Triple Crown, Schmiple Crown

It has been so long since a player won the Triple Crown that maybe I just don’t know what I’m talking about. Admittedly, as a fan, I feel obligated to glorify baseball’s past and stand resolute against any kind of change, but I always thought winning a Triple Crown would be what baseball experts would call “very good,” and something Major League hitters would “want to do.”  Evidently, the Triple Crown has gone the way of the wool uniform and the high stirrups – it’s just not fashionable anymore. Maybe, like the all-glove/no-hit infielder, it has become obsolete (the Triple Crown has been Felix Millaned). Perhaps the game has passed the Triple Crown by. Baseball isn’t played the same way as it once was. It happens. The era of the hundred-stolen-base season is way behind us. No pitcher throws three hundred innings anymore, or throws twenty complete games, and no hitter leads his league in homers, ribbies, and average; those accomplishments must have outlived their usefulness. There’s just no need for that kind of production I guess. Or maybe the saber guys have finally made their point: those stats aren’t very meaningful, so why try to lead the league in such antiquated, passé categories. So I just figured the fact that nobody wins Triple Crowns anymore was because that distinction is a part of baseball’s yesteryear, a relic, something that used to mean something, but that no modern ballplayer opts for anymore. Today’s baseball has grown smarter than that.

Come to find out, the Crown wasn’t even that highly regarded when it used to occur. It is just like an aging baseball fan to feel as though the collective mind of the baseball world was more intelligent the farther back in time you go, and has regressed over the years. I think about the olden days and I am filled with admiration for the heroes whose epic feats brought them the coveted and prestigious Triple Crown. But I had no idea that the Triple Crown was the baseball equivalent to something clever in a realm of some cultural reference that is just obscure enough that it will seem original, something that would appear impressive and remarkable in theory, but in actuality doesn’t garner huge accolades. The exact apt reference eludes me. I had no idea that, when a player has won a Triple Crown in the period since they started giving out MVP awards, that player’s chance of winning the MVP award was just a little better than fifty-fifty. It has happened nine times, and four of those players failed to earn enough votes to win their league’s MVP award. I had thought that, back in the day when players still tried for the Crown, it was a big deal. I was way off.

The market for the Triple Crown began strong in 1933, as both leagues boasted winners (both in Philadelphia). Jimmie Foxx won the AL MVP that year, but when Chuck Klein was outvoted in the NL by Carl Hubbel, a pitcher who didn’t even win the pitching Triple Crown, the winds of a sharp downturn began to blow. The trend continued into 1934, ultimately leading to a disastrous total crash when Crown winner

Lou Gehrig came in a staggering fifth in AL MVP voting. The Triple Crown was so devalued that pitching Triple Crown winner Lefty Gomez only finished third, behind Mickey Cochrane and runner-up Charlie Gehringer. By the time Joe Medwick revived the Crown by garnering MVP honors in 1937, the damage had been done: never again would a National League player decide to win another Triple Crown.

Ted Williams was apparently the last to get the news about the demise of the Triple Crown. After losing out to Joe Gordon in the MVP voting after his Triple Crown in 1942, Teddy Ballgame martyred himself another Crown in 1947, losing the MVP to Joe DiMaggio (of course, DiMaggio won MVP honors in 1941 as well on the strength of his 56 game hit streak. Williams hit .406 for the whole season, a higher average than DiMaggio hit for during his streak, which was good enough for second place in the MVP polls). In each instance, it appears Williams was actually punished for his conspicuous production of questionable value. In a classy move, Mickey Mantle chose to win a Triple Crown in ’56 (probably as a nod to his old adversary), but in an ironic reversal, Mantle was awarded the MVP.

The Triple Crowns Frank Robinson and Yaz won were more a reflection of the rebellious anti-establishment activism of the ‘60s than a return to a mythic golden age. The anti-anti-establishment saw through their ploy and awarded
each an MVP.

I actually thought, before analyzing the data, that a Triple Crown season would pretty much lock up an MVP award. Instead, you might as well flip a coin. It’s still a good season, but unless you do other stuff besides Triple Crown stuff, like whatever it was the four guys ahead of Gehrig did in ’34, or the stuff only real insiders know about, like DiMaggio in ’47, then you’re just spinning your stat-padding wheels.