) who you believe have made the game better (you can still take the survey!). This was originally going to be a book project (and, who knows, it might yet become one), but now I plan to write it for you here on JoeBlogs.
We’ll start The New Outsiders next week — and we will have a special JoeBlogs blowout sale as part of the fun. So stay tuned.